Two years later, not only was Alexis Haley still hot and snooty, she now had authority as well. Yup, I hated to admit it, but I was hopelessly outclassed.
Miss Haley, as she insisted we call her, regularly ran labs for Doctor Octavian Bennis, the dictator of behavioral psych. The doctor was out for a week with the flu and so Miss Haley was now also covering his senior classes. It was a mixed blessing.
It was a sweltering September afternoon in Berridge, Ohio, and it was all anyone could do to keep their eyes open, much less focus on periodization of social evolution in rural Cuban, Haitian and Dominican populations. Apparently unaware of our intellectual and physical discomfort, Haley was continuing to lecture without mercy.
Perhaps it was the heat, perhaps the subject matter. Perhaps it was the fact that if all went well, I would be graduating in one month and had a serious case of senioritis. Regardless, at some point I realized I had completely tuned out what I was supposed to be learning and was basically just staring at my teacher. She stood in the front of the classroom wearing a short dark skirt and white blouse with the top several buttons open, exposing the gentle alabaster curves of her breasts. Her honey blonde hair was twisted artfully in a bun, held with two miniature black samurai swords.
Sweat glistened on her neck and I watched, rapt, as a liquid line ran down and disappeared under her shirt.
Damnit, dude, I thought. You gotta get a hold of yourself. I shook my head, trying to clear the heat from my brain. I needed an A in this class to keep my GPA in line. Haley’s cleavage wasn’t helping me concentrate at all. Okay, I could do this. Just had to listen. What was the class talking about?
“The evolutionary challenge,” she was saying, “for any third-world group is no greater than any other, regardless of socio-economic status. All developing nations struggle equally.”
A hand in the back went up. A dark-haired guy named Carlos disagreed, citing the example of some Congolese villagers fighting to stay alive in the middle of a brutal war. Surely, he argued, natives living in the jungle in Brazil wouldn’t struggle quite so hard.
“It would seem so on the surface,” Haley answered. “Men with machetes chopping off arms and legs randomly to prove their dominance is horrible, regardless of your background.”
Carlos nodded his agreement.
“Except,” she went on, “the Amazon is one of the deadliest places in the world to live. Comparing apples with killer apples, the Congo has only perhaps ten-thousand men at any given time fighting to kill or maim their perceived enemies. The Amazon has over a million varieties of deadly plants, animals and insects all at war for their own survival. One statistic I’ve heard says the average European without a guide in the Amazon lasts a total of eleven days before their death. That’s not including the indigenous tribes, many of whom are warlike. It may be horrific to have your hand chopped off at the wrist, but how much worse would it be to see your next-door-neighbor in a stew pot served as a main course?”
The class laughed and Carlos frowned and went silent. A smug smile touched Miss Haley’s lips. Then it disappeared. She was looking at me and somehow…
“…I might disagree?” I heard myself saying.
Wait, what? What the hell was I doing? Apparently I was arguing with her? I hadn’t planned on speaking up but the flush on Miss Haley’s cheeks with the heat was apparently short-circuiting my natural shyness.
“Ah, Mister Hall,” Haley said, locking her dark blue eyes on mine and smiling confidently. “So nice of you to join us.”
I usually didn’t add much to group discussions, on account of my natural desire to blend in with my surroundings. Social camouflage my dad called it. I called it fear of looking stupid. The class turned, vaguely amused, to Miss Haley’s next victim.
“So what do you disagree with?” Her voice was clear with a note of challenge in it.
My stomach did a small flip.
“Well, um,” I said. “Er…”
I didn’t know how to phrase it exactly, so I just decided to sit there and sound awkward. It’s not like I didn’t already look it.
“Er?” she asked. She was not impressed. Neither were my fellow students.
Think brain! I said. Whatever your issue is, please get it out of your system and then shut up!
My brain did not respond the way it was supposed to.
Not at all.
I planned to say “My mistake. Please continue.” Instead, what came out was “What about sex?”
The class was shocked.
There were quiet whispers, a rumbling of voices and somebody in the back hooted “Hell yeah!” A number students cracked up.
“Alright, settle down,” Haley said, rolling her eyes. “I know you all are psychology students so this subject is very special to you, but let’s try to keep it in your pants for the moment.”
She left the whiteboard and came around to the front of her desk. I caught a glimpse of her smooth legs as they disappeared under the soft black cotton of her skirt. She looked directly at me and my heart went into my throat.
“So what about sex, Mr. Hall? Please don’t mistake me, it’s certainly a vital subject. I simply fail to see how it relates to comparative social evolution.”
She frowned slightly, the edges of her lips turning down a fraction more than usual. I couldn’t say why, exactly, but the movement made heat rush towards the center of my body.
The class was now perfectly quiet, unwilling to miss a single syllable of this tête-à-tête.
“People who have sex less, um, that is to say,” I hesitated, trying to figure out where the hell I was going. Haley tapped a manicured pink nail against the desk impatiently. I was failing. Come on man, I begged. Please just stop talking.
Apparently I couldn’t stop.
“Species, uh…I mean groups of people, like the women of Lesbos or the Viking tribes, specifically the Nordic clans that were the ancestors of the modern Dutch…”
I could feel my palms sweating in my hands. I balled them into fists but the words were coming a little easier now. I had actually studied this subject last year for a project in human sexuality. As long as I could remember what the hell I was talking about.
“Um…” I fumbled for words. “Well, there are a series of historic peoples who were able to beat the evolutionary odds, so to speak, by coming together at a sexual…um…level…”
Yes, I thought frantically. Keep going. Don’t lose it.
“…that is,” I continued, “I mean, instead of fighting, they were, you know…”
“Fucking?” Haley finished.
The word, so casually from her lips, made me hard in my pants instantly.
The class roared. Haley grinned wickedly and right before she turned around towards the white board I could have sworn I saw her wink at me, but it had happened so fast I couldn’t be sure.
Whatever. Just keep going, I told myself. Just don’t lose it.
“Right,” I said, my heart still pounding. “I mean, um, like Brown and his partner studying the desert tribes and how they fought less, because, they were too busy doing other stuff.”
The class buzzed quietly. Haley, now back at the board, drew a vertical line and then at the bottom of the line drew a horizontal line. She wrote the words “Sexual Repression” on the vertical and then “Violent Culture” on the horizontal. She drew a diagonal line between them.
“In almost every instance,” Haley said, “there is a direct one-to-one ration of sexual repression and violence. Mr. Hall has made an interesting and potentially significant point. Just in the past two years there have been a handful of new studies, Brown and Littenger’s seven-year Saharan investigation chief among them, that suggest it may be possible to increase a civilization’s creative output if it could channel a man’s desire to destroy into his desire to procreate.”
A bell rang sharply. I jumped, startled. Students were diving for their bookbags and knapsacks. It was already 2:50pm. Class was over.
“Alright, no more learning for today,” Haley sighed. “On your way out make sure to pick up the material for Thursday’s test, including all three handouts from Spencer. Oh and Doctor Octavian wants to make sure you remember the test will also cover Balinski’s analysis of the Porcupine Machine, both the movie and the autobiography.”
The students were filing towards the door and I followed them. I needed to get out of the room and get some fresh air. I needed to figure out what the hell had just happened. Tucked in line between Rachel Linscombe and Daric Summers, I was almost free when I heard a soft voice behind me.
“Mr. Hall, could I have a moment.”
Crap, I thought. It wasn’t a question. I turned around and found my hands sweating. The last three students filed past me and then the room was empty except for the instructor and me.
She bent down and picked up her brown laptop bag. As she did, the material on her dark miniskirt stretched taut over a well-toned ass and I couldn’t stop myself from staring. She stood back up and I suddenly became very interested in the ceiling.
“Mr Hall.”
“Yes?” I replied, trying not to sound guilty.
Haley was staring at me, her frown made her soft lips pout just slightly. I tried to hold her eyes, dark blue and full of something I couldn’t comprehend. A natural force, like a thunderstorm. She blinked at me and then walked past me and out into the hallway.
I followed, falling behind. I found myself staring at the way her four-inch heels seemed to exaggerate the movement of her hips, rolling smoothly first to one side and then back, her ass hypnotic in its rhythm. I’ve noticed some women seem uncomfortable in heels, as if they’ve never quite been able to balance on the little stiletto point. Alexis Haley looked like she went running in heels for several miles every day after class.
It took a few seconds before she noticed I had fallen behind. She turned around and caught me ogling her openly. I was rewarded with a disapproving look.
“Well? Are you coming or not?” she said.
“Honestly?” I said, and before I could stop myself, some inner, uber-confident bastard said, “I apologize, Miss Aleck. But I have to admit I was enjoying the view.”
My part-time psychology professor froze. The blood in my heart went to ice. I had gone too far. I didn’t know why I had said it. It was a terrible idea.
I was about to apologize when she took three steps back to me and then kept going, stopping only a few inches from my face. We were so close I could feel the heat from her body. She smelled like fresh peaches and something else I couldn’t place. Something darker. I could feel blood pounding in my wrists. A drop of sweat gathered at her temple and slid down the contours of her cheek.
Her beautiful blue eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Hall,” she said, her voice low, “I assume you are aware of the sexual harassment guidelines at Priapis University?”
Her chest moved as she breathed and her breasts rose and fell. I swallowed.
“Um,” I said. “Uh…”
She was so close that I was having trouble concentrating on anything except her lips. They curved downwards sweetly at the ends. This explained the riddle of why she always looked like she was frowning.
“Go ahead,” she said impatiently. “Spit it out.”
My stomach turned over.
“You…” I stammered, “you mean inappropriate comments, for example. Like why you’re not supposed to stare, I mean say sexual things to a fellow student…or…”
“Or a teacher,” Haley finished.
“Even if they deserve it,” I said and immediately bit my lip. Apparently I had a secret inner wish to get expelled from college and hell, maybe a quick trip to jail while I was at it. There was something about this woman that was re-routing all my circuitry.
Her eyes widened for a split-second and I had a terrifying urge to run down the hall. But I was frozen. Paralyzed.
The two of us stood silent. A strange combination of terror and defiance rushed over me. She opened her mouth, as if she was going to say something, then closed it. Her burning eyes never left mine. Finally, she broke the quiet. Her voice was businesslike and stiff.
“Mr. Hall, I’m going upstairs to the teacher’s lounge,” she said, “where I have a great deal of work to do. I’m sure you have similar pressing needs to take care of.”
She took a step back, her chest rose and fell several times as if she was breathing deeply. She turned and started towards the upstairs classrooms and then paused.
“I would advise extra time,” she said, over her shoulder, “on the Balinski for Thursday. It’s difficult on the surface…but once you’re inside…”
Her face had a strange, turbulent expression that I had never seen before and couldn’t read. Then she was disappearing up the steps, the crisp sound of her heels on the wood fading as she went.
Damn, I thought, still staring after her. My heart was racing and I felt disoriented. What time was it? Where was I?
Focus man, I told myself. You need to get your shit together. You just managed to sexually harass your admittedly super-hot professor arguably three different times in as many minutes. This had to stop. I had to get the hell out of here before…
Once you’re inside
Before what?
I shook my head. It didn’t make sense.
Whatever, I told myself. It didn’t matter how logical it was. The truth was I did have things to do. A lot of things. Important things. I had a gripload of statistics papers I owed Dr. Owen from when I had been sick two weeks ago. I still had a French paper that was due yesterday (Je jure, je suis en retard pour ma propre naissance). I had to co-ordinate the study group for our French presentation. My mom had left three messages on my phone about graduation hotel arrangements for my east-coast family. I was supposed to “swing by” the financial aid office and see Corky Nelson. Andrew was meeting me for a workout at five…
It’s difficult on the surface…but once you’re inside…
I did not remember climbing the stairs to the second floor of Grast Hall. Nor did I remember walking down the north corridor, past the watercooler and the massive map of Africa outside the Ethnic Studies department, or taking a left to the end of the hall. Yet somehow I had traveled this entire distance in a kind of delirious fog and now stood staring at the door that said “Psychology and Social Science” in black letters on bubbled glass.
The door was cracked open, but just barely.
I should have just opened the door and walked in. Or at least I should have knocked at the door. I did neither. Instead I found myself peeking furtively through the open crack into the psychology professor’s lounge.
I could only see the left hand side of the room and two office doors. One of the doors was closed and the lights were off. The other door was slightly open and I could see faint movement. Then I realized I was seeing a reflection of the fan. The psych department’s large, old-fashioned fan was blowing loudly in the room, oscillating back and forth. I couldn’t hear anything else.
It felt like I shouldn’t be here. Why was I peeping through the door into the teacher’s lounge? I looked back down the hall but the building seemed to be empty. There was a school picnic currently happening on the main grounds of Dover Field, which might explain where some of the students and teachers were. Plus it was hot. I reached up and felt my collar sticking to my neck. It was really hot.
The already aggressive temperature was even hotter up here on the second floor. Grast Hall was the oldest at Priapis University and had only recently been upgraded with modern air-conditioning. Apparently the AC hadn’t been fully installed yet. No wonder the place was deserted this afternoon.
Still…
The hair on the back of my neck went up. There were multiple psych professors with offices in this lounge. If anyone caught me, how was I going to look peeking through a barely open door?
That made me feel ridiculous. No, whatever I was doing I was going to do it openly. Yes, I told my told myself. Absolutely. But what the hell was I doing in the first place?
My brain compromised by helping me stand up straight, but instead of knocking on the door, I gently pushed it open and slipped inside.
The room was rectangular with a spacious inner quad of black leather couches surrounded on three sides by offices. Within the square of couches, a huge black marble table lay low and impressive. Inlaid on the marble were the words Inviglio En Partis Illimino En Fuego. Most of the table was covered with textbooks, clinical magazines and a few floral boxes of kleenex. I couldn’t see all the words but I know they were there; I had translated them the first time I had visited this room almost four years ago. The secret fire that illuminates the mind.
The sun streamed through the windows of the west facing offices, bronze light glinting off the steel handles of filing cabinets and the exposed surfaces of the polished marble. It took only a second in the room to realize the temperature had jumped another ten degrees. I could feel my shirt sticking to my chest.
A low sound cut through the whine of the fan and then it was gone. It barely registered but I was so keyed up at this point that I jumped anyway. My first thought was that it was an animal, but that made no sense. Was it possible the air was so hot I was hallucinating?
I looked around the room, trying to locate the source. The slightly open door was on the east side of the lounge, the room beyond it hidden in shadow. I heard the sound again, a little louder this time. I found myself tensing, nervous once again. I should definitely leave, I thought. Definitely.
Instead, I quietly moved toward the open door until I was close enough to see through the space into the office itself. My heart was hammering in my chest. I craned my neck to peer into the darkened room. It took my eyes several agonizing seconds to adjust to the light.
What I saw next rocked my entire universe.
Alexis Haley was thrown back in her chair, one leg on the ground, the other leg bent, heel firmly rooted against the edge of the desk. Her skirt was bunched up and underneath her, a pair of thin white panties had been discarded, forgotten on the ground. Her white blouse was unbuttoned halfway and a lace bra had been pushed down, revealing a glorious breast. Pink fingernails pinched and kneaded the small hard nipple. Her other hand was sunk deep into her center. From where I stood, her long, white leg obstructed my view of the penetration but I could watch the muscles in her arm tighten and twist. Her hips gyrated in tiny circles. Her mouth was open and I heard the low sound again, this time louder still. Her eyes were clamped shut. A tiny shadow of smeared mascara haloed her eyes. A single dark rivulet of black had begun to run down her cheek. She shuddered and hitched and the muscles of her leg clenched and released and clenched again.
Holy Shit.
I tried to process what I was seeing but my mind failed me utterly. My cock, on the other hand, throbbed painfully in my pants.
“Ohh huhhh,” Haley moaned, twisting her nipple. Then, apparently unsatisfied with only a single breast, she abruptly pulled the lace of her bra away from the other nipple and began twisting that one, evening the score.
Her hips were still undulating, bucking in a small, controlled rotation. Her hand disappeared further into the space between her trembling legs.