the best lesson learned.

I had an English professor,
Mrs. Ashby.

I would spend 20 minutes
after class
discussing
Hemmingway, Celine, Bukowski,
and the dreaded Shakespeare.

I praised my heroes
while she revered
Shakespeare
and the
classics.

I was enthralled.
by the philosophy
and literary genius
behind those thick,
black,
box-framed glasses.

the pools behind
those eyes were confused,
and old.
steel gray-blue eyes
and natural black hair. she
was only in her mid 30's.

she must of been Italian,
or Indian, I never
asked.

we raised the dead and
discussed.
I challenged her,
while she protested to change
my mind.
I raised many questions
and she always asked
about my writing.
always my damned writing.

I used to make her
laugh and cry, it brought
life to those eyes
and olive-colored skirts.
she was finally alive,
she was
free.

one day, she told me,
"You make me laugh so much,
I could kiss you." we leaned in
until I could smell the perfume.
she looked depraved today.

"Then why don't you?"

"Oh Ivan, you know I'm
married." She looked down
at her desk and folded a post-it.

"That's fine, I'll see you tomorrow."
I left sheepishly.

I never saw her
the next day,
or the day after that.
It was the end of the semester..

I was never attracted
to her physical beauty
or her age. It was her composition
of words. Her intellect that
exited me. Like being teased
for the first time.

One day after Jazz History I was walking
to my car when I saw her waiting for me
outside. Same steel-blue eyes, black hair,
and boring shades of skirt.

"Ivan, I need to talk to you, please,
come with me." She looked nervous.

"Sure." I replied. I followed her
into her office. Nothing changed,
except the pictures were gone,
and her bookshelf had some new
books.

she locked the door behind her and we
stood motionless for a period of time that
seemed like ages. somehow,
we knew what was going to happen.
I dove for a savage kiss and pressed
against her.
she grabbed my cock, but
I was already hard. I began to work
under her skirt to get to her cunt. It was
impossible, too much clothes. Professionally dressed
people must not like to fuck often. It was designed
to prevent office affairs. It was too bad they failed.
"Hold on." she told me,
I watched her calmly undress in front of me. She was even
more beautiful naked. The moon was full and it beamed
over her dark-toned body and silvered hair.
I throbbed harder.
I sat in that office chair as she bobbed
on my cock. She had a lot of
spirit. Shakespeare would of been proud.
It wasn't long before I spread her on the desk
and worked 9,
10, strokes. I watched her cunt engorge as she
worked on herself while I pushed for
11, 12,
13.
I came inside her when I felt
her finish. It was mutual.
the moon was full,
and
she was full
of my hot
liquid silver.

Sometimes the best lessons learned
are those on a desk
with your professor.