The Ponytail Express
Chapter 2: Magic Monday
Fred was on his way to his Intro to Lit class at Mach 3 with his hair on fire. He didn't want to be late for Professor Muniz's Intro to Literature class. He checked his cellphone for the 154th time, despite reassurances to himself that you should not sweat things you cannot control. Sleep had brought a sense of clarity in that taking the situation at face value, Fred had exhibited a degree of control over Deb he found disturbing. It had somehow begun earlier in the day, either at the Node or in the pickup, and had carried over into the study session in Deb's dorm.
He had seen her in full-on seductress mode last night, something he had fantasized about but thought would never happen. Fred had not known those were probably not her true feelings. Disturbingly, he then reinforced that attraction against her will. When she hugged him last night after returning his cell he recalled both the relief, and the thrill of knowing he had gotten away with it. Fred resolved he would go easier in the future with Deb. He was fumbling in the dark; terrified he might break something in Deb that could not be fixed.
Fred had intended to use the stairs but noticed maintenance had it blocked off. He would have to use the elevator instead. Fred needed to get in better shape and to that end he'd resolved to forego using elevators unless absolutely necessary. The resolution had worked. He hadn't lost a lot of weight, but he knew he'd put on some tone, and he felt as good as he ever had. Fred mused that the last time he had taken an elevator was the first week of the first semester. Minutes later, the gathering of students packed themselves inside awkwardly, Fred among them. It was equal parts stuffy and claustrophobic; especially when the elevator stalled between floors.
"I bet you're all wondering why I brought you here today." Fred muttered under his breath.
Moments passed. Everyone was on their cell, texting or calling someone. Fred was looking at his cell for the 155th time when he heard a running conversation:
"Man, I hope we don't have to wait here long." A man's voice spoke.
"I'm totally going to be late to class." Spoke another.
"At least someone is wearing nice cologne." Chuckled a woman. There was a murmur of nervous laughter.
"I don't think that's cologne, I think it's soap."
Fred glanced at the woman standing next to him and almost did a double take.
She was in his Lit class. Striking blue eyes, normally bright and intelligent, were instead glassy and unfocused. The plain-faced young woman wore a peach head scarf that mostly obscured light blond hair. From what little Fred knew of her she seemed both unassuming and demure. Here in the elevator she was nearly catatonic. Fred's eyes narrowed, on the hunt for more people in a similar state; he perceived several.
"I don't smell anything." announced another man. A group discussion on what the smell was ensued. Fred felt a fart joke coming on like a sneeze but somehow manage to tamp it back into his reptile brain. He sidestepped his inside voices and went into eavesdrop mode. Inquiring minds wanted to know.
Group consensus varied; most said vanilla, followed by cinnamon, while another said peppermint coffee. A guy from Fred's Lit class thought he smelled fresh donuts, which brought sprinkles of laughter.
Peach head scarf came out of her haze long enough to side with the vanilla vote. She wore a modest black and rust colored dress with a floral pattern. Her cheeks were flushed, and she began to get fidgety. Several aromatic notes were alive and well inside the momentarily stranded elevator, but one began to rise to prominence. He recalled a similar fragrance yesterday, both in his truck and later in Deb's boudoir. It was a musky scent Fred found captivating. Judging by its growing intensity, he suspected several women were giving off this odor. Fred's eyes widened with the realization it was feminine arousal. They were turned on. He had the sudden urge to blurt out "It was me!" like a madman and barely held himself in check. Not everyone seemed to be affected, however. Suddenly, the elevator sprang back to life.
During class, Fred made a point of sitting behind peach head scarf, who turned out to be someone named Lara. He discovered her name because Professor Muniz quizzed her during class. Professor Alexandra Muniz was in her element, showing her students critical thinking, analysis and inquiry, as well as other social skillsets. Fred had learned a few communication skills in her class and was sad his time was coming to an end. He intended on signing up for Communication class in the next school year because she taught it. Of course, it helped that she was pleasant to look at. Today she wore a lightweight navy-blue blazer over an off-white blouse with a pair snug fitting jeans. She wore an unremarkable pair of spectacles, behind which sat deep brown eyes capable of both an air of authority and a familiarity that made her easy to talk to. Her lustrous brown hair was in a tight bun today. Fred guessed she was in her mid-thirties.
As class continued, he noticed his proximity to Lara begin to influence her. At first, she squirmed for a bit, taking care to be subtle. Since Fred was looking, he caught the sight of Lara's right arm moving slowly but rhythmically in an attempt get off in class. Fred's nostrils flared in response to the fragrance of Lara's arousal. He thought it was hot as hell and began stiffening himself. As Lara's situation became more obvious, Professor Muniz noticed but seemed to do nothing. As she continued however, her eyes came back frequently to Lara's predicament. Fred sensed Lara's imminent orgasm and was glad he sat behind her because he could not look away. His own cock strained at his stonewashed jeans, but the threat of getting caught in class was not a risk he was willing to take. Fred was intent on what was taking place in front of him. His instructor discovered one of her students was checking her undercarriage and she was trying not to let on to the rest of the class that it was happening. Fred saw Lara's arm stop and she seemed to tremble all over. As she quaked, the professor and Fred made eye contact; silently acknowledging both knew what was transpiring. Fred's arm went up; he was called immediately.
"Fred, please add to the discourse." Her tone was slightly strained.
"Professor, I was wondering if narrative theory would work with therapy traditions."
The instructor walked down the aisle, coming to a stop next to Lara, whose arm had stopped in earnest. She had snuck her arm out of her dress. Both the Professor and Fred caught a glimpse of the glistening moisture on her fingers. The Instructor blushed somewhat but continued.
"Insightful question, Fred. Therapy as an endeavor can question commonly held views. Lara, can you give another example of narrative theory working with therapy traditions?" When Lara didn't answer straight away, the professor bent down, and spoke softly so few could hear. Fred took stock of his professor's fine ass and thought she probably worked hard to keep her body looking as good as it did.
"You should go to the bathroom and finish. See me after class." The instructor rose, continuing down the aisle, passing by Fred. As Lara eagerly headed to the door, Fred was trying as hard as possible to not intently paying attention to Professor Muniz's reaction. He saw her nostrils flare and a familiar glassiness in those dark brown eyes before she passed by out of his eyeshot.
"Can anyone else volunteer examples for Fred?" She continued to pace around the class while examples were given about material that Fred already knew. However, Fred noticed she would pass by his desk with added frequency. When she did, he could tell she inhaled deeply.
10 minutes later Lara came back into class, and Fred could tell she had been crying. He caught her eye and gave as good natured a grin as he could. She flashed him a weak grin of her own as fear, embarrassment and lust waged a battle written all over her face. Fred hoped the professor wouldn't be too harsh and then realized that he could influence that outcome.
