Stay After Class, page 9
Yes. I wanted him to do all of the above.
“I want you.”
“And I want to open you, slowly,” he said with a sigh. “I want to discover every part of you. But do you understand that there are many levels of complexities? Like our academic relationship?”
“I guess, but I thought teachers and student have affairs all the time.”
Suddenly, the stern professor was back in his voice and the way his eyes pinned me against the wall.
“This is not an affair.” He was adamant. “If it was an affair, we would have been in each other’s beds long before the semester ended. And I wouldn’t be drawing you right now, but bending you over a table and thrusting into you as deep as I could go.”
His words landed in the vicinity of my panties, and caused me to spread just a little wider, as if I could have sex with thin air. Oh my.
“So, what exactly are the complications preventing you from being between my thighs?”
“I turned in my grades today and closed out the course for the semester, which I rushed to do under the circumstances, because I want to protect you,” he said.
“Protect me from what?”
“You have to know that this is a potentially scandalous situation.”
“Why? I’m twenty-one, about to be twenty-two.” My VirgEnd Clock started ticking in my ears the moment I mentioned my upcoming birthday.
“It’s not about age alone. For me to be your teacher one day, and lover the next is highly frowned upon by the powers that be.”
“I’ve heard students talking about sex with their teachers. I thought it was a thing.”
“It is a thing, but it is not an approved thing. There are rules and ethics committees. There can be consequences. For both of us. I just stepped onto the tenure track. You have to graduate. Us, getting involved, it does not come without real risks. Given that fact, do you still want me … to teach you how to make love?”
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. I treasured the fact he called himself my lover.
“Okay, so the journey begins.”
“Does that mean you are going to make actual love to me? Like with your penis?”
He cracked up. Some of the tension lifted.
“Patience, Ms. Slade, it will be soon enough.” He smiled. “But today I am going to finish this sketch, so that I don’t rip your clothes off. There are things you must learn, before that day comes. Close your eyes.”
I closed them and leaned back more comfortably against the wall.
“Making love can take many forms,” he said. “We make love with our words, our mouths, our tongues, our hands. There are many ways to arouse and to quell the flames of arousal. And there are ways to keep it burning for days. This is what I propose to you. Surrender to me, and trust me to show you pleasure unlike anything you can imagine. Surrender and our lessons can begin in earnest. Can you do that?”
“I think so.” My nipples were hard and my insides felt like a dam about to burst. But there was no sense in demanding he screw me on the spot.
“This means I will guide you at the pace I deem appropriate.” His voice was clear and commanding. “I will be the first man to make you come. I will be the first man to open you fully for love. I will be the one to guide your sexual debut. Is this a journey you still want to take with me?”
“Yes.”
His words caressed my inner thighs and made me moist below. Suddenly I felt his presence, closer, like those days in class when he would draw near. He was in front of me, gently lifting my dress. He placed two fingers on my flesh, and gently traveled my inner thigh.
“Just imagine I am parting your legs, opening you,” he whispered, sending sensual feelings pumping through me. “Imagine being touched where you need to be touched, in the places that burn with need.”
My hips pressed toward his hand.
“Can you imagine, now, what it might like when I am between your beautiful thighs?” he asked, gently pulling his hand away.
“Yes.” My hips were slowly circling, longing to press against his.
“You did that very well,” he said. “Now you can rest. We’ll finish this another time.”
I wanted to finish it immediately, but collapsed against the wall, knees wobbly. It took me a while to recover. Finally, he took hold of my arms and sat me on the table. He kneeled in front of me.
“Open your eyes.” His breath touched my cheek as he spoke. “Look at me.”
He was so close I almost saw double for a moment and then I focused in. I’d never seen so much warmth in his eyes.
“That felt like having sex with the air,” I said with a laugh.
“Consider it a warm up. One lesson will build on the next as we go along.”
With that, he rose and stepped over to his stool to get the sketch. He walked it back over to me. It was amazing how much he’d captured in a short time, considering how much he’d been narrating the whole event. My face was not filled in detail but it was clear from my mouth and body language that I was in the throes of pleasure. He captured the “essence” of me and it made me feel beautiful.
“Wow, that’s impressive. So this is an exercise in essence, not in detail?” I looked his way and smiled.
He shot me a knowing glance and offered a hand to help me stand.
“How was it to pose for me?” he asked. “Was it a satisfying experience?”
“Yes.”
“And I love looking at you like this.” He put his arms around me. “Will you pose again? Sketching sobers me up from all the urges you inspire in me, Ms. Slade.”
“Why do you have to sober up? I wish we could just—”
“What’s happening here,” he said, pointing to me and back to himself, “is a delicate situation and we have to take it slow. As mentioned, if this was just about sex your clothes would have been on the floor a long time ago. I want this experience to mean something.”
I loved that he said it was not just about sex and hated that he wanted to take it slow.
Taking my face into his hands, he kissed me warmly on the lips and held me for a moment.
“I am putting you in a cab.”
“You’re ditching me? Again?”
“I prefer to call it politely bringing the evening to a close before—”
“Before what?”
“Before it’s too hard, or should I say difficult, to let you go home.”
I did not want to leave but I followed him out of the gallery, into the warm evening air, so he could hail a cab. He opened the door and helped me in and asked me to give the driver my address.
“Precious cargo,” he said to the driver slipping him fifty dollars, which was pretty much what it cost for me to get back to Queens, plus a giant tip. “Please get her home safely.”
I liked to pay my own way, but cabs home from the City were not in my budget, especially since I would be off from work for two weeks in between semesters. Besides, given the lets-go-Dutch mentality of college students, it was nice to let a man take care of me in this way. It was kind of classy to go home in a cab.
Chapter Fourteen
Monday, May 23
Project VirgEnd: 13 Days
The Gallery
When Monday arrived, I felt letdown.
My weekly ritual was over. There was no school to attend and I was on hiatus from my job. To top it off, I had not yet heard from the professor. In fact, he wasn’t my professor anymore. I had to get used to addressing him with less formality and being with him outside of class.
For four years, I’d focused on finishing school and getting my degree, and working part time to support myself, so it was not as if I had a rocking social life. Because I had chosen to hold off on sex, there were not a lot of guys in my life. I had friends, but so many of them were partiers and I was not. And for five months I’d nurtured a secret crush on Professor Jem Nichols. I’d become accustomed to seeing, and feeling him around two times a week. It felt really weird to be separated from him after all we experienced last week, in the short span between Monday and Saturday.
So why didn’t he call?
Just as thought I’d go mad wondering, my phone buzzed with a text at almost the exact time Monday’s class would be letting out. It was a photo of the sketch he did at the gallery on Saturday. In it, I was pressed against the wall, legs spread. And there was a look on my face I’d never seen before—pure pleasure. He made me look very racy. I almost did not recognize myself.
“A rare beauty,” said the message. It was signed, “J.”
Then the phone rang.
“You were worried I would never call,” he said.
“I have been sort of waiting by the phone.” I didn’t even try to deny it. “Not a behavior I am accustomed to.”
“Don’t ever tell that to a man your age,” he warned playfully. “Men are wolves, hungry wolves around a woman like you, and they will take advantage of your vulnerability. But, just for the record, I love hearing it.”
“I wish I had a rule book on how this is supposed to work.” I sighed wistfully.
“I think we are way beyond rules.” He laughed. “We may have to make up our own.”
“I guess so. How are things going at the gallery?”
“Complicated,” he said, sounding a bit discouraged. “But moving along. It’s a beautiful evening. I was wondering if I might tempt you into Manhattan again, for a drink. If you’re not busy, that is.”
“I might be tempted.” I didn’t really drink but was so happy he asked that I could have done a happy dance.
“Good. Meet me at the gallery at eight p.m.,” he said.
“The gallery? No summer breeze at an outdoor pub?”
“Not tonight. I am pretty much landlocked here for a couple of weeks. But we’ll create an indoor breeze.”
When I arrived, the interior of the gallery looked dark and deserted, but he stepped to the door to let me in. He wore a black button-up shirt, the tails hanging over his well-worn jeans. His sleeves were rolled up, showing those strong, muscular hands. His eyes were dark and mysterious, yet his smile said he was happy to see me.
Ushering me in, he locked the door behind us and took me into his arms. It hit me how big he was, in comparison to my small frame. My head was within the reach of his chin when in his arms, and his body towered over mine. I felt small, but safe in his arms.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing the top of my head, pulling me closer.
“You have? I thought it was just me, missing you.” I nuzzled into his chest.
“Were that the truth, things would be a lot easier,” he said with a sigh. “Then this would just be a student crush to contend with as opposed to both of us having, um, feelings. But—”
He paused, and pulled away a few inches, stopping himself.
“But what?”
“I am afraid I am going to lose my resolve to not ravish you, so tonight, this calls for a new sketch.”
“What if someone comes in this time?”
“They won’t. I have a contractual agreement with the gallery that no one can be in this space or come in the door after eight p.m. while I am working on the installation. So it’s all ours.”
Ours. I loved the sound of that.
Taking me by the hand, he led me to a small kitchen in the back of the gallery and opened the fridge.
“Beer or wine?”
“I actually don’t drink much, but I’ll have wine.” I figured I’d be social.
After pouring wine for me, he popped open his beer.
“Come, the White Room awaits us,” he announced.
I followed him in.
This time the table was placed caddy corner, and he asked me to sit with my legs curled up to my chest, and my chin resting on top of them. He positioned my body and then sat on his stool to sketch, several feet away.
“I know a good deal about your approach to art, but not much about your academic goals,” he said, beginning to outline. “What are you pursuing?”
He had a smile on his face but sounded a little like a college guidance counselor. I was tempted to just say I was pursuing him and that I had a deadline to meet.
“My major is Business, and my minor is Psychology,” I said. “I want to merge the two somehow.”
“How so?” he asked, his eyes following my mouth as I spoke, his pencil on the page.
“Human Resources.” I sat up a little straighter. “I like the idea of facilitating training in Emotional Intelligence for corporations. Even with so many cut backs, they still need to teach workers how to cope with stress and change.”
“Sounds like you have done a lot of research.” His pencil swirled around the top of the page.
“I have, but also my mother is a corporate trainer and she’s given me some insight into that whole world, which led me to choose Business-Psych as a path of study.”
“So art? Just an elective for you?” His eyes were darting back and forth between me and his sketchbook.
“Yes. But I loved it. Hope you are not disappointed that I am not an aspiring artist.”
“We’re all artists in our own field. I am glad you have found a calling.” He looked up. “A woman with a dream and a goal is a powerful thing to behold.”
We smiled at each other, almost politely and then he went back to sketching. This conversation was not as hot as the last one we had while posing.
“So tell me about your mother.” He lifted his eyes from his drawing. “Sounds like you’re close with her.” It must have been sobering hearing me mention a parent.
“Pretty close. Some of my friends don’t care for their moms much, but I actually like mine.” I laughed.
“So what would she think about … this?”
“What? You sketching me in the back room of a gallery and me wanting to jump your bones and you telling me I can’t?”
He laughed. “Yes, that.”
“My mother would think it is pretty cool that a famous artist is drawing me, or even taking me behind the scenes to his latest show,” I said playfully. “She wants me to be happy and find the person who is right for me.”
Suddenly, I was fidgety and anxious to return the conversation to a sexier topic. I missed my mom, her penchant for astrology, and how she always sent me an email to remind me when Mercury was in retrograde. But those weren’t things you shared on a second date.
“And your dad?” Though he kept his focus on the sketch his probing tone let me know he expected a response. Oh Crap.
“My father … he’s another story.” I squirmed a bit on the table top.
“You might as well prepare me now.” He raised his eyes from the page and looked right at me, challenging me to fess up. “What’s his deal?”
I was surprised that he wanted to know about my parents but wasn’t sure if that was because he would want to avoid them at all costs or if he thought he might want to meet them some day. My fantasy had never quite gotten beyond sex.
“First of all, he is not as big as you, so he can’t beat you up,” I said laughing. “He’s a logical, tough-talking business man. He’s all head and my mother is all about heart. He’s a little older than her and sometimes it shows.”
He stopped drawing and looked me in the eye. “How much older?”
“Ten years, I think.” It didn’t even dawn on me until that moment that my mother had also chosen an older man. “Give or take.”
“Interesting.” His eyes took me in and returned to the page. “Do you still live at home?”
“God, no.” I shook my head dramatically. “We had a disagreement about where I would go to school and live. The folks preferred to keep me down on the farm on Long Island so I left the nest, got a job and an apartment, and took on the normal gazillion dollars in student loans.”
“Your parents don’t help?”
“Not with the big bills,” I said. “Actually, I had some savings left to me by my grandmother. If I had gone to college on Long Island, the ’rents would have paid the rest of the tuition. But I wanted to be in the city, so here I am.”
“You totally walked away from your parent’s support?” His brows arched. “That’s brave.”
“Well, I followed my heart, and since I am a Business major I knew with a job, savings, and some low interest loan money I could manage,” I said. “My mother, being a mom, follows her heart by showing up with groceries and goodie bags when she is in the area. I’m not very high maintenance when it comes to clothes, but she pretty much has treated me to anything girly in my closet. I don’t think she tells my father. And I don’t really tell him anything about my life.”
“So, you’re hiding something too?”
I shifted uncomfortably, my arms feeling tired from being wrapped around my legs. “I guess, when you put it that way.”
“When I look at you this way, I see your innocence.” His charcoal made rasping sounds against the paper as he continued to sketch. “But I also see that it wasn’t easy for you to live as you have lived, on your own terms, without crushing that pure spirit. It’s worth protecting.”
“Protecting from whom?” I wanted to know.
“From wolves, you know, those young guys who don’t understand the preciousness of the gift you have been preserving, the gift that you are.” He stopped sketching and gazed deeply into my eyes. “And maybe from me.”
“I don’t need to be protected from you,” I said, a little defensively. “I feel the opposite.”
“What’s your five-year plan?” It seemed so random. “Where do you see yourself?”
He stopped sketching and put down his pencil.
“I see myself graduating from college with a 3.9 GPA. Going to graduate school. Enjoying a career doing something I love. And no longer being a virgin. What’s your five-year plan?”
“Let’s save that for another time.” He stood, sketch in hand. “It’s time to call it a night.”
“So soon?” What the eff?
“Some of our time together will be briefer than other times.”
