tagRomanceThe Student Ch. 03

The Student Ch. 03


This is part three of three. Although readable, the story will make more sense if you start at the beginning with Part 1, 'The Student".


The double tap on the open office doorway caught my attention. Glancing up I found Mary Richards, American Literature professor and owner of a set of the finest natural C cup breasts that I'd ever had the privilege of playing with, standing in my doorway. "How was the summer?" she asked.

"Good," I answered automatically without thinking. "Had a really good summer. You?"

"Mmmm," she answered, raising her eyebrows as she did, "I've got a lot to tell you. You up for Saturday?"

And there it was. It was the third week of school, two weeks later than I would have bet on, but there it was. The routine the previous year had been that we would get together on Saturdays two, sometimes three, times a month and go out to dinner, a party, a movie, or maybe the theatre, and then fuck each other to exhaustion. She'd been my date to the staff Christmas party last year, and although we weren't together all the time, many knew we'd seen each other multiple times.

I hadn't seen Linda since she left, except in classes, and she hadn't said anything or stayed around long enough for me to say anything to her after the class. I'd see her again the next class but here we hadn't been separated by even a few weeks and the exact scenario that she'd hypothesized about had come up, "What will you tell Mary Richard's when she wants to bump uglies?" I hadn't really thought about it at that time, I'd ignored that it would happen, but now here it was -- the elephant in the room, at least in my mind.

"I can't this week Mary, maybe next?" I lied. I could, but the reality was I didn't want to.

"Ok, I'll hold you to it. Gotta run." And just like that, she was gone.

Linda was being her normal perfectionist in class, even better than the previous semester, giving me no reason to talk with her about anything. She'd had her homework done and ready the first time and every time I called for homework to be turned in. She'd aced the quizzes that I'd given. She'd answered questions in class perfectly. She'd missed no classes, had made no calls to ask what the homework was, or used any other excuse to call me. I missed just hearing her voice.

I'd called her the afternoon that she left, but she hadn't wanted to talk about it, just said that it was better and easier this way. She gave the same reason; we wouldn't have to hide our relationship from other professors; we wouldn't have to pretend in the company of other students that we didn't have anything except a student-teacher relationship. Somehow I had the feeling that I'd done something wrong, but going over and over in my mind, I couldn't see what. We'd started with some lustful infatuation, we'd hooked up and obviously had some mutual care and admiration going on, but somehow, something must have been missing - as just like that, it was over.


I opened the door; Mary stepped ahead of me into my living room. I slid my hand onto her back, just as I had so many times before, but instead of enjoying the attributes of her body I was realizing all the differences between her body and that of the last woman that had stepped through my front door with me, Linda. Linda's body was muscular, she worked out daily, Mary's back was softer, not as muscular, but still shapely. Mary's much larger bottom was where the difference really showed; soft, rounded, and sexy in a different way.

"So are you going to tell me about her?" Mary asked an hour later, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on her arm. Her other hand was playing with the hair on my chest, lazily drawing figure eights with a finger.

"Who?" I answered, unsuccessfully trying to make it seem that I didn't know what she was talking about.

"The woman that's been sharing your bed. The woman that's been leaving her touches around the house. The woman that seems to be on your mind more than the one you're with."

"I don't know, are you going to tell me about your lovers? Meet anyone interesting? Or should I say, hook up with anyone interesting?"

"It's about time you asked," she giggled, dropping onto her side and snuggling up to me. Looking up to me with an impish look on her face, first she sucked her lower lip between her teeth and then said "I had my first threesome."

"What?" I exclaimed, knowing that she'd always professed that she'd try it if the opportunity arose. She proceeded to gleefully tell me all about her nearly three month trip to Europe, starting in Turkey and then moving westward and north to the Scandinavian countries before ending with a week on the beaches of Spain. She'd met a Swedish couple, Soren and Annika, at the airport in Mykonos that were staying at the same resort that she was. They hit it off, and ended up spending the day together and meeting up on the beach the following day. When Soren made a pass at her that evening after dinner she'd asked him "What about your wife?" He responded that Annika was hoping they could all play together. "So we did. "

"Hmmm." I said, realizing that my cock was responding faster than it had been. "Was it all you thought it would be?"

"Oh my God, yes. In Spades! I was a little unsure about whether I would like being with a woman, but -- O. M. G!" She pronounced the three letters as if they were words, with emphasis. "I don't know, I thought maybe Annika would be a bit jealous of me being with Soren, but it was just the opposite. She loved watching us and joining in. We'd wear Soren out, and then take care of each other until he recovered. Women are so soft, and warm and cuddly -- and a 69 with a woman is absolutely the best." She rambled on effusively for easily fifteen minutes, telling me all about nightclubs and sex, beaches and sex, siesta's and sex, and just plain sex before she ran out of steam. "So what about you? I know you weren't a good little Monk all summer so who did you hook up with?"

Despite having had several weeks to come up with some kind of believable lie, I hadn't. I told her that I'd hooked up with a couple of women at different times; a woman in a bar, and then several weeks later a woman after a wedding, and that we'd spent most of the summer together, but it was over -- she'd moved on.

"Just like that? A summer fling and now she's gone? Did she live with you?"

"Not really, she just spent a lot of time here. We called it off. She works nights; I work days -- the same problems as with my wife. She's got a daughter; all in all, we just knew it wouldn't work."

"Well then that's good for me, isn't it? I still get you on Saturday nights or whenever I need a nookie session?"

I laughed. "Yes, I suppose so."

Despite my laughter and assurance, I had my doubts.

I got back into the routine fast enough, day after day getting up, going to class, and teaching the same thing, again and again. Twice a week I'd see her; sitting in her same spot, wearing her same oversized sweatshirt. She'd answer if I called on her, she'd volunteer just as she always had, but then she'd look away. The occasional flash of eye contact we'd had the semester before was gone as if she was studiously avoiding it. I'd see her watching me when everyone else was watching me, but it never had the magic feel of the previous semester.

And it was agony for me.

Mary and I hooked up three consecutive weekends, attending a staff party at the halfway mark of the semester. As always, despite the desires to not talk business, work parties always come down to business. Secretaries and administrative assistants, always willing to tell the importance of what they're doing for the process, are the worst. Second worst are the pompous professors, too big for their britches, flush with their tenure and knowing that no one can test them. When it comes to the classroom, they are God. For junior, non-tenured professors like me, we just keep our mouths shut and listen to what others are saying.

"What I heard is that they're examining records, looking for anomalies with statistics. You know, low grades that suddenly change or get increases where they're not deserved. They've got some statistical consultant that used to work for NASA. Remember when the space shuttle rocket blew up years ago? It's the same guys that figured out what happened with that." I was getting a glass of wine, two actually -- one for Mary and one for me when I overheard this little tidbit. I moved my eyes, glancing over without turning my head. I didn't recognize either of the two young women that were talking while thinking they were out of ear-shot of others.

"Do you suppose they'll finally nail that scumbag professor?"

"Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why in the world would someone sleep with him anyway? And his wife's just as bad. And what about the ones we don't know about? Who else is trading grades for sex?"

I walked away, the conversation mulling through my mind. I knew there was an anomaly in my grades, but would they see it, would they question it? I set the grading standards, I applied the grading standards and even though I'd adjusted Linda's grade, I'd done it blanket -- I'd adjusted everyone's. Could that be reason to question me, a minor adjustment to grades that had made a difference for just four people, one of whom just happened to have spent much of the summer in my bed?

When I found my glass of wine gone again I'd had enough and was more than ready to go. "What do you say we get out of here, Mary?" I asked, taking her elbow when my glass was empty. She still had a swallow of wine left and just set it aside.

"Shall we head for home?" She said, leaning over and planting a quick kiss on my earlobe.

"Your bed or mine?" I whispered so that just she could hear.

"Umm, so you're finally beginning to feel a little feisty? I was wondering when the real you would show up."

"What did you mean by the real me?" I asked twenty minutes later in the car as we were headed home.

"You know exactly what I mean. Where's the lover I had last year that was so much fun? The lover that was always trying to get into my pants or at least get me out of them? The one this year always seems to just be going through the motions."

"I don't know, I guess I've changed."

"What is it, that woman you hooked up with over the summer? Is that it?"

"Nah, I don't think so," I lied. "Hey did you hear that they're doing an investigation of professors?" I said, immediately deflecting the conversation away from Linda.

"What? No! What are you talking about?

"Oh, I just overheard two women talking at the party; they didn't know I could hear. Something about the hiring of a statistical consultant to examine grades? I heard them say something about maybe they'd nail that professor this time..."

"Oh my god, I'd heard something about a consultant who would be examining grades - supposedly in an attempt to come up with some grade standardization -- but that certainly makes more sense." She giggled, "You know who they were talking about, don't you?"

"Umm, a certain professor that is, um, known to not fail pretty girls?"

"The rumors been around for years but nobody has ever been able to prove anything. I can't see that a statistician would make any difference, just what could they prove?"

"It all depends; how much evidence was left, particularly if all the grade work is recorded. Unless they've got a complaint it's probably just circumstantial. If they can see that someone has been going through the class and getting poor grades or worse, and then suddenly at the end of the semester something shows up that suddenly vaults a failing student to the head of the class -- that would be interesting. And if it happened again and again and every time it turned out they were pretty girls...." I just let my thoughts trail off -- thinking about how I would structure a statistical examination -- and again about my own situation. I had almost 5 years now of records, always at exactly 90% for an A -- and then last semester, a minor change. Would anyone question why? Was anyone really looking?

"You ever think about it? With one of your students?"

"Trading sex for a grade? Absolutely not."

"Not trading, just jumping one of those cute little co-eds bones one time."

"I don't think I've ever met a woman that it didn't eventually cross my mind," I answered truthfully avoiding a lie. "Have you ever thought of doing it with one of your students?"

"More than thought about it." My head instantly swiveled to see what she meant; her face saying she was absolutely serious.

"What? You've slept with a student?"

"Not when they were a student. But afterward they're not students, they're former students."

"Oh." It dawned on me that we were now talking exactly about my situation, and this was too close for comfort. I turned into her driveway, none too soon.


I knew better than to just leave. It was 3 am but I was wide awake with the normally insatiable, the normally desirably sexy, Mary Roberts finally slumbering beside me. It was always this way with us; Saturday evening dinner, maybe a movie and then home to one of our houses for hours of sex. We would do it every which way we could and then fall asleep, only to wake up Sunday morning and do it again before one of us finally headed for home. Now here I was lying awake at 3 am trying to figure out how to break off our relationship.

Truthfully it was "just" sex. Adventuresome sex most assuredly, but just sex. Although we went through the pleasantries of entertainment early in the evening every time, we knew that was just a prelude of getting each other onto the same wavelength before we crawled into bed. Occasionally she'd ask if I'd like to come over on a weekday for dinner -- which really meant that she was horny and wanted to get laid. To be honest, I'd also called her a time or two during the weeks. On those nights we'd fuck to exhaustion but I'd always go home or she'd go home as we'd also have class the next day.

Not that I hadn't enjoyed it this time; not that I had been unable to perform, I most certainly had. Physically we'd both cum multiple times, but mentally this wasn't what I wanted any longer. I rolled onto my side looking at Mary asleep beside me. The room was warm, the sheet just covering from her waist down. I would not have said she was overweight before I knew Linda, now I looked at her and every little rounded curve belied the extra weight she did carry. Nicely rounded breasts looked fat in comparison to Linda's perky B cups; I knew from personal experience how they were softer and squishier than Linda's firm tits. Mary's large silver dollar areolae and fat nipples, which only swelled to my direct caresses, conflicted with my vision of Linda's smaller nipples that often perked up just by Linda looking at me. Curves at Mary's waist now looked fat. Her bottom, that at one time I thought filled out a pair of designer jeans quite nicely, looked fat. I knew in my mind that it wasn't that she was terribly overweight, I used to think of her as pleasingly rounded -- it's just that everything about her I was comparing to the svelte tautness of Linda's body.

My mind shifted to Lori, the little bundle of energy that had latched on to me so easily for those six weeks of summer. Her constant badgering's of "can we go to the park", or "can we have pancakes?" "Can you push me" (on the swing set) -- and especially those evenings where she'd fallen asleep on the floor and I'd picked her up, her arms going around my neck as we carried her in, and put her to bed. I realized I missed Lori almost as much as I missed Linda. All of these thoughts twisted and turned, tormenting my thoughts until I finally fell asleep.

Mary's hands slithering across my body awoke me. Her fingers found and flicked my nipples, stroked my stomach and arms, finally reaching my growing erection. I was tired; I'd barely slept at all. "Hey stud, you about ready for a Sunday Morn-er?"

Despite my cock having reacted to her caress, the words barely seemed to penetrate the fog of my brain. I really needed more sleep -- I'd been awake thinking most of the night. "A Sunday mourner?" I questioned, groggily. "What's a Sunday Mourner? Did somebody die?"

"No goofball," she answered, now openly stroking my cock to full hardness, "a Sunday morner -- you know, just like a Sunday nooner -- only sooner!" Her giggling lips followed her hands, kissing my nipples, kissing my belly, until her mouth engulfed my erection to make it suitable for what she wanted. Soon enough she relinquished her mouth music, pivoting her body up and over mine to sink my shaft into her, to fulfill her need. Without thinking, my hands found her breasts, tweaking her nipples, giving her what she needed unconsciously. In no hurry, we didn't rush; but neither was this extended lovemaking -- it was just sex.

Afterwards I broke up with her.

It's never easy to break it off with someone even if there is nothing more to your relationship than sex. We were lying there with her snuggled up to my shoulder, and I decided it was best to just say it. "Mary, I don't think I want this kind of relationship anymore."

She didn't flinch; she didn't even raise her head and look at me. It was for several moments that absolutely nothing was said and I almost wondered if she'd heard or at least understood me. "I've been expecting this," she said.

"You have?"

"It hasn't been the same this year. I've felt it every time we're in bed, your mind is elsewhere. It's that girl from the summer, isn't it? The one you won't talk about?"

"I don't know," I lied, knowing full well she couldn't have hit the nail any harder on the head.

"It's always a sign, if you won't talk about her, then she's something special." We lay there saying nothing for several minutes before she continued. "Are you in love with her?"

"I don't know. I think I might be."

"Does she love you?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know much for wanting to break off a sure thing, do you? Why don't you go to her? Tell her how you feel and see if she has the same thoughts?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated.

"It's not complicated, it's easy. It's the repercussions that are complicated. That's why I gave up on love a long time ago, it's much nicer and easier to just find a good lover and visit him occasionally."

"It's more complicated than that. It's not that easy."

"What's not that easy? All you have to do is...." She stopped, I looked over at her.

"She's one of your students." Her eyes met mine, and there was no denying it, she knew and I couldn't hide it. "I think you need to tell me all about it."

I didn't tell about Linda being a stripper, but told everything else. That she was on her way to Summa Cum Laude, that she had a daughter that was absolutely wonderful, that she'd gotten into what she had considered academic trouble. I told how I'd manipulated the scale, just slightly, but it had only affected a handful of students and that she'd broken if off with me when the school year was about to begin.

"So that's why you were so curious about a sex for grades investigation."

"Sort of. I mean, I didn't do anything wrong, but that's not what others may see."

"So did she proposition you? "

I shook my head in the negative. "No, not exactly. She begged for some leeway, and then said she'd do whatever she had to."

"Hmm. Might have been. What did you say?"

"That if she got a perfect final paper, I'd have reason to take extenuating circumstances, such as being a single mother, working nights, and raising a daughter into account."

"So she got a perfect score, you adjusted the scale slightly, and she had sex with you as a thank you. What's wrong with that?"

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