As I have mentioned in an earlier story ("Teaching Kaci"), I worked as a professor of English at a small but expensive New England college for about thirty years. The college had a mandatory policy of "retirement at 65", but I had decided to take mine about five years before that. My wife had died of cancer some years earlier, and I wanted to spend what remained of my life doing some traveling. I even thought about the idea of moving to Paris if I could get a small apartment.
Since, as a professor, I always had the policy of not getting personally involved with my students and NEVER agreeing to an exchange of sex-for-grades, my personal relationship with the young and pretty female students was pretty minimal. But during my final two years, I got a little more liberal about that. After all, this was a liberal arts college. One of my involvements was with the aforementioned Kaci; the other was with April, which I am going to tell you about now.
April came to me oddly enough in the same way that Kaci did. Each professor was allowed to have one personal intern each semester. After Bill Clinton's embarrassing incident with an intern, they changed the name at the college to "student assistant." I was expected to give the paid position to one of the top students, and April was one of the five people who applied for it. Since the jobs were given at the beginning of the semester, I always asked the applicants to include a picture, since I had not yet associated a name with a face.
If you read the story about Kaci, you know the kind of picture she submitted, and a year later, April, pure coincidence apparently, came up with the same idea—only different.
The credentials on her resume were excellent, as were those of the other four, but what was different was her cover letter and the picture.
"I really need this job," she wrote, "And I've included a picture of what I would look like working in your office. You can see how much I need the job, since I can't even afford to buy clothes!"
The picture was paper-clipped to the back of the letter. I took it off and looked at it. The young lady was standing in front of a bookcase and appeared to be putting a book away. The only thing unusual about the picture was that she was completely naked! Then I suddenly realized with a shock that the bookcase she was standing in front of was one of the two in my office! Few of us ever locked our doors here, so anyone could walk in at any time—which is apparently what she had done. I assumed she had shot the picture with a digital camera placed on my desk, and the camera had a self-timer.
I guess this is the point at which I should describe April. She was about five-foot-six with a perfect little figure and with long blonde straight and silky hair. She looked a little like a younger version of the German model Claudia Schiffer. She had small but beautiful breasts, but since she was only half turned to the camera, I could only catch a glimpse of what appeared to be her golden little muff.
Naturally, I called her in for a personal interview.
"I'm intrigued by your application," I said, "And especially by the picture you included."
She laughed. "I hope you're not offended."
"No, I'm not offended, but since the student assistant can wear whatever she wants when she's working here, am I to assume this is what you might want to wear from time to time?"
She thought about it for a minute. "If you want me to," she said.
And I thought about it for a minute. "I'll tell you what," I said, "Since this is my last year here, I'm going to do something I never would have considered doing before. The student assistant job is three days a week from three to six, and it only pays seven-fifty an hour. No one ever comes to see me during the last hour, and the building is usually empty. If you would consider wearing this"—I pointed to the picture—"as your uniform for the last hour, I would gladly add another twenty of my own to the college's seven-fifty. We would of course lock the door at the beginning of that hour."
She smiled. "It's deal."
I was surprised that she had agreed so readily. I found out why later.
April began her student assistant job two days later and was a busy and cheerful worker for the first two hours, putting away books, filing papers, etc. I watched her and wondered if she actually would go through with it.
After awhile, she looked at her watch. "Last hour," she said.
"Then lock the door. Just turn the bolt and pull the shade."
She did so. "Is there some place I can change?" she asked.
"The bathroom, over there." I pointed.
She crossed to the bathroom, and I waited. Less than ten minutes later, she emerged. The only thing she was wearing was a smile, and her right hand was shyly covering her muff. But her beautiful breasts were on display.
"You can start by filing these books," I said. 'The number on the binder is the standard Dewey Decimal System."
Two of the four walls in my office were completely covered with bookshelves, and the English department one year had paid to have my one of the bookshelves set up with a rolling metal ladder, so you could get to the top shelf without having to get on a stool. They said I was "too old" to be getting on a stool.
"Okay," April said. She picked up the four books from the corner of the desk and started to walk away.
"My God," I said, "You have the most beautiful little ass I've ever seen."
She wiggled it a little, as if to say thanks.
I tried to go back to my work, but it was really hard when there was a beautiful naked girl only fifteen feet away. She was so beautiful standing there on the ladder with her back to me, I had a hard time taking my eyes off her. And despite my age—I was old enough to be her grandfather—that was not the only thing which was getting "hard."
"This one doesn't have a number on it," she said.
I got up and walked over to her. Since she was halfway up the ladder, her cute little naked bottom was inches from my face when I got to her. I couldn't help it: I leaned over and kissed her on the butt.
She turned with a laugh. "I never thought when I came to this school that I actually would have a professor kissing my ass," she said.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help that. It was just too beautiful to resist."
"I don't mind. Since it was my decision to work naked, I have no one but myself to blame."
"That's right." Now, since she had turned, her beautiful little blonde muff was directly in front of my face. The hair had been trimmed to only an inch in length and was even shorter on the bottom, so her nether lips looked like a fuzzy split peach. Since she had not minded the first kiss, I leaned over and kissed her furry little lips—and gave them a lick.
"Sorry about that," I said, pulling back.
