Well if you are reading this, there's a good chance you've read the other parts to the story of the baby-sitter diaries. If you haven't, I will confess that I had sex with my best friend's daughter and I still feel guilty about it, even though my wife knows and she actually had a small part in my encounter. This encounter took place five years ago, it lasted less than 48 hours and since then hasn't been repeated. At least not by me. My wife Patty and our baby-sitter Rebecca became pretty close.
So close that I suspect that they have had an affair going off and on since then. Patty and I have had better sex in the last five years than we did since our boys were born. I thought I was a pretty cool guy, liberal in my approach to life and sex. But I found that I am quite content to have sex a couple times a week with my wife of twenty-five years who has come to be as adventurous as she once was straight-laced. Sure in the past five years, Rebecca and I have seen a lot of each other. She has been in my classes, she has still baby-sat occasionally, we play golf together several times a year, and our two families get together almost every weekend. It's just that Rebecca and I haven't had sex since that first weekend. And there are times that I wonder 'What if?'
"Professor Daniels, I have a couple of questions, if you don't mind?" a coed voice broke me from my latest drift into R-rated sexual misadventures of an imaginary kind.
"Certainly," I responded, putting down an exam I wasn't really reading anyway. "What can I help you with?"
"I was wondering if you could explain...." her questions were mundane and ordinary. She had post examination anxieties and was pumping for information on her test. I answered all of her questions sincerely and with what I hope was accurate information, because, quite frankly, a voice from the hallway had diverted my attention and sent three-fourths of my brain into some kind of flashback haze. It was Rebecca's voice and she was laughing. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the young woman in my office, I couldn't get the thought of the baby-sitter out of my mind. Finally I resorted to standing up suddenly and throwing the window open.
"It's very stuffy in here," I said, interrupting the young coed's next in a series of questions that weren't phrased well nor likely to demonstrate her intelligence. "The spring air is so crisp this time of year. It's much to stuffy to be inside on a day like today. A lovely young woman such as yourself should be outside, enjoying your youth and not sitting inside some old codger professor's office trying to find out how well you did on your exam. You are a bright girl and I am sure you did your best." Okay, so I embellished the truth about her intelligence. What caught me by surprise was the way she was looking at me. Actually WHERE she was looking at me was even more surprising. Since I had stood up, and she had not, her eyes were directly even with my crotch and I was suddenly aware that I had perked up at the sound of Rebecca's laugh and hadn't noticed. I wasn't raised to full embarrassment stage yet, just the swelling that strains against my brown corduroy pants, giving my cock a nice outline.
But catching her staring caught me by surprise. It also caught my cock by surprise which responded to the attention the way a proper cock should, it swelled up a bit more and attempted to raise itself to a better position, perhaps to wink at the young lass. When my cock stirred, I actually saw the coed's head move back and her mouth open slightly, as if in shock. I sat back down, returning my eye's to their proper place in front of hers, and shifting my legs back under my desk, thumping my cock on the drawer for it's insolence. I looked her in the eye, daring her to admit she saw my cock, perfectly satisfied that she would snap out of it at any moment and return back to reality.
"That's just it, Professor Daniels. I am not really as bright as all that. I struggle a great deal with all of my courses. Spring Break is coming up, and my father has promised me a trip to Cancun if I can raise my grades to a B average by midterms. I study SO hard for this exam, if I didn't do well, I won't be able to go to Mexico. Please, please, PLEASE would you look at my exam and tell me if there is any extra assignments I could do to make it into a B?" For the first time, I gave her a good look. I suppose that was really her problem, no one ever took the time to give her a good look. She wasn't unattractive, just a little plain. She wore a plain white blouse a little too large for her frame, a pair of plain blue jeans, a little to out of style to be fashionable, plain old sandals, and had her straight brown hair in simple barrettes on the sides of her head and her hair barely reached her shoulders. She wore very little make-up, if any, and no perfume. She had just a few freckles on her otherwise clean white face and her hands were clutched her notebooks to her chest, as if she were preparing to ward off a blow. She wore the uniform of the unconfident woman. There was something about the sincerity in those hazel-green eyes that touched my crusty professor's heart.
"Let's take a look." I dug through the pile of exams until I found hers. Until I saw her name 'Dawn Maschmann' I couldn't remember it. But that's not hardly out of character for me. I tend to remember the names of only the brightest and the least of my students, either description did not fit her. I scanned the content of her first several answers. Though they demonstrated some mastery of the subject matter, they were hardly complete answers.
"I see you recall most of what we discussed in class and most of what was in the assigned readings, but none of your answers are really what I grade as 'above average'," I told her honestly. Selecting the fifth question, I rephrased it and asked it of her again. "Describe to me how a free-market economy in Cuba might effect the surrounding Caribbean Islands." The exam question didn't deal with either Cuba or the Caribbean, but I was looking for a list of market factors, economic impact zones, and interactions with domestic and foreign goods and markets. Her oral answer was much better than her written answer.
"That's correct. In fact, that's excellent. Why didn't you write that answer on your examination?"
"It's just that I am never sure what to say or how to say it."
"You did very well just now. I suggest that you set aside your fear of being wrong, and allow yourself to be right."
She nodded. I wasn't sure if she got it or not.
"I will grade your examination tonight. Come and see me during office hours in the morning from 8 am til 10 am. If your exam is under a B, I will allow you to retake it under the following provisions: You may not 'cram' tonight. It won't help in the long run. You will surrender one full letter grade from your mark for taking a makeup exam." I held up a finger to silence her protest. "Losing a letter grade is the standard for this situation. You will have to do A quality work in order to get a B." She nodded. I waited. I looked her right in the eye and gave her the finally provision. "And you MUST answer each question as thoughtfully and thoroughly as the answer you gave about free markets in Cuba. Do you agree?" She thought for a moment and then answered.
