Dicks Hang Out at a Faculty Party

(COLLEGE FACULTY PARTY: ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS)

I've been in Miami for almost eleven years. How did I get here? A head hunter poached me from an Ivy League college, promising me tenure and a salary bump. I was sick of the cold winters on the east coast, and living and working in Miami sounded like a good systemization.

My wife, Mary Kay, whom I call MK, liked the idea. With my new salary, she could become the full-time homemaker she wanted. Recently she's gotten into baking her own bread and growing mushrooms. The place smells like a French bakery.

A billionaire, Avro Bullier, whose father bought up huge tracts of swamp land in the 1950s, funds Bullier College. After draining the swamps, the family built numerous housing developments like Del Webb in California. Of course, if you dig down five feet at any of these sites, you'll hit salt water.

The employees here at Bullier College and the teaching staff are considered one big happy family. The school directors expect to achieve university accreditation within this decade. A Korean architect of great reputation, A.I. Ko, designed the campus. We have a building for each major discipline and an ultra-modern digital library with internet access to the greatest libraries in the world. We boast a carefully chosen conservative student body that represents the racial fabric of Southern Florida.

After signing my employment contract, I bought a small home on Okeechobee Road near the college. It was all I could afford, and the college guaranteed my mortgage plus a large cash offset. One of my colleagues, Matt Cavanaugh, who teaches philosophy, comes from a wealthy family of cattle ranchers. Matt recently

purchased a fancy townhouse a bit further away and closer to the water. Matt is sailboat affectionate.

Although he has invited me on numerous sailing trips, I have put him off. My last trip on a large fishing boat a few years ago got me as sick as hell. That surprised me; when I was a kid, I'd had plenty of trips on sailboats and cabin cruisers and was never seasick. Maybe the Korean fisherman on board who smoked nonstop and the diesel smell emanating from the old boat engine is what did me in.

Whatever the cause, I've become leery of boat trips. Recently, a charter boat caught fire, supposedly the result of recharging lithium batteries. While the guests slept, they passed through the pearly gates. Thirty-three people died because the fire blocked the passenger emergency exit route.

You can see why I wasn't too excited about joining Matt Cavenough and the guys on a boating day trip but planned to attend the first faculty meeting of the year, which would accomplish the same purpose. Matt Cavanaugh was the president of the college, and I was the head of the Anthropology/Sociology Department. When Matt sent me an invitation to a meet and greet in the Student Center Lounge, I could not refuse.

The student center is a huge building with a cafeteria, a music center, a movie theater, a stage that can double as a student auditorium for the acting school, a game center with ten brand new Brunswick pool tables in the right wing, and six bowling lanes in the west wing.

My wife, Mary Kay, was excited to attend this faculty party. I knew Bill Ritter, a long-time English Professor, would most definitely be in attendance. He would not miss the chance to flirt with Mary Kay. On more than one occasion, he'd said how much he loved talking to her, and I didn't quite trust him around her. Mary was not the most innocent of women, but she was a sucker for a sob story and easily manipulated. I knew Bill had a file cabinet full of the same.

"Come on," said Mary when I told her I was thinking of skipping the event, hoping that she might decide not to attend,

"You'll socialize and have a good time."

"I can say I had papers to grade."

"That's a lame excuse," said MK, "You don't want to offend Cavanaugh," adding,

"You're coming,"

"You could go by yourself," I suggested.

"I can't go alone. People will think there is something going on in our marriage, and rumors in a small college can get out of hand."

Knowing you can't argue with a wife, I showered and dressed casually in white linen pants and a colorful shirt with a swordfish jumping out of the water.

"You look very nice," said MK.

MK was wearing a short multi-colored pleated skirt, high red heels she'd bought at Neiman Marcus, and a purple blouse that strained to contain her large breasts.

"You look beautiful," I said, patting her on the ass as we left.

I was prepared for a boring Saturday night at President Cavenoughs' faculty party. A room had been reserved at the student center that opened out onto a grassy space behind the complex. I left the car with a vale, and we walked in. With her red high heels, MK was a little taller than me.

At first glance, It looked like a garden party. Food and drinks, catered by the Buccaneer Restaurant, were set up on a long table just inside the room. There were a few bottles of alcohol, an ice tub with beer, and some of the teaching staff had brought bottles of champagne. I put a bottle of domestic Chablis on the table, and we strolled out onto the grass.

It surprised me that it looked like the adult parties my parents used to throw when I was just a child. I'd walk into the throng holding my mother's hand, get introduced to all the adults, and then off to bed with a chocolate cookie. Tonight I wouldn't be able to get away as quickly. I knew most of the staff, but there were a number of young newcomers I did not know and some students doubling as waiters. I resolved to speak with as many faculty members as possible.

Before leaving, I had eaten a full dinner and fortified myself with a half bottle of French wine. I didn't know there would be so much food. Besides the drinks, there were mini sandwiches on buns, an entire sliced roast ham with a carving knife, and salads and tropical fruits in bowls. I filled a paper cup halfway with some fresh champagne; later, I saw people holding tall champagne glasses, which was a better solution, but since I'd already poured the champagne, I stayed with the plastic cup.

I seated myself outside with Mary Kay, who stopped to talk to Cynthia Foster, a stunning black woman who had joined the faculty just this year. I think she was a member of the economics department. When Cynthia dropped her champagne glass, and it did not break, I realized the glasses were plastic.

Several men had moved off to a corner of the grassy area and were lighting cigarettes. I walked over and introduced myself. I assumed the men were the husbands of the staff whom I had not met. It turned out they were all acting teachers from the drama department, concerned about an upcoming writer's strike in Hollywood.

"Those writers have a bankroll of millions and can hold out for a year if they want to." Said one fellow. His gray hair and unfamiliar face made me wonder if I'd ever seen him on the stage or in a film and, if ever, he would get famous.

I introduced myself,

"If I knew you guys were smokers, I'd have brought my cigar. I keep one in the car."

"I can go get it for you," offered one of the younger guys that I recognized as a grad student."

"Thanks, but the wife will give me a divorce if she smells the cigar smoke on me."

A good-looking, voluptuous tall woman, quite attractive, probably about thirty-five, was wearing a low-cut flower print dress that reminded me of a Pucci design. She wandered over to us and stopped next to me. I noticed she was revealing a good amount of cleavage when she surreptitiously pulled out a small marijuana pipe, small enough to hide in her hand, and lit it with a yellow plastic Bic lighter. She took a long deep drag and extended the pipe toward me, offering me the chance to puff.

I demurred, saying, "No thanks, I'm into heroin."

That got a good laugh.

When she walked away, I asked the grad student who she was. He said she was teaching the standard Intro Anthropology course that was required as a part of the curriculum.

"Oh yes," I recalled approving her application. As she distanced herself, the four of us watched, appraising her breasts and ass and nice legs but not saying a word. We got back to my comment on cigars.

"Best to indulge while you are single," I said.

Yeah, you got that right."

"When I was younger," I said, "we only got married if we wanted sex. Little did we know that when you marry, that's when the sex stops."

That statement instantly found approval from the older guys.

"That's for sure, " said the older teacher named Jimmy, divorced and supporting his ex and two kids on the not-so-generous salaries the school paid out. Being hired away from an Ivy League school, my salary, though secret, was substantial.

Harold chimed in," I never married, but I've got a daughter who's 11."

He pulled out his iPhone to show us her picture.

We all agreed what a pretty girl she was.

"What did that stunt cost you?"

"You don't want to know, but at least I get to see the kid."

We all nodded affirmatively.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see MK and Professor Bill Ritter off in a dark corner. He's the guy in charge of class schedules. Ritter was already monopolizing my wife, as he always does. He was one more reason why I abhor attending these faculty parties. I threw away the empty cup, and although I had no intention of eating anything, I went back inside the open room where the drinks and food were laid out. It was quite a generous spread. If I'd known how much food there was, I'd have skipped dinner, but I could still grab a plastic champagne glass and indulge.

That was when the 'looker' with the pipe came up behind me.

"So you're the new Intro teacher," I said.

"Yes, Alice Hammet."

"Like Dashiell Hammet, the detective writer?"

"Yes, I think he was a distant cousin of my dad. Nice to meet you..."

"Fred, Fred Dixon. Are you enjoying your class?"

"Yeah, it's always fun to introduce the students to our subject's new terminology, concepts, and theories."

"Where did you come from, I recall approving your application, but it was a while ago. I don't recall seeing you last semester?"

"Yes, I asked for a six-month employment extension for personal reasons, and they were very gracious about it. I graduated from Boston College with a doctorate, specializing in Caribbean Cultures. I thought Miami would be a cool place to start."

"Yes, the weather is usually good, although we get a lot of rain."

"Could I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, are you ok?"

"Well, I'm sure it will sound strange, but whenever I get high on sativa, I like to suck a man's cock. Would that be ok.?"

"Sure, if my wife doesn't know."

She took my hand, pulled me into the lounge bathroom just beyond, and locked the door.

"Just one thing,' I added, "Can I play with your tits while you suck?"

"No problem"

I dropped my linen pants and my underwear. My keys and heavy cell phone made a noise hitting the white tile floor. My cock must have heard what she was contemplating as it had already clubbed up.

"Nice dick," said the young women teacher, adding, "and you've got big balls"

"Yeah, don't forget to massage those babies while you are sucking"

"I won't, I promise. I'll be holding on from the start to finish."

She pulled down her dress top, and I unhooked her bra.

She went down on her knees on the hard tile floor, opened her mouth wide, and tongued my cock from the head to my balls. I was tempted to push her head onto my dick, but I didn't. Some women don't like that move. Then she started sucking like a Locomotive. I think playing with her titles got me extra excited. I tried to hold back, but she was in charge. Within a few minutes, I was ready to cum.

"I'm going to cum," I announced quietly, not knowing if she intended to swallow.

She winked at me and kept sucking and squeezing my ball sack. Then, in a rush, I ejaculated.

There was no need to push down her head because she kept sucking and tonguing my cock's head. I realized she was going to swallow the whole cream pie.

When my deposit culminated, she opened her mouth to show me the large gob of cum, put her head back, and scarfed it down as if it was an oyster.

After clearing her throat, she explained,

"I thought it best to swallow because I didn't want to get your clothes messed up."

"Thanks," I said, grabbing a napkin to pat a little bit of cum leaking out of my urethra.

"You did a good job."

"I appreciate your help. I feel much calmer now. Thanks," she stood up."

I reluctantly let go of her large mammaries, and once she seated her tits in the large bra cups, she turned so I could hook her bra.

"You wait here," she said. "I'll leave first. Wait a few minutes, and then you can exit; that way, no one will know what we've been up to"

"Ok." I said, "Thanks, excellent blow job."

"It was my pleasure to please you."

"I'm always available should you need me. I have an office on the second floor, Fred Dixon. I'm the head of the department."

"Yes, I know. I'll keep that in mind. There are a few syllabus changes I'd like to make."

"No problem, I'm at your disposal."

'Yes, I know that already." We both laughed at the obvious.

I didn't know if I should have kissed her goodbye, but I let it pass, and she left me standing there with my dick hanging out.

I wet a paper towel in the sink and wiped off any residual leak from my penis, but I have to admit my dick shaft, and cock's head was as clean as the proverbial whistle. I pulled up my underwear and pants and got ready to return to the party. I took a quick look in the mirror to see if my face was red or if there were any signs of our encounter.

I stopped at the food table on my way out of the small lounge bathroom, filled up a plastic champagne glass, and returned to the grassy yard. I looked around for my wife. MK and Ritter had moved their plastic recliners to a distant dark corner. I saw her quickly lift up her head, and it looked like Ritter's hand was on her head.

I was too far away to see clearly. I'd put my glasses in my pocket for Ms. Hammet's performance, but it appeared to me as if my wife had been sucking Bill Ritter's cock. When I got up closer to them, I saw Bill had quickly laid an unfolded newspaper with a few greasy spots over where his fly was.

My wife looked up, coughed, and then wiped off her lips with the back of her hand when she saw me approaching.

"Ok, Bill," I asked, "is she staying with you tonight or coming home with me."

Oh, don't be sucking up to me, Fred? Your wife, as always, has kept me well entertained, and you'll get that extra class you wanted."

Mary Kay smiled up at me, "Where did you disappear to? See, I told you it was a good idea to come tonight.

"Yes, I guess you were right."

"Thanks, Bill, for keeping her occupied; sometimes, she rattles on and has a hard time keeping her mouth shut."

"Be nice, Fred, your wife is a gracious lady, and I had a wonderful time with her, didn't we, MK?"

Mary Kay turned to me, "Fred, Bill just fills me up with, and she paused in mid-sentence, ah, wisdom. It's been my pleasure to spend this time with him."

I could see Dr.Hammett reenter the garden area.

Bill, glancing across the yard, said,

"Have you met our new Intro gal, Dr. Hammett?"

"Yes, we had a few words. It seems like she's a good choice."

Bill nodded prophetically, "Yep, she's quite a dish."

"Ok, Good night Bill. Come MK, I have an early class tomorrow morning, so we better be on our way."

When we got home, I noticed a stain on her shiny purple blouse, but I said nothing. As she undressed, standing there with her bare breasts, looking quite attractive, she confided in me,

"That poor Bill Ritter told me in complete confidence, and I don't want you blabbing this around, that since his wife left him, he can no longer get an erection. He seemed quite upset about it. He said he's tried several dating apps to find partners but still can't perform. I told him, you just have to find the right girl."

I thought to myself, I think he did.

Then I looked at her with eyes that if they were daggers could have killed.

I started to talk, "Did you..."

When she interrupted me, completing my sentence,

"...suck his cock. Why the poor man could get no relief? After my intervention, he's on his way to recovery."