Layla and the Professor

Layla contends that the Higher Power, in his/her infinite wisdom, designed man with guaranteed alternatives, ten fingers and a tongue.

Woman was designed to experience paradise with man using each and every one.

I offered those alternative experiences to every older man who reads my stories, creating plausible scenarios with happy endings. My Layla takes them inside her paradise.

Her partner of choice is older, experienced and wise enough to understand and accept that things change and you have to adapt. Layla recreates scenarios she's personally experienced and those fantasies she'd love to live.

There is of course the classic scenario portraying the older professor, being seduced by the nubile, beddable co-ed hoping to improve a grade. I was not a racy young co-ed, couldn't pretend to be. I was Layla, luscious or not, I knew how to be me.

I arrived to the lecture hall early hoping no one else would be there so I would have a few minutes alone with my professor so we could discuss the events from the day before. Unfortunately, he was nowhere in sight.

I took a seat directly in front of the podium. I decided it was fitting for me to introduce the "man" to the "woman" he'd read about.

People began arriving and in a few minutes the room was filled to capacity. The rhythmic, humming murmurs, measured laughter and quiet chaos grew into a deafening silence when they realized the professor entered unannounced. All eyes were focused on the man as he strode across the stage. When he reached the podium, he turned to face me, his eyes focused on me.

With a warm smile, a quiet timbre in his voice, eyes looking directly into mine, he softly spoke.

"Good morning Miss Chapman."

Oddly, at that moment there was absolutely no one else in the room except the professor and me. The peripheral, now eerily silent bodies seemed to become ghostly, disappearing one by one into the air as if they were in a hurried rush trying to fade out of sight.

"Good morning Professor."

Almost immediately he began to look at me, all of me. I followed the movement of his eyes, slowly, deliberately, roaming over my body. The focused facial expressions appeared as though he was taking mental notes to recall at a later time.

I could see he was concentrating. Peering gazes that became the lens of a video cam rapidly committing to its memory all of what he was taking in. I could feel his wandering, yet completely captivated eyes undressing me. Piece by piece he revealed what he was aching to see. With a deep breath, a quiet sigh, and his smile, I felt my nakedness.

"Good morning folks. A slight change in scheduling. We were going to begin a discussion today pertaining to character development. I've put that in next week's work. For today's seminar we're going to view a video, some basic's as regards to the building blocks of any piece. We'll also be finished about thirty minutes early; I have a student consultation to attend."

OMG, maybe there already was a nubile nymphet in the picture?

The professor had a very pleasing way about him. My thoughts were beginning to focus on the man speaking to the room full of people, wanting him to direct his comments to me, and me alone.

"This is good stuff; it will be on the mid-term so pay attention. At the conclusion of the video, if you have any questions please send them to me and I'll post them with my reply on the creative writing forum by Sunday morning. We can have a quick Q&A on Monday. Have a great weekend and keep writing!"

The lights dimmed, the video began and I listened to each and every word, after all, I was here for a specific reason. The professor seemed to have left the room. I was busy taking notes when I saw him walking across the front of the room, heading I assumed, up to the podium. In mid stride he changed direction and was coming towards me. I trembled when he sat down next to me and leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"Miss Chapwell, my office at the conclusion of the session."

The professor got up, didn't wait for me to acknowledge his request, didn't wait for an answer, never looked back and left the room.

It wasn't a request; it was an announcement, a statement that required no answer.

What made him so sure I'd come? It never dawned on me to refuse. It happened so fast I didn't actually have time to think let alone say anything. I had no idea where his office was.

At the conclusion of the video I gathered my belongings and set out to find the professor. Luckily, as I walked out of the hall I remembered seeing a directory. I found his office room number and headed in that direction.

"Luscious Layla, how are you?"

The professor was walking alongside me, appeared out of thin air, speaking quietly. I'm sure he had his reasons.

"Professor, this has been one day full of surprises for sure."

I felt him slip his hand onto the small of my back. "Follow me, we'll talk."

Weaving and dodging through the crowded halls we arrived at his office. Unlocking the door, he opened it and stood aside as I entered.

"Please Layla, why don't you grab a chair and sit down."

I did a quick look around and sat down in a chair in front of his desk. It didn't surprise me at all to see it was covered in mountains of paper.

"Please ignore the clutter, I've been inundated with student requests to critique their work. The holidays and final papers put a kink in the armor so to speak. That's not why you're here. Now that the new semester is under way we begin anew. Give me a minute and I'll be right with you."

This was actually the first time I was witnessing the professor, as the man. I had to chuckle to myself. He was like a whirl y-gig, constantly in motion. I watched him moving things here and there, attempting to bring some sense of order to the chaos, or at least that's what my immediate perception was. Admittedly, I could be way off kilter here, time would tell.

He seemed to be ready to begin the "student consultation" and finally took his seat, leaning back, folding his hands behind his head, there, he was smiling.

"Alright, here we go", he was now focusing directly on me.

"I'm going to assume that you may have thought I wouldn't take you seriously because the story you provided to me was erotic, sexual in nature, written to affect a desired response so that it would appeal to the readers on Literotica. It's not so at all. Layla, you're talented."

I was certainly concerned with the subject matter. My stories are graphic, in what I consider to be a tasteful erotic way, if there is such a thing.

"The main reasons I say that you have even greater potential is your natural facility with words, as well as the fact that you take the time and effort in your erotic fantasies to build character, provide background, and explore the human needs and desires of your people in more than just a sexual way. Most erotic story authors are so anxious to get down and dirty with the reader that they neglect, or just plain forget, these important aspects of telling a tale."

I was sucking down every word that came out of his mouth. I could definitely see myself kissing that mouth. I was wandering, my thoughts were coming from the "luscious Layla" salutation. Pay attention Layla, this is important. I couldn't help wondering what his hands would feel like?

"Most writers on the site don't even bother to acknowledge them. Too bad you're not in my Creative Writing course. You would probably earn an easy "A," and I would have the pleasure of teaching at least one student with the requisite writing talent."

Pardon me? The professor acknowledged my questioning stare.

"Oh wait, you are in my Creative Writing course. Just making sure you're listening."

A warm smile and a look in his eyes that said he knew I was taking his interest and kindness seriously.

"Oh, have no doubt professor. I'm paying attention."

It was more than just paying attention from a purely respectful stance. I genuinely wanted to hear what he had to say, his thoughts, his assessment and what he thought I needed in terms of work and if I could actually improve.

"Yes, I'm listening." I was hanging on his every word.

"Meanwhile, let's begin the mentoring part with you writing just for me, a Professor/Student erotic fantasy starring us. Your grammar, syntax, punctuation, vocabulary choices, and sentence structure could stand some strengthening, so we'll start there. I will edit and critique the finished story, and, when it's ready, you can then submit it to Literotica for publication."

A Professor/Student erotic fantasy starring us? Jesus, this was what every parent warns every pretty little innocent Lolita type co-ed, hormones screaming, oozing sexual cravings from every pore in her body against. It was a damn good thing I was a grown, mature, sensible, intelligent woman who knew better than to become sexually involved with her professor.

Why did it have to be a "fantasy"? Why couldn't it be a "based on a true story" story? The professor fit right in my wheelhouse, he was an older man.

"To answer your question, yes, I would enjoy being your mentor. The Literary Gods seem to have been good to both of us. However, I think it is only fair to warn you that I am also one of those "dirty old men" you write about, and to whom you seem to be attracted, hint, hint."

If you only knew what I've been thinking professor, it just might surprise you. I shifted my body in my seat and intentionally stretched my legs as I crossed, and re-crossed them, hint, hint professor.

A quick glance, downward, to my now crossed legs, and he continued speaking.

"Therefore, there is certain to be a lot of flirting, teasing, temptation, and harmless naughtiness on my part, should we proceed. If you can abide that without becoming offended, then we are good to go."

I've always thought that a word like "therefore" is a momentary reorganization of one's thoughts when the train they were about to board has left the station. "Harmless", I wasn't thinking harmless at all. How about "bring it on professor, let's see where this goes", that's what I was thinking... I could feel him touching me.

"Alright, let's call you my "muse" with benefits. I've always hoped to make a connection with a gentleman, albeit, "a dirty old man" who could not only enjoy my stories, also allow me to see a different prospective, from his point of view. You will find that I speak my mind, and so I will."

For crying out loud Layla, a muse with benefits? Have you lost your perspective here? My brain was saying one thing and my mouth was talking something totally different. Benefits could be very interesting.

"I welcome your naughtiness. I've developed a healthy appetite for flirting, teasing and temptation myself, it's food for the soul. Have I left anything out?"

I could hear my own thoughts screaming at me, "Layla, why don't you just tear your clothes off, swipe his desk clean, climb up and spread your legs?" I'd never been taken on a professor's desk before, wonder if it's just like you see in a movie?

With a smile, a pause, relaxing in a contemplative moment of reflection, the professor replied, "No, I believe you've covered it all, succinctly I might add."

"Seriously professor, I would both welcome and enjoy you."

Did I just offer to... what the hell did I just agree to?

The rapidly developing image in my mind was of a robot, lights flashing, head spinning, arms flailing uncontrollably, warning me in a helium induced, munchkin voice, "Danger, Layla Chapman, Danger, Danger, Danger", I kept right on talking.

"You hold an advantage that others don't, you're privy to my secret fantasy. Furthermore, you are, as you pointed out, an "older man" who has a few fantasies of his own."

The professor's dedicated story line might have just taken an unpredictable detour. His quizzical expression told me his direction suddenly took a left turn and changed from "harmless fantasy" to "based on a true story" am I hearing this right?

"FYI, I am a widower in my mid-fifties. As you will discern from the "professorial" picture there on the wall, I used to be Handsome, Suave, Sophisticated, Debonair, and Witty. Now, alas, I am only the last four."

He was laughing as he described how he saw himself. Not a "haha" I'm being funny laugh, rather an amusing, this is pretty funny, and I'm enjoying the hell out of this laugh. On the contrary professor, I see a quite handsome man sitting across from me.

"Yes, but isn't it true that handsome is in the eyes of the beholder? I'm paraphrasing. I'm old enough to know what I like and young enough to enjoy it. I hold the belief that age is a matter of mind, if you don't mind, it doesn't matter."

"Now it's your turn, are you "Attached," as the Lit profilers so quaintly put it? And, most importantly of all, what are your hopes, dreams, and ambitions regarding your writing?"

"To answer your question regarding my current status, I have a nice life with no entanglements. No, I'm not attached."

There, I opened the proverbial door, would he walk through it? Could he enter my world, become part of it?

"You may find this amusing. I actually believe I have a story that needs to be written, I suppose every fledgling writer or wanna be, truly believes that. For the present I would like to fine tune my skills, understand syntax and the use of vocabulary to enhance a thought without running on adding words just to fill up a page. I've made some improvements along the way, however, I have miles to go before I sleep."

"Regarding that story that "needs to be written," I suggest that, as it takes shape in your imagination, immediately jot down or record any thoughts, feelings, images, etc. you have about it, so that you don't forget them, and have them at hand when you finally get around to writing it. And, yes, that means getting up to do so in the middle of the night, if that happens to be when the muse strikes. That's what good writers do for their craft."

So then, if I'm lying in your arms, quietly mewing, lavishing in the afterglow of torrid lovemaking, you would simply release me and quietly, peacefully, drift into sleep to the sound of my fingers tapping out the images I see in my mind? I wanted to ask him this.

"Layla, I have a class in a few minutes and as much as I would love to sit here and continue this I have to go. Listen, would you be up for dinner with a "dirty old man" this evening? All joking aside, we could continue where we've left off, I'm sure you have questions, and I'd like to hear more about your story."

"That would be wonderful."

My place or yours? What a lame line Layla.

"I'd love to have dinner professor. I'd be happy to cook for you, I'm a pretty good, we could relax with a glass of wine, I do have questions that you could surely provide the answers to."

Do you find lingerie appealing? What color sparks your desire? Do you like long luxurious kisses?

"That sounds great, I haven't had a home cooked meal in a while. I'd be more than happy to take you out, seeing you sitting across the table from me would send all the other dirty old men into a fantasy coma."

His smile was sweet. I could very easily kiss that mouth.

"If you're serious about cooking I'm finished here by three, give me some time to get a shower and change into something comfortable, no pun intended, and I could be at your place say about six, how's that sound?"

"Perfect, I'll send you my address and see you at six then."

"I'll bring the wine, anything that strikes your fancy?"

"I'm sure you're more than capable of striking my fancy. Thank you for your kindness professor. I'll let you go and see you this evening."

"Layla, I'd like you to call me Gav, we can keep the "Professor" for the classroom."

"See you at six Gav." I left his office smiling, inside and out. I looked at the time and realized I had to shower, make dinner, set the table, light the candles...and breathe.

By the time I stopped at the market, got home, set the table and prepared what I thought was something he would enjoy it was nearly five. I took one quick look around, was satisfied with what I saw and headed for the bedroom.

I pulled the quilt down and fluffed the pillows. Yes, you're damn right, I was creating an inviting atmosphere, why not? In less than an hour I would have a "dirty old man" sitting at my table. A man who I could very easily take to my bed and ravage. I'm quite confident that there were more than a few moments when the "Professor" thought about a little ravaging himself. I suddenly remembered I didn't send him my address.

I opened my mail and there was a message from Gav.

Luscious Layla,

Being a faculty member affords me certain privileges. I have your address and will arrive as we agreed, wine in hand, naughtiness, perhaps not so harmless.

Gav

I smiled. Resourceful, definitely naughty, and quite charming. It was time to get showered and dressed. I closed my laptop, put some indulgent, sultry, provocative music on and proceeded to the bathroom, shedding my clothes, leaving a trail behind me. I was feeling seductive, sensual and sexy.

The hot steamy water, splashing over my body, feeling like tiny sparks stinging my stiff aching nipples just intensified the urging I was already feeling, it enfolded me in want. The tingling, between my legs, becoming stronger, deeper inside me. I felt a need for some immediate relief from the sexual tension that I felt all day. I reached for the spray head, twisted the neck, felt for the powerful flow I needed, wanted, and put it between my legs.

Streaming warmth, like a wet stiff tongue, darting and teasing, dancing over my so engorged pleasure point, puffed up into a bursting blossom. Steadily pounding pressure, gripping me, holding me in the throes of a pulsating orgasm. Over and over, again and again the muscles in my body tightened, taking my strength away, forcing me to moan and gasp for the air I needed to fill my lungs and try to exhale. I forced myself to wrench the torturing, delicious head away as I sank down onto the floor of the shower and found my breath and relished the aftermath.

A quick glance at the clock on my bedroom wall and I saw I had less than forty-five minutes to dress, finish dinner and calm down, just a bit. I decided simple and classic was the style he would appreciate, the effect I wanted was something else entirely.

My carefully considered choices was an impeccably fitted black wool skirt, body-hugging over my hips, falling softly against my legs, just above my knees. The picture-perfect deep green silk blouse, long embracing sleeves, a plunging scalloped neckline, tiny buttons that looked like perfect emeralds holding it snug across my breasts, emphasizing their fullness. Completing the ensemble with the quintessential black heels. If I were a man, I'd definitely take more than one look.

Underneath, an entirely different inspiration was called for. I wanted to glow with seductive, tempting appeal. There's only one thing that has that unique radiance, luxurious french lace. I made a promise to myself the very first time I felt that deliciousness against my skin, nothing except french lace lingerie would ever grace this body again. We all have our guilty pleasures; this would be mine. I own it, don't apologize for it and bask in the knowledge that I will forever have the capability to nourish my obsession.

Opening the middle drawer in my dresser I knew just what I wanted. My fingers traced the fine threads, felt the smooth satin as I touched just what I was thinking I would choose. This was one of my most treasured sets. Yes, I always make it a point to get the set, bra, panties, teddy and garter belt, one never knows what might be required. The color was deep, with glimmers of sheerness. I love dark, liquid dense blues and greens. Now, these lovelies, this particular ensemble in my hands, was a favorite. Saturated green like a perfect Christmas tree, vivacious color. The delicate lace edge would peek out from the softly scalloped neckline of my blouse, perfectly.