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Paul and Shirley enjoy breakfast together.
For the rest of the day he wrestled with himself, and felt like he had one of those angel-on-one-shoulder-devil-on-the-other conversations with himself; go ahead and contact her; no, you shouldn't; she wants you to, and she's an adult; maybe she only wants help with the course; yeah, right; he could go over and just insist he was only there to assist her with her legal education; sure, and if she makes the slightest come on he'll be putty in her hands. He finally came to a decision, like so many other times in his life when confronted with difficult problems; he wouldn't make a decision, and wait and see how things would go at the next class.
But the next week she did not attend the class. He was a bit relieved and a lot disappointed, being deprived of the opportunity to get to appreciate (ogle would be a better word, he conceded to himself) her fine female form and beauty. He was surprised she had not contacted him to let him know she would be absent as a couple of the other students had done. The students had left, which they did with alacrity; no staying around to get to know the professor. He gathered his things and clipped his Blackberry on his belt again and noticed it was blinking, meaning e-mails had come in during the class, which was typical, as he received them all day and at all hours.
He checked to see if there was anything important and saw an e-mail he recognized as being from her. "I'm sorry I could not make class tonight, it was unavoidable. I really missed being there with you, and want you to know of my keen interest in what you have to teach me. Could you provide a private session for me? Let me know when you can come." There it was again, did she know what she was implying? The devil side won; he decided immediately he would take her up on her suggestion. He responded that if it wouldn't be too difficult for her to work out, he could come by after work Friday. She responded that would be great, and she would provide dinner if he would bring a bottle of wine (red) and that she was glad it wouldn't be "too hard for him to come." He swallowed; did she know this little statement would by itself make him "hard." He was pretty sure she did.
Time dragged, but finally it was Friday afternoon. He was of no real use at work; his kindly grandmotherly assistant noticed his distraction and asked if anything was wrong. He assured her not at all, but he would leave a bit early. He went home and showered, wondering while soaping himself if he should take the preventative measure he sometimes had when dating in college to try to defuse premature ejaculation by jacking off before the evening. He decided not to, as he wasn't quite as prone to that as he had been as a horny teenage boy, but he was so turned on he could hang the bath towel on his cock after the shower. He shaved carefully and dressed in his best casual clothes, took a deep breath, and went to her place.
He had the wine and knocked at her door, pleased there was no one else around to see. The door opened after a moment. She greeted him, and he hoped his false smile hid his disappointment. She was wearing a pair of sweat pants and a baggy sweatshirt; her hair was twisted in a knot with a pencil, and she was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers. Not what his fevered imagination had provided for his fantasy. He realized immediately he had completely misread her signals, and she was trying to show him that she really did only want to do course work. "Hello," he heard from the doorway to the living room; he looked quickly to see a good-looking young man there. She introduced him-her "roommate." There's no fool like an old fool, he thought.
She had prepared a simple salad and some excellent lasagna; her roommate also ate with them, and they seemed very fond of each other.