The Visiting Professor

Wednesday afternoon. Sigh. She knew she would miss having the Thursday afternoon workout session. It had been a nonstop day, but she was finishing up and could go home soon.

Alone in the building, she was startled to hear the back door open. Probably a student coming to use the computer lab. But a minute later, someone knocked on her door.

"Sorry to drop by without calling. I saw your car here so decided to stop. Hope that's okay."

"Of course."

She and he had talked about 6 times that day already and exchanged multiple emails, so she wondered what he could possibly want or need at this time of the day.

"It's quiet in here. No classes tonight?" he asked.

"No, I guess not. I don't yet know the schedule here that well. Maybe there's a club meeting later, but I really don't know."

He took the seat next to her uninvited and placed his keys on her desk. He certainly seemed to be making himself at home.

"Am I interrupting? Shall I leave?"

When had she ever asked anyone to leave her office?! He knew her well enough to know she would never be so rude, no matter how busy she was or how ready she was to get home, have a glass of wine, relax, and regret the absence of her 'therapy' the next afternoon.

They talked desultorily of work. She was feeling impatient, wondering why he was here wasting her time. He was socially awkward, sure, but honestly! Was he really that oblivious?

"So when does the visiting professor arrive?"

"Supposed to have already been here, but the last we heard, maybe another 2-3 weeks."

"Do they still have the apartment for those here?"

"Oh, yes. The housekeepers have had it clean now for 3 weeks—swept, mopped, vacuumed, kitchen and bathroom cleaned, sheets and towels washed. It's all prepared—just waiting on the guy to arrive from Mexico."

"Is he traveling through Mexico?"

"Yes."

What else was there to say? The visiting professor wasn't in their discipline, so they had never discussed him before. Why the sudden interest?

"I've never seen the apartment. Is it nice or just a glorified dorm room?"

"It's okay. Nothing fancy. A small living area with television and desk, a kitchenette with breakfast table, and a bedroom and attached bathroom."

"Oh, okay. I'd like to see it sometime." A few seconds of silence, then—"Do you have a key? Would you give me a personal tour?"

Suddenly she recalled the somewhat suggestive notes from last spring. The realization must have shown on her face because he looked intently at her and nodded very slightly.

"Sure, we can take a look."

She got her keys and led the way to the far end of the hall. The quiet of the building suddenly seemed more intense. She was acutely aware of him behind her.

He watched her hips as they walked down the hall. He liked the view—the skirt fit tightly enough to emphasize her figure and was short enough to show plenty of legs. Concentrating so on her body, he almost caromed into her at the apartment door.

The lock snapped as she turned the key, and they were in the kitchen. He glanced to the right and saw the bedroom. Not wanting to move too quickly, he turned left, entering the living area.

She felt like she was talking too much, babbling nervously. What was wrong with her? They had worked together for years and had never had any awkwardness between them. So why now?

On the periphery of his consciousness he realized she was chatting about the apartment, but his mind was working almost solely on what his best move might be.

Walking near her, he let his body graze hers, invading personal space but not so egregiously that she felt threatened. He knew she was a bit skittish, so he had to carefully find the balance between pushing but not too hard. He told himself that if he could maneuver the situation well enough, then the pushing could be much more satisfying and well worth the effort and patience he was prepared to invest.

He thought he detected a reaction, an inclination not to move away but rather to maintain the casual contact. That would be a good sign, of course, so he could increase the pace of finding his way to the bedroom.

She asked if he wanted to see the rest of the place and warned him jokingly of the Pepto-Bismol color he could expect in the bathroom. He made one last survey of the room and agreed to move along on the tour.

Once in the small bedroom, he could intensify his efforts. After all, what good was a bed that wasn't being used?

He obligingly agreed the pink bathroom was unfortunate for the man who was soon to inhabit the place. As they backed out of the small room, he blocked her exit, talking about something or other, enforcing and prolonging their proximity. He allowed his eyes to rest openly on her breasts. A slight shadow of lace showed through the delicate fabric of her blouse. He fantasized immediately about seeing that lace without the blouse.

His gaze was overt, and he felt himself growing even as he detected the outline of nipples beneath the lace. He told himself that she was reacting to his nearness, to the insinuations he was providing.

"Didn't you spend the night here during the big snowstorm?"

"Yes, I stayed one night."

"Were you comfortable?"

She looked confused, as if she didn't really understand the question.

He crowded her against the side of the bed. "Was the bed comfortable?"

He took one of her hands, sat on the edge of the bed, and tugged gently to bring her down beside him.

He felt bolder, like there was no turning back. He was committed to the path; he wanted to know.

First he wanted to see the lace. He said nothing, but began unbuttoning the blouse, allowing the backs of his hands to brush against the soft flesh. He sensed more than felt the weight of her breasts and soon knew that she was reacting more strongly for the hardness of her nipples increased. He rubbed against each one deliberately, taking his time. The front of the blouse gaped open. Yes, there was the lace. A cream colored bra with the lace at the top cupped creamy mounds of flesh. The lower portion was a thin, silky material that did little to hide the arousal denoted by nipples.

He pushed her onto her back, his hands pushed aside the flimsy fabric, and he saw her breasts unencumbered by her clothes. He had long wondered what they were like, and now he knew. And at the moment, they were standing at attention, brought to that state by his sex appeal. He knew it.

His mouth descended and he took first the right then the left nipple into his mouth. He sucked, swirled his tongue across the protrusion, and bit lightly, pulling her more fully into his mouth.

His erection had been making itself known with increasing urgency. He shifted into a better position. He still had some work to do before he would release the beast and give her the ride of her life. But he did take her hand and close her fingers around his manhood, sucking in air at even that relatively innocuous movement. He bet her body was already prepared to accept his bulk, and he intended to make that happen before the day was finished.

She fell backward on the bed. His mouth and hands still busy. Her mind was struggling to catch up. A blinking light on the ceiling distracted her. What a time to notice the fire system. She almost laughed aloud at the incongruous thought.

She wanted to tell him to stop, that they should not be doing this. But he was a bit fragile, still overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the job he had accepted—a job he hadn't really wanted but had taken because she had been the one to ask. At least, that's what he had said, but she was no fool; she knew the salary increase was the main reason. Still, she didn't want to bruise his ego. So maybe she'd let him go on a while before stopping him. Also, she had been left alone for two weeks and was feeling the desire. Perhaps this would turn into an acceptable alternative—one that wouldn't require time away from the office. That could work.

The scene was in blacks, whites, but mostly grays. The sun was setting, the campus was quiet, no lights were on in bathroom or bedroom. A sliver of light came from the kitchen. All was silent.

His body moved to cover hers. He was tall, and so the fit was awkward. The blouse showed up on the bed next to them. He raised up and pulled his shirt off. He bare back was visible. His hands went to his waist, and shortly he stood. Pants fell to the floor, boxers followed, and the firm buttocks of a runner were revealed.

Her body came into focus. Lace bra, skirt hunched up around her waist, lacy panties showing starkly white. Then his naked body again moved atop her.

The movement of his hips was unmistakable. His head was far above hers. She was still somewhat clothed, but he clearly didn't mind. The movement intensified, he stiffened, then sagged fully onto her.

After another minute passed, he rose and disappeared into the bathroom. She sat up, straightened her bra, and reached for her blouse. He returned from the bathroom with tissue, handed it to her, and dressed. She wiped her abdomen, buttoned the blouse, rose, neatened the bedcovers, then bent over and grabbed her shoes.

They exited the bedroom, the kitchen light went off, and the apartment was left in darkness.

Twelve hours later, in the police station, the sergeant checked the reports. Good. No problems during the night, and housekeeping reported all clear from their morning's rounds.

He hit the delete button for yesterday and started the recording for the next 24 hours.

A blinking light showed that the system was working properly in the guest building.