Mr. Black's experiments had only pushed the age difference part of the equation so far, about thirty-five years between the youngest and oldest participants. He wanted to go as far as he could in that regard, which meant an eighteen year old freshman student and the oldest volunteer he could find, Miss Scarple, a seventy-three year old from the food service department. Affectionately known as 'Grandma' to the students, she had been with the school for over four decades, serving food with a smile.
The fifty-five year age difference would be pushing things, especially since Miss Scarple wasn't the most attractive woman of her age group. To put it a different way, she was no Jane Fonda. Her skin was a bit loose, her face wrinkled and aged, and who knew what lay beneath her ill-fitting grey and white food service uniform.
Mr. Becker was a shy freshman. Tall and lanky, he was a certified first-class nerd, studying computer science. He and Miss Scarple came together in the stairwell leading up to Mr. Black's room.
"Oh hello!" Miss Scarple said, greeting the young man she'd seen in line at the cafeteria.
"Hi Grandma," Mr. Becker said as they climbed the stairs. "I've never seen you on this part of campus."
"That nice Mr. Black has asked me to participate in one of his experiments," she said.
"Me too!" Mr. Becker said. "I'm at ten o'clock."
"Yes, that's it. I guess we're in it together," Miss Scarple said.
She'd heard rumors that there were sexual subjects discussed, and wondered if she'd be embarrassed with Mr. Becker being there. He was rather attractive, she thought, in a straight-laced kind of way. He held the door for her as they walked into Mr. Black's room.
"Thank you both for coming. Have a seat please," Mr. Black said, his deep voice reverberating in the big, open space.
He gave them the usual talk about confidentiality, and had them sign the forms. Miss Scarple couldn't help but notice the big bed in the middle of the room, made up with a tight-fitting grey sheet. A few impure thoughts about what it could be there for were tempered by the random items piled on it: a few old lap-top computers, some books, a stack of files. She was brought back to reality by Mr. Black's booming voice.
"We've been studying instinct here this semester. The links between animal instinct and human instinct, pure instinct and action. What I'd like you both to do at this time is stand and disrobe."
"Disrobe Mr. Black?" Miss Scarple said. Her gentle face tightened as her eyes searched Mr. Black's face.
"Yes, please. And then we can proceed," he said.
"Proceed with what? I didn't make it this far in life with my virtue intact to let myself be seen that way in a classroom," she said, uncertainty and a hint of anger welling in her voice.
"I can assure you Miss Scarple this is a purely scientific experiment. There have been many before you, faculty and students alike, participating in this way. But if you are truly uncomfortable with the idea you may go. Mr. Becker, if you are willing to proceed and Miss Scarple isn't, I can bring you back on another day."
"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," young Mr. Becker said.
"Very good. Miss Scarple?"
She looked at Mr. Black and the young man seated next to her. For reasons she didn't quite understand she said she'd stay. The second request for her to disrobe echoed in her head like a psychedelic sound effect from a bad movie. The student next to her was shirtless already when she stood to join him, her hands going to her own shirt buttons, the feel of them very different from when she put the shirt on that morning. Every little ridge of every little button was registering on her fingertips, the heightened sensitivity reaching all her senses as her eyes watched the light hit the shimmering satin of the camisole being slowly revealed underneath. The scent of her suddenly hot skin rose from below the loose undergarment to her nose.
By the time she pulled the tails of the open shirt free from the waistband of her nondescript grey uniform pants, young Mr. Becker was in nothing but his old-fashioned white briefs. Her body reacted with a deep exhale through her nose when she saw his long, hairy legs and the bulge of his penis under the thin cotton fabric.
Her buttons now undone, the short-sleeved shirt slid down her arms. Under the florescent lights the skin on her arms looked dry, her heightened state of mind registering a quick reminder to moisturize later, when she got home. Her next thought was about what was going to happen—would they sit completely naked and talk about sex? The rumors around campus where all about sex, nothing else was mentioned. Discussing sex while naked would certainly alter the conversation she thought, although she really didn't know because she'd never talked about sex with anyone but her late sister, and those conversations were brief and didn't cover much ground.
Her spinning mind, full of different thoughts, allowed her hands to work unencumbered—or less encumbered anyway—by the puritanical screaming in her head to stop what she was doing and get the hell out of there. Her comfortable 'lunch lady' shoes and socks were off, and the loose grey uniform pants were soon in her hand.
As she straightened up after removing them she got her first look at it—a flesh and blood penis, the first she had ever seen. Young Mr. Becker was naked. The gasp her body wanted to expel was held, her breath locked in stasis, every square inch of her frozen with the exception of her pounding heart.
She had no idea a penis could be that big. My goodness, she thought, how do men walk around with such things hidden away, with barely a clue of them under their pants. She tried not to stare, but it was just so astonishing she couldn't help it.
So far her legs were bare, but her next move would bare much more. She took hold of the hem of the camisole, and in one fluid move swept it off over her head. The thought of standing there in her industrial looking bra and huge, loose-fitting panties seemed worse than the alternative, so she quickly removed them and put her hands over the wispy grey hair at her crotch.
Her arms in that position pushed her soft tits together, making them look firmer and younger than when nothing but gravity had their way with them. Her nipples, much to her displeasure, were hard.
Young Mr. Becker's penis, much to his own chagrin, was responding. Those soft tits he was blatantly staring at were the first flesh-and-blood tits he had ever seen. Mr. Black, through some strange twist of fate, had two virgins on his hands.
"Very good," he said. "Please, if you would both tell me your thoughts at the moment."
Miss Scarple looked at young Mr. Becker, now holding his hands at his crotch as she was, trying in vain to cover the long length of his penis.
"I'm a bit weak in the knees," she said, turning back to Mr. Black. "A bit scrambled feeling actually. This is all very unusual for me, more than you can imagine, I'm sure."
"Yes. Unusual," Mr. Becker said when Mr. Black turned to him. "I feel like smiling, but...should I?"
"Please," Mr. Black said. "I want you both to act on your feelings as well as describing them."
