The Student Ch. 02

"What's that?"

She turned her face up to me again, "If you had -- we'd have never ended up like this." She looked at me for few moments before again resting her head on my shoulder. "And truthfully, I really didn't think you would. At least I hoped you wouldn't."

"You know, it's funny, but before I was first hired, trading a grade for sex wasn't anything that even crossed my mind until they brought it up during first time teacher orientation. They talked about ethics and grades being made upon class activities alone and keeping personal life away from classroom activities."

"So you never thought about it?"

"Oh I wouldn't say that. I had to think about it, they brought it up. The question was what would I do about it? If some young hottie came up offering her body to me in trade for a better grade, would I -- could I -- take her up on it? I decided long ago it just wasn't worth it and I've never based a grade on anything except the coursework." Neither of us said anything for a while.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Huh?" I responded, not understanding her question. "You mean you?"

"No -- before me. After your marriage, what did you do for sex?"

"Oh." The thoughts came rushing back; things I hadn't thought about in multiple weeks, things from my life before Linda. I thought of the women I'd seen, all the women I'd dated, in the last three years since my divorce. Samantha was the first, the sister of a friend that had gotten married; we'd met at his wedding -- and dated for a couple of months. There were a couple of one time dates that just didn't click, a few multiple dates that were fun but going nowhere, and several one night stands that although the sex was hot, we both knew it was just sex. It was mutually enjoyable to be sure, but there was nothing else memorable about them. And then of course there was Mary Richards, professor of American Literature; besides Samantha the closest thing I'd had to a girlfriend in the last three years -- at least before Linda.

Mary had greeted me and introduced herself to me at an all-day staff meeting; later she'd waved me over and I'd sat and had lunch with her and several other professors that she introduced me to. That afternoon as the meeting came to an end I asked her if she'd like to go get a drink or dinner somewhere, and she'd answered that she didn't date where she worked. I told her it didn't have to be a date, I just needed to get dinner and if she'd like to join me, it would be nice to have someone to talk to.

We'd sat and talked until they closed the place down around us. When we got outside, I asked her if she'd like to go get a drink and keep talking, and she answered "My place or yours?" We never did get the drink, but did spend the rest of the weekend in bed.

Mary turned out to be the proverbial "friend, with benefits." She wasn't looking for a spouse (neither was I) just companionship -- and sex. We'd gotten together quite regularly, at least every other week during the school year, ever since we'd met. She would travel and do other things during the summers, but as soon as school started up again, I expected she'd be calling to let me know she was back. But truthfully, she hadn't crossed my mind in over two months.

I told this all to Linda, who apparently accepted it for what it was -- past history. Moments later she changed the subject. "What do you like about me?"

"Oh my god, Linda, what's not to like?" I answered without hesitation. "You're gorgeous -- you're every man's fantasy. You're sexy, you're intelligent, you're cuddle-able and you've got plans. You're not just drifting along waiting for whatever life throws your way; you're taking the risk to go after what you want. You turn me on just by looking at me - I like everything about you."

"What about stripping? Does that bother you?" I almost replied flippantly, but sensed that this was as much or more important than the previous question.

"You know, I'm not sure. At times, I'm madly jealous -- I know when you're at work, that every horny guy in town is ogling your naked body, wanting to be in bed with you. And then I realize that when you're climbing into bed with someone -- it's me you're climbing in bed with. It's the never ending internal battle. When you've got a beautiful woman by your side, you want guys to envy you, to be able to strut like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever and say "See this beautiful woman on my arm? She's all mine!" But then on the other hand, you want to keep her to yourself, to never share her with anyone again. I don't think I could stand it if I knew that guys like Ray were out pawing you every night, but knowing that you stick to the rules makes it not so bad."

"You know most of them test the rules eventually."

"Test?" I asked, questioning her choice of words.

"Yeah. Some of them are so cute, they think they're being subtle by reaching out to my feet or calves or arms, which I really wouldn't mind if it stayed there, but if I don't say "uh-uh", the hands always start moving upward. The really obnoxious ones, like your buddy Ray, they just grab for a tit or my pussy. You learn to recognize the signs, to be able to spin or move out of the way when they do. Generally all it takes is a "no" and they behave, but not always. I finally kneed Ray when he grabbed my boob for the umpteenth time, but since then he's been good."

The thought of Ray ogling my girl, grabbing for my girl, was the ultimate example of what I'd just said to Linda. On the one hand, that he was ogling her, and having to pay good money to do what I got for free made me smug; but on the other hand, that he'd laid a hand on my girl, grabbed her boobs, and I'm sure her ass, and probably pussy at the same time made me angry. I remembered that one night where I'd been with her, remembered that when my hand had found her pantied ass, her naked hip -- that I hadn't gotten my hand swatted, I hadn't gotten rebuffed from my lecherous caress of her nude or semi-nude body.

"Have you ever let anyone touch you? I mean -- more than just a passing caress?" I asked the question, already knowing that her answer would be no. But the pause, the lack of an immediate forthcoming answer caused me to question my own assuredness that I knew what the answer would be before the answer actually came out of her mouth.

"Yes. Once." I could feel my heart racing, my pulse pounding my head in torment at the unexpected response. She had? At work? I hadn't explicitly said had anyone ever touched her at work, but obviously with a three year old someone had more than touched her in the past so she must know exactly what I'd meant. Obviously if she'd had to tell people "no" constantly, and she'd had to knee Ray and probably others, she'd been touched without permission in the past, but here she said she'd let someone touch her -- on purpose -- a whole different scenario.

My emotions swung from one end of the pendulum to the other, as everything about Linda that I knew went through my mind in that split second. MY GIRL? My girl had allowed someone to fondle her? My girl had allowed some horny bastard to put his hands on her body; the body that I, and every other horny bastard that had paid good money to see her parade it before our eyes, had desired? It didn't seem right, something in the equation didn't add up.

"You... Let someone put their hands on you -- at the club?"

Her answer wasn't what I expected. "You make it sound so nasty when you say it that way."

"How should it sound?'" I answered snipingly, knowing in my mind that if she'd let someone fondle her body that it was only a step away from more sexual things -- things that would forever brand her as just another whore. I didn't want to think that way, but my mind immediately jumped from A to Z, forgetting that every destination has a path, and forgetting that every path doesn't have the same destination.

"It wasn't like that." She responded, her voice betraying that she was upset at me, upset at my conclusion.

"Then how was it?" I asked, trying to ease away from the snipping tone, telling myself I had no right to put her down, to pre-judge, to move her off the pedestal that I had her on in my mind.

Her tone was almost apologetic, almost begging for forgiveness when she answered again, "It wasn't like that." She paused; I waited for her to collect her thoughts.

"There was this group of guys," she continued, her voice soft -- barely loud enough to be heard. "We see them all the time. Virgin frat boys, out to show off for their buddies; show that they're hot stuff with the women. Grooms out for their bachelor parties; one way or another, they're all the same -- looking to make a show of looking at naked women like they do it all the time, but most of the time the young ones are really too shy to actually even ask a woman out. In this one group there was a guy that they kept needling, giving a hard time to. I didn't realize at first what they were up to until I stopped by to see if they wanted private lap dances. I couldn't get the guy they were needling to even look at me, until I realized he always turned his ears toward me instead of his eyes. At first I wasn't sure, but when I put on my best flirt, sliding in behind him, running my hands over his shoulders and down his chest, it was obvious he was following me with his ears. His head turned his ears toward me, but his eyes never followed me, and that's when I realized it wouldn't do any good -- he was blind."

"I realized his buddies were rubbing it in as much as anything. I listened to what they were saying, and realized they were more describing what they were seeing more to put themselves higher than him than they were to let him see what they were seeing. I whispered in his ear, asked him if he really couldn't see and he said "yes, but there's more to seeing than what greets the eyes." When I asked him what he meant, he leaned his head back toward me and inhaled. He said "like that; you can't deny the smell of a beautiful woman, you can't deny the sound, the voice, of a beautiful woman. There are a lot of women that are beautiful on the outside and ugly on the inside. When you use your other senses, you aren't fooled by the outer beauty that will someday disappear." He reached up with his hand and stroked the side of my face, feeling my cheek and ear and face and hair. I swear, I've never felt something so sensual as when he was looking at me with his hands." Her voice had softened even more as she spoke, I could tell she was reliving the recollection as she related it to me.

"When a guy is looking at you, ogling you, you always know it. You can sense when he's leering at your ass or boobs; that he wants to manhandle you. But with this guy -- I could feel that his hands were substituting for his eyes, that he wasn't just looking at tits and ass, but at my face, at my eyes, and nose, and mouth and hair, concentrating on every facet of me, enjoying every attribute of me."

"I just stood there, letting him feel my hair and face, knowing that for him, that was the closest he'd ever get to actually seeing me -- and loving every moment of it. And then a couple of his so-called buddies started needling him. I swear one of them was just like Ray, a real dick. He hollered something to him about asking me for a lap dance - that maybe I'd get naked and let him feel my face at the same time and then started howling in laughter -- and it ticked me off. Here they were supposed to be his friends, and in reality they were making themselves feel bigger by belittling him. It made me mad. My face was right by his ear at the time, and I just whispered that when I came back he should ask me for a lap dance and I'd let him look at me anywhere -- just like they did.

When I came by again a bit later and asked if anyone would like a lap dance he said "I would." One of his buddies said "Dude! She's practically naked right in front of you, and you can't tell the difference," and they all broke down in hysterics. I just took his hand and led him to the back room.

"I told him the rules said there is no touching allowed, but that he was allowed to look all he wanted, so if he needed to look with his hands, that met the rules. When I straddled him and sat on his knees, at first he just reached up to touch my face again. I could tell he was leery about really looking at me, so I asked him if he wanted to see me naked like his buddies did. He said he did, but still didn't get the hint, so I took my bra and panties off and straddled his knees again, but I still had to physically put his hands on my breasts before he got the idea that I really was going to let him 'look' at me."

"I swear, I've never been touched so sensually before. I love it when you touch me, when you finger me, and suck my nipples, and kiss me, and feel me -- but with you, you're not looking at me with your hands, you're always paying attention to multiple locations. You've got my nipple in your mouth and your fingers between my legs and your other hand on my ass. With him -- there was nothing except his fingertips. When he ran his fingers over my arm and felt my elbow -- I knew that he was really looking at my elbow -- not some appendage that happened to be by my boobs where he was really looking. When he touched my neck, it was like fire on my skin. Even when he touched my breasts, I could tell he was really admiring them, looking at them, and not just fondling me for his own gratification.

He ran his fingers everywhere, my toes and heels, my butt and back, everywhere except my pussy. He'd run his fingers up the inside of my thighs a couple of times, but didn't actually touch me until I told him again it was ok to look everywhere if he wanted. After that the third song was just coming to an end, so I stood up and told him that we were out of time.

When he asked how much he owed me, I told him nothing -- but that he'd have to keep it a secret how I'd let him look at me. I told him he could tell his buddies I'd rubbed against him and teased him like everyone else -- but that he could only say I'd let him touch my face and hair."

Somehow, hearing what she had to say totally relieved the angst that had run through my mind when she first said she had let someone touch her. The mental image of slutty lust had turned to one of caring beauty. Somehow I actually felt proud that she'd allowed someone with disadvantages to, at least for a few moments, be just a regular guy.

"Did he tell the others?"

"I don't think so. I did get requests for lap dances from many of them, but for the most part they made no attempt to touch -- other than the prerequisite 'test' of the rules. Later when they were leaving I was up front and greeted them, told them to hurry back. When he reached for me, I leaned over and gave him a hug and he whispered into my ear "You're a beautiful person, Brook. Thank you."

We just lay there a while before I said "I thought I was going to be jealous when you said someone had fondled you."

"And you're not?"

"No, I'm really not."

"Even if I said it turned me on?"

"Did it?"

"Oh my god, yes. Most of the time, dancing is just a job. Even though I don't mind anymore taking off my clothes and having guys ogle me, that wasn't the case to begin with. That was the first time anyone had really aroused me. His hands were so soft, so sensual. I didn't even realize how much he'd turned me on until I told him he could touch my pussy. I didn't even know my clit was erect until his finger found it and I almost came just from his touch. That's really why I told him it was the end, although the song really was ending, too."

Somehow the confession of her arousal, of her almost cumming, came across in my mind as an "Of course" afterthought; but what my mind latched onto up front was the two words "first time." As in, although the blind man was the first, he wasn't the only.

"The first one?" I questioned.

"The first one what?" She asked back, not understanding.

"You said 'he was the first one' to turn you on. That means there have been others?"

"Am I detecting a little jealousy?" she answered, avoiding the question. I knew she was right, that's exactly what that question was aimed at. I hadn't thought about it, but the idea of my Linda getting turned on by horny Johns paying for her time -- gave me a pang or two of jealousy. So I admitted it.

"There was only one other," she admitted, to my querying about whom else had turned her on. "Oh my God, was he a babe. He had these strong sensual fingers, and muscular arms and legs and shoulders. And OMG lips that were so kissable. If he'd tried, I'd have kissed him, but he didn't."

"Did he touch you?" I asked.

"Just a little; not like the other guy. But I wouldn't have stopped you if you had."

Sometimes I can be so dense -- it didn't click that she was talking about me until she finished her last sentence. Grinning, I pulled her up to me and kissed her; a long, slow, sensuous embrace with lots of tongues and sucking. Relinquishing the kiss, she settled back down, now totally on her side with her head on my upper arm. Her upper arm ran down my body, found my semi-hard erection and just held it, saying nothing.

"Now what are you thinking about?" I asked when she'd made no attempt to move for several minutes.

"Just wondering what turns you on? What things do you fantasize about?"

"Besides you?" I teased, sliding my hand onto her naked bottom. "Well, let's see. I love seeing a sexy young thing wearing a thong bikini on the beach. Painted swimsuits -- I've never seen one in person but by the pictures I've seen they are sexier than hell.... Let me see, I like it when you wear sexy lingerie under your clothes for me," I paused thinking and then continued, "In fact, I love all kinds of lingerie; sexy nighties, and bras and panties. And I absolutely love open cupped bras, there is nothing sexier to me than a woman dressed to the nines with her nipples hard as rocks, begging to be looked at, unless it's a sexy woman in a form fitting dress that makes you wonder whether she's wearing anything underneath at all."

"Anything else?"

"Well of course there are always the movies, everyone likes porn movies... Oh, nipple jewelry! I love nipple decorations -- you know, like Janet Jackson's Superbowl flash? I love that, but not her nipple piercings, the stick on kind. I think that's sexy as hell." I paused, thinking, and said, "Almost anything about you turns me on. Why?"

"Because you started getting hard when I was telling you about the blind guy."

"I did?"

"Uh-huh. I was watching," she said, her hand now gently stroking my penis. "Does that turn you on, the idea of someone else touching me?"

I didn't know how to answer -- I wasn't sure. Was my body betraying me, telling me that I did, while in the pit of my stomach I knew I didn't?

"I don't think so," I answered truthfully, and then realized what it was. "It was more the image -- watching someone else have sex that turns me on."

"Umm. That can be fun too."

"What, watching? Like a porn flick?"

"Porn is nice, watching someone else is too."

"Have you ever watched someone?" Her head nodded against my chest; I could tell she was answering affirmatively. I didn't say anything and eventually she told me.

"My girlfriend Laura and I were on a double date with our boyfriends. We went to the movies, and went back to her boyfriend's studio apartment afterward to watch TV. My boyfriend Donnie and I were on the couch, they were lying on his bed. We really were watching TV at first. We'd turned the lights out, the only light in the room was from the TV itself, but after a while we were making out and nobody was watching the TV. I was in my boyfriend's lap facing him while we were kissing. He was feeling me up; he had his hands in my shirt and had pushed my bra off, but with me facing away from Laura and her boyfriend I knew even if they looked at us they really weren't going to be seeing anything. We'd been making out pretty heavy when I could tell that Donnie was getting distracted. I looked over at the bed, and Laura was on her knees, topless, sucking her boyfriend off. She was sideways on the bed and knew we were watching, I saw her glance our way a couple of times. At first I was shocked, but I couldn't look away. I could see everything, when she took him in her mouth, when she was licking and teasing.