There were very few college classes I ever enjoyed as much as Karla Dietz’.
I had been introduced to Shakespeare in middle school, loved the twists and turns of the stories, so I was already pre-disposed towards the classics. Professor Dietz taught two Shakespeare classes, one on the Tragedies and one on the Comedies, and a separate seminar on Dickens. There were many reasons, other than the undeniable fact that she was a fantastic teacher, that Professor Dietz’ classes always filled up quickly at registration.
She had a light way of bantering with her students that was a refreshing change from the stuffy, upper-crust attitudes many of our professors projected. She had no trouble discussing her bar-crawls in Shakespeare’s hometown of Stratford, her “shit-hole” of an off-campus apartment, her hiking and love of outdoor sports, or her increasing hearing problems due to the many concerts she attended (I’d actually run into her, much to my surprise, at an AC-DC concert. I was shocked when she offered to share a joint with me). We commiserated with her when she broke up with a boyfriend midway through my first of three classes with her (and I doubted there was a single guy in the class who wouldn’t have been ready and willing to take his place, myself included), bemoaning the fact that at age 26, her biological clock was loud and clear in her ears. She acted like a real person, not some pompous automaton.
Of course, I’ve neglected to mention the fact that at five foot eight, blessed with a pretty round face, clear brown eyes, long straight light-brown hair, and voluptuous curves, she was quite gorgeous. She knew it, too, and used it to her advantage. She favored tight blouses and sweaters that accented marvelously large tits, even tighter skirts and high-heeled boots that showed off every curve of her ass and muscular legs. It was no wonder that her class register was rarely less than eighty per cent male.
I would hardly call myself a nerd. At six feet and 175 muscular pounds, I loved sports and swam and jogged regularly. I wanted to really test myself by having a double major of literature and social sciences, and enjoyed the intellectual stimulation of the class discussions. But I really liked my English classes the best, as I loved creative writing and interpreting classic literature.
I had taken all three of her classes, and if there was such a thing as “teacher’s pet”, I was definitely it. I wouldn’t say I kissed up to Professor Dietz, but I always challenged her in class, discussing different interpretations of the literature we were discussing. After the first class I took with her, she became my staff advisor. She had told me more than once that she looked forward to my papers perhaps more than anyone else’s in her classes, since she found them not only well-written, but also interpretative and inquisitive all at once. She told me that she thought that with my analytical ability, I could go into the writing or even teaching fields. I came from a family of educators, and actually was planning to become an English teacher myself, so I found her words to be high praise.
It was the day of my last class with her. I was now a year away from graduation, secure with my 3.8 GPA and knowing I was about to pull my third A+ from Professor Dietz, and looking forward to my summer break. I had one foot out the door of her class when I heard her say behind me “Hey Mike, got a sec?”
I walked back over to her desk, where she was going through some papers.
“As usual, you did a bang-up job this year. I’ve grown to expect great things from you.”
“Thanks, Professor Dietz. I’ve always enjoyed your classes, you know that.”
“Do you have any plans for this summer?”
“Not really. Just thought I’d freak around the neighborhood, swim, jog, gig out with my band. Nothing major.”
“How would you like to help me out, and earn some money in the process?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “What would you like me to do?”
“I have a couple of articles I’m working on. One is about the romanticism in Shakespeare’s plays. When I started it, you popped into my mind almost immediately.”
I must have flushed bright red. She put her hand to her mouth and gave an embarrassed laugh.
“That didn’t come out quite right, did it?”
I laughed too. “It sure didn’t!”
She continued. “Sorry about that. Anyway, I have need of a research assistant – somebody whom I can bounce ideas off of, who can help me write the article – it’s about 20 pages – and critique. I can pay you, say, $10 an hour, cash, off the books, for about four hours a day, Monday through Thursday afternoons. It’s easy work. Knowing you, it’ll hardly be work at all. We’d be doing some of it in the library, but most of it at the ‘shit-hole’. ‘Research assistant’ looks awfully good on a résumé. ‘Published author’ – I might even give you a co-credit on the article – looks even better. Sound like something you’d be ankara escort interested in?”
I couldn’t believe I was actually being offered a chance to work with my favorite professor. “I-I-I’d do it for FREE, Professor Dietz!!!” I stuttered out.
She smiled, pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling. “Great. Here’s my address and phone numbers. May I have yours?” I tore off the bottom of the paper she’d given me and wrote down my information.
“And by the way, Mike, since we’re going to be having a different kind of relationship than student-teacher, we can drop the formalities. Please call me Karla. I’ll call you in two weeks and we’ll start then.”
Right on time, two weeks later she called and asked me to come over to her house. Her “shit-hole” was exactly the way I imagined a college professor’s apartment would look – books piled everywhere, dishes piled in the sink – and an absolutely spotless, neat writing desk. I brought my laptop with me and showed her how I could network my computer with hers so that we could easily share information back-and-forth. She laughed while I was doing this: “I’m such a computer dummy. I had NO IDEA that we could do this wirelessly.”
“That’s the idea of Wi-Fi. We’re creating a way that we can link several devices together so that they can exchange information over a private network. I’ll bet you didn’t know we could do this with your iPad and your – and my – cell phone too.”
“REALLY? And I thought I was pretty savvy. I can see I’m going to learn a lot from you this summer, Mike!”
It didn’t take me long to find an online research library at England’s Cambridge University, with a treasure-trove of information about the plays she wanted to concentrate on. We had a lot of long, deep discussions about the romantic aspects of Shakespeare’s plays, and looked up articles and books in the Cambridge library to back up our assorted theories. As the assistant, I diligently took notes on my laptop and then copied the information over to Karla’s computer.
One afternoon particularly concentrated on one of my favorites, Romeo and Juliet. This conversation was typical of what we used to do in class, but would later stay in my mind for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with education.
“So, Mike, you believe that the kids had an ulterior motive, other than just the true love they had for each other, to get together?”
“Absolutely. Juliet was being forced into a marriage by her parents, who were only interested in power rather than their daughter’s happiness. They were, for lack of a more delicate term, trying to kiss the Prince’s ass. Juliet didn’t love Paris and probably never would. Romeo wouldn’t know true love if it hit him over the head with a brick. He was, like so many of Shakespeare’s other characters, ‘in love with love’ – in other words, the idea of being in love rather than knowing what love really is.”
“That’s a very cynical point of view for someone who’s just getting into the field themselves.”
“I’m not going to claim I know what ‘true love’ is, either. I’m only 21, and have only had a couple of ‘serious’ girlfriends. Besides, how can a 17-year-old like Romeo who’s never known true love suddenly come to feel he knows it? Plus, he’s with the daughter of his family’s greatest enemy. I’d say that they were driven to each other, knowing that it would never work. They may have wanted to get caught, to piss off their parents, since they were each with the worst possible person they could be with, from their parents’ point of view.”
“Wow, that’s so deep, Mike. And yet I feel that you’re missing the point of the play – the whole idea of ‘love at first sight’. Don’t you feel that there might be such a thing?”
I sniffed. “Never saw it, don’t believe in it. Believe me, Karla, I understand exactly the point Shakespeare’s making. I just don’t agree with it.”
Her response was to sit, stare at me for a minute, and play with her hair. It seemed to me like she was very deep in thought. I typed up a synopsis of the conversation we’d just had and copied it over to her computer.
I finally spoke up. “Are you mad at me because I disagreed with you, Karla? You have always encouraged me to think for myself.”
She got up, tousled my hair a bit and said, “And if you do that for your own students, my young friend, you’re going to make one hell of a teacher.” She told me to wrap up what I was doing, shut down and call it a day – although it seemed to me like she was reluctant to have me go.
The mood the next day was different. Karla had always acted very professionally when we were together. She rarely dressed in anything more revealing than a sweatsuit, and had never touched me except to shake hands and tousle my hair that one time. But today – and I didn’t think anything more of it because of the 90 degrees of the mid-June day – she was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt ankara eve gelen escort against which her large tits, sans bra as I could clearly see her quarter-sized brown areoles through the fabric, pushed. Instead of pants, she was wearing denim cutoffs. She looked at least five years younger than her 27 years – and more like a co-ed than a professor. She seemed preoccupied when I arrived, and I noticed a half-finished bottle of wine on her kitchen table even though it was barely past lunchtime. She would pour herself a small one once in a while during our research sessions, but today she was slugging it back pretty well. She offered me a glass, which I declined.
Her windows were open and she had a fan going, but it didn’t diminish the heat in the room one bit. I saw that her air-conditioner was plugged in and seemingly functional. I was wondering a bit if keeping the room hot was a deliberate act on her part.
About two hours into our work, she rolled a joint, lit it, and took a long drag, after which she offered it to me. I took a couple of hits and then passed it back to her. My curiosity had finally gotten the better of me.
“Karla, what’s the matter? I think, after two years, I know you well enough to know that something’s bothering you.”
She shook her head. “I saw my ex this morning while I was jogging. He was letting another woman into his car.”
“Yeah, so? You guys have been broken up for a pretty good spell now.”
She sighed. “I really was kind of hoping that we might be able to work it out. Seeing that really kind of put a period on the whole thing for me. I always thought that he would be the perfect guy for me.”
Trying to get her mind back on track, I said to her “Look at Duke Orsino in Twelfth Night. He didn’t notice how Viola felt about him. Keep in mind, she was in male drag and couldn’t reveal herself, but it was so patently obvious that even as a ‘friend’, she showed very strong feelings for him and he was too blind or self-absorbed to notice. Plus, he was pursuing a woman who’d made it quite clear that she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in him. Sometimes the thing you want the most is right in front of your face and you don’t realize it – until it’s too late.” I was talking about literature. I didn’t think I was in any way being suggestive.
“So you’re suggesting that if you have strong feelings about someone, you should just act on them, because you don’t know how many chances you’re going to get.”
“Precisely. You never know what tomorrow is going to bring.”
“That’s what I’ve always liked about you, Mike”, she said. “Straight shooter, right to the point, and always gets to the heart of the matter. I have to say, from the moment you came into my class, talking with you I never felt like I was talking to some jerky schoolboy. You always acted like a man – and always made me feel like I was talking to an equal.”
Weed definitely has a way of removing my inhibitions, as well as making me massively horny. I couldn’t believe what came out of my mouth next. “I have always admired you as a teacher. You are my wise mentor, my intellectual sensei. I don’t think like the vast majority of my classmates, who were only trying to figure out how to get you into the sack.” I hesitated, then just blurted out: “Not that I didn’t harbor those thoughts myself.”
We stood almost simultaneously and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. Although every fiber of my body was telling me what I was about to do was as wrong as wrong could be, I couldn’t help myself. I walked the two steps towards her, put my hands on her waist and kissed her softly on the lips. I backed up to watch her reaction, which I really thought would be anger, shock and/or an order to leave her house at once. What I wasn’t expecting was that in two deft motions she would lift her t-shirt over her head, then unsnap and step out of her cutoffs.
“KARLA!” I spat out, stunned at what I was seeing.
Her name would be the last word I would speak for a considerable period of time, as she walked up to me, grabbed me around the neck with both arms and forced her tongue deeply into my mouth.
I was too surprised to resist – not that, in my wildest fantasies, I hadn’t imagined this moment while lying in bed or standing in front of the toilet, my hand wrapped around my cock and imagining Karla in my mind’s eye. I held her around the waist as our tongues explored each other. Our mouths melted into each other. The heat of the day was nothing compared to that emanating from my sexy English professor. This was really the first time that I had allowed myself to think of her as a woman, not as a teacher.
She led me over to her bed. I started to say something but she put a finger to my lips, letting me know that I’d said everything that needed to be said and that the time for talking was long since over. She quickly çankaya escort untied my gym shorts and let them fall to my feet, then lifted off my shirt as I undid my sandals. I was standing in front of her in my underwear, my swollen six inches stretching the cotton and yearning for freedom. She lay down on the bed with her legs spread wide, her fingers separating the labia and showing me the dripping pink tunnel that was to be my paradise. She smiled up at me, wordlessly inviting me in but telling me that once I committed, there was to be no going back.
There was no second thought. I dropped my underwear, leaned over, and slid into her moist tunnel with complete ease. In seconds I was hopelessly submerged deep in her yawning womanhood.
She pulled me closer, wrapping her arms and legs around me, and cooed, “Oh, Mike, how BIG you are! Give it to me HARD!!! Show me what a hard hot cock you have!!”
I pulled out about three inches, then just as quickly slammed back into her steaming pussy. She yelped with pleasure and held me tighter. I did it again. Hard squeeze with her legs. Then I just simply pounded away at her with complete abandon. She shrieked, “Oh, MIKE MIKE MIKE!!!! I LOVE how you fuck me!! AGAIN!! AGAIN!!! FUCK ME HARD!!! HARDER!!!” I felt her shudder and moan as she was enveloped in orgasm. She bucked her body up against mine, bit down on my shoulder, and raked her nails along my back. Of course, this just gave me incentive to maul her even further. I heard her rising cries of passion as she held me even tighter, almost crushing the breath out of me and driving me even further to try to cool her unrestrained lust. She clutched me by my ass cheeks and pulled me even further into her, even though I thought I was buried up to the hilt.
I drove hard against her, felt her shaking again as she grasped my body, and pushed my head into her shoulder as she screeched out “MMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEE”. Her vaginal muscles practically crushed my cock as I pummeled her. I suddenly felt the building avalanche within me, thrust even deeper, and exclaimed “AAAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!!!!” as I trembled and pushed huge gobs of scalding semen into her.
When my climax passed, we looked at each other. Even though I was softening up and we both felt the remnants of our exertions puddling between her legs, neither of us moved. Both of us were drenched in perspiration. We could feel our hearts hammering against each other. The look of consuming passion in her eyes, and the warm smile on her face, told me everything I needed to know. She opened her mouth slightly, lips parted, tongue soft and alive, and I leaned in towards her. The kiss lasted for what seemed like hours.
When we could finally let each other’s lips go, I again opened my mouth to say something. Again, Karla put her finger against my lips, stopping me. She said, “I know exactly what you’re thinking, because I’m thinking it too. Let’s just enjoy each other.”
I got off her and lay down next to her, spooning against the curve of her back and her sexy, naked ass. I wrapped my arms around her, occasionally massaging her stomach and tits or playing with her nipples. She purred contentedly like a kitten, which may have been the sexiest sound I had ever heard in my life. She turned around, embraced me, opened her mouth and enveloped me in another long, wet, tongue-filled kiss. She lay her head on my shoulder, closed her eyes and in moments was breathing deeply and softly. I stroked her hair as I watched her rest. After a while, thinking our work was done for the day, I started to get up. Instead, Karla tightened her grip on me, and looked pleadingly, hopefully, into my eyes. Her embrace and her expression screamed out but one simple word to me:
Stay.
I reached down and felt between her legs. Her pussy was radiating heat and soaking wet. She gave me a warm, satisfied smile, reached down and held my hand in place. I flicked out a long finger and slightly massaged her throbbing clit. She arched her back, threw back her head and moaned softly. Karla then climbed on top of me, her beautiful round ass on my chest, bent down and took my expanding manhood completely into her mouth.
If someone had come into the room at that exact moment and shot me point-blank in the head, I don’t think I could have died a happier man.
She sucked gently, softly, in no hurry to do anything except make me feel good. I lay back, listening to her soft slurping and feeling her hair brush against my lower torso and legs. She liked to take as much of me as she could in her mouth, hold it as she swirled her tongue around my full length, then let go, take a deep breath, then plunge her mouth back down. Her full, round ass, less than a foot away from my face, was pivoting gently as she serviced my cock. I massaged her white butt-cheeks briefly, then held onto her hips as she quickened her pace. I heard her moaning increase.
My gasping and squirming must have told her that I was close to climax, because she stopped, turned completely around – her face red, perspiring and positively exuding pure animal lust – and breathlessly whispered “Fill my pussy up again. Let me take you this time!” I saw her raise her pelvis, and quickly engulf my throbbing manhood with her hot, soft love nest.