The Mentor Ch. 03

This is the third and final installment of the story about Eve, the writing student and her mentor, Prof. Brett Michaels. I recommend you read the first two chapters before reading the finale. (And if you feel like it, comment!) Thanks. Petitmort.

*

Eve sat on the grass watching her fellow students carry cardboard boxes down the dormitory stairs to the cars waiting in the courtyard below. It was mid-June -- moving out day. College was over for the year, graduation had come and gone, and the students were anxious to get to the next destination in their journeys. Except for Eve. She was house-sitting for Prof. Michaels and was sticking around a few more days until he returned.

An award-winning author, Prof. Michaels was Eve's creative writing teacher and he had hired Eve earlier in the year to manage affairs at his house while he was out of town. His editor and publisher were both in New York City and his latest book was about to go to galleys.

Eve had transferred to the school specifically to take Michaels' short story seminar. She had to submit a writing sample to get into the class. Luckily, he liked her writing enough for her to get in. She had learned an incredible amount from the experience. Her writing had matured tremendously and her confidence as a writer, thanks to his mentorship, was riding high.

Elsewhere, her life was more turbulent. She had developed a deep and unremitting sexual attraction to Prof. Michaels. One of the short stories she'd written -- titled "Bittersweet" -- was about the sexual awakening of a young woman. Michaels had coached her on how to explore the deeper issues of the story and Eve had misread the signals. She fell for him. Hard.

Michaels was a good fifteen years older than Eve and had recently separated from his wife. He was tall, dark, and incredibly handsome--to Eve anyway. She found herself fantasizing about him repeatedly. At night, she would imagine him making love to her and she would bring herself to orgasm while her roommate slumbered nearby. At first, Eve tried to get Michaels' attention by wearing tight tops that accentuated her ample breasts. During office hours, she'd shown up wearing a short skirt and boots but he always maintained a professional distance.

So, she devoted all her energies to her writing, partly to impress him, but mainly to improve her craft. She was serious about wanting to become a writer and the feedback he'd given her thus far was encouraging. She took his feedback to heart when it made sense to her and challenged it when it didn't. If she couldn't attract him with her body, perhaps she could with her mind.

Over the course of the school year, Eve fell into a relationship with one of her classmates, David. It wasn't a romance, really, they were more or less "fuck buddies." She and David would study together and then sneak sex where they could. Once, late at night, they'd done it in the stacks of the library. Mostly, they'd fuck in each other's dorm rooms when their respective roommates weren't around. David was awfully good in bed and Eve looked forward to their times together. While normally somewhat inhibited, she found herself becoming much freer and more sexually adventurous as a result of their friendship.

The night before graduation, Eve and David partied with friends to celebrate the end of the school year. Afterwards, they snuck off to a stairwell in her dormitory. Both of their roommates were packing so it was the only place they could find to be together. David was going home the next day and both of them were craving one last tryst together.

They snuck up to the top of the carpeted stairwell trying hard not to be noticed by the RA. It was past midnight and the hallways were empty. The top of the stairs was dark, save for the green glow of the exit sign.

He pressed her against the wall in the stairway and they kissed with a fiery passion. Their hands were on each other in an instant, unbuttoning each other's pants and pulling off their shirts. There was a sense of urgency, even desperation, in their furtive groping. Soon they were naked and he was pressing himself against her, his fingers finding her pussy. She pushed him back to slow him down and they both sunk to their knees.

Kneeling below her on the carpeted staircase, he started to kiss her neck. She loved the feeling of his soft lips kissing her there. It always made her hot, and he knew it. He worked his way down her body, tonguing and kissing her, paying special attention to her big, full breasts. He lifted her leg onto his shoulder and his lips brushed softly against her inner thigh. She lay back on the stairs with her eyes closed as his tongue found her pussy.

Eve wasn't that experienced sexually, but she was a quick study. She had learned she loved dangerous sex, for instance. It made her extremely hot. The risk of getting caught stoked her already healthy libido. Feeling his tongue inside her, in the darkness, she let her imagination go. What if she wasn't in the stairwell at all? What if she was in his house--Prof. Michaels. What if he had come home early from New York and surprised her there. What if this was him touching her? Wanting her. Loving her.

Stop it, Eve! He's not even interested in you. You're with David now, for crissakes!

Eve cared for David, she really did. And she found him very hot. A former actor, David was well-built and extremely handsome. He treated her with respect and didn't take their "friends with benefits" status for granted. Eve banished thoughts of her teacher from her mind. She stroked David's head with both hands and raised her pelvis to his mouth.

Her head swirled as his tongue and lips worked her pussy feverishly. Suddenly, he was kissing her and she could taste herself on his lips. She reached down and found his rigid cock. She stroked it a few times but it needed no encouragement -- it was as hard as a rock. She guided him to her pussy. As he pushed the head of his cock between her velvety lips, she let out a throaty moan.

That's it. That's where you belong. Fill me up with your beautiful, beautiful cock!

Slowly, he slid his long shaft inside her wet, hot pussy. He always filled her so beautifully. She arched her back as he started to stroke her ... slowly ... steadily.

"Yes, fuck me," Eve moaned as she felt him push deep inside her. Her hands felt the muscles of his shoulders and back as he moved in and out of her.

Fuck me. Fuck me good so I don't ever have to think about him again.

"Oh, fuck yes. It feels so good," she moaned.

She reached down and gripped his ass with both hands, pulling him deeper inside. David arched his back and pressed his cock as deep as it would go. To the hilt. She cried out. He thrust his hips and she felt him pressing against her cervix. She cried out again. Her orgasm was approaching, and so was his. He reached down and rubbed her clit with his thumb. Her body began to shake. Laying on the stairs, her legs splayed wide, he impaled her again and again bringing her to a shattering, moaning climax.

"Oh God ... Yes ... Yes ... Yes ... Yes ... Come ... come with me!!!"

David felt an electrical charge shoot through his taut, twenty-five year old body and straight out the tip of his cock. Big loads of cum shot deep inside her hot, wet pussy. With each spurt, he grunted with an animal passion. They moaned and grunted in unison, they're bodies convulsing with pleasure. Finally, he collapsed beside her, out of breath.

They lay there for a moment, catching their breath. She ran her hands over his strong thighs to his ass, firm and tight. Her mouth found his cock and took the tip between her lips and tasted their combined juices. She took him deep in her throat and released him with a smack. One last taste to remember him by.

"That was ... incredible," said David, with a smile. "As always."

Eve reached out and touched him lightly on the face.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" she asked.

"Around noon. My folks are driving out in the mini-van."

"Nice of them."

"Yeah." He ran his finger slowly across her lower lip. "You gonna stick around?"

"Yeah. For a bit."

He nodded.

"You gonna tell 'im?"

"Who?"

"Michaels."

"Tell him what?"

He reached out and gently tucked her blond hair behind her ear.

"How you feel about him?"

"What?"

How does he know? What did I say?

"C'mon, Eve, it's me. It's ok."

She looked down at her hands.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Just to me. I see the way you look at him. In class."

Eve embraced him, her head on his chest. David was the last person she thought she'd be discussing this with. She wanted desperately not to hurt him.

"I just don't want to be cliché. The student obsessed with her teacher."

"Former teacher," he said matter-of-factly. "You graduated."

"Whatever. He's the famous author and I'm just another student."

"Hardly. You're the best writer in the class. Probably in the school."

"I don't know about that."

"OK, 'Miss A-plus.' Whatever you say."

Eve smiled plaintively and laid her head back on his chest.

The next day, David gave Eve a hug goodbye as his parents watched from the van nearby. He had introduced her as "my friend from writing class" and Eve greeted them warmly. She hadn't expected anything more and if it were her introducing her parents to him, she'd have probably used the same language. She and David had agreed to keep things "light," given where they were in their lives. David was returning to the Midwest to work for his Dad's law firm for the summer. Eve was going to Europe for six weeks with a backpack and a Eurail pass—a graduation gift from her parents. She definitely wanted to stay friends with David but there were no more expectations than that. For either of them.

Now, as Eve sat on the grass watching the students carrying their boxes to their cars, she felt like she was ending a chapter in her life and about to embark on a new, uncharted one.

She decided to walk to Prof. Michaels' house and take care of her daily housesitting chores. At least it was something to do. She walked from campus, through the downtown area, to Michaels' house in a leafy section of town. She collected the mail from the foyer floor and placed it in a neat pile in his office. She put out food for the cat and watered each of the plants. Michaels was due back the following day and she wanted to make sure everything was in its place. She glanced at the cat's dish and wondered where it was.

"Portia," she called. "Here, Kitty Kitty."

She found the cat upstairs in the master bedroom, sleeping on the king-sized bed.

"There you are. Do you miss Daddy?"

She sat next to the cat and stroked her soft fur. She looked around the bedroom. Bookshelves, a marbletop dresser, an oriental rug.

So this is where the great writer sleeps. This could be our bed. Our refuge. Where we talk. And dream. And make love.

She imagined him laying on the bed, looking at her, smiling.

Oh, the things I'd do for you in this bed.

She glided her hand along her inner thigh. Suddenly a chiming sound from downstairs.

Shit, that's the doorbell.

She picked up the cat, descended the stairs, and set her down next to her food in the kitchen. She headed for the front door, glancing at herself in the mirror in the hallway. She was dressed in a white blouse and jeans -- she had wanted to look presentable for David's folks. She opened the front door and revealed a tall, elegantly-dressed woman of about forty. Eve recognized her immediately from the photographs in Michaels' office.

Oh my God! It's his wife. What's she doing here?

The woman looked as surprised to see Eve as Eve was to see her. She was even more beautiful in person than in her pictures. Eve was momentarily speechless. The woman spoke first.

"Well, he didn't waste much time did he?" Condescension oozed from her English accent.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're definitely his type."

Eve felt herself stand a little taller, mustering her most dignified tone.

"I'm housesitting for Prof. Michaels. I'm his student."

A wave of regret immediately swept across the woman's face.

"Forgive me. That was terribly rude. I'm Guinevere McIntosh. I'm Brett's ... Prof Michaels' ... wife."

Eve smiled and nodded.

Indeed you are.

"Eve Lawson. How do you do?"

Eve reached out her hand and they shook, politely.

"Prof. Michaels is out of town. He's due back tomorrow."

The woman seemed to process this information. She suddenly looked less sure of herself, even vulnerable.

"I ... brought these papers to give him. I ... didn't want to just mail them."

She held out a thick envelope. Eve stepped forward and took it from her.

Would you...like to come in?"

Eve opened the door and took a step back.

Guinevere nodded and stepped into the foyer. She glanced at the front rooms without comment.

"I'll put this on his desk. Would you like to leave a note?"

"Yes. Yes, I would. Thank you."

Eve took the envelope to Michaels' office and placed it on the front of his desk. She noticed the return address had a string of last names.

Looks a lot like a law firm.

She brought a sheet of paper, an envelope, and a pen back to the living room.

"Here you are," she said, handing them to her. "Would you like something to drink? Some tea?"

The woman took the stationery and pen.

"That would be lovely. Thank you."

Eve went to the kitchen as Guinevere sat on the living room couch to write her note. A few minutes later, Eve returned carrying a tray.

"All he has is English Breakfast. I hope that's okay."

Eve placed the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. Guinevere was sealing the envelope.

"That's wonderful. Thank you so much."

"Here, I'll put that with the envelope."

"Thank you." She smiled and handed Eve the envelope.

"You live in the U.K., don't you?" Eve called from the hallway.

Eve had read all about her in the tabloids. She was a famous fashion designer. She and Michaels had been estranged for more than a year.

"That's right. In London."

"I'm planning to go there this summer," Eve said re-entering the room. "My graduation present."

Guinevere had poured two cups of tea. She handed one to Eve.

"Thanks," said Eve, smiling.

"So you just graduated. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Eve smiled. "I'm not sure what I'll do with a BA in Creative Writing but there you go."

Eve watched her as she took a sip of tea. She had long, wavy brown hair and a slender figure. Her clothes--linen slacks with a light jacket and scarf--were amazing. Casual, yet elegant.

"Mmmm. That's heavenly. Thank you, so much."

"No problem. Are you hungry? I could ... see what there is to eat?"

"Actually, I'm famished. I haven't eaten since the plane."

"Well, I haven't had lunch either! Let's see what there is."

The two of them headed to the kitchen, like teenagers raiding the frig.

Eve pulled out some fruit and cheese. In the cupboard, she found some crackers. They sat at the kitchen table and ate together. Making small talk and getting acquainted. Eve found her fascinating. Impressive, but also disarming. Even girlish at times.

"Guinevere ... can I call you Guinevere?" she said, slicing the Jarlsburg cheese.

"Of course, dear."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course you can. What is it?"

"I was just wondering why... you know... you and Prof. Michaels split up?"

Guinevere leaned back and looked into her cup of tea for a moment. Eve suddenly felt as if she'd crossed a line.

"I'm sorry. If that's too personal..."

Guinevere waved her off.

"No, no. It's alright. It's been a long time coming actually. You see, Prof. Michaels...Brett...and I have known each other for a long, long time. We met at Oxford. He was a Rhodes scholar. We've known each other since the beginning. Since before the beginning."

Eve nodded, listening intently. It was more than her writer's curiosity at work here. Guinevere continued.

"Once our careers took off, we started to live separate lives. On different continents, in different worlds. It's hard to chart the same course under those circumstances."

"Do you think there's a chance you'll patch things up?"

Guinevere shook her head. "You know the papers I brought for him?"

"Divorce papers?"

She nodded. "Our time is over. It's for the best. Really."

"If you say so." Eve said, simply.

Eve stood to replenish the plate with crackers and returned to her seat.

"When you said I was his type. What did you mean? Was he unfaithful?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry about that. It's just an emotional time for me."

"No, no, I understand. Strange woman in your husband's house and everything."

"It's not that. Or, maybe it is, a little. It's been more than a year since we've been together. I just felt a little ... replaced. I don't know. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Eve smiled. "Really, don't worry about it."

She offered Guinevere the plate of cheese.

"No, Brett's nothing if not discreet. If there were other women, I didn't know about it. I'm sure he had opportunities."

Eve raised her eyebrows, inviting her to continue.

"I mean, all those book tours. With all those adoring fans. I'm sure they were throwing themselves at his feet."

She looked at Eve.

"Don't you find him attractive?"

Eve swallowed, she hoped imperceptibly.

"I suppose. For an older man."

"Older?" she laughed. "My God, he's only 40. That makes me an older woman too, you know!"

Eve waved her hand.

"No, no. I didn't mean that. It's just I'm not used to thinking about guys that old in that way. If you know what I mean."

Guinevere smiled.

"I know what you mean. How old are you, dear?"

"Twenty-two."

"Ah yes, twenty-two. I remember those years. Do you have a boyfriend?"

Eve paused. Talking to Prof. Michaels' estranged wife about David was bordering on the surreal.

"There's someone. More of a friend than a boyfriend. He left for home today."

Guinevere looked at her with a kind regard.

"Well, a girl as lovely as you will do just fine."

Eve looked down at her shoes.

"That's nice of you to say."

Guinevere looked sideways at her.

"Are you serious? You know how beautiful you are, don't you? You have a bloody good figure."

Eve let out a snort.

"Hardly."

"Don't be silly. As Brett would say, you've got the perfect combination: boobs, butt, and brains."

Eve laughed.

"Is that what you meant when you said I was his type?"

Guinevere leaned back with laugh.

"Well, yes. Like a lot of men, he always had an eye for young women who were ... how shall I put it ... well-endowed."

Eve could feel face getting warm.

"A breast man, huh?"

Guinevere's eyes widened.

"Oh yes. Big time. How he ended up with me, I'll never know," she laughed.

Her voice became a whisper, conspiratorial.

"Promise you won't tell?"

Eve nodded.

"He used to like sucking like a baby."

"Really?" Eve answered, as she poured them some more tea.

"Oh, yes." She looked off into space. "How he loved that. Probably a mother thing. You know, too many years breastfeeding or something."

Eve could feel her heart thumping.

"So the great Professor is just a little boy at heart."

"Aren't most men?" answered Guinevere with a smile.

"I mean, I could tell you some things," she continued. "But I shouldn't."

Eve felt vaguely ashamed, but couldn't help herself.

"I don't want to pry. Totally up to you."

Guinevere took another sip of tea.

"Behind that worldly exterior he's kind of innocent, really. Deep down he's a shy little boy."

Eve listened intently.

"He used to love it when I took charge. You know, when I seduced him. I think he's so inside his own head, he needed to be brought out. To be led."