"Good work out?" a voice asked behind me.
I took one last swig of my sport drink before turning around to respond. These conversations never go well. It was very rare that a guy who approached you in the gym would be interested in your brain. Even more so when you work out a university gym. This happened more than I would like. Although I was well into my thirties, I looked much younger. A blessing and a course. The course being that I was often hit on by boys who still slept on mattresses on the floor.
I turned around. This time was no different. A young man stood in front of me. He had dark brown hair that hung in unruly curls on his head and piercing green eyes. He was fit and tall. But he was just a boy. A boy with a bold smile on his face. He thought this was working. I calmly passed the towel over my neck and chest wiping away the thin layer of sweat that caused my skin to glisten.
"It was exceptional." I said. I slung my bag on my shoulder and spun on my heels. To my surprise he chose to follow me towards the door.
"What's your number? Maybe I can give you a more carnal work out experience." He called after me.
I stopped dead in my tracks and waited for him to catch up. His eyes wandered to my cleavage, which glistened with sweat. I was not shy about my 34d chest and did not mind when they were appreciated, but this was obscene.
"That line works?" I asked.
"I've only been slapped twice, so it's not my worst. Is it working on you?" He laughed. It was a carefree infectious laugh.
"No." I smiled and walked away, shaking my head. This time he did not follow. At least I got a decent laugh out of this.
I thought that would be the last I saw of the tall young man with the great eyes and infectious laugh. It was a large campus in an even larger city. But then as I sat at a booth in my favorite bar two weeks later a gin and tonic slid in front of me. I looked up from my book and saw him again. The bright white of his tee shirt made this tan skin look as if it glowed. There was a hint of athletic musculature under the thin cotton.
"I hear that's your drink." He sat down across from me without being asked.
"Are you even old enough to buy that?" I put my book down and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm old enough for a lot of things." He smiled. There was something self assured in the way he looked at me.
"Not for me." I said. I raised the glass to him and took a sip. "But thanks for the drink anyway."
"Not a problem." He leaned in, beckoning for me to do the same. It was pointless to whisper. The bar was virtually empty. Even though it was Saturday, it was early. I don't know why, but I did as he said. His cheek pressed against mine and his warm breath graced over my ear. "I'll tell you what, after we fuck, I won't tell if you won't tell."
It was uncontrollable, my sex twitched with excitement. But I hadn't gotten where I was, the youngest tenured professor in my department by following every little urge that popped up. The feelings, if you could call them that, that I had for him would have to be ignored.
"How about... we don't fuck, I don't tell and you find someone your own age to play with?" I whispered back into his ear. He leaned back in the booth. Something about the way he did it told me he wasn't moving for a while.
"Girls my age only read Derrida so they don't have to sit on a wrinkly cock to get a good grade." He said. I glanced at my book, only the title was written on the hard cover, not the author. I was impressed. "There is nothing sexy about that."
"So you want to fuck on a treadmill while reading french philosophy?" I said with a laugh. He laughed too and shook his head sending his curls in a whirl on his head. Large hand combed the unruly locks into some semblance of order. The he looked at me with an earnest look on his face. Then the corners of his lips turned up into a sly smile.
"I want to fuck you however you want to be fucked. If Derrida gets you wet I am happy to oblige." He reached under the table and touched my bare knee.
The warm touch of his fingers ran up my leg. On reflex I shifted but instead of jerking shut my knees spasmed apart ever so slightly. I should have slapped his hand way. I had no way of knowing that was the beginning of the end of my resistance of him. He did not try to crawl his fingers up my thigh. He simply made small circles with his fingers for a short while and then stopped.
"I don't have sex with students." I told him. He seemed to ignore my declaration. I could almost feel his eyes ravaging me. As if he could see through the silk sundress I wore. He got up and started to leave.
"Well Professor.." he began.
"Conrad" I told him not knowing why I would offer him my name, yet something told me that he knew it already. Anyone of my regular bartenders could have told him. How else would he know my favorite drink, down to the extra lime.
"Professor Conrad, I am not your student so you wont have to worry about that when we have sex, will you?" He smiled at me again before returning to his position behind the bar.
I remained at the bar for an hour or two. In that time a number of tipsy co-eds sashayed up to the bar, demanding his attention. I smiled to myself as they leaned onto the bar chest first, as if offering their tits up for worship on his alter. Some of them were quite attractive. I even thought they would distract him. Young men are like magpies in that way. Wave a good pair of tits in their face and they'll forget the ones that stiffened their cocks a few minutes before. But I had no such luck, once in a while I would look up to see him smiling that cocky smile at me.
The light coming in from the small window at street level gave the slightly busier bar a soft glow. I check my watch and saw that it was almost seven. I had to prepare myself for a day of work with a long bath and some wine. I shoved my book in my bag and dropped a few dollars on the table before I left. I was out the door adjusting my bag when he burst out of the door and up the stairs onto the sidewalk.
"I'll walk you home." He smiled down at me.
"You have work." I said and started down the wide sidewalk. The sun was starting to set and the air was getting cool in expectation of fall.
"Its dead in there. I'll walk you home."
I should have said no to him, but the end had already begun with a touch of the knee. So I accepted his company with a shrug of the shoulders. No was not a word that seemed to be in his vocabulary anyway. There was only yes and almost yes's. All of my no's had turned into almost yes's in his mind anyway. I am a lean 5'8, approaching 6' with a good pair of heels, but he was still taller than I was as I clicked my way down the block in my favorite peep-toe heels.
"Is there a sexier sound than the sound a woman's shoes make on hard ground?" He asked. I wished I could have silenced my shoes at that moment. But when we turned down the empty street my brownstone sat on, they were even louder. His sent wafted over to me on the breeze. I hate that I felt myself get excited at the fresh yet musky smell.
After a short walk in silence, I stopped in front of my home and took one step up the stoop. I was now eye to eye with him. His bright green eyes searched mine.
"You have the most amazing big brown eyes." He told me. I was taken aback for a moment by his sweet and genuine statement.
"Thank you." I said. "And thank you for the walk home. All two and a half blocks."
"Aren't you going to invite me in?" He took a step up. He was impossibly close to me on the shallow step. I went to take another step but my heel caught on the edge. I stumbled into his awaiting arm. He pulled me into him by the behind. He leaned down to whisper in my ear. "Unless you want to fuck me right here, you freaky little thing."
"One drink then you are out." I said. I was flustered and it was obvious in my shaky voice.I felt my cheeks go warm as I tried to force myself back into control. My heart was beating faster now. I could feel the blood rushing to places that would lead me to trouble. Everything in me screamed that I should send him on his way. It was insane to invite this man I knew nothing about into my home. There was something about him though. I trusted him immediately.
He followed me into my townhouse. It was the reason I took my position. It had amazingly high ceilings with crown molding and large windows which flooded the rooms with light. I had spent months restoring it to its eighteenth century glory and filled it with my own elegantly eclectic mix of antique furniture and original art work. I set my keys and my bag on the table in the foyer before leading him into the front room. Two large windows overlooking the quiet tree lined street let in the golden light of sunset. I walked over to the bar but he stood staring at a large painting over the fireplace.
