Teaching Assistants

When they talked about this problem, but not possibly what caused it, they would both merely laugh at themselves since neither was what one might call socially submissive; both were quite outspoken, opinionated, and more knowledgeable than even their like minded friends. It was their tragic luck that submissiveness shined in this one area called sexuality.

XANDER

After nearly a month of preparation, Xander felt confident enough to approach Stephanie in her office hours. When he shyly entered she glanced above her newspaper and looked up and into his eyes. "Xander!" She brushed her shoulder length hair to the side and smiled as she folded her paper into quarters.

"This is a surprise. I thought I'd never see you here," she looked above her lenses with a slight laugh before switching to a coyly suspicious glare. "Or are you up to no good?" she said with a raised eyebrow and a slight squint. Very briefly he was frightened she knew his agenda but he just as quickly dismissed it. The only way she could find that out was if Anna talked or someone who happened to know Stephanie overheard them in the coffeehouse and described him, a generally non-descript person, to her. Blessed and cursed with few distinguishing traits, he blended into any crowd of white Americans of either sex. His hair was quite long but inconspicuous among men whenever under a cap or in a ponytail but when it was down, and much to his chagrin, the straight blond hair (at least when seen from the back) made him blend with the women, too.

"No, not school work. I wanted to talk about lesbianism," he answered frankly. She nodded slightly.

"Well, I'm not the best person to talk to about that," Xander turned his head to the left and squinted, "there's a whole division of the university for men just like you who think they may be lesbians and I urge you to talk with them first..." she spoke with a serious nod. He gently shook his head and smirked at her joke—only then did she laugh. "So what about it? I'm not one—just in case you were wondering. But I suppose my focus is like being an Afro-American studies doctoral student when you don't have to be black..."

"...but it doesn't hurt," he finished for her, relieved that his goal was just a little closer to fruition.

"Exactly," she answered in a slight irritance he didn't pick up.

"So, um, yeah..." he struggled to remember his next rehearsed line. The original next step was to tip toe around her lesbianism but her un-prompted answer discombobulated him. "I guess I was wondering," he began as he sat down in the chair before her, "how you can be focusing on lesbian literature when you're in the history department. I mean, you say you do history of homosexuality, but wouldn't lit put you in that department?"

"It took some convincing for them to accept it. To be honest, I think I got the grant because they want more homosexual studies. Sometimes I wonder if that's the only reason I got it like a..."

"...black student, no matter how well his grades are, will wonder if that's the only reason he got in," he finished for her again.

"Or her grades," she corrected sternly. He attributed it to what she possibly thought was intentionally sexist language. She splayed her hand palm up to him, "but exactly right again."

"I've actually been reading some stories and they're quite fascinating." Stephanie raised her non-gray eyebrow.

"Really, which ones?" Xander listed a few of the ones from the coöperative's compilation and the reasons, aside from their titillation of course, why he enjoyed them.

"I had no idea the lesbian scene could be like that. Well, I'm sure it's stylized, but I never associated violence and abusive relationships with lesbians. You know? They're supposed to be the tender ones and men the mean ones."

"From what I've read, yes, it is stylized, but not too much. The kind of women it takes to be brave enough and break sexual norms might not be the best people in other aspects. You know?"

"Right, right..." he trailed off.

"But if you're interested in others, this book is a pretty good place to start..." she reached for her book case and showed a dust jacket-less edition of the very paperback he had in his backpack. It was ironic. The editor of the book credited the paperback press for launching pulp and, to illustrate this point, went so far as to exclude hardcover books (including her personal favorite) and here was his TA with a hard cover edition. He gestured for her to wait one minute as he reached into his bag and found his paperback.

"What made you buy that?" she asked with a laugh that abruptly ended. "Wait, don't tell me," she closed her eyes and touched her index finger to her gray temple, "the word 'lesbian,' right?"

"And that it was your subject," he smiled, betraying his sarcastically defensive tone. "I had other interests as well. I read erotica on the Web so this was a chance to read actual published stuff. And homosexuality has come into my life pretty recently."

"A cousin? Girlfriend?" Her last term was actually quite close to a fact of sorts. The last woman Xander slept with was a drunken one night stand. The girl, a butch friend of a friend, had mentioned that she was strongly considering her lesbian tendencies when they met earlier (sober). Despite this claim and with no flirting Xander could remember, she followed him into bed as if it was the ultimate course of the night. Despite her pleasant plumpness, her masculinity and the vodka made a potent cocktail that kept his dick flaccid. Feeling inadequate, he expertly ate her out for an hour instead. The next time they saw each other she had a thin but pretty red headed femme in her arms.

"No, my dad actually." Stephanie blinked and tossed her head back.

"That's a first I've heard that from a student. Was he married to your mom?"

"For thirty-five years."

"Whoa, how'd you handle that?"

"Surprisingly well. After I learned, I looked back at all the hints and it seemed only natural, I guess."

"Yeah—that's taking it pretty well. When my mom said she was a lesbian, I freaked and didn't speak with her for like a year," she laughed as she shook her head, its wavy gray locks swaying side to side. "So what's he doing now?"

"Well I found all this out a year after their divorce. He lives in San Francisco now. Which brings me to something else..." he said with a crafty segue. He reached into his bag again and pulled out the LP sized San Francisco queer culture book and gave it to her. He told her how he came upon it and her quip about history texts. She laughed.

"You know, I don't remember saying that, but it sounds like something I'd say. Thank you, but part of the problem is that there's precious little about this stuff. I'm something of a trailblazer," she laughed again as she swept her graying hair to the side in a familiar gesture. "Yeah, me, a trailblazer," she humored. "Me in a Conestoga wagon with a Winchester, the Misses by my side, as I analyze the prevalence of lesbian pulp fiction in Drug Stores across the US in the most socially reactionary decade of the twentieth century before I shoot a bison and cook supper over the fire!" They laughed together this time as both imagined the scene a la Little House on the Prairie. Their conversation seemed to steer naturally to television for a few minutes. This was not part of plan, but it seemed to loosen her up further. In class she occasionally made reference to enjoying old reruns of Alias and Friends, shows Xander never watched or would seldom admit to watch respectively. Then the subject came to a one-season wonder television show he had only recently become familiar with on video boxed set.

"Oh, I've heard great things about Firefly. Could I see it some time?"

"Sure, I can loan them to you if you'd like," he said pleasantly in the hopes of further earning her trust and appreciation for phase two of his plan.

"I don't actually own a player. Could I stop by your place one night and have a little marathon?" Xander tried not to let his complete shock show. Come by at night? To his place? This was major and he had to play it cooly.

"But aren't you grad students always so busy?" he joked cornily. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He yelled at himself. Stephanie didn't seem to notice and brushed it aside.

"Pffft. There's never as much as we say there is. Tonight then?" Xander wrote down his address and cell phone number on a scrap of paper and she immediately entered them into her electronic organizer. They talked a bit longer with ever jovial tones until a student from another class she TAed for showed up. He rose, forgetting to shake her hand, wished her well, and walked away. Somehow he had to convince his room mates to stay out of the apartment for a whole night. Luckily, unlike an affair under normal circumstances, he did not have to worry about hiding his what-for. Or maybe that was not the way to go? If his room mates stayed in the living room, they would have to watch the show in his bedroom. He realized a compromise and skipped happily to his landscape architecture class.

Later that night Xander had just finished his preparations when Stephanie rang the doorbell. His heart raced in eager anticipation of the night ahead, hoping for progress either by consummation or a prelude to such. Not once did he ask himself why it was easier for him to craft an elaborate plot to seduce his TA than initiate sex with the woman he loved. He opened the door, letting some light escape into the darkness, and welcomed her into his empty apartment. Even at this late hour she carried a backpack but, them both being students albeit in different leagues, he thought nothing of it. Her right thumb rested comfortably under its strap as her eyes looked above her small oval glasses at the apartment house and then to him.

"Your hair's down," she observed.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled to himself and ran his fingers through it. "I showered a little while ago and I forgot to put it back up when it dried."

"Turn around, I want to see how long it is..." she said curiously, twirling her fingers before her. He complied and showed his back. "Whoa, that's way past your bra line."

"Huh?" he looked back before turning around.

"Your bra line. That's the reference point for women."

"Oh, well, I'm not a woman," he shrugged his shoulders, prompting a queer look from Stephanie which she seamlessly masked as a laugh when he noticed. She glanced at the apartment again. It was reasonably clean but without much furniture, decoration, and one key object near the television.

"Where's your player?" she asked quizzically.

"Yeah, we don't own one. Well, WE don't. My room mates broke my last two players so I bought one to keep in my room for safekeeping," he answered truthfully.

"You bring it out and hook it up every time you want to watch a video?"

"Oh no, I have a TV in there for myself—it's just a couple inches smaller." Her brow rose for a moment. "I was about to disconnect it and bring it in here," he pointed his thumb behind him to his bedroom, "It'll just take a couple minutes." She shrugged her shoulders.

"It doesn't really matter. We'll just watch it in your bedroom..." she replied nonchalantly. It was already going better than he hoped.

"'Kay," he tried to sound indifferent. They entered his bedroom and she threw her backpack upon the floor with a dull thud. He pulled out an old bean bag chair for her, popped in the video, and with the remote laid down on his bed. As FBI warning rolled, Stephanie pointed at a small object atop the television.

"What's that statue thing?"

"That's St. Clare of Assisi, the patron saint of television She's there to sanctify the inherent slothfulness and therefore sin associated with TV."

"Are you Catholic?"

"Meh..." he lifted his head from his pillow, his free hand shaking with a "so-so" gesture.

"What does she do?"

"Glow in the dark."

"No, I mean, like how you pray to St. Anthony if you lose some...wait...did you say 'glow in the dark'?"

"Yeah."

"Show me..." she said curiously but with forceful disbelief. He got off the bed and plucked 3½ inch St. Clare from her perch. He then closed his bedroom door, flipped the light switch, shut the blinds, and held her under his lone lampshade for a few seconds before turning it off and revealing the heavenly green glow of her robed figure. He waved it side to side, up and down, and in circles to let the light bleed into darkness pierced otherwise by the glow of the idiot box and street lights sieving through his blinds. "Whoa..." He put her back on top the television and lied down on his bed, not bothering to switch the lights back.

Halfway through the pilot episode, Stephanie asked quite suddenly...

"Do you have a girlfriend, Xander?" He was not sure where to go from there. Their campus was not very small but his paranoia worked overtime as he thought of possible ways for her to know he did.

"Yes," he finally answered, just in case she knew.

"Do you love her?" She got more personal.

"Not really," he lied. No matter how much she knew, she could not know that. "We've only been dating for a little while and we're still searching for a connection," he lied again. She left it there for another Firefly episode.

"This bag is uncomfortable, can I come on your bed?" she asked as she groaned and stretched. He moved farther to the side of the bed and patted it for her. With some effort, perhaps a testament to her near middle age attempting to fit in the young undergrad mold, she got up and lay down in Xander's warmed spot and shared his pillow but did not retract her person when their arms touched ever so slightly. The tension in the air weighed him down upon the bed.

"Xander, do you find me attractive?" she asked without her usual southern accent.

"Yes," he answered quickly. Stephanie raised her hand and dropped it to his penis, feeling the new growth strain against his tight jeans. Apparently the tension he sensed was entirely his own and she could smell it on his breath.

"I have to confess, I hate science-fiction. This was all just an elaborate way to get you in bed. You were stupid not to realize but otherwise you're very smart for someone your age—and quite attractive. So why don't we just drop all the games so I can fuck you?" Xander, in shock, simply nodded in the near dark. She gently squeezed his cock for good measure and sat up. "Good. I'm going to find the toilet," she said as she removed her glasses and put them on the night-stand. "If you need to pee or wash up, you'd better do it soon." She stood up and stripped naked, throwing her clothes haphazardly across his floor. He only saw her figure as she exited his dark room and walked into the lighted portion of the apartment. When her dark back contrasted with the brightness, he saw she her cinched waist and wide hips but as her body became bathed in the light several steps farther, he saw a drooping ass and, when she turned right down the hallway, large slightly sagging breasts reminiscent of someone her age.

Suddenly an idea came to him and he frantically reached into his tightened jean pocket for his cell phone, dialed Anna's number, and pressed the SPEAKER button. After two rings she answered in a poor speaker quality voice.

"Hey babe, what's up?"

"Stephanie's in my place naked right now!" he said in a loud hush.

"What! You bastard! I can't believe you're winning with a lesbian!"

"I haven't won anything yet but she's washing up, she's naked, and she's not a lesbian. Listen, I have you on speaker. Get someplace quiet and don't make any noise! I'll leave my phone by the bed." Anna quickly ciphered his plan and locked her own door but she didn't dare tell him she was ready for fear that Stephanie was already within earshot. Xander inserted his phone into the charger on his night stand. This served the dual purpose of keeping it in plain sight for sound clarity and to account for the bright red light which would only otherwise stay lit if the phone was in use.

Stephanie re-entered, closed the door behind her, and casually straddled her legs on either side of the sitting student, putting his hands within grasp of her soft but aged ass and his mouth at the nipples of her gravid breasts.

His hands locked above her ass as he pushed her large tits against his face, her fingers combing through his hair before latching onto his head. She gently swayed her body arrhythmically while Xander gently inhaled her scent and felt her slow but powerful heartbeat. He sighed contentedly in her tender embrace as his hands separated and moved migrated to the front and the ample breasts that nearly smothered his ears. The moment his hands touched them however Stephanie forcefully clenched her own enmeshed hands and pulled his hair back, dropping his jaw.

"Ow!" he screamed as he reached for her hands to keep her from pulling his hair out. "Why are you doing that!?" He asked meekly. He did not want to risk upsetting her and either get bad grades or not fuck her and lose his competition with Anna. She looked directly into his moist eyes with indifference.

"You see Xander, you don't touch my boobs unless I tell you to. And did I tell you to touch them?"

"But you didn't tell me not..." She clenched her fists again when he answered. His hands tried vainly to force hers flat against his skull and relieve pressure. Ten seconds later she stopped but held firm.

"Maybe you didn't hear me well enough. I didn't tell you to touch my tits. Did you hear me to tell you to touch my tits?" she pouted as she looked down, a glint of anger in her dilated pupils. His eyes shifted side to side, seeking an answer from both sides of his brain, but this only angered her further and she pulled again. This time was less painful but he wondered if it was because she did not pull as hard or he was simply becoming used to it.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow..." he sputtered. "But you were so forward I thought..." she pulled harder than ever. Not once did he consider utilizing his free legs to repel against her mounted nakedness and hopefully free him. He pressed his chin farther down his breast so his eyes looked away.

"You're not stupid, Xander. Every time you use that word I pull. Just stop fuckin' saying it and you won't get hurt..." she patronized. "Do you know what word that is?" He struggled to recall his pre-pain words but her hands loomed above him and drew fearful sweat that wetted his collar. "Be very careful not to start with the word or you'll get it again..." she cautioned.

"Um...the word 'but'?" he finally answered, steeling himself for more pain.

"Very good!" she reassured him like a small child. He relaxed when she released his hair and sidled over, allowing him to look up again. "Sit at the foot of the bed," she looked behind her. He walked on all fours, her unblinking brown eyes upon him. Always looking forward, her downward aimed head turned, following her student's humble progress. Xander had never seen such a trancelike face following such malicious and contemptible abuse. His scalp tingled as if he had given his hair a thorough rubbing with a sheet of Velcro. Satisfied with his place, she finally lied down onto the bed, her back upon the pillow and her right leg extended to Xander who waited patiently at the foot of the bed.

"Be a dear and rub my feet will ya..." she seemed to ask but he knew by now that it was not a request. He was quite relieved however since this was far tamer than what preceded it and, since he often did this for Anna, he had a technique which seemed to please her well enough and might do the same for his dominating guest. He positioned himself comfortably and began to rub and squeeze her large—at least for a woman—feet. They received his near full sensory attention with the exception of his ears which desperately searched for aural cues to guide his routine and, if she should show displeasure, let him change techniques and start again.