Chemical Imbalance

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1) This story involves themes of impaired decision making, dubiously-consensual sex, wifely infidelity, and pregnancy risk. It also contains broad, ill-informed caricatures of the Catholic Church. If these are likely to offend you, please choose a different story more to your taste.

2) This is a work of sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us--not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.

3) All characters are over the age of 18.

4) I appreciate positive comments and constructive feedback.

* * * * *

It was warm that morning--unseasonably warm for mid-October on the high plains. 'Indian Summer,' her dad would have called it. Lynn knew that the coming winter would be harsh, and she was eager to soak-in the sun while she could. She found a seat at one of the outdoor tables at the student-center café, and nursed her triple-shot latte slowly. The longer she made it last, she thought, the longer she could put off prepping her lecture...

The view across the quad was lovely. St. Cyril's lay right on the verge of the Rocky Mountains; and although it was situated in a desolate stretch of prairie, the campus itself had plenty of trees. These were resplendent now, clothed in gaudy garlands of yellow, rust, and gold. Sprinkled in and around them, the university's brick buildings cut a quaint picture (no expense being spared on the campus's faux-antique architecture). And looming behind it all, like a backdrop, stood the hazy blue stairsteps of the mountains, ponderous and grand, receding into a distance that lay beyond the reach of human sight.

Lynn's stare was vacant, however, and her thoughts were directed inward. It had been another rough morning at home. The twins didn't like their teacher, didn't like their school, didn't like their breakfast. Everyone was yelling, no one was dressed, no lunches had been made, no backpacks zipped up. Finally, shouting that she needed to go prep for class, Lynn had run out the door, leaving Andy holding the bag.

She shouldn't have done that. It would probably mean another argument when she got home this evening. Andy was well aware that her class didn't start until 10 am. Still, she told herself--it was his job to get the kids ready, not hers. After all, she was the one paying the bills.

No, Lynn reproached herself, that was petty. She and Andy were in this together.

Squinting off into space, she pursed her lips and pondered that idea. Were they together? Were things getting better? It had been touch-and-go when they came to St. Cyril's University of the Madonna four years ago. Andy had never wanted to move to such a remote bastion of Jesuit academia in the first place, and it had taken a lot of pressure on her part to get him to agree. After they'd arrived, he had wrestled mightily with feelings of resentment and bitterness, and she wasn't sure he'd ever fully banished them.

The place had its upsides, of course. They both liked the wholesome and spiritual environment at St. Cyril's (even if the insularity of the community could be cloying at times). And the pay and research-opportunities the university offered her were off the charts. But Andy had worked in corporate sales, and there weren't any suitable jobs for him on the prairie. Nor, in a place that privileged traditional family structures, was there much in the way of daycare. So, her husband had been stuck home for a couple of years, tending the toddlers and picking up occasional freelance gigs online, while she put her career into high gear.

Perhaps it would be better this year, though. Now that the twins were old enough to start kindergarten at the university's parish-school, Lynn had pulled strings to get Andy a part-time administrative job at St. Cyril's. Would that give him more of a sense of purpose? She hoped so...

While she mused, Lynn's absent-minded gaze followed the progress of a man striding briskly across the quad. His pace, posture, and height set him apart from the clumps of students scattered here and there. Abruptly, the man's ice-blue eyes turned her direction. Smiling broadly, he gave a cheery wave. Half-instinctively, Lynn responded, grinning weakly, and raising her hand with a hesitant gesture.

Almost immediately, she glanced down at her lap, blushing. Why had she done that? The man was her colleague in the Biochemistry Department, Daniel Simmonds. She wasn't sure he'd been signaling to her at all--he might have been addressing someone else sitting outside the café. She'd probably just made a fool of herself.

But that wasn't why she was blushing. She was blushing because even if Dan had been waving to her, she really ought not to have been waving back.

* * * * *

When Lynn had arrived on campus, people had warned her away from Daniel Simmonds in hushed tones. No one seemed to have any hard information, but rumors were plentiful. The consensus seemed to be that he had left St. Bonaventure College over some scandal involving a female student. The church had helped cover it up, and found a spot for him at St. Cyril's. Most of the faculty kept a wide berth around Dan, especially the small handful of women professors.

To Lynn, this had all seemed a bit overwrought--demonizing toward him, patronizing toward her. Surely the church wouldn't have let him continue molding impressionable undergrads if he'd done anything truly reprehensible. Professionally-speaking, she and Dan represented the future, in a department staffed by fossils. And, privately, she also felt a little sorry for the man in his social isolation. So, she had reached out to him, as both friend and colleague.

For a while it had been nice. They'd co-written an article, shared notes, traded war stories. They'd spent hours commiserating over department politics, and bemoaning the wearying life of a professor chasing tenure. Then, gradually, she'd begun to share some of the difficulties she was struggling with at home too. Dan was single and childless, so she never expected that he would relate, exactly. But it had been a relief to have anyone to talk to about it at all.

That is, until last spring, when he screwed it all up. It happened at the end of March. Lynn and Dan had been working in a sheltered corner of the lab that day, but she'd had trouble concentrating. Dan had been solicitous and attentive, and soon she found herself pouring her heart out to him--eager for some human understanding and validation after another brutal shouting match with Andy.

And then... out of the blue, Simmonds had leaned across the table and kissed her: passionately, recklessly. It had been a rude shock for Lynn. He was a good-looking man, so the overture wasn't unwelcome in that sense. But--she simply didn't think of Dan that way. Or (to be more accurate), she couldn't think of him that way. She was a married woman, forever bound to someone else. Dan could never be anything more than a co-worker, friend, and confidante. For him to even attempt to blur such a sacred boundary line? It went against everything she believed in.

Lynn's reaction had been conditioned by a lifetime of Sunday-school morality tales. Reflexively, she had flinched, pulled back, jumped indignantly to her feet. Then, for a long, awkward moment, she had remained poised there, tongue-tied and red-faced; before finally fleeing the room in a state of flustered agitation. Afterwards, she wished she'd been able to find the words to rebuke the man. But she comforted herself that at least she had done what was needed to protect her own virtue.

Ever since, Lynn had avoided Dan when she could, and treated him with cold formality when school business forced them together. He had pulled her aside after a faculty meeting once to ask her forgiveness--his remorseful words pitched low enough that mingling colleagues wouldn't overhear. He appeared contrite; yet, she felt sure she detected a hint of the sardonic lurking beneath the surface. In the end, although she hadn't felt capable of granting him absolution for his sin, she'd opted not to spurn his apology either. She had hoped that would be enough to allow both of them to move on...

Apparently, though, she hadn't moved on--because here it was, months later, and the bastard had just made her relive the entire thing with a simple wave of his hand. And the irony of it was, he might not even have been waving to her in the first place! The whole situation was just so confusing and frustrating. She had needed his friendship, and he'd ruined it. Why had he chosen to mess things up between them? Why were so many men like that? And why did the church and the university tolerate them?

She shook her head to try to clear it. Her coffee was cold. A cloud had moved over the sun, creating a sudden chill. And, she was late for class. Dumping her half-empty cup into the trash, she hurried off toward the lecture hall.

* * * * *

Lynn cued up her slides and organized her papers at the lectern. She was teaching BIOCHM-101 this semester. All the faculty took it in turns, and this year her number had come up. It wasn't something she looked forward to, exactly, but it was part of the job, and she took it seriously.

The bell sounded, and the stragglers settled into their chairs. She was about to launch into her lecture, when the door at the back of the hall creaked, and a tall figure crept inside, grabbing a seat in the last row.

Instantly, Lynn's face reddened and she entirely lost her train of thought. What's Dan doing here?! she wondered. Then... Oh hell! She'd forgotten--he was slated to evaluate her class this semester.

Perhaps it wasn't so much that she'd forgotten, as chosen not to remember it. Peer teaching reviews played an important role in tenure and funding decisions at St. Cyril's. The assignments were handed out by the provost every August, more or less at random. It had been uncomfortable for Lynn when she learned Dan had been picked to assess her class this semester; but there was nothing she could do about it. Bringing up his unprofessional behavior to the administration, so long after the fact, would be problematic for all concerned. Whatever might happen to Dan, the scandal would almost certainly blow back on her as well.

So, she had shoved the whole thing to the back of her brain and tried not to think about it. Her hope had been that Dan would skip the classroom observation, and write a glowing review, sight unseen. Now, however, it seemed that hope had been misplaced. And worse, he'd decided to drop in today, of all days. But (she wondered): when had he decided that? Was it before, or after, she had locked eyes with him on the quad...?

Dan slouched down in his seat and poised his pen over a pad of paper. Once more she met his gaze, and felt his piercing blue eyes bore into her. The man's dark hair was still mussed from the gentle autumn breeze outside, and it scattered down over his forehead in way that struck her as slightly roguish.

Glancing away, Lynn took a deep breath and struggled to collect her thoughts. Her face was hot. She turned to the screen and gazed at her powerpoint, trying to remember her outline for the lesson. Finally, she sighed and set to work--the dogged expression on her face belied by the fatalistic slump of her shoulders...

... Fifty minutes later, Lynn put the finishing touches on the worst lecture she'd given in years. She felt like a TA again, constantly losing her train of thought and mixing up her formulas. The motivated students were staring at her like deer caught in the headlights, confused and hopeless. The unmotivated students were openly snoring. Every time she had begun to develop a rhythm, Dan had shifted in his seat, or coughed slightly, and she'd glanced up to be reminded of his presence. And then she'd started flailing again...

Mercifully, the bell rang at last. "Uh, I know this is difficult material...," she called out as the students filed up the aisle. "We-um... We'll review it again next time to make sure you're all ready for the exam." It sounded lame even in her ears.

Lynn didn't dare look up as she clumsily collected her papers and laptop. By the time she was ready to go, Dan Simmonds was nowhere to be seen. That seemed a mercy anyway. She hurried out of the classroom, intending to dash down the hall, lock the door to her office, and inhale the bar of chocolate she had stashed in her desk for emergencies. But Dan was lurking outside the doorway, and grasped her elbow lightly as she passed.

"Solid lecture, Lynn," he said evenly, his gaze feeling just a little too intimate to her.

"Um...," she was flustered and didn't know what to say. "It, ah, wasn't my best, but... I guess the students got what they needed to from it."

"Exactly," he said, leaning toward her slightly, voice pitched warm. "It got the job done, and that's what matters most. But... well, as you say, it did have a few hitches, too. You know--here and there."

She didn't know how to respond to that. She wanted to flee--but that would definitely not convey the strength, competence, and moral superiority that she sought to project. In the end, she just started back at him, a slightly wild gleam visible in her eyes.

"Lynn," he sounded like a doctor trying to soft-pedal an ugly diagnosis, "here's the thing. We junior faculty need to stick together. And I want to give you the best evaluation I possibly can. So how about this--why don't you come by my office this afternoon? We can talk it over, and you can help correct any misapprehensions I may have."

"I-I don't think that's a good idea. Not at all. Not after..." Her voice quavered a little.

"Oh... I see. Yes, of course." His tone was empathetic. "I completely understand. My conduct last year was entirely inappropriate. What if we... ah, what if we meet in the common-area near my office? That's a public space, well trafficked. Would you be comfortable with that?"

"Uhhm..." She sought ineffectually for some reason she couldn't meet him there.

"Great. I would hate to write my evaluation without having a clear idea of your pedagogical goals. Shall we say 2pm?"

"Um, ok," she said weakly.

* * * * *

When she arrived, Daniel Simmonds was already seated at one of the small round tables in the lounge, paper and pen in front of him. The area was warm and inviting, and Lynn saw that Dan had taken off his navy blazer and draped it over one of the free chairs. She liked the way his stone-blue dress-shirt set off his eyes, and his slim khaki slacks accentuated his tall, athletic build.

As the man had promised, there were a few other people in the space as well: grad students and staff mostly. And every once in a while, someone dropped by to microwave a bag of popcorn or pour a cup of coffee. She had been silly to worry, it was a perfectly suitable place to meet.

Dan broke into a welcoming smile when he spotted her coming. His face did have a way of lighting up when he smiled, she thought to herself. Or, was it only when he smiled at her? She wished he wouldn't look at her that way. It made everything more confusing.

As she approached the table, Dan got to his feet. "Hi Lynn, glad you came! Hey, you wouldn't mind excusing me for a moment, would you? I just realized I forgot to take my meds. Allergies, you know? Without my Claritin, the ragweed'll knock me for a loop. Be right back!"

While he was gone, Lynn perched herself on the chair opposite his spot, crossing one leg demurely over the other beneath her calf-length skirt. Then she snapped open her compact and inspected herself in the small mirror. As a rule, she didn't go in much for makeup; but she teased her hair back into place and touched up the subdued coral lipstick she was wearing. It struck her that there might be something vaguely improper in this gesture, but she dismissed the thought. She was simply trying to look professional, right?

Dan returned, downing a pill and grabbing a swig from the water fountain before sitting. Figuring it was good to lay her cards on the table from the outset, Lynn leaned forward, speaking firmly, yet low enough that it wouldn't carry. "Before we get started, Dan, let me make one thing clear. I haven't reported you to the administration. But if you think you can use this evaluation to hit on me, or pressure me, or retaliate against me, then you'd better think twice. I'd rather leave what happened in the past. But if you force me to dredge it up, you'll get the worst of it."

Dan looked pained. "I'm really sorry you think that of me, Lynn... But, it is entirely my own fault. I can't ever apologize enough. All I want is to put it behind us too. In fact, I'm expecting to give you an outstanding evaluation. I just want to make sure we go about it properly. Professionally."

"Of course. So long as we understand each other."

"We do, Lynn. Perfectly.... Ok, so before we dive into this lecture in particular, maybe you could sketch out your philosophy for the course as a whole...?"

Today's clunker notwithstanding, Lynn was a great educator, as well as researcher. Not only could she talk fluently about pedagogical concepts, goals, and methodologies, but she enjoyed it, and it showed. And as for Dan, despite his human failings, he was just as serious about their craft as she was. As a result, he made an admirable sounding-board--listening carefully, taking notes, praising her insights, and posing intelligent questions.

Ranging freely across this comfortable conversational terrain, Lynn started to feel more at ease. Her eyes glinted, her face became animated, and her self-consciousness receded. Also, she began to remember why she had once prized her friendly chats with Dan so highly. He hadn't just been an emotional crutch, though that had been part of it. He'd also been capable of relating to parts of her--scholarly parts, intellectual parts--that Andy could never quite grasp.

Had she (she asked herself as she prattled on), perhaps, been a bit too hard with Dan? Haven't we all gotten a little carried away by our passions, at one time or another...?

At length, hitting a break in the discussion, she stopped to catch her breath. Dan filled the gap with an encouraging smile. "You know, I'm on tap to teach 101 next year--and at this point, with your permission of course, I feel like I want to steal about half your teaching-plan! However, I would like to dig further into your reasons for using Voet as the text. Don't you think students tend to find it overwhelming? Compared to, say, Lehninger, for example?"

Grateful for a softball question, Lynn began expounding on the major textbooks in the field. She could debate their pros and cons in her sleep. That almost seemed like what she was doing, in fact--for, even as she talked, she noticed that her mind was wandering freely, in a way that was quite uncharacteristic. Despite her best efforts, her brain kept filling with hazy, wistful, half-formed musings; and these musings kept circling back to one topic in particular: Dan. She continued to remark on how much she admired his mind, and appreciated his collegial ear. But her meditations gradually expanded to encompass some of his other qualities, too--qualities less calculable, and perhaps less admissible. His energy. His decisiveness. The, um, exquisite line of his jaw...

What if they had met, she wondered, before she married Andy?

No, she told herself, that wasn't it, exactly. The thing was, she wished she could have the best of both men. She loved Andy's moral compass, his loyalty, his solidity. But, if only he could have Dan's intellect too. And Dan's air of ironic detachment. And Dan's... well, Dan'sspark.