Two Prime Numbers: 19, 67

He watched – her blush was visible even in the candle-light.

"The answer to your question, M'Lady, is an absolutely unqualified YES. In spades! You're an extraordinarily sexy woman, and also very pretty and very sensuous and extremely intelligent and capable – all those together in one package is vanishingly rare and monumentally arousing. In plain English, the simple fact is that you are so far beyond merely "sexy" that I can hardly stand being here with you. At the risk of being obnoxious or perhaps pathetic, I do wish there weren't the obvious "67 vs. 19" and "senior professor vs. undergraduate" problems. That'd give me a lot more freedom to do what I'd LIKE to do. Enough said?"

Her gaze hadn't flickered: she brought her other hand up to make a four-layer sandwich.

She spoke with an underlying vehemence, as if she'd thought her way through this very scenario much more than once. "Nineteen and sixty-seven are just numbers, nothing more. The only interesting thing about the pair is that both are primes. And that's just accidental, although it's cute. Anyhow, it'll go away next year."

Then, almost viciously, "Damn people, damn society, and damn their fetish for numbers and categories! Stamping idiotic numbers like that on people and then using the numbers to stuff humans into pigeonholes – it's both specious and pernicious. Categorization by age-numbers is just as arbitrary as categorizing people by anything else – religion, race, gender, education, height, weight, or whatever! Then society takes those silly damned numbers and says 'Oh, you there, Mister 67 in the 'old male' bin, because of the irrelevant number we've stamped on your chest you are not allowed to have anything to do with Miss 19 in the 'young' female bin!'"

She paused, snorted in disgust over the whole idea: "It's not very different from saying "blacks can't date whites" and suchlike. Is it?"

She paused again, squeezed their hands, went on. "Why should we – or anyone – care about those numbers? You're in MUCH better physical shape than me, despite the numbers... you almost ran me into the ground at lunch! Nineteen and sixty-seven are such CRAP!"

She giggled, embarrassed at her own vehemence, still held his gaze tightly. "Roger, do you know who Satchel Paige was?"

Roger nodded, impressed for the Nth time by Taylor's intellectual breadth – why would she know about the great black ballplayer?

She continued: "He didn't know what year he'd been born in – his response to "How old are you?" was always 'How old would YOU be, if you didn't know how old you was?'" She drew a breath: "In fact, the ONLY interesting thing represented by our age-numbers is that you've been around three and a half times as long as I, and therefore you have a huge accumulation of knowledge, places you've been, things you've learnt, people you know. That's GREAT, it's all stuff I'll never get from a book or video, and the only way for me to ever access it is personally. Obviously, if we were a rational society, age-numbers like ours should be complementary, not divisive!"

Roger stayed silent, leaving Taylor totally in charge of the moment.

"Roger, you asked me an important question, and then instead of answering, I went and climbed on my soapbox – and I'll just bet that I'm preaching to the choir! But it's good you should know how I think and feel about such things."

She set her handbag on her lap, reached inside, and then paused while looking deep into him.

"Here's my answer. I went shopping yesterday, in the evening. Which means I had time to think about what I was doing, and which also means that I've had time to change my mind if I wanted to. Which I do not."

She pulled out a white paper bag, set it on the table, opened it.

Roger watched, fascinated.

Very matter-of-factly she brought out the contents one by one and set the items on the center of their table. An unopened twelve-pack of expensive condoms; an equally unopened contraceptive foam dispenser; a small bottle of super-lube; a larger bottle of massage oil.

Roger looked at the collection, then back to her face. She was calm, cool – unflustered and absolutely gorgeous – but her nibbling on the back of her luscious lower lip betrayed some inner uncertainty, a hesitancy. Probably, he guessed, due to worry over his response, not over her course of action.

They studied one another for some seconds. Finally he broke a tiny grin and reached out to touch her purchases. She thought it odd that he didn't need to focus on the objects as he ticked them off: instead he maintained unwavering eye contact. The superlube was first: "If we were to need this, I'd regard myself as a monumental failure at my most important task – namely pleasing my woman. Although for some of my favorite activities, having this stuff available is certainly convenient!"

Taylor's heart skipped a beat at the 'we', not to mention 'my woman' – and half a beat later she realized what might be included in Roger's 'favorite activities' if they required superlube. She didn't get time to react visibly. Next came the oil: his grin brightened. "This oil is a fine idea – massage is wonderful – as is anything that produces more whole-body contact." The foam: "Brilliant choice – it's been my favorite for fifty-five years. It's 100% effective if used properly. And they've finally improved the flavor."

That one she caught instantly: she flushed, studied the corners of his eyes, found both fun and serious there.

He laid a finger on the condom packet: "I've been fucking, and making love, for over five decades, Taylor. I've never used condoms. I'm very picky about partners, so I've never had an STD of any sort. I'm one perfectly clean fucking machine!" He grinned at her, gone all boyish again. "It's wonderful to fall madly in lust – I highly recommend it – but one shouldn't go getting all STUPID because of it! At any rate, I have always chosen my partners very carefully. As should you! Always, no exceptions ever!"

He stopped: her turn now. Their gazes stayed locked.

Finally, in a very small voice, she said "Believe me, Roger, I agree. One hundred percent. And I am choosing my partner very carefully."

She saw the tiny, but clear, reaction to the tense and number in her statement – precisely what she'd hoped for. She tilted her head, said softly "Five decades. Wow. You started quite young, then!"

He nodded.

"Oh. My. Jeez, talk about a wealth of experience! Anyhow – as for me, STDs aren't likely to be a problem." She shrugged, made a wry expression: "Basic epidemiology, rule number one: no disease without exposure." She squeezed his hand. How long, he wondered, since she'd blinked?

Roger raised another eyebrow – she was coming to expect that, and found it endearing. Very Toshiro Mifune-esque (her father's favorite actor, she'd seen many of his samurai-warrior films) - a whole paragraph, an entire essay, in a lifted eyebrow!

Finally, thoughtfully, almost unbelieving, he asked, "No exposure at all? You're quite serious?"

She shook her head. "Yes, I'm perfectly serious. NO as to exposure. Nope. None whatever. No fucking. Actually, not even any heavy petting. Or even any significant real kissing!" Then she blinked and broke eye-lock for a second.

He reached across the table, cupped her chin in his fingers, turned her face back towards him and re-established eye-contact. Her heart was thundering, suddenly gone out of control. She wondered what her pulse and blood pressure would register?

He looked about – they were invisible, alone – and then ever so gently tugged her face towards him, making them both lean across the table. With his free hand he moved the candle to one side. Just before their lips met, he paused, whispered "I won't LET you be embarrassed, Taylor. How about a little bet? Stakes to be determined later, by the winner. I suspect you know HOW to kiss – you just need practice. I'll be more than happy to provide as much as you want. And if you wish, you certainly can consider this the beginning of a pass."

Two minutes later they were still joined, wide-open to one another, and exploring ever more deeply. Their waiter hove into view, assessed the situation instantly, and retreated without being noticed.

When at long last they broke, Roger spoke; "I win that bet. I'll think about the stakes. More on demand."

She giggled once, said "I concede! More, please!"

He provided.

Eventually they regained their propriety, hands still linked. Beneath the table, their knees and feet found one another. Roger examined her, considering.

"What?" she asked after a silent minute.

He responded, "Please tell me ... what exactly is going on in that wonderful brain of yours? From your point of view, why are we here?"

She shrugged, grinning: "We're here because you were so nice as to invite me! And of course for all those hidden ulterior motives of yours, whose existence you so unconvincingly deny!"

Another eyebrow: "Taylor, you know full well that's NOT what I meant? Please? I really do like to understand the situations I get involved in!"

"Okay, then," she replied. "Here goes. Remember, you asked for it! Explaining Taylor-101, installment the first. In case you hadn't noticed, this is a religious school." He nodded, waited.

"And I was raised in its tradition... hyper conservative. Absolute unswerving, unthinking faith in all the usual idiotic religious gobbledygook and claptrap. So I came here, all miss Goody-Two-Shoes and Pollyanna. I came here to develop a true social conscious and do good for the world. But as soon as I arrived, the hypocrisy just overwhelmed me – all those women – girls, really, at least mentally and emotionally – you saw when we were running – the boobs and butts and being so on-display? Well, I was – we ALL were – raised in an atmosphere of "Virginity Until Marriage". It's actually a formal part of church doctrine. Such bloody idiocy! We call it 'VUM, vum, vum!' What a JOKE! The women students here, they're almost ALL busy ... but NOT with academic studies, not studying to become better religious nutcases."

She took a deep breath: she'd quickly learnt -during the opening moments of Day #1- that Roger wasn't averse to 'profanity-for-emphasis' even in his formal lecturing – so she let herself go.

"Oh, no... instead, they're fucking everything that owns a Y-chromosome and walks on two legs. And the few who aren't doing so, well, they're hopelessly hogtied by their religious nonsense. I'm probably the only remaining virgin on the whole campus! At least, outside of those very few!"

She was so worked up that she noticed neither what she'd said, nor his reactive blink at the revelation.

"Damned few of the women here arrived on campus in that exalted condition, let me assure you! And those who DO, well, they don't stay that way very long! Goddamned hypocrites, the whole fucking bunch of them, top to bottom and port to starboard. And so it goes right through the school administration, too – we students all know who is screwing whom on the faculty and staff! Ditto within the church's structure! Amen!" She finally paused. "Do you have any religion?"

He shook his head, said "Nope. Never. Been a strict atheist my entire thinking life – say, since age eight or so. Religion is the most dangerous social force on the planet and should be done away with. You want specious and pernicious? Try any religion you can name – they all fit!"

She nodded: "Good for you! I agree. So I went and read all the popular modern atheists, and found myself in perfect agreement with them. Which led me, starting about eighteen months ago, to analyzing lots of aspects of my own behavior, my relationships to the rest of the world. And especially to myself!"

Then, wryly, "That's what my folks wanted me to do, so they said. Know thyself, indeed! Boy did they get more than they bargained for! Any rate, my religion is simply GONE." She stared into him, probing deeply, liked what she could detect. There was nothing of nineteen in her at the moment. "My whole relationship to sexuality has been a big part of that analysis. Roger, I've been actively looking for the right person for over a year now. And besides, by the end of our first Skype I had a HUGE crush on you! Couldn't you tell?"

He shook his head again. Being a male ignoramus, he'd had not a clue – and muttered "I'm flattered! But why in the world choose ME?"

"I guess I'm better at concealment than I thought!" she exclaimed. She took another sip at her wine, considering. "OK then. Let me be explicit. You, too, can consider this a pass if you wish! Why YOU? Jeez, Roger, let's see if I can come up with some reasons. You're fun and educated and traveled and, frankly, quite physically attractive in a mature-male way." She paused, grinned softly at him: "Believe me, I am NOT the only woman around here to think so, either!"

He blushed slightly, which she found endearing.

"Especially important, you treated me right from the start as an absolute equal. You completely ignored the differences between us in age and status, and concentrated on the connectivity. And you ALWAYS pay attention to my opinion. And beyond that, you actually TAKE my advice, too. I've never had so much fun, or been so challenged to THINK, as when we're talking – especially about marine biology! And if you ask me 'Hey! Why not pick local men more or less your own age, there are plenty on campus here?' well, it's because they're all overgrown boys, not men. Most are too damned religious, they actually believe that crap, and besides, the only two men on campus that I've found genuinely interesting are mostly interested in each other – not attracted to anyone of my sex. Nobody else on campus is either worthwhile or trustworthy."

She squeezed their hands again, hard, and threw any remaining caution and reserve to the winds: "Plus of course I'm just incredibly horny. Masturbation doesn't help much. All those years of repression were sort of like a dam. Idiot religions don't do themselves any favors by trying to inhibit sexuality, do they?" A peculiar, gamine look: "You want some more honesty?"

He nodded.

"Right now, right here, right this very minute, I fully understand what you meant by not needing this!" Her finger lit on the superlube. She giggled at his expression: "Also, Doctor Roger, apropos of making passes at each other, not to mention hidden ulterior motives, I really do understand causal chains. Do you remember who suggested that we should re-position the lecture tables ourselves? And who recommended exactly how we should carry them? Have you even wondered WHY the tables were in need of relocation? Wondered who might have disturbed things already perfectly set? Maybe shortly before you arrived at the hall that morning?"

She stared at him with an intriguing smile: "Hmmmm? Have you?"

He stared back at her, then picked up his dessert menu, scanned it for half a second, laid it face down on the table: "I'm sure we can figure out a better dessert than anything they have on this menu. Shall we go? And, Miss Taylor, just how long might you be able to stay? Midnight? Two?"

"More. How about, say, until your flight Monday morning – that should give us nearly sixty hours. Will that do?"

Roger was startled, then smiled hugely: "It'll enable us to make a fine START! But it'll never 'do' in the sense of being enough!"

Their waiter was still elsewhere, busy being discreet. Roger took out a business card, scribbled "Charge to my room, #1369, add 25% tip, thanks!" and signed it, dropped it on the table.

He stood, helped her rise. "Taylor, when the universe is kind enough to grant you a wish, it's best not to argue. I'm not arguing any more, and you seem to have given up some time ago – if you ever argued at all. Shall we adjourn to my suite?"

At his room door, Roger paused, handed her the key. "Your choice. Be certain!" She gave a tiny gentle snort, opened the door, stepped through the doorway ahead of him, then reached back and shut the door with a very solid thunk.

"Definite enough?"

He nodded.

"A little unpacking first!" she said, smiling and setting out her purchases on the nightstand. Only then did she reach up to wrap her arms around his neck. They dived headlong into another kiss, throughout which they drifted towards the bed. Roger broke the clinch, caught the hem of her blouse in his fingers, raised an eyebrow – seeking permission.

She whispered "Please do!"

As the top disappeared she muttered "Sorry I don't have more for you to enjoy up top. What you see is what you're going to get. Forever. I'm a charter member of the Itty-Bitty-Titty-Brigade. There's no hope of further growth. Today I look just exactly like my Mother, and she's had three kids!"

Roger's turn to snort. "Try being sorry over something (a) that is your fault and (b) that matters!" He held her out, briefly, at arm's length, studying her body. Then very seriously he told her "Taylor, you have the most exquisitely lovely bosom I have ever seen. You are simply stunning. Promise me something?"

She stared into him, nodded, then said "If I can, I will. What?"

Eye-lock.

"Don't you ever, EVER let anyone talk you into some sort of body-modification. Especially your boobs. NEVER, not for any reason. You could do nothing except spoil a perfectly magical physique. Can you promise?"

She nodded, muttered "Thank you! And yes, I can promise you that!" She smiled at him again and said "We seem to have interrupted ourselves in the midst of stripping. We're unequally clad – my turn now, so let me take off your shirt."

Pants followed, then underwear. As she tugged downwards on his briefs, they caught on his erection. Another tug in a different direction, and it sprang up free, stood there bobbing in her gaze. After a couple of seconds of visual inspection, she reached out to run her fingertips lightly over its surfaces, then looked up at him and almost laughed: "AHA!" she said, "Your hidden ulterior motive is no longer hidden – it stands revealed, as it were, for me to see!"

He laughed; "Oh, my – how about THAT! Guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Naked now, he stood her up, kissed her thoroughly, then settled her supine on the huge, solid bed. He leaned down, applied his mouth to her nipples in succession, then stroked the crop of goose-bumps that rose on her forearms.

"Nothing dysfunctional so far!" he said with a smile. "Apparently even your prolonged contact with religion hasn't ruined your sexuality! Hooray for Mother Nature's powers!"

He nursed, she shivered.

"Far as I'm concerned, you have a perfect pair. In fact, you're lucky – these beauties will still be entrancing men when you're well beyond my age. Now – lie back and relax and let me show you what your boobs can do for you when they're treated properly, with respect and skill. Unrestricted access to these little beauties can be the first part of my winnings on that bet!"

For ten uninterrupted minutes, he demonstrated: by the time he halted she was shivering violently and appeared on the verge of doing something he'd only heard about – pure nipple orgasm. He paused just long enough to remove the jamas and the tiny gauze thong beneath them. She watched goggle-eyed, catching her breath, as he spread her wide, then slowly buried his face against her crotch. She threw her head back, let out a long, whistling breath, and said "OhMyGod!"

Another ten minutes passed with no further speech – ten minutes containing three orgasms for her - two monster and one minor. As she settled from the third, Roger slid forward, settled himself on his arms, hovering over her with her nipples just brushing his chest. Unasked, she set his hardon in place: when he reached for the foam bottle she caught his hand. "No need tonight – my safest period. I'm like a metronome. Let's go without, please? I'd rather have nothing at all between us."