The first time she walked into my office I was demonstrably startled, she wore a light summer dress with shoe-string straps leaving her striking shoulders exposed. She was not a beautiful woman, and had a tendency towards plumpness, but there was something about her that I found instantly attractive. Perhaps it was her youthfulness that made her so irresistible to me, whatever it was, I was temporarily knocked off guard.
I was expecting her of course, but students came in and out of my office all the time. Many of my students are beautiful, but I’ve been a professor for a long time, and so beauty has lost a great deal of its power over me. Besides most of the girls are too young and silly to interest me.
I knew I was in trouble that very first meeting, I knew I should never agree to supervise her research, but I could not resist her. I told myself nothing would ever happen, she was young, probably in her early twenties, she would have no interest in a man more than twice her age. Besides, I would never compromise my job and my family for a brief taste of pleasure.
I found myself fiddling for a great deal of the interview; at one point I realized I was twirling my hair around my finger. As a psychology professor, you would think I would have more control of my body language, but I always struggled around Leigh. Unconsciously playing with my wedding ring and stroking my face were my displacement behaviours, and they were the only thing preventing me from fondling the girl herself.
I saw her once a week for many months and derived great pleasure from the accidental touches that came my way, I would take her pen and my fingers would graze hers, her legs might brush up against mine as we sat close looking at a paper together. Curiously, she would never pull away when this happened and I would enjoy the warmth of her legs for a few wonderful seconds before I felt the contact inappropriate and I would reluctantly move my leg away.
I mentioned that she was not beautiful, she was no doubt attractive to men, however her hips and thighs were a little too large to make her the object of a great deal of male attention. Her face was not by any means beautiful but when she laughed her whole demeanor changed and for few seconds as her eyes flashed she became beautiful. Her face still had a youthful fullness about it, her hair was short and brown and invariably pulled back, accentuating her somewhat too large forehead. There was an uncertainty about her, some days she appeared confident and seemed to exude sexuality, other days she was unsure of herself and tended to avoid eye contact. It was on the latter days that I felt a strong urge to dominate her, to make her look at me, to invade her personal space and increase her discomfort. On these occasions I fantasized about pushing her up against my door as she rose to leave, or tearing open her blouse to roughly suck her exposed breast.
Occasionally when I saw her outside my office my heart would pound and the familiar “love” feelings would return, I felt like a fool, a man of 50 carrying on like a lovesick teenager. I knew it was not love, love was what I shared with my wife, what I felt for Leigh was unbridled lust. I knew I had to have her. I needed to have her touch me.