Academia Ch. 01

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All characters are 21 years or older.

A young woman encounters a young man at an academic conference and winds up spending a magical week in Paris that will transform their life forever. This is the beginning of a series that includes exhibitionism and voyeurism, group sex, and hopefully a good dose of erotic magical realism.

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I am generally quite shy, but I have had my adventurous bouts over the past few years when I was partnered and felt safe. Over the years, I've found out that I have a little bit of an exhibitionist streak with my ex-girlfriends, be it mutual masturbation on the plane or fucking our way through Californian beaches when I was a student. We were never explicitly caught, but definitely shocked some bystanders. All these past exploits were with girls, and I've never done anything like that with a guy. I found most men unattractive, and the few ones I did like, I didn't feel fully comfortable taking it to that level. This business trip to France would soon change that.

My job as a senior researcher is mostly remote. I base myself out of New York but occasionally travel to the British university that hired me soon after I obtained my Ph.D. Part of my job involves traveling worldwide to other institutions to collaborate on research or present our findings. The deep time commitment an academic career requires made my few relationships sour. Even though I think I'm somewhat pretty - I have dark auburn hair, light gray eyes, and a semi-athletic shape, about average height and 120 pounds with around a 32D-26-34 figure. Despite this, I've been on a dry spell for nearly a year now.

I've flown around the US and UK several times, but this is my first trip to a foreign conference.

The conference is held on the outskirts of Paris, lasting 5 days with a roundup of two dozen speakers and 200 attendees. My uni booked a hotel through Sunday for me and Claire, a colleague from a different department, that's just a brisk walk from the conference venue. This is my first meeting with her in person.

I examined Claire when we met in the hotel lobby. In her ballet flats, she stood barely taller than 5 feet. Dark long hair ran nearly to her elbow. From the few video calls I've been on with her, I had conjectured that she was much taller. She is slim and didn't have much of a curve, unlike me. When we met she wore a long black sweater buttoned at the front, cut in very low V towards her breasts, and a windowpane grey skirt when we first met on Monday evening. It fitted her well and made her look very sexy. She looked even better in real life than on camera. We had dinner at the hotel and talked about work and the conference. She was particularly excited about the formal reception on Friday. The whole night I couldn't stop checking her out. During the first few days, I often wondered what it was like to peek beneath those clothes.

My responsibilities span only a few hours in total through the week. Typical of academic meetings like these, I spent a lot of spare time exchanging ideas with fellow scholars from around the world, sometimes with a few bottles of wine. Good thing that the conference venue is surrounded by restaurants and parks, so finding spaces to talk shop for hours with good food and even better drinks was no issue.

Wednesday was my busiest day. I had to start my work early in the morning and would not conclude all the necessary businesses until 3 in the afternoon, including speaking on a panel and leading two workshops. Surviving only on caffeine, I stumbled out to the nearby main avenue to hunt for some food. As hungry as I was, I had no appetite for anything I encountered in the first block when I noticed Claire waving at me from a bistro by the side street, signaling me to join them. The pastries and mini-sandwiches on the table further convinced me.

There were four others at the table. I recognized three of them from the conference. Gillian and Antoine are two local conference organizers. Kaitlin is a young professor from a Lebanese university who was my panel's moderator, but I did not know her well. The last guy, however, was an unfamiliar face. He was handsome with medium skin and an aquiline nose, wearing a crisp collarless shirt rolled up in the arms and ironed navy trousers. I never knew I had a "type," but if there was to be one, Marcus would be a prime example. He was quite a specimen.

I casually said hi to Gilly and Antoine when Gilly introduced the others.

"Hey Lyra, I'm sure you know Kait already."

I gave Kait a polite, amicable smile from across the table. Then she pointed at the beautiful stranger to my immediate right.

"This is Marcus," Claire said as the man reached his hand out and firmly but gently shook mine. He gave me a subtle smile. "Marcus is another student doing research in my department. He's from New York too!"

"Hey, nice to meet you, Lyra. Loved your keynote yesterday. I found the materialist reinterpretation of 19th-century social movements fascinating."

"Well, thank you," he has a soft bass voice, a near-perfect American accent. "I just joined this project a couple of months ago."

"Still, very impressive.".

The six of us chatted for a whole afternoon. As accomplished social scientists in our field, the conversation was somewhat technical but flowed naturally. We also shared stories about our previous conference experiences.

During the afternoon of talk, I found myself staring at Marcus and Claire from time to time. Marcus was the least talkative of the bunch, although still contributing to the conversation. I learned that he's a grad student from a well-known liberal arts college in NY on exchange status in Paris for the semester. The more I looked at him, the more I found him a pretty sexy and mysterious man. With three buttons confidently undone on his shirt, he radiants a stoic masculinity. Being single and barely dated for over a year, the view quietly lit a fire inside me. The few times he stood up and walked to use the restroom or take a phone call, I examined his full stature.

Marcus is not very tall, probably just shy of average. He is lean but by no means skinny, sported a clean undercut hairstyle for his black hair, and had light stubbles on his chin. His shirt is impeccably tucked, but what attracted my eyes the most was his lower body. From the slim navy pants, I can make out his round, tight buttocks supported by muscular legs.

Claire, in contrast, was a ray of sunshine. She is a few years younger, and this is her first time attending a conference of this scale. We could all see the excitement in her eyes when she told her encounters in the past two days. Her attention span is short; her curious energy is contagious. We all ordered more coffee to keep up.

Marcus took an interest in me too. I can see him examining my outfit and body, sometimes lingering at my chest and hips through my peripheral vision. Occasionally, our eyes would meet, but one of us would awkwardly look away immediately.

We dismissed several hours later as the comforting sun started to fade. In spring, temperatures in Europe can change dramatically between night and day. Since we are not on the main avenue, buildings blocked out the Sun even earlier. A faint but chilling breeze swept through our street. It's getting cold.

I did not anticipate being out this long past my day, so I only wore a beige short sleeve cotton sweater and dark brown slacks. My sweater cuts off right at the waistline, professional, but does show a little skin when I am sitting down. I thought I had the opportunity to grab a jacket in my hotel room after a morning of work. Thankfully we were getting ready to leave.

Gilly and Antoine bailed first. They gave us each two pecks on the cheek as they departed. Oh, how French of them. When we finished tossing our pens and papers into our bags, another breeze shot through. I got shivered and hugged myself.

"You want a jacket?" Marcus asked, noticing me. He held his matching blazer in hand and offered it to me.

"I think I'm ok, thank you." I found myself staring at his chest before I moved up my gaze to meet his eyes.

"Please, it's no big deal."

"Hey guys, I think we're going to dash now," Kait interrupted. "Claire and I need to prepare for the next panel tomorrow."

"Of course, I'll see you tomorrow," Marcus said and gave kissed them goodbye on the cheeks. I tried not to stare at his lips before I did the same with Claire and Kait. We looked at them as they walked away when Claire turned around, not 2 seconds later.

"Oh, Marcus, can you walk Lyra to our hotel? It's not far from you, and I don't want her to walk alone in the dark," Claire suggested.

"No, it's really ok! I can walk by myself," I quickly replied, affirming my independence.

"Get her home," Claire spoke with a prescribing tone. She gave me a wink before finally turning away and back towards the avenue. Did she notice something?

"Oh, you're close by," Marcus said matter-of-factly, "Where are you staying?"

"In Crimée."

"Nice. My flat is just across the canal, so you're on my way. I can walk you to your place if you don't mind." Marcus raised his hands and offer his jacket again. Another cold breeze blew threw.

"Sure," I conceded. He lifted and opened up his blazer before I even tried to reach for it. I looked away and blushed as I felt the light touch of his hands on my shoulder as he rested his jacket on me. Since he stood very close to me, I could almost feel his breath on my back. My nose picked up a pleasant perfume.

It is not like me to let any strange man walk me to my place. But I figured he's a known colleague, and it's just a hotel, so I have nothing to worry about. Plus, having a fellow New Yorker escort you in the early evenings in an unfamiliar city is nice to have.

We talked more as we made our way to my hotel. I can feel Marcus's guard dropping as he opened up more about himself and his past. Marcus thought I was a least a few years older because I had a doctorate, but turns out he's just two days older than me. He looked much more mature than 25 as well. I probed about his background since I couldn't pinpoint it from his looks and accent. He grew up abroad before settling in New York for college, moving from country to country with his Singaporean father before he retired and settled in his mother's hometown in DC, where he grew up.

I told him about my upbringing in upstate New York and how I ended up working for a UK institution from the US. We only lived a few stops apart back home too, and he frequented a lot of the same restaurants, galleries, and bars as me. We joked about the coincidence of having never met until today, especially since we do very similar research.

As we threaded down the avenue our bodies grew closer and closer. He walked with his hands tied behind his back, perhaps not knowing where to place as we were walking so closely with me ever so slightly in front. I can sense his gaze on me as we walked and talked. The warm street lamps masked some of the shy redness on my face.

Seine-Saint-Denis isn't as dense as Paris proper, and there weren't a lot of people on the street on a weekday evening. The only folks we passed through were commuters heading home, but I did notice a young couple kissing passionately in a dark alley when we were waiting to cross a street. They didn't look much younger than us. The girl was pressed to the wall, and a guy was in the process of leaving marks on her neck. Her eyes were closed as she held him with a hand buried in his hair.

The talking made the walk to my hotel feel even shorter. In no time, we were already approaching the lobby. I slid his blazer off my shoulders.

"Thank you," I returned the jacket to him. He quickly slid it on, but I noticed the little goosebumps on his arms. I found the chivalry cute. "It's nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you as well! Wished we'd met earlier."

I smirked, "Me too!"

"Well, I'll catch up again tomorrow. Maybe get a drink before you leave the city?"

An offer that I'd thought would never come.

"I'm down. I leave Sunday morning and have no plans for most nights. Are you free tomorrow?"

Maybe I was a little bit direct, but what the hell. Marcus looked taken surprised, but then his eyes opened wide.

"That works! Maybe we can meet here and then head into the city center together?"

"Ok!" I replied enthusiastically. I reached out to kiss him on the cheeks to say goodbye. Despite the fairly normal greetings - I've kissed plenty of people on the cheeks in the past few days - I couldn't help but notice that these two kisses were dangerously close to his lips.

"Goodnight, Lyra."

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I jumped into my bed as soon as I entered the door and dropped my stuff, and shook off my boots. Face down, I loosened up my trousers and reached down for my panties. It was already getting moist, and the lack of sexual tinglings for a long time meant that there was a lot of stress to be relieved.

I started rubbing my clitoris and got wetter and wetter fast. As I massaged myself between my legs, my imagination quickly shifted to the image and scent of Marcus. I pulled my trousers and panties down further and drew circles around my swollen lips, my ass tilted up from the bed. I slowly pushed a finger in and out of my pussy, hooking it down to get a better feel of my G spot. Then two, then three fingers. My body was on fire. I was imagining his strong chest pressed down on me as we made love. I could smell his scent on my body.

I wished I talked to him more this afternoon, I wish I kissed him on his lips instead of his cheeks. I wanted to explore him, undress him, and find out his secrets. I got lost in the ecstasy between my mind, my fingers, and my muted moans.

It did not take long for me to orgasm, after which my libido gradually faded as I caught my breath. I told myself that Marcus is just another nice guy, and I would be a fool to think that he would have any interest in such a nerd like me.

Obviously, that didn't work. I could hardly sleep and touched myself a few more times before exhaustion put me to bed.

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The next morning came by and away unusually fast. I could hardly focus and had little interest in all the workshops and panels I attended. I didn't see Marcus anywhere. I was having lunch with Claire when she tried to prod me about what happened between me and Marcus after they left. I told her the truth but left out the part where he asked me to hang out downtown tonight. We quickly moved on to other topics.

At 2 pm, there was a documentary screening on the May 1968 protests in France. My lunch with Claire went long, so I got to the auditorium a few minutes late through the back door. I looked out for signs of Marcus but saw no signs of him. I slipped into the auditorium from the back entrance and sat in the first opening among the packed audience. Thankfully the film has not started yet, and a few people were even later than me.

I surveyed the audience, and lo and behold: Marcus was sitting a few rows in front on the left.

He wore a light grey knitted polo and olive trousers. The fitted sleeves of the knitwear accentuated his strong biceps. He was sitting and chatting with two women on his left in French. A light sense of jealousy rose. Maybe I've really over-fantasized about this drink tonight. I made myself busy until the lights were beginning to dim. As I looked up I noticed that Marcus has broken off the chatter and was instead on his phone. From the fading lights and the glaring screen, I could make out that he was scrolling through Instagram. Not just anyone's Instagram, because I instantly recognized that that was my profile!

There really isn't anything special on there. It's private, but even so, my account is just filled with landscapes and the occasional group photos. He definitely had a good stare at my profile picture before the dimming lights stashed his phone away. Any doubt about whether or not tonight could be a date disseminated.

Now I definitely didn't pay attention to the screening. The whole time my focus was on Marcus, who only focused on the film and even tried to take some notes in the dark. I guess he's just as nerdy as I am.

The film lasted for no more than an hour, after which there was a panel with the filmmakers. I sneaked out and went straight back to the hotel before the panel came on, not wanting Marcus to notice me.

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Between getting ready, I masturbated again to kill time and fill my fantasies. After showering I dried my hair and arranged a half updo with some light curls. I put on a matching pair of black balconette and panties, the only matching ones I brought on this trip. I wore a corduroy skirt cut a few inches above my knee and an olive turtleneck sleeveless top. I've always liked how this skirt hugged my body and showed my legs nicely. A thin gold neckless dangled in front of my top along with some nice gold earrings. Before I knew it, the clock was fast approaching when we were to meet in the lobby. I threw on an oversized chore blazer and my boots before heading out the door.

Marcus arrived precisely on time, so precisely I wonder if he was already camping in a nearby cafe. He was wearing the same thing as earlier, but seeing him from the front the outfit looked truly sexy.

We said hi and kissed on the cheeks again, unfortunately. "You look nice, I like the jacket," Marcus commented.

"Thanks, I like your fit too," I sheepishly replied, "and you smell nice." I could sense it was a different cologne.

I have no idea where those courageous words came from. He blushed and returned a thank you. I decided to be even bolder and held his arms when we headed out of the lobby. He curled his forearm and took in my hand without mentioning a word. Unlike most guys, he didn't flex.

Throughout the early evenings, my hand hardly let go of his arm as we walked from Bastille toward the Seine. We talked about home, career, philosophy, and even politics. Marcus and I hit off instantly. He minced his words thoughtfully and was also curious about my views. Although my story here has a different focus, I can assure you that our emotional connections were growing every bit as strong. And over time, I went from politely holding his arm to grabbing it with both hands, occasionally leaning my head into his shoulders.

It was probably two hours into our date, and we'd been sipping a bottle of wine and munching on a warm baguette by the riverbank for a while. It was our second bottle, and I was already somewhat buzzed. Our legs dangling above the water. At this point, his firm hand was politely glued to my lower back. Thursday nights by the Seine were peaceful yet still lively. Some tourists were departing a boat that just docked near us and headed up to the street, and the boatswain got ready for his next crowd. There was just a handful of people in line for a boat that can easily accommodate a crowd.

"Hey, you wanna check that out?" Marcus asked and pointed at the boat, breaking off our little fight on which subway station in NYC was the worst. It was obviously the 456 at Union, but he argued it was Times Square.

I hesitated.

"Have you been on one of these before?" I asked.

"No, but it looks fun. Come on, let's try it."

"Alright, why not."

He got out and reached a hand out to help me up. Even though I've held his arm, this is the first time that I've touched his hand. I intentionally weighed on it a little when standing up, pulling him slightly forward.