Sex on the Brain

Contributed by Richard Williams for the enjoyment of Literotica's readers. This fictional story is copyrighted and may only be used for your personal pleasure. It may not be sold, distributed, or posted on another website without the author's permission.

Case 96-1 Sex on the Brain - Part Three by Prof. Richard W.

(formerly of the University of ____________)

Ginna:

As I continue the story, I'm enjoying imagining the look on your face as you follow these surprising events!

The conversation was conducted by candlelight. The room had an old-fashioned hurricane lantern, and as soon as Toni had gently knocked and I had let her in, she had lit it. She wanted the lights out since her father sometimes took a swing around the halls late at night, and the room had an old-fashioned frosted glass transom over the door. For the same reason, our conversation was almost whispered. From outside, we could hear the fading sounds of party-goers drinking in the streets, and the mournful farewell of a distant ship's horn... sounds that told me I was not in the Midwest anymore.

It was beautiful, the way that our thoughts swirled back and forth, even as our bodies prepared for each other. When the inevitable moment came, when words failed us, that is, we rose and undressed each other without false modesty.

Ginna, this determined woman looked like she was made for her high-cut briefs, rather than the other way around. She wore them proudly, but the satin already was wet when my caresses glided over it, and she drew in her slim tummy eagerly when I slipped my hand inside.

"My clit was throbbing while I talked to you in that office," she whispered. "You won't have any trouble finding it now....." Her voice trailed off into a sigh as I grazed the tip of her femininity with my fingers. Her briefs came off in a flash. I can't honestly say who removed them. Our hands were everywhere on each other, although she did pause long enough to let me grab a condom and roll into it. Once it was ready, that seemed to fire her up even more.

Ginna, I think the most important thing to emphasize is what happened as we approached our first mutual climax. My mind absolutely focused on Jeanne. It was as if I was making love to her. And Toni knew some things about me that I had never told her. She whispered teasing thoughts about Stacey as she waggled her glistening, wet cunt at me-- asked me if I might prefer just to stimulate her without coming inside, as I had done with the up-tight sorority woman. And then she laughed, almost sounding like Jeanne, and stretched out to receive me. Once inside, her rhythmic caresses took us quickly over the edge, tenderly surrounding me in a way that I associated more with the pleasure of older women.

Afterward, as we lay in King Solomon's style, chatting again, Toni told me that it was the most amazing experience in her life. Not, she underlined, that she was trying to flatter me-- and then she got tangled up, blushing, in trying to explain that she thought that I was "...very good, but I didn't mean it that way, and you know what I meant, don't you?" She gave up for a wave of giggles and sweet blushes down to her cooling nipples.

I let Toni know that I understood that something unusual had happened, and that I already knew that it was not something that I had consciously done. She could speak freely with me. I felt her relax in my arms , an advantage of the Solomonic position. Our conversation felt truly intimate now. The other advantage, of course, being that I could let my fingers lazily trace her curves as she spoke.

"It was as if I had a spirit guiding me," she softly reported. "Someone was telling me what I could do, I mean, not that I had to, but it just felt right to go along with the guide. And I knew just what to say and do with you."

"Had you ever used your vagina muscles that lovely way?"

"No! I was surprised, I mean I had read a Cosmo article about it, and tried exercises and so forth, but when I was with my boyfriend, I was always too excited to keep track of stuff like that. WE were always too excited, I should say! He always came before I could really get into experiments." She laughed in a self-kidding way.

"Let me take care of that..." she said, and gently she rolled off my condom. None of my lovers had done that for me before. It had never even occurred to me that I would not have to figure out what to do with it. The gesture felt sweet.

"I'm the maid in the morning, anyway," whispering throatily now, "so don't worry about it." I lay there watching her in the dancing light, thinking about the amazing events that surrounded my contacts with Jeanne.

She returned to me, snuggling now, and asking me to rest my hand on her vagina. It was growing warm again, re-filling with hot excitement. She lay back in my left arm, and let me lead her to another climax through little kisses and the touch of my right hand fingers in sensitive places. My lazy penis, acting sated no more, rose as I guided her to a new ecstasy, and then she knelt and kissed me into another orgasm of my own.

This time, we discovered that we were ourselves. Jeanne's presence affected neither of us, and while Toni had enjoyed our first time, she felt proud of the second.

"No helping hand on this one!" she chirped. We kissed and cuddled, and I assured her that I would not only respect her in the morning, but that I respected her right now. She is a bright kid. I wrote out the address of your private website, told her about the papers posted there, and gave her some hints on what classes might help advance her interest.

She dressed as we finished chatting, and then Toni was gone, as silently as she had come. I lay there for a while, thinking about what Jeanne had said in her hurried phone call, and then I was off to sleep.

It was deep and dreamless, except for one point where I awoke to the sound of some co-educational gurgling in what must have been Ulla's or Bert's room. I was rock hard, but it was not from thinking about them-- indeed, it was more amusing than sexy to picture him earnestly humping her. They were so serious about everything! I faded off into sleep again.

Up late, and rushing into the shower, the hot water spilling down over me: it made me feel like the day before had been the dream. While Toni had tenderly relieved me of the pressure that had built through my thoughts of Jeanne, the wonderful cycle was starting anew. As the steam rose around me, it gradually clouded my mirror-reflected image seen through the glass shower door. The clear glass had shown me as a man still in decent shape, but with creeping signs of middle-age. They faded in the thickening cloud and the sight of my swelling hard-on slowly emerging from its dark triangle was lost in that same fog.

OPENING SESSION

The opening session-- I grabbed coffee and an incredibly sticky bun. Ulla and Bert were taking seats at the long row of tables next to mine. Bert leaned over and whispered hoarsely to me: "I know you have an interest in such things..." he paused, and then continued in his unsolicited man-to-man tone, "... four times! Last night, four occurrences!"

I did not know what exactly to say to that, so I offered him so more accurate English terms to use. Meticulously, he wrote them down in his notebook. I looked around him and noticed that Ulla was drinking coffee, but that it was having no effect on her. There were big circles around her eyes.

At lunchtime, the three of us agreed that this conference seemed to be moving terribly slow. Of course, we had different reasons for thinking that. Time crept on, until the close of the session and the cheerful reminder of the hospitality hour. I had found my mind wandering to Jeanne during every presentation.

Bert underlined the importance of visiting the hospitality booths and suites:

"You might get lucky and meet someone interesting there. You need to have some fun, too!" Ulla nodded agreement. I begged to be excused, and rushed off to my room. I did not need to explain to them that I was already lucky.

ON THE WAY

The St. Charles streetcar swung around a curve onto Canal Street and disgorged the first of the evening nightlife crowd coming down from the university. I pushed in with the homebound crowd, being careful not to crush the flowers that I had bought along the street, and found myself standing between student age passengers. There were some business people on the trip, but as experienced riders, they had managed to grab the seats. The car sat there silently for a moment, waiting for time to go, and I could feel the pumping of its air compressor beneath my feet.

Everything seemed about as normal as it could, given that I was being packed into a rolling national historic landmark. The 1920's vintage trams, with their woodwork and open windows, carried many stories. No wonder Tennessee Williams had named a play after one of the routes! For a moment, the compressor stopped, and an almost religious silence fell over the passengers. Then the motorman rang the bell, released the air brakes, and applied power all in a big, but smoothly orchestrated crash of sounds, and our little cross-section of humanity was rolling on the steel way toward the Garden District. With a rush of relief at the end to silence, coversation resumed, happily raised above the rumble.

It occurred to me that one thing that was normal, and as you can imagine, I was in a state of hyper-awareness, was the reaction of other passengers to my flowers. The men barely noticed. The women, on the other hand, had noticed right away, and everywhere that I looked, I saw smiles through the crowd. I have noticed that phenomenon many times; I had even written a student paper on it ages ago.

So, with everything gliding along, I had begun to think that Jeanne was not trying to assert her influence on me or my surroundings-- perhaps she wanted to avoid that? Or was something wrong? My mind began to come up with all kinds of possibilities and I was so concerned, that I did not notice that the pleasant looking, mid-30's woman standing next to me had swayed toward me on the last curve, but had not swayed back.

Perhaps, I thought, she is just tired.

I stepped discretely a few inches over, nudging the young couple on my other side. At the next stop, the woman swung against me again, and stayed comfortably touching me. All of that time, she seemed unaware of what was happening. It reminded me of Ulla's pheromone experiments, where the women who had milder responses were unaware of their increased enjoyment of touching the male test target. I seemed to be the target. I adjusted my thinking to include the possiblity that in my excitement at heading toward Jeanne, that something in my body language was subconsciously turning her on.

But, then I turned and saw that the young couple had let the crowd push themselves into each other. Blissfully unaware of their surroundings, they teased each other with little touches. She brushed a hair off his collar, he touched her hair. She smoothed her free hand over her skirt. Their eyes locked deeply into each other's and their clothes were becoming ever more uncomfortable. No one else seemed to notice their sweet foreplay.

Have you ever wondered, when you saw a couple like that, whether they would make it to a private place? I did. They were off at one of the first stops in the Garden District, walking as if glued to each other. I watched as they paused at an arbored gate and embraced, head to toe. The streetcar was underway again as they headed into the garden for the ultimate kiss. I was still arguing with myself about whether Jeanne's influence was being felt, or whether what I was seeing was just a coincidence. Suddenly, the woman who had been grazing against me spoke.

"This is my stop, Professor Williams. I hope that you have a nice time here in New Orleans." She said it in a soft Southern drawl. I was startled.

"How did you know my name?" She laughed musically. Had Jeanne been at it again?

"That's what it says on your tag there," and she pressed a finger against the convention badge on my chest. She laughed once more.

In my hurry, I had left my identification pinned to my jacket. Hastily, I unclipped it and stuffed it into my pocket. Red-faced at the tone that I had taken with my question, now I laughed with her. To myself, I pointed out that once again I had jumped to the conclusion that Jeanne was influencing people.

"And," she paused and let her tongue ever so slightly touch her lips, "here's my card in case --you have a nice ass-- there is something that I can do for you." She moved away through the crowd, leaving me to learn from her card that she was a private librarian to one of the wealthy families of this well-established port city. She had blurted out her inner opinion without noticing it, it seemed.

Now I was back to wondering about Jeanne's part in things again. I have had lots of interesting contacts, but this was one of the more interesting. Her words were perfectly ambiguous, said as if she was not conscious of what she had done, but her actions were not. I almost wondered about that right past my stop. I alighted under great, arching trees, as though in a dream.

Behind me, the streetcar rolled away through the green median that the locals called the "neutral ground" on St. Charles. There was still enough light for me to see that I was in a man-arranged world of plants and trees, some almost disguising the large houses of the district. Even had I not seen that, I was conscious of the perfume of flowers and bushes that were alien to me. Of course, back home the flowers were gone for the change of seasons. Here I was floating through them, as if in the sea, carried along by the aromas, and as I let the current of scents carry me along, images of Jeanne began to fill my mind. I was swept up the steps of the grand home-- I could have found it without having the street address.

A 16 or 17-year old girl was waiting at the open door. The scents of dinner cooking came out of the house to blend with the plant aromas.

SOMETHING FOR EVERYONE

"You must be Jeanne's friend, cool!" She was genuinely enthusiastic sounding about it. "She said that you would be here about now."

"I am." I introduced myself, "...and you are...?" I looked into the teen's intelligent eyes and found her quite likable. Her casual clothes were perhaps a bit too carefully casual, as if she was going out, but did not want to look like she was.

"Merrilee.... I'm Lisa's daughter. Come on in! Neat, flowers, even!" She waved me in, but remained at the door. "I'm waiting for a friend, he and I are going to practice our duet together over at his place." The way that she volunteered it made me think that it was good news. She motioned toward a violin case. A woman about 40 came towards us from a back room. "There's my mom." Merrilee checked on a small overnight bag on the side table by the door and returned to keeping an eye on the street. "Mom, this is Professor Williams," she said over her shoulder.

Lisa greeted me enthusiastically, although with a bit of an apology for her daughter's lack of interest. Of course, I understood-- it sounded like something big was happening in her life.

"It is!" She grinned understandingly. "David Lafehl had never even noticed her till a few days ago. He's a senior in the music program at her school, and now he wants her to perform in the duet for the holiday concert. He seems like a nice kid, but he was so ABSORBED with his music. Merrilee is looking forward to the music, but I also noticed that she spent an hour getting casual enough for him!"

"Mommmmm!" Merrilee moaned at her from the doorway.

"Now you're going to Shandra's afterward for the slumber party, right?"

"Yessss, Mom! You can call me there, if you really have to." Merrilee had a pained look. I was relieved that the overnight bag was not for her music lesson with David.

Lisa motioned me toward a room further into the house, and I followed her, with but one backward glance at radiantly casual Merrilee. I wondered again about Jeanne's influence. Our hostess (or was she our co-conspirator?) opened an elaborately decorated door.

GREEN SATIN, AUBURN HAIR

Jeanne was waiting for me there in the study. Her green satin dress set off the suppressed fire in her auburn hair. She glowed against the rich, but dull colors of the leather-bound books of the library.

"Richard! It's good to see you!" She walked forward to embrace me, her mature curves showing off as the fabric of her dress caught the light. We held each other for a moment as friends, and then slipped into the tender intimate hug of lovers. Lisa cleared her throat.

"Ahem! I almost have dinner ready for us. I'll take those flowers and just check on a couple of things..." and she left the room. Jeanne and I had barely noticed.

We sat down on a dark, leather couch in the library and let our words tumble all over each other's. Somehow, we got a conversation underway. I was eager to find out how her career situation was going, but I also wanted to know about things on the domestic side. Our excited chatter calmed down into a serious consideration of how things had evolved with her husband, but just as it began to take shape in my mind, the doorbell rang. Lisa rushed through the room.

"Derek!" We heard a muffled greeting.

"Derek?" I raised an eyebrow.

"He's Lisa's other dinner guest." Jeanne explained that he was an Englishman, just here for a three-month engineering project in the office that Lisa managed. Lisa wanted to get to know him socially, but time on his visa was running out, and he seemed at a loss for words with her. He did not seem to be married, or gay, or... Jeanne said that Lisa had finally just concluded that he was shy. Somehow, the dinner party with another couple had made things okay for him to come tonight-- or perhaps, from the smile on Jeanne's face, she had influenced his decision.

Derek's entry with Lisa into the library lead to another round of introductions, hand-shaking, and small talk. He looked relieved to see me, and began to relax a bit. As the conversation evolved, it occurred to me that even if a quiet evening with dinner was all that was on the menu, it would make for pleasant memories. And then it was time to head into the dining room.

The sensual flavors of the New Orleans table greeted us. Lisa had blended some of the Spezialteller of her North German homeland with Creole dishes, and the results were splendid. Of course, the markets in New Orleans gave her lots to choose from, she explained. The taste was so fresh that I expected to see the oysters jump out of the bisque.

Perhaps it was the food, perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was... Jeanne. As you can guess, even as I enjoyed the fruits of the sea, something in the back of my head kept telling me to watch Jeanne. But there was nothing more than an appropriate smile for me as dinner drew to a close. Lisa lured us back to the library with the trailing aroma of a silver tray bearing china cups and a pot of the chicory/coffee blend from the French Market.

I guess it was as she began pouring that I began spotting what might have been Jeanne's work. Lisa paused for a moment in mid-movement, as though remembering something that she had forgotten a while ago. It had come to me that this was the only noticeable symptom of the reach of her mind entering another. Then she turned toward me, and leaned over to pour, not in a ladylike way at all.

Perhaps I forgot to mention that Lisa had an ample bust. I am not very good at estimating sizes, but she would have been striking without leaning over. I glanced at Jeanne, and saw the spreading smile on her face.

"Just watch!" her expression seemed to say. Lisa turned to pour for Derek.