Chapter 3: Insurance
Lauren did her best to seem attentive, but it was hard to do in Professor Howard's intro to economics class.
The 8 a.m. course was a bore, but it was necessary to get her degree. It was one of the last basic courses required for the counseling curriculum. Why economics, she did not know.
But there she was, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, regardless of where she had been or whom she'd done the night before. It wasn't that she spent a lot of late nights, but sometimes she and her husband James enjoyed the company of other couples. And those nights were always long.
And even though James had been out of town for a few days, Lauren had not been getting the sleep she needed. He was away at the Southern Literature conference in New Orleans, and she would have given anything to be in "The Big Easy" with him.
He had called her drunkenly one night, talking about going to the French Quarter and "earning" some beads by showing off his cock. She was jealous, not that he had done something like that, but that she wasn't there with him doing the same.
"Next time, I'm going with you and we're going to need an extra suitcase to bring back all the beads I 'earn,'" she had told him before the call developed into long distance phone sex.
Lying in bed that night and a few nights afterward, thinking about his cock buried deep in her, she couldn't sleep until she pulled out her bag of tricks and fucked herself to two or three orgasms - usually getting to sleep at 2 or 3 a.m.
But nights of pleasure made for mornings of torture, listening to Professor Howard's monotonous speeches about the Adam Smith's invisible hand, or supply-side theory. It was all that she could do to keep her eyes open and her head up at the back of the class.
She had, in fact, nodded off more than a time or two - and Professor Howard had noticed.
"Ms. Harris," he would drone, "this is not the Super 8 motel. If you insist on sleeping while you should be learning, then I suggest you do it in someone else's class."
Lauren had been subjected to that treatment more than a few times. So it was not surprise that when she dozed off again, Professor Howard stood next to her, yelling "Bbbbbrrrriiiinnnnggg!!! Wake up sleepyhead!!! It's time for school!!!"
When Lauren was on her way out of class, the professor asked her to come to his office at noon.
"We need to talk about your performance in class," he said, giving her his most disapproving look.
Lauren was uneasy about the meeting. She had held onto a solid C in the class by studying her ass off. But this guy could sink her at any time and she knew it. She was going to have to charm him if she wanted to get through this last leg of school.
* * *
As noon rolled around, Kevin Howard reclined in his wooden desk chair, his ponderous gut pointing skyward, making the vertical stripes on his shirt curve in a kind of spherical distortion around his belly.
He'd argued with his ex-wife, Kelly, that he wasn't really fat. He had just developed a little pudge over his belt line. It should be rubbed and wished upon, like the Buddha belly it was.
She hadn't been won over with that argument. Nor had she been won over buy the constant attention and affection he'd paid her when he wasn't at school and she wasn't at the gym.
She'd left him four months ago, taking up with her aerobics instructor. The two had an apartment downtown.
"Chris is just better for me," she'd told him. "Chris is young and vibrant, and I need that right now."
And over the months since, Kevin's grief and pain had faded, only to be replaced by ... horniness.
That was the only way to describe it. Things hadn't been well between him and Kelly for a while, but he held out hope that things would get better, returning to the regular sex life they'd enjoyed before they got married.
Those were good times, experimental times, when the two of them had explored each other's bodies with abandon. Now, he was the only one concerned about his body and he had explored it in full.
But, if everything went according to plan, he'd soon have a new Lewis to his Clark - even if she had to be convinced to do it.
Lauren wasn't the best student, but she had a body that wouldn't quit. Usually hidden under the workout clothes she wore to class, he could tell she was firm and muscular. And the t-shirts she wore to class betrayed her double-D breasts, which strained beneath the sports bra she wore.
The thought made a slight bulge in his trousers.
He'd spent many a period trying to make out the outline and sometimes the color of the bra as she struggled against his infamously hard tests to maintain her borderline C. She was going to make it if she tried, but Kevin wasn't going to let her know that.
* * *
Knocking on the door, Lauren was more apprehensive than ever. She knew she was going to have to sell him on how hard she would work to get her grades up. And, she figured, she would have to work some of her feminine wiles as well.
She had changed clothes to make the job easier. No longer in her workout clothes, she wore a khaki skirt and white blouse that was tight in all the right places. The buttons weren't about to pop or anything, but the guys at her work had always appreciated the view. And she could get them to do just about anything.
"Dr. Howard, are you here?" Lauren said, hoping the purposeful slip of the tongue might flatter the man before she had to beg for a good grade.
No dice.
"It's just professor, and yes, come in Ms. Harris," he said, sounding annoyed with her as ever. "Perhaps you'd know my title if you stayed awake during class."
"Well," Lauren said demurely, "you seem so knowledgeable. I figured I might have missed that part of your introduction. I'm sorry."
And then to kick up the pathos a notch, she frowned, flashed the puppy dog eyes and said "I just can't seem to get anything right with you. I just ... I just want to do well."
But instead of having engendering sympathy, Lauren thought she saw a grin cross the professor's lips, albeit only for an instant. Was he enjoying the power he lorded over her?
"Well, Ms. Harris," he said. "That is what I called you in here for. I am sure we can think of something to improve your performance in class."
She saw him shifted in his seat. He seemed a little uncomfortable too, but not emotionally, only physically.
"Now, you are a C student," he continued. "I can see you are trying. But you are not focused. You come to class late, fall asleep throughout, and rarely participate in class discussions."
"Quite frankly," he said, coming around the desk and standing only inches from her chair, "I don't see you succeeding in my class unless you focus on the matter at hand."
From this vantage point, Lauren could see what matter he wanted her to handle. It wasn't huge, but there was a bulge in the front of Professor Howard's slacks.
