The Interview

Fame, if I'm saying anything new, is a two-edged sword.

I'm sure that's true for anyone, but it sometimes seems particularly so for scientists. Of course, one appreciates the recognition, but in an area like mine, longevity, there will always be the fringe journalists who will twist the facts into something sensational that bears little resemblance to the original research. This always brings the nuts out of the woodwork and makes one's life miserable, fending them off while simultaneously suffering the ridicule of one's peers.

I should have known something was off when I entered the department office on Monday. The department secretary informed me that a reporter from one of the scientific journals was waiting in my office and had told her that I had arranged the interview. If that lie wasn't enough of a warning, the strange look from the secretary certainly was. I didn't say anything because it wasn't her fault, but as I approached my office door I was loaded for bear.

However, when I opened the door, I just stopped cold and stared. I really should have known that no reputable science journal would send a reporter dressed like this one. But my exploding hormones precluded any objective thinking. She was gorgeous! She was seated in my guest chair, facing me with her legs crossed. And what legs they were! She wore remarkably high black stiletto heels and dark stockings. Those spectacularly long legs extended quite a ways from the stilettos until they disappeared into a short black leather skirt. Her soft white blouse clung to the contours of her ample breasts and was unbuttoned far enough down to reveal the beginning of her cleavage. Her long black hair was casually draped over her left shoulder and splayed itself across the mound of her left breast. Her face was elegantly made up and strikingly beautiful.

I was at a loss for words. My anger disappeared like a popped balloon, and I just stood there gaping like an idiot. The reporter rose to her feet and put out her hand. Like a robot I took it. It was warm and soft.

"Good morning, Dr. Clarke," she said in a lovely contralto voice. "My name is Chase. I apologize for the little lie I told your secretary, but I really did want to interview you for my paper, and I was afraid that you would refuse."

Gradually my brain began to re-engage. I stopped staring at her cleavage and let go of her hand. I managed to look her in the eye.

"My secretary would have refused," I said, regaining the power of speech. "I don't give interviews to journalists. An email would have been better. Just what journal are you from, anyway?"

She mentioned the name of one of the more popular journals that interpreted science for a lay audience. That wasn't so bad.

"Well, okay, then, as long as you've gone to this much trouble. But next time please ask in advance and be honest."

She smiled. She had a lovely smile, with lush red lips. I walked over to my desk and sat behind it, hoping to use that barrier to calm the aroused primitive in me and project an aura of academic competence.

Chase sat in the chair opposite my desk. She re-crossed her legs, which almost set me off again, and took out a notebook. She began asking questions. With most of my attention focused on her long legs, it took me a while of automatically responding to her questions to realize the direction this was going.

"Wait a minute," I said. "What journal did you say you represented? Your questions seem to be looking for something a lot more sensational that I would expect."

She smiled, and straightened up, putting her shoulders back and stretching the fabric of her blouse over her breasts.

"You got me," she said with a rueful smile. "Full disclosure, I really represent the Midnight Sun."

I did a double take. The Midnight Sun was familiar to me from supermarket checkout aisles because of its typically boldface headlines screaming about aliens and wild orgies between Hollywood stars.

"Out!", I said angrily. "No way. Out of my office."

She didn't move.

"Please, Dr. Clarke, hear me out. I really do apologize for all the pretense, but my editor found out about your research and really, really wants to do a story about its implications. I mean, he said that your work might lead to eternal youth, or old people being rejuvenated. He warned me that you wouldn't want to help us with the story, but he gave me the assignment anyway and told me I had to come back with the story.

"Look, Dr. Clarke, I just started at the magazine. I need the job. I need your help. I'll do whatever I need to do to get it."

"Chase," I said, "I sympathize. But I can't afford to help. It'd wreck my reputation."

Chase just sat there, pouting those lovely red lips and looking like a hurt puppy. It made her look even more desirable. I couldn't help but look at her. My eyes must have drifted over her body.

"You like what you see, don't you, Dr. Clarke?

"David. Can I call you David? I interview better if I'm on more familiar terms with my subject."

She rose and came over to my desk. She leaned on the front, bending forward to give me a good look down her blouse. I could feel my cock beginning to stir. She reached out and took both my hands in hers. She lifted me to my feet, facing her only inches away. Her delicate perfume filled my nose. She looked directly into my eyes.

"You know, I always thought of scientists as pretty much geeks and nerds," she said, "but you're kind of cute."

"Does that make what you're about to do easier?"

"Oh, and what am I about to do?"

"Seduce me to get your story."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea. Wish I'd thought of it. Is it working?" She came around the desk and moved in until her breasts touched my chest. She put my arms around her waist. She reached down and touched the bulge in my pants.

"Hmm. I'd say that it looks like it's working," she said with satisfaction.

I started to protest, but she ignored me and began slowly to unbutton her blouse. Whatever I had meant to say got lost. My tongue was paralyzed. I could only watch her fingers work their way down, exposing more and more of her creamy breasts, reluctantly confined in a lacy bra.

"David, I could use a little help here. This damn bra always gets stuck." She pulled her blouse up out of her skirt and guided my helpless hands up her smooth back to the catch on her bra. My brain knew that she was trying to get me to take an active role in her seduction, but my fingers paid no attention to my brain and fumbled with the catch.

It wasn't stuck at all.

Her breasts were incredible. Firm in shape and yet silky soft under my touch, with coral aureoles around erect ruby nipples. It was impossible not to bend down and kiss one of them while grasping the other. Chase moaned. I felt her hands working at my pants. The air felt very cool on my heated cock as she exposed it. She touched it with her soft fingers and the last shreds of my control evaporated.

Things happened pretty quickly after that. I lifted up her skirt and cupped her buttocks with my hands. She put her arms around my neck for support and I lifted her up and set her down on the edge of the desk. She undid my waistband and my pants fell along with my shorts. With one hand I pushed the crotch of her panties aside and put the other on her waist behind her and pulled her to me as I advanced on her. She grasped my cock firmly and aimed it where we both wanted it to go.

She wrapped those lovely long stocking-clad legs, still in their high heels, around me and pulled me toward her as she spread her thighs. I felt an electric thrill as my cock touched her pussy and spread her soft labia. I slid into her so easily. She was well-lubricated. I held her ass with both hands and drove my cock deep into her. She gasped and moaned. She put both her hands behind my head and pulled my face to hers. We kissed, our tongues mingling. I felt her naked breasts pressing against my chest even as I kept thrusting into her.

I lifted her up from the desk so I could press our groins together and get as deep into her as possible. My hands on her hips helped her back and forth movements on my rigid rod. My cock felt as if would explode. I held on as long as I could, but all too soon I came, deep inside her. We stopped moving and just clung to each other as I came into her welcoming depths. I erupted again and again, gasping as I did. God, I must have filled every nook and cranny of her tight warm vagina. She made sweet little moans each time I came.

Finally, I was done. My cock stayed firmly embedded in her, our hips pressed together, our arms entangled as we recovered from our exertions. After a few minutes she put her head on my shoulder, her lips next to my ear and whispered, "So, do I get my interview?"

She did. And I later regretted it. But that was later.