The Swinging Professor

She had everything she could ever want. Except for that one thing that remained elusive. She didn't even know what it was. She just needed it, or her life would have little meaning.

But, at the moment, Clara spied the guard house that marked the gate into her community. Just then, her phone rang. The display in her car lit up and displayed Sara's name. Clara smiled and pulled over to answer the call; she didn't want any distractions.

After marrying Sean, her life had been spectacular. For one year. Then Sean became exactly who Audra had warned her about. He was using her to get his book advanced. It took a year, but it seemed marriage accelerated his plans. Three years later, they divorced.

He's still writing the next great American novel and always will be, Clara knew.

Clara shuddered, remembering. It became unbearable to be around him. He blamed her for his failings. Young Sara, at age fourteen, had understood her father shortcomings and had sided with Clara. That had angered him more than anything else, and Clara worried for her safety and Sara's, had tossed him out, insisting Sara continue to stay with her. After the divorce, Sara had no choice but to go with her dad. That had been a tearful goodbye. But over the years, Sara spent a lot of time with Clara. Visiting often and for extended periods of time. It was almost like Clara had custody. Clara had gotten Sara admitted to the University, which was then free for Sara, under the guise that she was her daughter.

Today, Sara was twenty-seven, never married, and never in a long-term relationship. Clara always assumed her life with her father had jaded her from relationships. But the positive was she and Sara were tight. It was no longer a mother-daughter kind of relationship.

No, thought Clara. It's more of an older woman-younger woman relationship. A little common background, but mostly just respect for each other. With a little love for good measure.

Clara hit the answer icon on the dash screen. "Sara!"

"Clara!" laughed Sara in reply. Their rhyming names always made them laugh.

"What's up, kiddo?" asked Clara.

"I'm coming to town next week. I wanted to give you a heads up."

"Oh? For how long this time?"

"A couple of days. Maybe a week. I might stay with you a couple of nights if that's okay?"

"Okay? Girl, you better be staying with me! I'll break out the ice cream and we can watch some real chick flicks. Just like old times."

"That sounds perfect, actually."

"Weren't you here a couple of months ago? I heard through the university that you were in town. I didn't hear it from you." Truth was, Clara was pissed about it, but she loved Sara and trusted her.

The phone went quiet. "Oh."

"Oh? That's all I get?"

"I stayed with some friends. That's all. I wanted to spend as much time with them as I could. And... well... you know."

Clara felt her eyes sting a little. Sara wasn't her daughter, but for four years she had been her stepdaughter. And since that marriage ended, they had stayed in constant touch and Clara considered her as one of her best friends. They used to share everything together, no matter how small or big. She felt the stirrings of betrayal but refused to give in to that emotion. She trusted Sara. But Sara was hiding things from her.

She must have her reasons...

"Well," replied Clara when she was sure her voice wouldn't betray her thoughts. "Next time, let me know you're in town at least, okay? The city isn't that far away. You know I keep the area of the house ready for you. Whenever you chose to use it." Whenever Sara came to stay with her, Clara put her up in a separate wing of her massive three-story house. Chester even called it the Sara Wing.

Together, Clara and Chester pulled in serious money. So much money that Clara often felt dirtied by the amount. But not for long. Being tenured, and having been the Dean for a few years, Clara was independently wealthy, but Chester, as owner of his own law firm, pulled in the real money. All covered by pre-nuptials, but while married, they shared the wealth. Double income with no kids.

Ours is the perfect life, she thought, but she had doubts about that.

And his kids from his first marriage want nothing to do with him. He's a good man, that bitch of a wife he had poisoned his kids against him. She loved Chester. A deep, satisfied love. They both had benefitted from previous marriages, and they were making this one work. Communication was the key, and as trope a statement as that is, it's true. We hide nothing from one another. Clara grimaced as she remembered her Tinder date from years ago. I hid that, didn't I? And that lovely girl before him...

"I promise," replied Sara, startling Clara out of her reverie.

"When do you get in?"

"This Friday. I have plans for Saturday night, but Sunday night is free. We can do movies then, okay?"

"Okay, Little Sparrow. It's a date."

The line went quiet. Clara had often called Sara her Little Sparrow. One night, Clara had read the fairy tale The Happy Prince to Sara. Sara had fallen in love with the little sparrow in the story. She had loved to cry when the bird sacrifices her life for the people of the city, spreading leaves of gold from a statue, when she should have flown south to the warmth.

Years later, Sara admitted she felt like the sparrow for her father. Clara had understood immediately. The statue in the story, the happy prince, makes demands of the sparrow beyond reason to the point of killing the gentle and loving sparrow. There is no beauty in the sparrow's death, only sorrow that a person could persuade another to do something so against their nature that death would be the result. Clara had wept privately when Sara had admitted to being the sparrow. Whenever Clara had a sense Sara was doing something against her own good, she called her Little Sparrow. It was a reminder that some people will use you for their own gains, no matter how altruistic they may seem.

"Haha, okay. I'm not being the little sparrow, Clara. Trust me. This is all about me. It's me being selfish. I... I just can't speak of it, okay? So don't ask. I don't want to lie to you, okay?"

Clara felt a sadness take her then. Sara was an adult now, at twenty-seven. Capable of lies and dishonesty. Their open and honest relationship was maturing into the world of adults and secrets. Whatever was consuming Sara, she welcomed it, and Clara could hear it in her voice. And she trusted Sara. And she trusted she would come to her when and if whatever she was doing became too much for her to handle on her own.

"Okay, love. Stay safe. See you on Friday night. I'll get Chester to go spend the night out with the boys. He's been dying for a poker night for months."

Sara peeled out a laugh. "It's a date. Love you!"

"Love you! Bye, hon."

"Bye."

The line disconnected. Clara sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts and emotions. One day, Sara would tell her what was up. Maybe explain what was going on in her life. She could only be here for her when she wanted that help, and Clara would always be here for her.

* * *

Clara pulled into her long circular driveway and parked in front of the double garages. It was a massive home. Three stories with a pool and hot tub in the back. Her house sat at the top of Hudson Hill and overlooked all the other expansive homes in the gated community. Her house was a lovely beige with white wood trim and bannisters, topped with a grey metal roof. It was honestly too much home for just her and Chester. It boasted eleven bedrooms and sixteen bathrooms. Most of the house was closed off, not seeing any actual use. High fences and massive acreage separated her home from her neighbours, and they all enjoyed the privacy.

Her house, inside and out, had graced the covers of many home and real estate magazines. She loved it and despite the size, it felt like home to her.

As she exited her car, her designer handbag hanging off her left forearm, she saw the wide front door open by her maid, Sofia Rodriguez. She was a Hispanic woman, plump but energetic, with a wild sense of humour, and the ability to create the most amazing meals equal to the best restaurants in Poughkeepsie and the surrounding area. Equal to New York City. Sofia waved and then looked past her. Clara turned to follow her gaze and saw Audra pull up in her red BMW i8 Roadster. The top was down with the late Spring heat. She remained in her car, looking at Clara expectantly.

That irked Clara, but she walked over anyway and stood outside the passenger door.

"Audra! I haven't seen you in months! How have you been keeping? What brings you round?"

Audra lived next door to Clara. When Clara had moved in, it had caused some kind of issue with Audra. She had seemed annoyed and genuinely happy at the same time. That they were now distant friends had made it all the worse, somehow. Clara never knew what to say to Audra anymore, and it frustrated her to no end. She wanted that friendship back. Even Sara was more distant these days. Clara felt she was being excluded from something. Something big, but she didn't know what it could be.

"Hi, Clara. Looking good, hon. I wish I could pull off the look you do. Stunning."

Clara looked Audra over. She was one to talk. Audra wore only the best clothes and had learned to expose her ample cleavage to anyone wanting a look. She used it to her advantage in a male dominated mathematics field. Audra filled speaker engagements. She had kept her same figure for over two decades through religious work outs and watching her diet. Sofia had been a recommendation from Audra when she and Chester had moved in five years ago. Somehow Audra's natural large breasts still defied gravity. Clara was glad her implants kept her firm and youthful upstairs.

Audra slipped her sunglasses down her nose and peered over them. "Have you heard from Sara lately?" she asked, surprising Clara.

Clara blinked. She had hoped, as always, that Audra would want to talk to her about her. She fought to keep her disappointment from her face. "Yes, actually. She just called me. She's coming over Friday night and spending a week here, I think. She's visiting friends." Clara had no idea who those friends were and hoped Audra didn't ask her.

Instead, Audra seemed to brighten. "Oh, how lovely! I hope to see her again. It's been so long."

Clara remembered Audra and Bernard coming over for Christmas drinks not that long ago. Sara had spent her entire holiday with Clara, as she always did. She no longer spoke to her father, or so she said. Audra, Bernard, and Sara had spent a lot of time talking. They had seemed quite friendly to Sara, and she remembered the jealousy she had felt.

Wait, they saw each other only a few months ago, thought Clara. It hasn't been long at all.

"I'll be sure to let her know you were asking about her," Clara said, instead, gritting her teeth.

Audra laughed and gave a little wave, before driving off down the circular driveway before turning right toward her house next door. Clara stood there, sensing something wrong, but not knowing what. Audra had been so elusive these past few years. She had watched as cars filled her driveway and watched couples pour into her house routinely. She had never been invited. Audra had never mentioned a thing about her constant socials at her house. Socials Clara had never been invited to. It was a thorn that was now so embedded into her psyche she couldn't separate it from her memories of her former friend.

Clara turned to find Sofia still standing at her door. Clara walked up and Sofia greeted her warmly.

"Senora MacQuarrie, welcome home."

Sofia always pronounced her last name strangely, but Clara liked it for some reason. It was her name, now, but marrying into the name didn't make her feel she owned it.

She smiled at Sofia. "Hi, Sofia. Thank you. I have good news. Sara will be home this Friday night and staying for a while. A week at least, I think."

Sofia's face lit up. "Ah, si! Eso Es encantador! I'll freshen up her room. Get it ready the way she likes."

"That would be lovely, thank you, Sofia."

"The maestra is home and working in his office, senora."

For whatever reason, Clara was always 'senora' to Sofia despite her best efforts to get her to call her Clara. And Chester was always the 'master'. Clara kept her disappointment to herself. If Chester was in his office working, it meant she wasn't likely to see him for several hours more. She had been so hoping to get her sexual frustrations worked out. It had been all she had thought about today.

He fucks me awake, cums inside me, and leaves me frustrated. What an ass! And why does that excite me?

Clara fumed and walked into the house, placing her handbag by the door. Sofia followed close behind.

"He has asked for a brandy, and I was just about to deliver it. Would you like to instead, senora?"

Clara nodded and followed Sofia into the kitchen, which involved a lot of walking through state rooms and the like. In the kitchen, Sofia handed her a small silver tray with a brandy and a carefully rolled joint on it. Clara smiled. Chester always liked a joint at the end of the day. That he wanted one now gave her a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps the day and night can be salvaged, she mused and took the offered tray. "Thank you, Sofia. You can take the rest of the day off if you wish."

"Si, and thank you, senora. Your supper is in the fridge. 350 for an hour. Salad is in the fridge, too."

"Thank you," Clara said tray and headed upstairs to the offices. As much as she loved her home, she sometimes found it annoying just how big was. Oil paintings and artwork adorned the walls and furniture. She walked past them, not seeing them anymore. She made her way down a long hallway on the second floor to where her and Chester's offices were. She rarely used hers these days. Chester, on the other hand, practically lived in his.

She stopped at his door and gave it a light rap, like Sofia would. She heard a muffled reply and opened the door to find Chester sitting at his desk, his back to the door, with a pile of folders stacked beside him. She could smell cigarette smoke and suddenly craved a cigarette herself.

"Maestra, I have your brandy here."

"Thank you, Sofia. Just place it on the end of the desk, please."

"¿Te gustaría que te chuparan la polla?" asked Clara, faking Sofia's accent as best she could.

"Now, Sofia. What would my wife say? Offering to suck my penis like that?"

"She would probably say divorce!"

Chester chuckled and swung around in his leather chair. "Hi, beautiful. Sofia never knocks. I knew it was you right away."

Clara sauntered forward, swaying her hips. "Oh, really? And how do I know that to be true?"

Chester grinned at her. "Well, for one, you give great blowjobs. And two, Sofia reminds me of a granny. An overweight granny."

Clara put the tray and glass of brandy down on the desk, hiked her skirt, and slipped onto Chester's lap and pressed her panties onto his groin. She could feel the rising hardness of him. Chester's hands slipped to her waist and clasped her firmly. She loved the strength of a man with his hands on her. Her pussy warmed and she felt a tingle in her stomach that flooded her pussy.

Clara gazed into his face. He was handsome and exuded the power that most lawyers have, except his was not bravado. His was genuine and she adored his strength. On their first date he had taken her, and she had willingly parted her legs and let him in. His penis was above average but not by much, but it was enough for her. Larger than Sean's, that was for sure. Sometimes she craved a massive penis. Something to scare her. Something bigger than she could imagine. She knew, in the right circumstances, she could take an enormous penis. But she knew she would never have the chance.

He kissed her then. A soft, probing kiss. One she knew that held no promise for anything more. She sighed and laid her head against his forehead.

"Work?"

"Yeah. I'll be at it all night. Sorry."

He didn't sound sorry, to her. They had been through this dance many times. A dance they danced far too frequently these days. Not for the first time, she worried about their future as a couple. They both came from unfortunate marriages and entered this marriage open and hopeful. But time has a way of dimming the excitement. The lustre wears off. Routines become habits and impossible to change. Their magic was disappearing. Work consumed life.

They were husband and wife, but Clara needed more, she realised. That Chester had just taken her this morning wasn't lost on her. She wanted to pull his penis out and simply fuck it and walk off. Like he had to her. Except he wouldn't allow that. He came from old-fashioned values. He was the dutiful husband and she the dutiful wife. Her role couldn't be that. She hated it.

She lifted her head and got off his lap. She wanted him to stop her. To hold her there. Kiss her more. But he did none of that. He let her climb off, and she stood there, fighting tears, wishing he shared her dark desires. Those secret thoughts she had all the time. She glanced at his brandy and joint. She wanted to smash them. She wanted...

"Sara is coming over this weekend. She'll be here Friday night and staying a week," she said instead.

"Nice."

"Yeah."

They stood in silence. Chester glanced toward his files and Clara got the message.

"I'll just leave you to it," she said and left the room. He didn't respond.

Chapter Two - All I Want

CLARA FLED TO her bathroom. She found herself here more than any other room in the house. In her bathroom she had the privacy she needed to be herself, and let her emotions escape from the forced façade she pulled over her features to face the world. Even with Chester she had to pretend to be someone she wasn't.

She was in turmoil. She felt depressed. She wanted to smash everything in sight. And she didn't know why. She went to the entertainment system Chester had installed throughout the house. It was fed every type of music available from an online source. She only knew how it was made to work, not how it worked.

She skimmed her saved playlists and found Joni Mitchell's Blue album. She pressed play and sighed as the first sharp guitar chords filled the room. She sang along to All I Want as she undressed. Her warm lyric contralto voice easily followed along. Sara had loved to hear her sing. Chester rarely commented on her singing, but she was proud of her voice. Alone in the bathroom, the ceramic tiles adding to the acoustics, her voice sang clear with the emotion of the song.

"I am on a lonely road and

I am traveling, traveling, traveling, traveling.

Looking for something, what can it be?"

She swiped at her face and removed her tears as the song faded. The music and the words struck a deep chord within her. There was something wrong with her. She knew that, but not what. The truths were there, she knew. Right in front of her if she could only see and understand them. She knew hearing Joni Mitchell would get her into a worse state, but she knew the journey would get her through it to a happier place on the other side.

She stepped up to the shower and pressed the controls. A touch screen lit up, and she selected a setting she had entered. Hot water cascaded from the rain shower head. Jets pulsed from the sides. Steam rose in the cool air and Carla stepped back.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror that covered the far wall. From the side she still looked hot. She was almost fifty and still carried the body of a woman only thirty. She turned to the mirror. Her breasts stood high on her chest and proud. She squeezed them, enjoying their softness. They were a work of art, the best money could buy, and she enjoyed the feel of them in her hands, so much more than she could hold. They were so much better than her former breasts. She loved how her nipples were so prominent, lifting high and thick, surrounded by lush, pink-coloured areolas. They were so sensitive since the surgery. She pinched a nipple and her eyelids fluttered with the pleasurable sensation that spread down to her pussy. She lifted a breast high by tugging on her nipple and looked, but could barely see, the small remnants of the surgery scar.