A New Light

Jordan's gaze trailed aimlessly around the hall. Even the drink in his hand couldn't distract him from how incredibly bored he was. He'd enjoyed the author's talk thoroughly, but was regretting his decision to observe social niceties. At the same time, he knew he would've felt guilty if he hadn't come. Even if it had dawned on him that this was a networking event for most people, he really did want to meet the author.

He was trying his best to pay attention to someone talking about some workplace drama they'd had over a photocopier when he saw someone across the room. He could only see her from the back, but he was pretty sure from the short dark hair and height that he knew who it was.

He excused himself and walked around the side of the room, wanting to make sure before he approached. She was talking to a man who he assumed to be her husband, which made him doubt himself, but as he got a clearer look, he was certain. He walked over, glad to have found someone else he actually wanted to talk to.

"Dr. Edwards?" he asked.

She turned around, looking happily surprised to see him. "Jordan? I had no idea you were here!" she replied, shaking his free hand. A hug would've been a weird way to greet a former student, he reasoned, even if she'd been the least strict tutor imaginable. Still, he would've preferred it.

It had been three years since Jordan had graduated, and while he hadn't kept in contact with any of his tutors, he'd actually liked Dr. Edwards, the American. He'd even had a bit of a crush on her, and while it had been a dumb one at first - borne of nothing but her appearance, it had grown into something deeper after having been taught by her.

Of course, Jordan thought she still looked great, even though the intervening years had indisputably pushed her in to middle age. He noticed a few gray hairs he was sure hadn't been there before, but to him, they were nothing; as far as he was concerned, she was still stunning. He'd thought he'd outgrown his taste for older women, but one look at Dr. Edwards and he knew he'd been wrong.

The man next to her gave her a quick look, smiled, and then left, going over to talk to a group of French students Jordan had encountered earlier.

"Did you like the talk?" he asked, automatically starting with the small talk he'd used a hundred times that day.

"Yes, sure I did," she said, waving past it, "but how have you been?"

Jordan was surprised by how happy she seemed to see him - pleasantly so. "I've been pretty good," he replied. "Working as a journalist, so I review books and stuff for this magazine called Image, if you've heard of it."

"Oh yeah," she said, "I think my niece subscribes to that! You always were a talented writer." She gently slapped his arm. Jordan felt a tingle of excitement at the contact.

"Only for your module," he said, wanting to downplay her compliments. He had done well overall at university, but his only First was in the module she'd taught: queer literature.

"Was that the gender and sexuality paper? No, it was the queer literature one. They changed the name a couple of years before you arrived."

"So what are you up to these days?" he asked, eager to keep the conversation going. He didn't know if he'd ever seen her again. "This place is quite a way from uni."

"Oh, I work at the university here now -- and technically I'm now 'Associate Professor Edwards,' but just call me Celine."

Jordan bowed his head and raised his glass slightly, which made 'Associate Professor Edwards' laugh. He looked up and smiled, happy that they were both in the same city. He didn't think it made it much more likely they'd meet again, but it gave his hopeful mind some consolation.

"Do you still mainly teach the same sort of stuff?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied, sounding rather disappointed. "At undergrad they mainly want me teaching the Shakespeare stuff, which is inevitable I suppose. According to them, the history of gay sex in Ancient Greece isn't as dignified as religious themes in The Tempest."

"I hated Shakespeare," Jordan said, remembering the days he'd spent - wasted, in his opinion - reading about the symbolism of Elizabethan clothing. He also remembered the introductory class on Ancient Greek sexuality. Getting hard in class looking at some erotic Ancient Greek pottery hadn't been one of his prouder moments.

"I would love to talk to you more about the queer stuff, though!" she said. "Especially now that you're no longer a student, we can just talk about how it relates to life and more practical stuff - that is, if you'd be interested in having a coffee and academic discussion with a middle aged woman."

"I'd love to!" he replied immediately, and then continued on without thinking. "And you're definitely not old; you look amazing." He couldn't help himself from smiling.

"Great!" she said cheerfully. "Well, I don't know how your work schedule is, but I only have teaching from nine-thirty onwards this week, so we could do breakfast?"

Jordan had secretly been hoping for drinks or a dinner invite to her house, but he decided he was happy just to be able to talk to her some more.

"That's perfect!" he said, which he considered not quite a lie. "With my work I get to do stuff out of the office most days, so would Thursday at 8:30 work?"

"Great! I'll put that in my diary. Give me your number and we'll sort the details." She took out her phone and handed it to him. He tapped his number into it, doing his best to conceal his excitement - a prudent approach, he thought, since the man he assumed was her husband had just returned. Jordan bade her goodbye, and, as he ventured back into the crowd, felt much more confident about walking around and mingling.

He did, after a while, manage to talk to the author, but when he got back home, all he thought about was Celine.

***

Jordan was running late to the café. Recently he'd been trying to be more punctual, but he still found it hard - especially in the mornings, and double-especially on mornings when he had a reason to shave properly and moisturize. He broke into a jog about halfway to the cafe, but as he approached, he caught sight of Professor Edwards walking towards it from the opposite direction.

"Professor Edwards!" he called out, feeling relieved. "I was worried I'd be late. You look amazing!"

"Don't call me that," she teased, "especially not when you're trying to flirt. My train was delayed, but luckily the station's only a short walk from here. Shall we go in? I booked a table; this place gets busy in the mornings sometimes but... well, it looks like we would've gotten lucky regardless."

She took the lead and stepped in. The lone waitress recognised her, and the two were chatty for a couple of minutes. The waitress was around Jordan's age, and conventionally hot, but he only had eyes for Celine. She confirmed the booking, and they were led to a table on the upper floor next to the window.

"This place seems really good," he said, looking at the menu and feeling nervous at how high the prices were.

"It's nice, isn't it?" she said, all smiles. "I come here with my colleagues every so often; the food is incredible. We can share three portions between us. I love your hoodie, by the way, the colour really suits you."

He loved her smile, and the way she seemed so natural taking control of a situation. He ordered one item from the menu, leaving the other two to Celine.

She put her hand on his arm as soon as the waitress left. "So, summarise Foucault's ideas on the male gaze and homosexuality," she said suddenly.

Jordan was taken aback, not having expected their meetup to include an academic discussion. He felt out of his depth, trying to remember anything he could from years ago. "Um, did he... say it was similar to... ah... it's been a long time. Maybe gendered roles... in society?" He cringed at himself, and rightly so.

"I was just joking!" she teased. "I wouldn't put you on the spot like that. You do look cute when you get all nervous, though, so maybe I should do it more often."

Their coffees arrived just then. Jordan was relieved, glad that he wouldn't have to further humiliate himself in front of Celine. Then a conflicting thought entered his head: actually, having a hot professor humiliate me sounds kinda... well, hot.

"So, what were you saying about discussing how the stuff affects real life?" he asked, remembering her comment from the event.

"Hm, I think it's more just that when you study something a lot, it's easy to forget that it does change the way you think about things like relationships and sex, but it's taboo so we don't get to discuss it much, especially not with students. It's seen as cheapening the academic credibility of the topic, which I think is bullshit." She sounded passionate, and Jordan found himself quite liking that, too.

"I suppose it does," he offered, happy to let her go on.

"I think especially now, we have a lot of queer students who take these modules to try and discover themselves. They're encouraged to think about stuff in an abstract way when their main takeaway from the topic will be how they view themselves and others. I don't know what I'd do to change it, but that's academia, right? Offer criticisms without solutions."

That got a laugh from Jordan, but he did his best to contribute seriously to the conversation. "I guess it did affect how I thought about myself," he ventured, "though I didn't realise it at the time. My parents are quite strict, so I kind of viewed doing anything gay as rebellious, but after learning more I think I started viewing the gay side and the straight side of my sexuality as more one whole thing, rather than two competing sides." He left it there, unsure if he'd managed to say anything intelligent."

"That makes me so happy to hear, Jordan. So, are you dating anyone?"

"Not really," he replied, trying to roll with how quickly the conversation had become personal. "Obviously, there's been some casual stuff, but nothing serious. I'm happy with it, though. I don't re ally feel pressure to settle down."

"That's good," Celine said, smirking before sipping her coffee.

"Why is it good?" Jordan asked as the food arrived at their table. They both said thanks to the waitress, and Celine started eating from an aubergine plate she'd ordered. Accepting that she'd either not heard or ignored the question, Jordan joined her.

After a couple of minutes, she finished a mouthful and spoke. "Well, two reasons. I think people should be happy with non-monogamous situations. There's too much pressure on people to find their one true love and be content with that for sixty years, when that's not how real human emotions work. This might shock you, but my husband and I have been polyamorous for the entirety of our relationship, and it really works for us."

Jordan noted how shy she'd sounded just then, having revealed to him an extremely personal detail - one that yet might have caused her professional strife if the wrong people had caught wind. He paused respectfully before responding. "It doesn't shock me. It surprises me a little, but it makes sense. Even in classes you were always pretty in favour of removing taboos around sexuality and rejecting conventional relationship structures."

She smiled at him and said thanks, and they both continued eating. Eventually, Jordan realised she hadn't finished her answer.

"What was the second reason?" he asked.

She looked up and smiled. "I was hoping to save that for the end," she said, "but why not now?"

Jordan felt a slight adrenaline rush - hoping for the best, rather than another philosophical diversion.

"I'd like for us to get to know each other more intimately," she said matter-of-factly, "so I'm glad you have a progressive view on non-monogamy." Having dropped that in his lap, she simply sipped at her coffee and looked down at her plate as she ate.

Jordan was stunned. Even with hope alive in his heart, he hadn't imagined her being so forthright.

"You mean, sexually?" he asked, and she nodded. He leant back and thought about it. His fantasy was on the brink of becoming a reality, and as he looked across at her, he felt flattered that she wanted him. The thought of inserting himself into a married couple's relationship felt strange to him, however, and not solely because he'd never done it before.

"There's no pressure," she said. "It won't be awkward if you say no. I've been dating for a long time. I think people should be quite comfortable about asking, and equally comfortable saying no - not that I wouldn't be disappointed, because you're hot, but you don't need to worry, is what I'm saying."

She put her cutlery down on her finished plate. Jordan was a bit surprised that her attempt to reassure him had worked. He did feel better knowing that she'd had the same conversation with many other people, and that her husband was therefore accustomed to it.

"I'd love to," he said. "You're the hottest woman I know - and probably the coolest."

"Now, that's probably not true," she said, "but thank you. Now let's get through the third plate."

They finished their food, talking in a more relaxed way. Though Jordan offered to split the bill, Celine insisted on paying, and he was secretly relieved. His bank account couldn't take any more hits.

"So, back to your place?" Jordan asked.

"Not right now," she said teasingly. "I've got teaching! But would Saturday evening work for you? Maybe at seven? And, yes, at my place."

Jordan nodded, silently chiding himself for having forgotten about her teaching schedule. "That sounds great," he said. He didn't bother writing it down in his phone; he knew he wouldn't forget the time and would cancel any other plans he'd made.

"I'll send you my address," she said. "If I forget, then remind me." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before saying goodbye. Jordan stood up and waved at her before she turned. As he did the same, he felt a warm rush of happiness - one that carried him all the way to his nearby job, and through much of the rest of the morning.

***

The large house was in one of the nicest residential areas of London. Jordan had arrived early and enjoyed a quick walk around the area before he'd gotten to Celine's, dreaming that he would get to own such a house one day.

The gate was open, and he carefully closed it behind him, making sure to not drop the wine he'd brought. He went up to the door and took a deep breath. He had no idea what to expect, and was rather concerned that things would be awkward; he had expected the dinner to just be with Celine, but she'd specifically written 'dinner with us' in her text giving him the address.

He rang the bell and looked through the frosted glass, where he saw a familiar female figure. He stepped back, and Celine opened the door. She was wearing smart casual clothes - a pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. Jordan had been anxious about underdressing, so he was relieved. He'd worn a yellow t-shirt with an unbuttoned blue corduroy shirt over it.

"Hi Jordan," she said. "Come in. Leave your shoes at the door. Nice sneakers." He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind them.

"You've been here for seven years now and still not calling them trainers," Jordan said as he removed them and left them by the door. "I have to respect it."

"I'm so happy to see you here!" she said excitedly. "Come along to the kitchen. You can meet Hugo properly as well; I don't think you got to talk on Tuesday. Oh, and I brought you slippers!"

Jordan slipped into them and walked through their beautiful hallway. There was art all over the place - a mixture of prints and original paintings in frames. He wanted to stop and look at them, but Celine rushed him along, eager for him to meet her husband.

"Hugo, meet Jordan," she said as Hugo removed his oven gloves to properly greet their guest. He eagerly shook Jordan's hand and gave him a hug. Jordan hadn't got the chance to get to know him at the event, so seeing his confidence was a surprise. He found it refreshing that Hugo didn't seem to be a stereotypical cuckold, and instead was secure and comfortable with his wife exploring new things.

"Hi, Jordan," he said with a French accent. "Celine's told me so much about you." Jordan couldn't pin down the accent exactly, but figured it made sense that he'd gone over to talk to the French students - students that Jordan himself had had a hard time trying to make conversation with.

"You've read all my second-year essays then," Jordan joked, trying to break the ice. Hugo laughed and put his hand on Jordan's shoulder. It struck Jordan that he was a handsome man. He was a bit taller than Jordan, at six feet, with a trim figure. He had brown eyes, dark hair, and his full beard was immaculately groomed. If Jordan had had to guess, he'd have said that Hugo was probably a few years younger than Celine - maybe in his mid-to-late thirties - and that if he was in his forties, he looked very good for it.

"I mean no offence, but you couldn't pay me to read an academic essay, unless she writes it."

"Well, mine weren't very academic, so maybe you'd have enjoyed them."

"He's being self-deprecating, my love," Celine interjected. "I don't know what word your generation uses now, but he was definitely a swot." It flattered Jordan that she remembered his work as being so good, as it had probably been the most he'd excelled at anything in his life to that point.

"Well, she loves any student who writes with enthusiasm. It's her biggest complaint, having students who don't care, so I'm sure she appreciated it. Though, this is the first time she's appreciated it so much that she's invited them over."

Celine slapped his arm with a fake shocked expression on her face. "Former student, I did tell you! I'd never think of a current student in that way."

Jordan was relieved to hear it. If he'd found out that she regularly slept with former students, he would've been a little disappointed.

"Except Luisa," Hugo teased, clearly slightly tipsy already. Jordan noted a half-empty bottle of wine next to the stove.

"She's a PhD student who I only taught for one lecture," Celine snapped back, clearly enjoying the banter but unsure of how far to go with it in front of Jordan, "and she's 27."

Jordan found it entertaining - and even arousing - to see how open they both were. Despite their ages, they both had a youthful energy about them, which made Jordan more optimistic about getting older.

"The pie's ready," Hugo said, "if you want to sit at the table. I'm in a bit of a rush. Celine, if you could take that bottle to the table?"

Celine carried the wine over and poured some into each of three waiting glasses. Hugo quickly brought the pie over, then ran back to find a knife to cut it with. He came back and cut three generous slices, which he served to each of them before sitting down.

"This smells great," Jordan said, and Hugo nodded appreciatively. They all tucked in and enjoyed it. It was fancier food than Jordan had tasted in a long while. He usually just cooked the same two or three meals for himself on a rota every week, occasionally treating himself to a takeaway.

"Yes, it's a shame I have to go out soon, or I'd want to really savour it. You can feel free to have a second slice, if you would like."

Jordan politely refused.

"You don't want to feel too heavy for later, I take it," Hugo joked, and Jordan nervously laughed, feeling guilty that he was going to have sex with the kind man's wife.

"Don't feel embarrassed," Celine said. "He obviously knows. This isn't the first time he's cooked for one of my lovers, and the reason he has to rush off is that he's meeting up with someone special himself."

Jordan nodded slowly, the reality of this situation still not having sunk in. "I'm guessing Saturday works well for both of you," Jordan said.