Helping Hand

"Professor Adams?"

I glanced up from my desktop computer screen and turned to see a female student standing at my office door. She looked every bit as sexy as her voice had sounded.

It was Monday afternoon, the first day of winter semester at our state university where I taught creative writing. Had she been in one of my classes today, I would not have forgotten her face.

"Come in," I said.

She slipped into the chair next to my desk, pulling her backpack onto her lap.

I caught a whiff of perfume, understated, with hints of musk and cinnamon. She had bedroom eyes, large, dark and liquid, and brown hair that fell past her shoulders, thick and unruly. I wondered if her bulky sweater and loose-fitting pants hid equally attractive assets.

"Thanks for seeing me, Professor Adams."

"Of course."

When she crossed her legs, the change in posture stretched her pants enough to allow an outline of their shapely length to appear.

"I'm Bethany, in your Tuesday-Thursday afternoon workshop?"

"Okay."

She handed me two manila folders she'd taken from her backpack. "I was wondering if you'd have time to read two stories I wrote. I've been working on them on and off for over a year."

I stifled a laugh. "Over a year?" I placed the folders on my desk. "Some of my students work on their stories for over a day!"

She smiled. "I love to write."

"What year are you?"

"I'm just a sophomore."

Her answer surprised me. She looked to be older than that.

"I took a couple years off after high school to travel and work," she said, as if reading my mind.

"Good for you."

She ran a hand through her hair, causing her bulky sweater to stretch across her chest in a manner that revealed her large breasts. "Yeah, I didn't want to start college until I had some idea of what I wanted to study."

"And what is that?"

"I'd like to be some kind of writer. I think I have some talent in that area, although I'm not sure all my high school writing teachers would agree necessarily."

"Why do you say that?"

"I showed a draft of one of these stories to the teacher I had right before I graduated and she said I shouldn't write stuff like this."

"Like what?"

Her coquettish grin caused rumblings in my nether region. "She told me--she said she found the subject matter offensive."

"I see." I wondered what subject matter would disturb a writing teacher. But then I remembered that our campus lay in a part of the state known as the "mini-Bible belt."

"So, Professor--"

"--please. Most of my students call me Larry."

"Okay, Larry. So thanks. I'm really looking forward to this class."

My curiosity was such that normally I would have read her stories immediately, but the start of a semester is always crazy busy for me. I left my office later than usual, but with her stories in my briefcase to read at home.

My wife, Lynn, texted me as I finished supper. There was an 'emergency' on the other side of the state that she and her boss had to attend to. Lynn worked for a public relations firm and used to come home almost every night around dinner time. Six months ago, things suddenly changed. She began traveling with her boss, Bradley, to see out-of-town clients and often wouldn't come home for several days at a time.

If I saw her at all, it usually was in the morning before I left for work. She'd grab a shower and then leave again, dressed in a slinky blouse with a plunging neckline and a skirt that came to mid-thigh. She said Bradley encouraged her to dress 'business casual.' I called it 'business slut.'

Our marriage was heading for the dumpster anyway, well before Lynn started 'traveling' with Bradley and dressing like a whore. We hadn't had sex in almost three years.

Her text said they'd be gone two days. She didn't mention anything about coming home to pack. I didn't bother to reply.

Most evenings I usually worked on personal writing (I was in the middle of a novel), but today had been long and busy and I was tired. I considered watching Netflix. Then I remembered Bethany's stories in my briefcase.

***

The plot of 'An Office Affair' was predictable to the point of being a cliché: married man has affair with his secretary. Perhaps to make readers more sympathetic to the man, Bethany had given the wife's character an unnamed exotic illness that prevented her from having sex. The husband still loved his wife, but, hey, once in a while a guy needed to get laid!

The manuscript had numerous writing errors, however the description of the sexual activity between the boss and his secretary impressed me. Bethany seemed to possess a vivid imagination and a good eye for detail.

On page three, Bethany began describing the first bedroom scene and as I followed it over several pages I became aware that I'd been absentmindedly stroking my penis. In fact, I had a sizable erection. I undid my trousers and started to masturbate.

My arousal increased the more I read.

As I often do when reading fiction, I inserted myself into the story, taking over, in this case, for the randy husband character. At the same time, I began imagining Bethany as the secretary. Thus when the husband went down on his secretary, I visualized the scene as me licking Bethany's pussy.

Later in the story, the secretary fellates her boss until he's ready to erupt--only to deny him a release. After a second time, the boss takes matters into his own hands. He tosses her onto the bed face up, and starts fucking her mouth. Of course, in my mind it was me fucking Bethany's mouth. When the boss finally explodes down her throat, I lost it.

My climax was so intense that some of my ejaculate landed on top of my desk. Only after I regained my senses did I realize I'd soiled a page of Bethany's manuscript. I grabbed a Kleenex and blotted the stain until I was satisfied that unless she studied the page with a magnifying glass she wouldn't notice the faint smudge.

Already fatigued, and now pleasantly relaxed, I walked the few steps from my desk to my bed, got in without undressing, threw a blanket over myself and promptly went to sleep.

Regarding the bed in my study, I purchased it soon after I became convinced that Lynn was cheating on me. I no longer could sleep in 'our' bed in the master bedroom. In fact, I avoided even going into 'her' bedroom.

***

The following afternoon, Bethany and eight other students filed into my classroom, sitting in tablet-style chairs arranged in a circle. All of the students looked to be a few years younger than Bethany. None of them, however, were as provocatively dressed. Her mini-skirt and blouse with a plunging neckline challenged me to include the other students in my eye contact.

Bethany came to my office after class.

"Knock, knock!" she said in a playful voice.

My heart pounded in my throat.

"Come on in," I said.

"Did you get a chance to read my stories?"

I reached for my briefcase. "I read the one about the office affair."

"Do you have time to talk about it?"

"Sure. Take a seat, wherever you like. "

Instead of choosing the chair next to my desk, she made a beeline for a small work table with two chairs on the other side of the room.

I put her manuscript on the table in front of me as I sat next to her.

She scooted her chair closer to mine until our knees almost touched and then crossed her legs, after which my gaze remained on the sensuous girth of her thighs.

Suddenly my mind started streaming a porn channel in which I was fucking Bethany, just as in the story I'd read the previous night. Those succulent thighs were now wrapped around my waist, the bedroom walls echoing her ecstatic wailing as I pounded her to fucking kingdom come.

Was it my imagination or was Bethany blushing now, as if watching the same movie?

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from her thighs and focused them on her face. "So, how was your first day?"

She glanced around the room. "Why don't you have any windows?"

Her breasts fought to escape her low-cut blouse. I'd been sexually abstinent for almost three years, a feat explained by the combination of lack of opportunity and lack of desire brought on by depression.

I no longer felt depressed, and the way Bethany was presenting herself to me gave reason to wonder if opportunity wasn't knocking. My cock twitched as I briefly entertained the vision--

--the porn video resumed with a closeup of her large breasts bouncing and swaying wildly as she rode--

--oops! I turned off the porn channel in my head and directed my attention to Bethany who gave me an expectant look. Let's see. Where the hell was I? Oh! Why no windows?

I cleared my throat to settle myself. "Originally this office served as the campus jail."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

It took effort, but I kept my face neutral. "That's right. It housed students who were late to class or unprepared for the day's lesson."

Her breathing rate increased. "Are you serious?"

I held my expression for a beat before smiling. "I'm joking."

Her nipples came into view for a second as she leaned forward to swat my knee. "Shit!"

Then, leaning forward again, she allowed me a more leisurely view of her breasts as she rubbed my knee. "I'm so sorry."

It took her no time at all to register where my eyes were riveted and I made no attempt to be discreet about it. My tumescent cock was in full lust mode. When I finally returned her eye contact, her grin told me how pleased she seemed that I regarded her as sexually desirable.

I again cleared my throat. "Actually, this room was originally used for storage."

She put her hand on my forearm. "You really had me. I apologize for overreacting."

"You're an excitable type?"

Only after she grinned and dropped her eyes to my lap did I realize my question could be construed as a double entendre.

"Depends on whom I'm with, I guess."

It was time to talk about her story. Or toss her on top of the table and have my way with her. I suspected either choice would be fine with her. I picked up her manuscript. "You're a fan of erotica."

"I am. This is one of my first attempts actually."

"I can understand your school teacher's reaction."

She grinned. "Yeah. Well, I guess it is a bit over the top, you know, explicit and everything."

"If you don't mind my asking, why are you interested in this genre?"

Her face reddened for a second, and then she looked directly at me. "For the same reasons most people have, I guess."

Her gaze fell to her knees for a moment before meeting my eyes again. "I get turned on sexually when I write this stuff. I have a boyfriend and everything, but still. Besides it's fun to be in total control of what my characters do, especially when it comes to sex, you know?"

I nodded as I pushed her manuscript closer to where she sat. "Have you shown this to your boyfriend?"

She shook her head. "He's actually quite conservative when it comes to sex. This story would, like, totally creep him out."

I nodded.

"Our sex life is pretty vanilla, actually."

I gave her a polite smile as I turned on the porn channel in my mind again and imagined Bethany sprawled on sweat-soaked sheets, gasping for air after we'd fucked for two hours straight. She would never use 'vanilla' to describe our sex life!

I coughed into my fist. "Well, as you maybe can appreciate, erotica is not a genre I talk about in class."

"I suppose not," she said, her voice dropping.

"But I'd be happy to work with you outside of class."

"Cool! I'd like that!"

She picked up the manuscript and leafed through it. "You didn't make any marks?"

"That's not how I teach. The first step toward improving your writing is to read your work out loud and slowly."

"Oh."

"So. Are you ready to begin?"

She nodded. Her legs remained crossed, but her foot began bouncing.

"Would you please start on page three, the second paragraph."

She began reading aloud:

'Clara arched her back as Sam slid his huge member into her slick, wet love canal. Oh, she thought, he feels so good in me. She looked forward to having her first orgasm with Sam inside of her, rather than being brought to sexual bliss with his fingers and tongue.'

Bethany kept her eyes on the page for a moment after she finished. Then she looked at me. The tops of her breasts were flush. She wiped perspiration from her upper lip.

"This is a nice paragraph, Bethany. I like how you have Clara anticipate the pleasure, the orgasm that Sam is going to help her achieve."

She nodded and gave me a faint smile.

"It's a nicely written paragraph. I like how you vary the length of the three sentences so the rhythm doesn't bore the reader."

She nodded again.

"So, having heard your words aloud, any reaction? Thoughts? Questions?"

"I don't think I need to describe her love canal as both slick and wet. I mean both words mean pretty much the same thing, right?"

"I agree with you. So which word would you use?"

"I guess 'slick.' That's actually the term I use to tell my boy--"

Her face turned red as she covered her mouth. "Oops! Sorry. I didn't--"

"--that's okay, Bethany. You're not in high school anymore. I assume you're what? At least twenty, twenty-one?

"I'm twenty-four."

"Okay. So we have two adults in the room. If you're serious about me helping you with your erotic writing, you're going to have to get comfortable discussing sex with me, and that includes being okay with saying words like pussy and cock and fuck."

Her hand grazed my thigh as she guffawed. "You are so unlike my last writing teachers. It may take me some time to adjust."

I patted her arm. "No doubt. Shall we continue?"

***

I read Bethany's second story Wednesday evening.

In 'Helping Hand,' a young college coed has a crush on her psychology professor, a man in his early forties. Even though she obviously had written the story before meeting me, it didn't take long to connect the story's characters to Bethany and me.

The professor is unhappily married. He and his wife have simply outgrown their fifteen-year marriage. Yet he feels compelled to stay in the relationship. He's a big believer in 'til death do us part.'

The young coed wracks her brain to come up with a plan to get the professor into bed with her. One day while sitting in his office she notices the disorganized stacks of papers on his desk, books piled haphazardly on shelves and spilling onto the floor. The place is a mess. Plus everything's covered in a thin layer of dust.

She offers to organize and clean his office. He's up for promotion to full professor and needs to make a good impression with his tenure committee. A more orderly office will make it easier for him to find the materials necessary to include in his tenure proposal.

As with the first story, this one also was filled with writing errors. Yet the details and storyline compelled me to keep reading, especially when I got to the part where the coed seduces the professor.

She makes an appointment to see him on a Saturday when she knows no one else will be around. The professor has given her an office key so she can get an early start. When he arrives, his desk is immaculate, his papers have been organized and filed and she's halfway through arranging his books. He's amazed at what she's done. He's also absentminded so it takes a moment for him to notice her sexy low-cut top and slinky minidress.

As with the first story, reading Bethany's description of the sex scenes gave me a powerful erection. The coed is ecstatic to discover that the professor has a cock larger than Long Island, and rides it to multiple orgasms. When it's his time to have some fun, however, she turns into a cocktease.

The professor's patience wears thin in a hurry. He pushes the coed face down on his immaculate desk, forces her legs apart, enters her from behind, and fucks her silly--she comes twice more as he finally approaches the Promised Land.

As I did Monday evening, I began masturbating when I got to the good part. In the final scene he orders her to her knees where she jacks him off until pre-ejaculatory fluid drips from his penis. She takes him into her mouth where he ejaculates an amount of semen that would make most male porn stars inquire about job openings at a nearby fast food restaurant. What she can't swallow pours down her chin and coats her huge breasts.

By the end of the scene I'd had another intense release.

***

On Thursday, Bethany walked with me to my office after class. It was close to two-thirty, a time when most students were in their dorms or at the rec center. Still I was mindful to keep a brisk pace and look 'professorial' next to her, a minimum of eye contact, focus slightly ahead of my feet except when I stole glances of her lovely boobs bouncing beneath her jacket.

"You don't wear a ring, but you're probably married, right?" she said, hand briefly touching my shoulder as we went down a flight of stairs and then out of the main classroom building.

There was a cold wind and no sun, so we picked up the pace.

I let out a long sigh.

She giggled. "Uh oh! That doesn't sound good."

"I am...somewhat married," I said.

She chortled. "Is that like being somewhat pregnant?"

I smiled. "I suppose."

"My boyfriend and I--well, I'm not sure how much longer we're going to stay together. I guess I can relate to being quote unquote somewhat married."

"Relationships are great when they're going well, and when they're not--"

"--yeah! I hear you for sure."

We walked in silence the rest of the way to the building which housed my office. I suspected we both were deciding how much information we wanted to reveal about our personal lives. We entered the building and walked down a long deserted corridor and then, as we entered the writing department offices, I received my answer.

"To be honest, one reason I'm into erotica is to compensate for a lousy sex life."

I nodded, thankful that none of the support staff were at their desks. We walked to the end of a short corridor where I unlocked my office and let us both in.

"I mean he's only two years older than me but sometimes he acts like an old man--no offense."

I chuckled. "I'm still in my thirties. Am I that old?"

"I didn't mean you're 'old' old. You look like you're probably younger than my dad, I guess. I'm actually not exactly sure how old he is."

I draped my coat over the back of my chair and sat down at my desk. I watched her slip out of her jacket. Her jeans looked like they'd been spray-painted on her. As she turned around to lay her jacket over the back of her chair, the denim stretched to outline two perfectly formed ass mounds. Upon turning around again, I admired her cameltoe.

Her top was a tight pullover, white with diagonal red stripes which drew attention to her breasts.

"Well--don't get me wrong. I do find you...you're very--masculine."

I laughed. "Are you damning me with faint praise?"

She grabbed my arm. "Maybe I should just shut up before I dig myself into a deeper hole."

Now that she was seated I allowed my eyes to inch up her body from her cameltoe to the red stripes on her chest to, finally, her lovely face upon which she had formed a wicked grin. "Your eyes aren't behaving like they belong to a happily married man."

"Busted!" I said. I held my breath wondering what was coming next.

She grabbed my hand and held it against her knee. "I'm just funning with you."

I took a breath. "I do find you very attractive."

"Thank you, Larry. I find you attractive as well."

"So if I understand what you're saying, you write stories that include sexual activity you'd like to have with your boyfriend, but that he's unwilling to go along with."

She gave a loud sigh. "Yeah, that about sums it up. I mean he doesn't even like to go down on me anymore. I have to practically twist his arm and beg until I'm blue in the face before he'll give me a couple of licks. And if I say I'd like him to please go slower or faster or softer or whatever, he gets pissed off."