Melting Away, Slowly... Pt. 02

Later in the evenings, Martha tended to read a book, and I would go into my office and either read or spend time working on my computer, or surfing the 'net. OK, OK, if I got bored, I'd play some of the games, too.

In other words, Martha and I didn't spend a lot of time really interacting with each other. It seemed to be fine with her, and I wasn't going to bother complaining about the lack of intimate contact anymore.

Despite my not teaching any classes on Fridays, I did keep at office hours by appointment, or students could drop in if I was there.

That Friday a student dropped by, an older student with red hair, to discuss educational discipline with me. That sexy vixen, Stephanie.

"Mark, you are doing really well in the dance class. I'm impressed — in fact, all of those young girls are impressed too," she was laughing now, teasing me, trying to make me blush again.

"Steph, none of them hold a candle to you in the elegance and grace department," I told her.

This time she blushed, and when a red-head blushes it's a sight to behold.

"You are a silver-tongued devil, Mark," she replied, pleased by the compliment.

She continued,

"Did you hear Bob talk to us about how important practice was? How for every hour of instruction we should practice at least an hour on our own?"

"I most certainly did," I agreed, nodding.

"Well?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Well what?" I asked back, anticipating her answer.

"Do you have anything scheduled for this afternoon?" she shot back at me.

"No, not that I can think of," I pretended to look carefully at my desktop calendar.

"Stop that right now, you old tease. You know what I want," she chided me.

"I don't know. You need the right music, you need a place to practice, you need a partner..." I was resisting the inevitable now.

Steph reached into her handbag and pulled out a familiar CD, the one Bob used for our class.

"Got the music. Bought it this morning. Got a room," at which point she held up a key to a classroom, and then she pointed across the desk at me, "and I got a partner. No more excuses."

What could I say; she had me pinned down through a process of elimination.

A short walk across campus to one of the rooms with a floor for dancing, and a CD player, and we spent the next two hours engaged in what was becoming for me, one of the most pleasurable and sensual activities that two people can do, short of messing around.

We had left the door open, to allow the air to circulate. As we were finishing, to our surprise, someone started clapping.

There was Bob Williamson, our instructor, standing in the doorway, with a huge smile on his face.

"At least some of my students listen in class," he said, laughing, giving Steph a wink, as he turned and walked towards his office.