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As I spoke with Jessika about her final essay, I attempted to avoid staring at her always impressive cleavage, a challenge that I had faced all semester. And as always, I knew I was failing to properly ignore the allure of her tan flesh.
“You can revise the essay, Jessika, but grades are due next Monday. You will need to turn in your revised essay by Friday,” I explained to her after reviewing her paper and discussing how she could improve it to be worthy of an ‘A’ grade.
Jessika frowned but nodded her head in reluctant agreement. She bit the corner of her lip and looked down – I had learned over the course of the semester that this expression indicated Jessika was thinking something through.
While she thought, my eyes dropped again to her cleavage. Jessika was wearing a tight, cobalt blue sweater with a ‘V neck. It was not the most cleavage she had shown over the course of the semester, but the color of the sweater contrasted nicely with her light tan skin and emphasized how much of that skin was exposed.
I tore my eyes away from her chest and looked up just in time as she raised her own previously downcast eyes. As our gazes met, I realized another effect of the color of her sweater – her normally gray eyes had taken on an alluring shade of blue.
“I don’t know if I will have time to fix it before this weekend,” she admitted, with a slight shake of her head. Her soft chocolate colored hair, which fell a few inches below her shoulders, moved just enough that a few strands strayed from their intended place. I repressed the impulse to brush them back off her cheek. Jessika took a deep breath, which I might have found odd had her rising chest not distracted me.
The pretty brunette averted her eyes again and, in a rush, blurted out, “If I made it worth your while, could I email it to you on Monday morning?”
Immediately, a hyperawareness of the situation hit me. Jessika had waited until after I had spoken with all her classmates, so we were alone. And while she had worn tops that showed cleavage to every class during the semester, making her display of skin not at all unusual, I realized that her clothing that day looked more appropriate for an evening out rather than the last meeting of a college freshman writing class. In addition to the form-fitting cobalt blue sweater, she wore tight, sky blue designer jeans and gray high heeled pumps. A dark gray coat was still slung over the back of her chair.
As the silence stretched out, I also noticed a couple of aspects of her makeup that had not registered before. The lipstick on her luscious, full lips was perhaps a more vibrant shade of red than usual, and she was wearing metallic blue eye-shadow that likely contributed to the increased blue cast to her eyes. The overall effect of her makeup was fairly subtle, but in my hyperaware state, it was obvious to me that she had tried to emphasize her lips and eyes a bit more than normal.
As I tried to respond to Jessika’s suggestion, I found I could not articulate even the simplest words. I have been teaching college writing for nearly twenty-years, and it is not at all often that I have become so tongue-tied with a student.
“Umm, well, I, umm, I mean, uhh, that maybe, umm…”
Jessika looked into my eyes, seemingly more confident than she had been just moments earlier, smiled, and touched my arm briefly. My lovely student then handed me a note. It was folded over, but I could see that the note was written on lavender paper adorned with floral patterns.
I did not open the note, nor did I speak. I just stood there, unable to verbalize, and watched her gather up her belongings. I did not even attempt to look away when she turned her back to me and leaned over far more than necessary to pick up her purse, which was sitting beside her seat. I just stared and her well rounded derriere. Once she had all her belonging together and her coat on, she turned to face me again.
Taking a deep breath, I found my voice: “Jessika, I am not sure exactly what you are suggesting, but it would be inappropriate…”
“Oh, I think you know what I am suggesting, Mark,” she interrupted, smirking.
Stepping forward, she put her free hand around my neck and drew me in for a hug, whispering in my ear, “I’m free for the rest of the evening.”
Then, without looking back, she strolled out of the class room.
I sat in my car thinking. The lavender note with Jessika’s address lay on the passenger seat of my car. According to my GPS, she lived about fifteen minutes from the campus.
In all my years teaching college classes, I had only once had a sexual relationship with a student, and that had been after grades were final. I had been only twenty-seven then, and the student, a perky blonde with green eyes, had been twenty. We had dated four months before deciding that we were not compatible. After that former student, I had met my wife, and for most of the last seventeen years I had been married.
Sure, casino oyna there was almost always one or two female students each semester who caught my eye, and even a few who, in different circumstances, might have reciprocated my interest. But, I had never explored any of such possibilities while I was married, including a couple of students who I thought might have been suggesting a quid pro quo arrangement, like Jessika just had.
After my marriage had dissolved a little more than eighteen months ago, I had wondered what I would do if the opportunity presented itself again. However, when my thoughts strayed down such paths, I always concluded that opportunities with attractive students had likely passed me by. I found it difficult to believe that any of my students would find a man in his mid-forties, who was sixty pounds overweight with noticeably graying hair, of any interest outside the classroom. But as the months passed, and I shed weight and regained confidence, I began to ponder whether my initial conclusion might have been hasty.
When the current semester had started in August, I was feeling relatively confident. Yes, I was still in my mid-forties (forty-four to be exact) and graying, but I was down to only a few pounds overweight. Furthermore, I had just come out of a several month relationship with a thirty-six year old woman, and while that relationship had fallen apart, I felt more confident that I had something to offer to a younger woman. Yes, I knew twenty-something (I was not even considering anyone under twenty) was different from thirty-something, but I did not think the differences would constitute an impossible barrier, and I was looking forward to seeing how many lovely females might be in my classes.
As a core writing instructor at a community college, I usually teach five writing classes per semester. My students range from traditional age freshmen (eighteen+) to returning students as old as seventy. And while it is more likely that the students in my day classes will be traditional age or close to traditional age freshmen, exceptions always abound – except for this semester.
I was disappointed when, after the initial meetings of four of my five classes, not a single female student in her twenties (or even in her thirties) had evoked any interest from me. My Monday morning class roster did include a quite pretty blonde (who had worn short shorts and a thin, tight tank top to the first class), but a quick check of her records indicated she was only eighteen, and I had given myself a firm lower age limit of twenty-one.
When I walked into the first meeting of my fifth class, a Tuesday/Thursday evening class, my disappointment evaporated. Sitting in the front row of tables, just to the right of the podium and directly in front of the instructor’s computer desk, was an attractive brunette who looked to be in her late twenties. She had chocolate brown hair that fell in wavy strands to just below her shoulders, enticing gray eyes, and inviting, full lips. However, I am ashamed to admit I barely noticed her hair or her face when I first saw her. What I first noticed was that her shirt was cut low enough to show much more than just a hint of the cleavage of her large breasts.
When I went through the class roster, I discovered her name was Jessika L. After I called her name, she smiled, raised her hand and said, “Here” with a big smile. It was then that I noticed the allure of her eyes and lips. I put a plus next to her name rather than my usual checkmark – a reminder for me that I should check her record.
When I was almost done taking attendance, I came upon student with a first name homophonous with my new muse, but spelled differently.
“Jessica S.” I called, looking up to find the named student. To my left, also in the front row, sat a thin blonde woman who looked to be no older than nineteen or twenty, at the most. She was wearing red-framed glasses that did nothing to hide the intensity with which she looked at me as she put her hand up and responded to her name with a somewhat breathy, “right here.”
I was caught up in the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes sparkled bright blue in her delicate face. Her pouty lips, adorned with red lipstick to match her glasses, were slightly parted. I am not sure how long we would have stared at each other had I not made myself look down as I put a plus next to her name.
“It looks like we have two ‘Jessicas’” I told the class, “and while you two spell your names differently, that will not help us in class. Do either of you have a nickname we could use in class?”
Jessica S. raised her hand and replied, “A lot of people call me Jessi.”
“Jessi and Jessika it is then,” I proclaimed, smiling in turn at Jessi and then Jessika. And while Jessika returned my smile, Jessi just nodded and stared.
As I introduced myself and went over the syllabus during that first class, no matter how much I tried to look at every student in the room, my eyes kept finding canlı casino either Jessika’s cleavage or Jessi’s penetrating eyes. When class was over, Jessika smiled at me and walked out with the young woman who had been sitting next to her. Jessi, on the other hand, waited at her seat while a few students talked to me and asked me questions after class.
When everyone else had left the classroom, the young blonde stood up and walked to where I was putting all my books and papers into my satchel. As she did so, I noticed for the first time that while she was thin almost to the point of being skinny, she had a nicely feminine curve to both her bosom and her hips, and her shape was overall proportionate to her 5’3″ or 5’4″ height.
“I’m looking forward to your class, Mr. Warner,” she told me without preamble, her vivid blue eyes locked on mine.
“Very good,” I replied, internally wincing at how trite and lame my response was.
“This is my second try at English 101,” she continued. “My last instructor wanted us to always agree with him and graded my papers down because I wouldn’t. So I dropped him.”
“Well, I think you will find this class a better experience. I grade students on their writing and how well they support their thesis, not on whether what they write matches my own opinion,” I explained to her.
She nodded in response and then proclaimed, “Oh, I already know I will have a much better experience this semester, Mr. Warner.”
“Like I said during the introduction, Jessi, you can call me ‘Mark’.”
“No, I think I prefer Mr. Warner,” the slight blonde advised me, her blue eyes locked on mine. Then, without further comment, she walked out the door.
As she left, I took the opportunity to study her small but very nicely shaped rear end.
As the semester unfolded, so did some patterns regarding the subjects of my interest. While I do not think anyone would have ever said that Jessika dressed inappropriately, she always had some amount of cleavage visible. It was clear to me that the voluptuous brunette was aware of how to best use her assets. However, Jessika was much more than large breasts and curvy hips and buttocks on a 5’6″ frame. She did well on each writing assignment and always contributed in class.
From her essays, comments in class and student file, I learned that Jessika was thirty-one years old, recently divorced, and a licensed masseuse. While most of her family was of German or English heritage, which accounted for those sexy gray eyes, her grandmother on her mother’s side was Latina, which accounted for her tan complexion. I also learned, from watching her in class, that she snorted a bit when she laughed too hard.
With Jessi, although she wore her clothing on the tighter side, it was usually fairly conservative. Only on two occasions during the semester did she wear anything that revealed any cleavage at all. The first instance was Halloween. Our class fell on the thirty-first, and many of the younger students came to class in costume, intending to attend parties afterwards, I presumed.
And while many of the costumed female students were dressed more risqué than normal, I suspect most of the class was surprised along with me when Jessi came in wearing a black cat costume that included a very short miniskirt and a low cut corset. The black of the costume contrasted drastically with her cream colored skin, further emphasizing how much of it was on display.
During that class, I had a difficult time keeping my eyes anywhere but on Jessi, a fact I do not think was lost on Jessika, who usually received a fair number of glances from me during the course of class. After class, Jessika made it a point to talk to me until Jessi, her cat costume tail swaying tantalizingly behind her, had left the room.
The other occasion on which Jessi showed some cleavage was the second to last class of the semester, and I did not believe at the time it was intentional. For that class, she wore black yoga pants, black furry boots, and an oversized gray sweater. At one point when she was getting her materials ready for class, she leaned forward and I could see right down the neck of her big sweater. Underneath, she wore a pink bra that seemed to push her milky white breasts up and together. It was a fantastic view, and I was fairly distracted thinking about it for the first several minutes of class. Unfortunately, she did not bend forward like that again.
As a student, Jessi did well enough but was less than spectacular. She would often speak up during class, but her comments were often superficial and sometimes a bit off base. It was not that she was unintelligent – in many ways she was quite capable – but she did not seem to be a deep thinker. Her essays reflected this. There were usually well organized and competently written yet superficial. I sometimes wondered if her safe and superficial writing style was a defense mechanism due to her prior instructor grading her essays based on what he thought she kaçak casino should have written, not what she wrote.
What was exceptional about Jessi was her stare and the intensity with which she followed everything that happened in class. After a few class meetings, I became fairly accustomed to her vivid blue eyes following my every movement during class, but sometimes it would still disconcert me when my eyes met hers and she held my gaze a with a stare that was a bit too long and a bit too intense.
According to her records, Jessi was twenty years old and a solid ‘B’ student. I learned almost nothing of interest about her from her essays, however. Even her personal narrative had been a superficial account of a part she had missed out on in a high school play. I tried to subtly find out more about her when she would stay to talk to me after class, which was frequently, but those conversations focused on her classwork and turned a bit awkward when I tried to draw any personal information out of her.
Despite her quirks, or perhaps because of them, I found myself thinking about Jessi quite often. Not in the same way I thought about Jessika – my thoughts about my sexy brunette student revolved mainly around what she might look like naked and whether her impressive bosom might be augmented — but rather I found myself pondering who Jessi was and what she liked and/or wanted from life. Put more bluntly, I wanted to have sex with Jessika, but I was fascinated by Jessi. Had Jessi not been in the class, I suspect I would have been much more obsessed with the curvy woman with the sexy gray eyes. Had Jessika not been in the class, I know I would have been hopeless taken in by the quirky personality, delicate features, and compelling blue eyes of the blonde waif.
On the last day of class, I had expected Jessi to hang around for me to grade her paper. I thought, given past experiences, that she might even stay until everyone else had left. All afternoon I had contemplated what I might be able to say to her that would make my last chance to learn more about her at least somewhat successful (or, in a perfect world, what I might be able to say to her that would give me more chances in the future to find out more about her). However, my elfin ingénue, without a word, dropped her final paper on the desk while I was speaking with another student and then hurried from the room. It was all I could do to keep from calling her back.
“It is likely for the best,” I tried to convince myself as I met with students who wanted my feedback on their essays that night. “She is only twenty.”
With about fifteen minutes to go before the normal end-time of class, Jessika came in the room and sat in her usual spot. The effect her tight, low-cut sweater had on me was almost instantaneous – I barely thought about Jessi again until later in the evening, when I had time to reflect. Form the time Jessika had walked into class until I was sitting in my car, pondering whether to go to the address on her note, my mind had been occupied, first by thoughts of the curvy brunette’s body and then by her offer of an inappropriate but exciting quid pro quo.
Making up my mind about Jessika’s illicit offer, I started my car, set my GPS to give me directions, and started out for the address on the lavender paper. I had decided to take the chance on the older, curvier, sexier, and more available option rather than devoting my evening to trying to figure out how to contact Jessi without it seeming desperate or creepy.
Other than being barefoot, when Jessika answered her apartment door, she looked exactly the same as she had in class. A smile played across her red lips as she hugged me and then pulled me inside, shutting the door behind me. Her apartment smelled of vanilla and spice, likely from several candles that were burning, and the front room was dominated by a full size massage table.
As I looked around her neat apartment, a new idea dawned on me. Jessika had not asked me over for sex – she was going to give me a massage as ‘payment’ for giving her more time on her essay. I felt like a middle-aged fool.
“Here is a towel, Mark. Take off your clothes and lie on your stomach on the table,” Jessika directed. “I will be back in a few minutes.”
I watched her walk into her bedroom and shut the door behind her without even a glance back at me. I undressed quickly, folding my clothes and stacking them on a chair. Soon, I was clad in only the towel around my waist. I climbed up on to the table and lay face down. Yes, I was disheartened that the evening no longer seemed likely to include any sex, but a massage from the lovely Jessika was not a complete loss.
“You look ready,” Jessika said from behind me. I had not heard her come out of her bedroom.
When I felt Jessika’s hands on my shoulders, my body tensed a bit. Before long, however, her talented fingers had me sighing and groaning in contentment as all the tension fled from my body. I closed my eyes and let myself relax.
After about fifteen minutes or so, Jessika instructed me to roll on to my back. Suddenly, I was quite aware that one part of me was not as relaxed as the rest.
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