Beautiful Little Secret [Chai & Reydan]

[Chai]

"Hey, Cynthia, did you do the rest of the reading from last class? Cynthia...? Cyn."

Another girl's hand came down on Cynthia's desk, covering the notebook full of mindless doodles. Endless iteration of the name 'Cynthia Kim' was drawn in lilting cursive, some larger than others, but all proof of the lack of attention she had for class. She put down her pen and looked up, her brown, almond shaped eyes meeting the rest of her group. "Sorry, sorry. Had a long night last night." She smiled apologetically at her friends, shrugging a bit before turning a few pages back. These ones were neatly written in color-coded ink, and she turned them toward her group. "This is all I got from the reading, so feel free to look through them."

Almost anxiously, her eyes darted toward the clock in the corner of the room. It was almost 2 PM, and class would be over soon. Muttering something about going to the restroom, Cynthia stood and excused herself, walking out of the mid-sized lecture hall and into the empty hallway of the Liberal Arts building. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned back against a wall and lifted her phone to scroll through her social media, finally opening her Snapchat. There were multiple new Snaps, all ranging from messages to pictures to videos—she would check those later, but right now she needed to know if it was true. She needed to know, with evidence, if it was him.

She quickly lifted her sweater to reveal her bra-less chest, exposing the milky Korean skin underneath, and snapped a photo. It was almost artful, really, the way she bit her lip and angled her body so the light hit just right, illuminating the two peaks of her tan nipples. The white wall she stood against was generic enough, and she was always careful not to include her eyes or any other identifying features. Considering who she was about to send it to, it was important that she maintained her anonymous identity. Those that followed her life as an amateur porn model only knew her by "SummerSin," and she intended to keep it that way. 'Just a little something until later, xo', she finally captioned the picture, then sent it off to her followers.

Cynthia straightened herself as she stepped back into the lecture hall for the last 10 or so minutes of class. Somehow, the anxiety she felt from before wasn't at all abated as she thought it would be. Instead, it was only amplified. She was acutely aware of the professor's phone sitting face-up on his desk, waiting, holding her breath before she heard the faintest vibration against wood, and she saw the phone light up with a notification. Even from this far back, she could see the hint of the familiar yellow Snapchat logo flash across the screen before going dark again.

She swallowed, then a little smirk played at the edges of her lips. What a pleasant surprise.

 

[Reydan]

Professor Dwayne Johnson's eyes trailed over the audience in the small lecture hall. They just...seemed so young. They were currently swiveled around in their chairs, swapping notes and discussing in small groups. The last week of reading had been complicated, a series of case studies and problems to work through, and Dwayne was one of those lecturers who liked to ensure that his students had fully processed the information. Though, to be honest, it was also an opportunity to catch a breath. All lecturers had their tactics - when he was a grad student Dwayne's supervisor over at UCLA had pretended to be too old and curmudgeonly to work his projector properly and, while they had waited for someone from ICT to come and ''fix'' it he'd taken a moment to himself as the students chatted. Being 'on' all the time could be...exhausting.

As it was, Dwayne simply leaned back against the wood of the desk. His six foot frame was tall and bulky, hardly what you might expect of a college professor, but in a previous life he'd been a warehouse worker, stacking shelves and hauling crates to help pay tuition. Nowadays he wasn't in quite as peak physical form, but a fair bit of the old strength and power remained. He exhaled, looking out through the window into the golden autumn sunlight. It would start to get dark in a couple of hours, the days growing short as the cold descended on the city.

He missed the young Korean girl slip out, his lazy gaze only catching the flash of her dark hair and light sweater as she slipped out through the door. Still, he wasn't concerned. They were adults, the students, and could do as they pleased. They knew the importance of being in class and how to manage their time - most of them got there in the end. Besides, he hadn't got into this line of work to police bathroom attendance like some High School Hall Monitor.

...

Why had he gotten into this? He reached up, rubbing his bearded chin thoughtfully. A light stubble peppered his face, the thirty-two year old conscious it was yet another thing that marked him out from the youngsters sitting on the banked seats in front of him. Research had been his life for almost a decade. Getting a PhD was hard, getting a job was harder, and all of that was near impossible if you weren't a white man. Now, finally, he had some level of success. A little security. The chance to....

<brrrp brrrp brrrp> His phone on the wood, vibrating softly, caught his attention. He had just a moment to register that familiar logo, a smile creeping over his face, before he slipped it into his pocket and pushed off from the table. 'Ok ok gang' he said, his deep voice carrying easily over the chatter. As they looked at him, he inclined his head towards the door. 'Off you go'. As they rose, he spoke louder, over the din of folding chairs and bags being repacked. 'Remember - this next assignment is solo work and triple credit. You know when my office hours are and where, so don't suffer in silence.'

As they filed out, he leaned back against the far wall and tugged out his phone. His dark lips creased into a grin. Artful. A soft, arching, female torso with breasts thrust towards the camera, dark nipples almost aching to be touched. This girl was a particular find. Not that he'd been indulging in this sort of thing for very long. His dark fingers moved over the glass screen in reply.

'Very nice...can just imagine rolling those nipples between my fingers. Perhaps you can show me what would happen after that?' and send.

He glanced back up and they were all gone. He exhaled. Long day.

 

[Chai]

It honestly had started as a way to get a little extra cash on the side while she was in school. A way to eat and something to pay her phone bill, but now that she was a moderately known model, she was raking in enough money to pay almost all of her tuition plus rent. "Model"—if she could even call herself that. Cynthia wasn't under any illusions about the kind of work she was doing.

Porn. She was doing porn. Not that she was ashamed about it. There was a certain freedom and empowerment that came from doing what she did. She'd seen the comments people said about her online, wishing to praise her body and please her all night. If that wasn't prime ego boosting material, she didn't know what was.

It was late by the time she got back to her apartment, having spent rest the day at the tutoring center, reviewing a couple essays by undergrads who were falling behind in their literature courses. While showing off her body certainly paid the bills at Stanford, she was determined to keep up her reputation as a focused and diligent grad student, and that included participating in student associations that reflected well on her resume. Besides, with her double major in English and Anthropology, it would have been a waste not to put those skills to use.

But now she was home, and Cynthia could relax as she pleased. She filled the tub with warm water and a lightly floral soap, swirling the bubbles around before finally stepping in and laying in the bath. It wasn't long before she started snapping photo after photo of her body in the water, turning this way and that to perfectly capture her gentle curves. Men seemed to love the soft way she liked to show off her body. Maybe it was the way the bubbles covered her soapy breasts, or maybe it was the way the distortion of the moving water covered the patch of sinful skin as she spread her legs wide. Every man's fantasy was a good girl gone bad, and she certainly played to the illusion.

The water was more clear now after she'd all but waited for the bubbles to die off, and Cynthia opened her phone to take one last photo. A special photo. She angled the camera down toward the perky roundness of her breasts, and in a last minute decision, she hit the record button instead. Slowly, ever so slowly, she toyed with one of her nipples, tweaking the sensitive peak before slipping her hand under the water. Even through the gentle ripples of the bathwater, the camera clearly captured her cupping her bare mound, teasing the soft flesh of her lips and running her slender fingers through the folds.

And what happens after this? She boldly typed back to her professor.

 

[Reydan]

Marking. He was in a hellish world of marking. Spread out across the heavy wooden coffee table in his apartment in piles of typed printer paper. Thousands upon thousands of words he had to wade through. Ahh, the unattractive side of the University tutor life.

Dwayne took a sip from the hard brown liquid in the thick glass tumbler perched on the arm of the couch. It took the edge off, at least, making the repetitive task more bearable. He loved his students, loved seeing them grapple with the tough ideas and big concepts embodied in the course. Loved helping them through the rough patches and seeing them develop into critical thinkers. But that was always a balance with the dreaded essay marking. He sighed, setting aside the current paper - Kim, Cynthia - and glancing at what he had written across the bottom in green ink. 'A detailed exploration'....'evidence of good research'....'well thought out'. He sighed, running fingers over his tiring temples. Not as good as it could have been. She was one of the students he'd picked at the start of term as a potential high-flier, but she had yet to break apart from the pack. Not that she was struggling. He placed the essay near the top of the high stack of marked assignments - an indication of where her result sat in relative hierarchy.

He was about to reach for the next one - Kromwell, Anthony - when that familiar little logo buzzed up on the screen of his phone. He grinned, heart suddenly a little lively, as he reached out for the cool dark glass and brought it to life with a flick of his large black thumb. In the bath. His grin widened, his hungry eyes devouring the lithe little form on the screen. She knew how to tease. Artful arrangements of soft, wet, curves with fingers fanned out or bubbles drifting across the key part of the shot. He smiled. She was skillful. Apart from her allure, you had to admire just how SummerSin, whoever she was, knew her craft. Having spent the evening marking forty odd essays and commenting on technique and ability, he had an appreciative eye for someone who knew what they were doing. Cynthia Kim could take a note from this woman's easy ability he thought idly.

Then the video. His eyes went a little wide. There was no doubt it was for him, how those light fingers toyed with the dark nipple. He licked his lips, practically tasting her young flesh rolling on his lips, brushing against his teeth. He was hard, stiffening in the sweat pants he wore around the house when marking late into the night. Maybe it was the late hour, maybe the drinking, maybe the boredom of his work, but he found himself turning on the camera of his own phone. It traveled down, down his muscular chest and toned stomach, his free hand having lifted his t-shirt before dropping to the waistband of his pants. They edged it lower, revealing his thick shaft in slow increments, until it sprung free and erect, a savage spear of dark flesh jutting up before the camera.

'You know what happens next girl' he typed in before sending it.

 

[Chai]

Books lay open haphazardly on her bed now that she was out of the bath and dressed in just underwear and a t-shirt, with her laptop also opened to a multitude of research papers and articles. Her own assignment essay—a look at cultural changes through social media—sat empty on the screen in front of her save for the title, her name, and her professor's name on the cover page. Her brown eyes seemed to linger for far too long on "Dr. Dwayne Johnson" typed below her own, and after a moment she looked away, feeling a sudden wash of embarrassment come over her. Or was that guilt?

Guilt over what, though? Cynthia had to remind herself that Dr. Johnson was blissfully unaware over the true identity of SummerSin, and that in no way, shape, or form did it count toward unfair academic treatment. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of possibly wanting him to know. It was so naughty, so unexpected. It was like every college girl's dirty fantasy, and here life was handing it to her on a silver platter. And then, for the first time since she'd started her life as SummerSin, she wondered if the man even liked what he saw. She wondered if he liked her delicate form, the softness of her thighs, or the perky ass that she'd worked hard to tone. She wondered if she was the type of girl he'd like to fuck.

Then her phone buzzed and she was drawn out of her thoughts, only to be placed in dirtier ones. Professor Johnson had responded not just with words, but with a video of his own, his hands now reaching down to his sweatpants and pulling them down. Lower, Cynthia thought hungrily, her eyes glued to the screen, Lower. And lower it went until his cock sprang up from its confinement, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She knew what happened after that. She could feel her panties damp from her wetness. Her imagination was already running wild with thoughts of him entering her, splitting the lightly tanned skin of the lips below with his dark shaft, the contrast of their skin as he pressed into her... Her inner muscles contracted deliciously in rhythm with those thoughts, and she found herself turning on her camera once more.

Propping her phone up against a stack of books, Cynthia faced the camera towards herself, her face was cropped out as always but leaving an appreciable view of the rest of her body. One leg was was propped up on the floral printed sheets, and the other lay in the opposite direction, the soft folds of her pussy now in full display as she pushed her navy blue thong to the side. They glistened with her arousal, the lips swollen and flushed, hinting at the pink flesh within. The video she took was short—a few seconds of teasing really—of her trailing her fingers across her sex, circling her clit once before dipping her middle finger within.

"Doing something fun before I sleep," Cynthia typed, smiling, then sent.

 

[Reydan]

Rrrrrrp rrrrp rrrp. The buzzing of his phone brought Dwayne back from the circular, critically flawed, logic of the current essay he was marking. It was one of those essays that never seemed to get to the point, circling and circling an actual statement of intent like a commitment phobic boyfriend orbited a woman who would be perfect for him without ever sealing the deal. He sighed, fingers working the temples of his weary head. Only about twelve more to go he reckoned.

He was leaning against the sofa, sitting on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by piles of work. Reaching back, without taking his eyes off the essay in his left hand, he groped for the phone left on the couch seat behind his head with his right. Grasping the slippery piece of glass and metal, he drew it back expecting it to be an email from a student or perhaps, God forbid, something from the Dean.

Yet it wasn't. Dwayne had swiped open the screen without looking and was suddenly treated to a glimpse of sexual heaven. Small, soft, fingers worked those sweet little wet folds. He could practically taste her honey, watching it glisten on her sex. The clip was mere seconds, just a glimpse, but he watched it again and again, rolling around on his screen, dark eyes transfixed on the pale body before him. He was hard, instantly so, his cock straining his sweat pants.

'Fuck' he breathed under his breath, everything else all but forgotten. It was easily the most erotic thing he had seen in quite a few years. He could just image his hands parting those thighs, spreading her small legs wide, making way for his aching shaft to seek out her tight young....

I can see he tapped back, fingers clumsy on the keypad as his arousal hummed in his system. What a good idea... and with that he reached down, sliding his erect cock from his pants. One dark hand ran up and down the hard shaft, his voice groaning in appreciation as he did so, the other hand filming the event close-up. Just a shot of his crotch, really. Up-down-up-down and a long, low groan, before he sent it back.

He shook his head. He really had to get back to work. But that had been a fun distraction. Glancing at the clip of SummerSin one more time, though, he noticed something that caught his eye. Just in the corner there, near a quivering leg on that floral bedspread. Was that...a Stanford lanyard? He couldn't see the associated ID badge, but he swore he recognised the colour and pattern of the thin fabric ribbon.

 

[Chai]

Her mouth opened a little, and she seemed to be listening. "I'll try to tell you," she said. "Did you ever hear of planting hands?"

"Can't say I have, ma'am."

"Well, I can only tell you what it feels like. It's when you're picking off the buds you don't want. Everything goes right down into your fingertips. You watch your fingers work. They do it themselves. You can feel how it is. They pick and pick the buds. They never make a mistake. They're with the plant. Do you see? Your fingers and the plant. You can feel that, right up your arm. They know. They never make a mistake. You can feel it. When you're like that you can't do anything wrong. Do you see that? Do you understand that?"

Cynthia looked up and away from the book in her hands, nervously looking around her at the cafe. It was quiet for a Friday evening, but then she figured students her age were probably out at some bar or club. Not that she wasn't into those things, but she much rather preferred the company of a warm latte, the gentle hum of the working cafe staff, and a fun little read. Of course, this collection of John Steinbeck's short stories seemed a tad bit more than fun, with the most subtle inclusion of literary porn. Well, it wasn't porn exactly, but there was no mistaking the description of fingers picking at buds, and she had looked up nervously as an automatic reaction just to make sure no one was watching her.

But it wasn't so much the inclusion of female masturbation within the story that made her so nervous. It was that the words called forth the memory of events from a few days ago. Bubble baths and sudsy photos, her delicate fingers working at her own bud, images of a thick, dark cock invading her thoughts... Steinbeck wrote it right. She could feel how it was. When she was like that she couldn't do anything wrong.

Yet here she was, seated in a small booth on the inside of the small establishment, and a pang of regret shooting through her. Again. Clearly she couldn't do anything wrong in the moment, but her conscience ate her alive after the fact. Growing up she had been nothing but a model student, and now she was risking it all. Perhaps her mind was blowing it all out of proportion, but the worry of having inappropriate relations constantly hung over what she was doing. But... even through all that, she found she couldn't help but give in to the temptation. She was Eve, taking the smallest bite from the forbidden fruit.

Maybe something small couldn't hurt, Cynthia thought to herself as she thumbed through pictures on her phone. Something to send him, something to keep some of the mystery. In the end she settled on some photos a couple of weeks old, taken in the dressing room at a Victoria's Secret. She'd been shopping for lounge clothes, sports wear, and lingerie that day, and had taken picture of all her options to show her friends before making any decisions. She cropped a photo of herself in low riding sweatpants and a sports bra, briefly admiring the way the bra pushed her breasts together to make them seem the slightest bit fuller. Juicier. Hopefully Dr. Johnson would appreciate them, too.

Cynthia had barely pressed send when the door to the cafe opened and she heard the unmistakable voice echo gently through the room. "Hey, Steve!" She heard her professor greet the owner of the cafe. Speak of the devil.

 

[Reydan]

The familiar bustle of the cafe greeted Dwayne as he stepped through the door. Friday evenings were a long one for him. Tutoring, seminars, lectures, usually some marking, and finally two hours of office hours where students usually appeared to bitch about their work, or their asshole dormmates, or just that they were missing home. He liked it, being dependable, and felt a duty of care towards them. They were just starting out on life as adults and University was a tough place. But still, it was exhausting.

'Hey Steve' he called, seeing the bearded proprietor behind the counter. It was gleaming, as always, rich wood and shining steel and brass.

'Pro-fess-orrrrrrrr' the middle-aged owner grinned, shooting Dwayne finger guns over the top. It was an old ritual, a something and nothing, that kept them going. He had known Steve, as a casual acquaintance mind you, since COFFEE MINGLE had opened six years ago in one of the little streets near campus. It had become a haven for him, not least because it was just that perfect distance from Campus to have dissuaded 90 odd percent of the student and faculty body from frequenting its calm little atmosphere.

Steve was already making up his usual order, so Dwayne slipped past the end of the dark mahogany counter and into the little tiled bathroom. Inside, leaning back against the door as he shut and locked it, he tugged out his phone. To his interested surprise, there was already something waiting from her. He drank in her soft curves in that image, leaning back and exhaling heavily. It was maybe a changing room at a shop or maybe a pool. Definitely not at home, that was for sure. He felt his heart beat faster at the idea that she had already done what he had contemplated. The public nature of it was just...something else. He was unable to get her out of his head.

His hand fumbled with the buckle of the belt and then his pants were around his knees, along with his underwear. He angled the camera out, out from his groin to take a full on snap of his thick erection. No comment, just sent as it was to her. Full on. A reaction shot of her teasing.

As he came out of the bathroom a minute later, sliding the dollars over the counter to Steve and picking up his coffee, he saw her.

Claire...Caitlin...no...it was Cynthia. Cynthia was the name. He knew it now. And with a rush, he suddenly knew where from. He, and some of the other faculty members, had been talking about seeing if she would apply to do a PhD. Some were worried that she wasn't up to it, intellectually, but as Dwayne had stepped in to defend her, he had been given the task of making the approach.

'Cynthia...can I sit down?' he asked with a slight smile.

 

[Chai]

The next photo was more risqué than the last. It was her in a gorgeous set of lingerie, a dark plum color that complimented her milky skin tone and dark brown— almost black— hair that fell down to just above her waist. The lace was barely see-through, the outline of her nipples peeking through the sheer material, and her legs looking impossibly long. She was slightly above average height herself, but the tilt of the standing mirror coupled with how the panties sat on her hips made her legs look like they were built for the runway. Smooth and toned with a perky little ass to top it all off.

She'd just barely opened his Snap and sent her own in return when she heard footsteps approach then stop, followed by the deep rumble of the a voice that made her stomach go wild with butterflies for a brief moment.

"Dr. Johnson! Of course, go ahead," Cynthia replied, locking her phone and setting down on her lap. She scrambled to get her book and laptop moved to the side, offering an apologetic smile as her professor sat across her. "Sorry my stuff's everywhere, I usually just come here to chill and read when I don't feel like going out. I mean, out-out, at the bar. And call me Cyn, everyone does."

Cynthia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving a soft, sweet grin. While she participated in group discussions in class, she wasn't normally this seemingly talkative or carefree in her academic life. Most of her professors would have described her as intelligent and hard-working, but also quiet and modest—traits that flagged her as bright enough to stand out, yet not enough to pick her apart from her peers, especially those that commanded more attention in the classroom.

She looked down, eyes flicking for a split second toward her phone under the table, her fingers working across the screen to send a message to Dr. Johnson.

I hope you like the private show, she typed, then hit enter and looked back up to the man in front of her. "So what's up?"

 

[Reydan]

He sat, watching her grin up at him, tucking a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Quiet. That was his main understanding of Cynthia Kim. Of course she was the sort of girl to find a coffee shop bolt hole with her laptop and headphones in between lively moments. He had to suppress a chuckle at that. Once you were past 30 suddenly everyone younger than you started to seem like they lived in some sort of pop-music video heady swirl of a life as opposed to your own more...sedate existence.

As he sat Dwayne felt his phone buzz, insistently, in his hand. He placed it screen down on the table, setting his cup of coffee a safe distance away, and looked at her with a smile. Trying to put her at ease.

'Cynthia...Cyn the' he said with a grin. 'I wanted to...see how you were feeling about the upcoming written assignment'. This was a good opening gambit, he'd felt, a neutral 'how are you doing' question rather than an outright expression of concern or a drilling down on her. Something nice and safe and easy that wouldn't shake things up too much for her. 'It carries triple weighting, as I said in the last lecture' he reminded her, taking a sip of the hot coffee as he watched for a reaction. He hated putting students on the spot, but this was too important.

His phone buzzed again, that notification impatient, and he felt, despite his head being in work-mode, a little trill of excitement run up and down his spine. What was it? Was it her? What had she sent him back....

He refocused. Young woman. Student on the edge. Needs a helping hand. Focus Dwayne. Do your job.

'Cyn, I...if you felt you needed any particular advice, or wanted to bounce ideas off me, or anything like that...I hope you know my door is always open to you. There's been a fair bit of excitement in the Departmental Office about the idea that you might want to pursue further study with us at our...graduate school' he said, folding his hands in front of him. Over the cool plastic of his phone, feeling it buzz again.

'Excuse me' he said, flipping it over, craddling it from her view in his large dark hands. His eyebrows rose. Quite the selfie. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but there she was, wrapped up like a teenage boy's wet dream. The angle of the photo made her seem long, beautiful and slender but curved in just the right places. His eyes traveled up that soft hued skin, tracing her neck. Whether she knew it or not, the picture had caught just the edge of a cute little chin and soft red lips....

'Ahhhmmm hummm' he cleared his throat, flipping it back face down and looking at the student ahead of him. 'Please forgive me...the Dean. So, can I get you to open up about your work so far Miss Kim?'

He shuffled, a little awkward in his seat, aware that that last interaction had caused him to become a little hard underneath the table opposite her.

 

[Chai]

She watched his phone buzz for the third time on the table, the edges of the screen lighting up even as it was face down on the dark wood, before he finally checked it. His eyes seemed to wander across the screen not in the typical left to right movement of a text, but all over the screen, likely taking in the deep purple lace that left little to the imagination. It was certainly a contrast to what she was wearing now; it might have been hard to guess they were even the same person, with Cynthia's form currently hidden under a baggy hoodie and some thigh highs, and her long hair piled to the top of her head in a loose bun.

"My work? I mean, the writing assignment is going great! I'm not in trouble, am I?" She joked, pausing to take a bite of the bagel beside her, though her eyes lit up at the mention of graduate school. "Seriously? That'd be amazing, that's like, every student's dream at Stanford. Weird, though, I always thought you guys..."

Her voice trailed off momentarily. She'd meant to say that she'd always thought her professors never took notice, but it seemed like a such a silly, amateur thing in the moment that she left it out. "I always you guys couldn't play favorites," she giggled, the phrase coming out more flirtatious than she intended. Of course, not that she assumed Dr. Johnson was playing favorites with her. In fact he hardly even knew her, even within the context of the classroom.

A sheepish grin crossed her face. There was no taking it back now, but she could at least pass it off like a joke. She tried to look as contrite as possible despite the growing feeling of thrill and desire that hummed through her body, though the excitement of academic greatness was also a point of interest. Cultural Anthropology was a lot of reading, creating case studies and ethnographic research, but she loved it and was passionate about it all the same. Dr. Johnson's senior level class was an introduction to independent research; many of the students taking it were entertaining the thought of going to graduate school.

"I'd love to show you what I'm working on," she continued enthusiastically, "Although I have class during your usual office hours. Is there any way I can do it by appointment? Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons are when I'm usually free."

Then she stole a glance at her phone once more, sending the professor a fully nude photo, her glossy red lips peeking out in a smile just under the cut-off of the picture. She knew she was pushing things, pushing him, but that's just the way she wanted it.

 

[Reydan]

She was surprisingly easy to talk to. Dwayne had never exactly been a wallflower - not one of those awkward, hyper-intelligent, men who go into academia in part because they find social interaction intensely difficult. Whilst not necessarily the life and soul of the party, he was nonetheless likeable and well liked. But you couldn't do a job like this without feeling your age. Seeing every intake of eighteen year old stumble, wide-eyed and yet strangely cocky, into the swirl of the University, interact with them as they matured and, finally, watch they toss those mortar boards into the air and leave... That was the thing that made you feel old. He was half again Cynthia's age....but that didn't seem to matter too much in that moment.

He found himself smiling along with her. There was something lively about this one, even if she wasn't the most loud and outspoken student in his undergraduate class this semester. He watched her small hands, long slender fingers playing around her phone as she enthused. There was something about those fingers...something.... He pushed the thought aside. What could there possibly be to that stray thought....

The phone on the table between them thrummed on the polished wood and, like a fool, a thoughtless fool, Dwayne picked it up and looked. If her nude selfie, so expertly posed and so incredibly enticing, affected him he didn't show it. There was a slight raising of those dark eyebrows, a little re-focusing of his eyes. Large black fingers enclosed around the phone, placing it face down back on the table but, this time, very much within only his grasp. One hand, as if reassuring him that the problem was solved, lay heavily across it.

Shit. Shit that was wrong. In front of a student. Twenty years ago, he heard, the rules were different. Staff routinely slept with students, got into all sorts of scrapes and compromising situations, and it was all swept under the convenient university carpets. Now, in an age of social media and #metoo even a whiff of impropriety could get you sacked.

Focus Dwayne, he thought, but all he could think about was the soft curve of that stomach as the pale skin tapered down towards those slender thighs and a hot, wet, little....

He was hard. Hard under the table. With a student sitting across from him, smiling at him. Dwayne's pulse throbbed.

'So....no...' he tried to focus on her words. Dates. Times. Supervision. Perfect, yes. There were few things in his experience more unarousing than scheduling. He reached down into his satchel to retrieve a well-thumbed paper diary. 'It would have to be early evening on Wednesday' he said, looking at the pages. 'Maybe 7 or even 8 pm. I am in supervisions or meeting with the Dean any other afternoons I'm not teaching.' He looked up, more business now, although it was hard to keep his eyes on her face and not lingering lower. She had, he noticed, a similar colouring to the girl on the phone. He wondered, in an illicit moment, what else might be the same....

'Would you be comfortable meeting in my office that sort of time?' he asked, breathing deep and allowing some of the tension to flow away from his aching erection.