Professor’s Pursuit of Miss Serena
I thought I recognised the girl on Gold Coast LePenthouse Suite website. Her face wasn’t observable but there was her beautiful body. And her fine brunette, blonde high-lighted hair, and fine bone structure. If it is her, she is one of the students attending the series of lectures I have been giving at the local university as a guest from Sydney. I’ve been staying on the Gold Coast for three weeks now, and have given my final lecture on Thursday. It is Friday and I’ll be flying home on Sunday. Back to my tenure at Swinburne, back to my middle-aged wife and home cooked meals and children and grandchildren.
I don’t know how I find myself searching this bordello website, I’ve thought about looking at some pornography, but … God, it has been so long. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife, but it seems the spark, the romance died out after the birth of our granddaughter.
And now I might have found the girl that caught my eye in the lecture theatre, always sitting in the same place, third row from the front, second from the end-right seat, centre-aisle, usually in a hot-pink or electric blue skirt, satin white sleeveless top, or t-shirt, blonde-tinted hair often tied back or hidden under a cap, white tennis shoes on legs always crossed. And I thought she had smiled directly at me during one lecture, making eye-contact, holding my gaze. I thought she was going to come up to me after the lecture, but alas she disappeared with the exiting crowd of university students that day.
And here she is, Serena, on this website? Or not? I can’t be sure. In-calls starting at half a grand, and at the top end, six hour outcalls for the price of a luxury holiday. I
struggle to remember if there were any Serena’s on the list of sixty students I was given three weeks ago. I’ve thrown the list into a manila folder to be loosely filed
It doesn’t matter, I couldn’t, wouldn’t cheat on my wife. But this girl on the website, maybe the same girl at the lecture theatre, is so breathtakingly beautiful. Radiantly beautiful, the finest pale skin, and silken soft hair, and if she is that university student, her hazel eyes are so stunningly beautiful with that faraway gaze speaking of romance; distracted and hiding some depth of what? Sexuality. That was it, this girl, this Serena, oozed the strangest combination of sex and innocence. That is why I think the image on this website and the girl at the lectures, are one and the same person. They have the same aura. But good lord, I’m five years away from retirement.
I get up from my laptop, intending to forget about the girl, but I find myself reaching for my phone on the kitchen counter-top, dialling the number for LePenthouse Suite and making an outcall booking for Serena; the “light of my life, the fire of my loins,” quoting and corrupting Nabokov, I think to myself.
I momentarily regret announcing my title over the phone, “Hi, yes this is Professor Roderick, I’d like to make a booking.” It is a sign of hubris, us academics are quite arrogant I think to myself.
She arrives an hour later. I don’t remember our initial greeting, or buzzing her up the apartment, I am so entranced by her beauty. I’ve taken a Viagra and my erection presses urgently against the crotch of my pants, every moment before is lost as she starts to unbutton my shirt. I silently berate myself for not having a shower before she arrived. As if she read my mind she smiles and states, “How about we check out the bathroom, see how hot the water is.”
“There’s a spa.”
My shirt is off and crumpled on the floor, she is rubbing one delicate hand across my chest and nipples while the other is groping my crotch. I feel like grabbing her and pulling her to me but I don’t know what the protocol in this situation is. Again, as if she has read my mind, she says, “Don’t be shy, I do bite, but it’s not a case of look but don’t touch.” And before she has even finished the sentence I am pulling her into my embrace and kissing the top of her head, leaning over and kissing her sweet pouting lips, gazing into her half-closed hazel eyes, and even though she has not mentioned the lectures I am sure it is her. In the lecture theatre, she always had her hair tied back and I didn’t get a close enough look at her, to notice any distinguishing features, except for her fine brunette hair, highlighted almost blonde and so feathery
light and fragrant around our faces.
I am unzipping the back of her black cocktail dress and it slips to the floor to reveal jade coloured lingerie, minimalist brassiere revealing shapely, full breasts still with
the upward perk of youth. I look down at her lingerie G-string, it is see-through and perfectly fits her voluptuous hips and reveals a hairless pussy so sweet I am reminded of Nabokov’s book Lolita. It is in that moment I know I will be her sugar daddy. All thoughts of my wife and reputation and family are out the window.
We move towards the bathroom, myself stumbling and fumbling with anticipation, Serena light-footed, tantalising and undressing me as we progress step by step, so that by the time we enter the bathroom, I am naked as the day I was born. And this rebirth begins in the shower, as a mutual recognition that the spa will take too long to fill, propels us into the gold-trimmed shower stall, faucet on and pumping a jet of hot water, adjusted; and I don’t even remember Serena disrobing her lingerie, or fitting the ribbed condom on my oh so hard erection.
A moment of terrifying lust and wild passion takes me over and I firmly but gently lift her up, and thrust myself into her tight tight pussy. She is bracing herself against the pale blue tiled walls, and I am pumping into her, she is kissing my neck and my bristled face and I am trying to kiss her lips but she is so petite that I cannot even crane my head to reach her lips so I opt for arching my neck up and thrusting even harder.
Moment after moment, the rushing water, the steam all punctuated by her gasps and my groans and her nails digging into my back and the top of my buttocks, and I feel the climax approaching, and I am slamming her petite frame against the tiled walls and now she is moaning in her dulcet voice and I blow at the extreme point of a thrust that surely would have cracked the wall behind us. I keep thrusting my lust and emptying my loins into this Serena, and she collapses into my arms, which still support her lightest of weight, and I put her down, and we leave the shower running, so consumed by our lust as we step out as if held aloft on a dream and make our way to the bedroom.
And we are inside the bedroom and she stops and pushes me back and says “Stay,” and I am her lapdog, and she sits on the edge of the bed and spreads her milky white thighs wide, so wide and exposes her glistening wet pussy, lips all pink and young and beautiful, and she says “at me “.
I descend upon her and she moves back fully on to the bed, scrunching the bed covers as she anticipates my face between her gorgeous legs. And now I am eating her sex, and licking her clit, and drinking her sex juices, and she is moaning again and pulling at my wet hair, and she orgasms, arching her back and trembling and then I move up, and she still has the presence of mind to grab a condom from the stack I have placed on the bedside table. And after fitting me with her sweet pouty mouth, sucking and slipping the prophylactic over my painful erection, I enter her again and we make love for the second time this night.
And now flashing before my eyes as I come deep inside this girl, are images and memories of my daughter’s graduation, my granddaughter’s first birthday, my 50th birthday celebration, and I am groaning and I don’t even realize it, all that pent up lust for the young teenage honeys, those young co-ed students filing in and out of the lecture halls day in, day out, coming to see me for extensions on their assignments, or for some query about an aspect of the law. All of it, emptying in to
this sweet honey I have fallen deeply, madly in love with.
Through the next five hours we engage in the greatest sex I have ever experienced, all positions, doggie, missionary, sixty-nine, reverse cowgirl, like the kama sutra on steroids, and I forget that I am old enough to be her father, I forget that I am a professor and a lecturer, all I know is her, Serena. And towards the end of this rendezvous I do not know who I am, or what I am doing there, all I know is that this beautiful nymph is mine and I feel like an Adonis in his bedchamber, an Adonis deep inside his consort.
In the aftermath of our lovemaking, we quietly talk about our lives, briefly talking about our histories, some things about our families. I tell her I am a professor lecturing here on the Gold Coast for three weeks. I am too afraid to ask her if she is the girl at the lecture theatre. And for the third time, as if she has read my mind she states, “I would have liked to have gone to uni, but I couldn’t afford it, coming from a single parent family. Don’t get me wrong, I was smart enough, had the marks for my HSC, but that’s the way life goes, hey professor?” She brushes away that silken brown-blonde hair from her face to reveal the most sensuous of smiles.
At the end, just before she leaves, she says, “by the way, I like the tie you were wearing on Thursday, the one with the white flowers on a blue background, a present from your granddaughter?” She smiles, and I can almost see through the wardrobe door to the set of ties hanging inside, the tie she just described is first in the row, the one I had worn at the lecture theatre on Thursday.
From outside the bedroom she calls out, “Give me a call next year, professor, when you’re back for your next set of lectures.” I know she is smiling and I hear the door gently close behind her as she leaves the building.
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