“Mediterranean” Goddess

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Author’s Note: I tried to build the romance and conflict as realistically as possible. As a result the “good stuff” doesn’t start until quite a ways in. If you are only interested in the intimate relations, skip down about one-third into the story.


It was the first day of the Fall semester, and I was watching students file down the stairs and take their seats in the pit lecture room I was assigned. As usual I was prepared for lecture and could afford the luxury of people watching. I was particularly amused this day because it was the first time in several years that I was teaching Chemistry for non-majors. The class was mostly filled with first year students, and it was this aspect which amused me.

It’s fun to watch the new students, eager to try impress the rest of the college campus with antics that are purely high-school in their design. I watched the guys strut in with their chests out, their hair gelled, and their shirts too tight to reveal their muscles and tattoos. I watched the women walk in — carefully made up with new hairdos and short shorts with writing across the rear. Regardless of what the letters spelled, it always meant the same thing, “Look at my ass.” This annual parade is so much fun, because you know that by the end of the semester these same students will come rolling in wearing dirty sweats and unabashedly sporting bed hair.

Somehow I’ve always had a built in mechanism that prevents me from being attracted to the young women in my classes, no matter how sexy they dress. Ever since my first year of teaching in grad school, the appearance of a woman in my class has automatically kicked on some sort of paternal or brotherly instinct switch in me. Even when I was only a couple of years older than these students, I couldn’t date them because I felt like their big brother. Now, that I was 50 and recently widowed, this built in paternal feeling kept me both from looking like the old lecherous prof and from doing something that might compromise my underpaying job.

Then, just before the bell rang, a woman walked in who commanded my attention like no student had in 20 years of teaching. She stood out for 3 reasons. First, she was dressed in a conservative dark blue women’s business suit — skirt just below the knee, well-tailored blazer, plain blouse underneath, dress heels. This type of outfit was unheard of for anyone on campus except upper administration. Second, even given the conservative nature of her suit, her figure stood out as remarkable. Full, curvaceous hips that narrowed to a fine waistline, large, rounded breasts that even the uptight suit couldn’t keep from jiggling enticingly as she came down the stairs. But her most remarkable physical feature was her dark, sultry face — dark eyes and olive complexion nestled under a perfect coif of dark brown hair. This woman was Sophia Loren at 40 — only more so. Which leads me to the third way in which she stood out from your typical college student. She was probably twice the age of every student in there. She could have been as young as 30, but her presence suggested a mature woman in her 40’s. It was probably this last feature that caused my anti-student-attraction switch to malfunction, or maybe it was because she looked like every dream girl I ever had. Regardless of the cause, I was definitely attracted to this beauty from the first moment I saw her.

All these thoughts went through my head in the brief few seconds that it took this woman to walk to the front of the room and take a seat. Luckily, almost everyone else was looking at her too, so my leer probably wasn’t noticed. As she entered, she looked incredibly lost, which when combined with her odd style of dress caused all the 19 year old women in the room to stare and smirk. With her smoking looks, I guarantee that every guy in the room was having a MILF fantasy.

I began class, and for the first time in my career it was difficult to stay focused on my lecture. Wednesday and Friday of that week were the same. This Mediterranean goddess dressed in business suits and sat in the front of the room. While the exposed curve of her calves and her large, seductive eyes did their best to attract my eyes and my thoughts, I managed to hit my stride and carried on my lectures pretty much as normal. The one exception was at the end of lecture that Friday. By the end of the first week, students start to realize that college isn’t high school and they might need a little more help. So, I always end my lecture on that first Friday with a compassionate reminder that I’m happy to help them during my office hours, and that they can make additional appointments with them. On this instance, I realized I was staring right at my Mediterranean goddess when I said, “I’d really enjoy helping you outside of class if you need it.” This realization brought a flush to my face, but the students were already eagerly departing for their weekend parties; so, no one noticed. Or at least I hoped so.

Sitting home alone that Friday Escort Esenyurt night I found myself hoping that my Mediterranean goddess had noticed my staring at her and that she had enjoyed it. I found myself fantasizing about removing her blazer. In my fantasy, she was smiling seductively at me and cooed when I began to undo the buttons of her blouse. I’ve always been a breast man, and hers were deliciously large. The thought of removing her conservative blazer and blouse to reveal her massive mounds enclosed by sexy black bra was too much for me. I was rock hard, and I’d only gotten this far into the fantasy. Suddenly, in my fantasy world I was undressing her in the class room. The forbidden nature of this turn put me over the edge. It didn’t take my hand much work, and I exploded into the best orgasm since my late wife had taken ill.

I tried my best not to become obsessed with this woman, but I had to at least know her name. In a class of 125 it’s not easy to know anyone’s name. She was “My Mediterranean Goddess”, but I had to really know who she was. It was unlikely that she would respond to my request to come into office hours, so I devised a plan.

The following Monday I brought my camera to class. I ended class 10 minutes early and explained to the students that I was going to take all their pictures in groups of 4 to 5 students so that I could get to know them. I told them I would bring the pictures back to the Wednesday lecture when they would fill in their names below their picture so I could start to match faces to names. This went smoothly, and I got photos of all the students including the one who I was most interested in.

That night I downloaded the pix to my home computer and began placing lines under each student’s image so they could fill in their names. When I got to the photo containing the likeness in my Mediterranean goddess, I stopped and took my time to observe. She had broken from the business suit mode and had on a more typical college outfit. She had on a peasant blouse which was designed to hang a little loosely on its wearer. However, her bosom was so full that it stretched the blouse out tight at chest level, leaving to hang loosely below. Mmmm. I took extra time to enjoy the expanded neckline the blouse revealed. It didn’t show any cleavage, but I could see quite a bit of her upper chest and shoulders. She had just the right amount of roundedness, and her olive complexion glowed with warmth. She had on a pair of Capri pants. I recalled watching as she turned to put her backpack down next to her seat. The pants were perfectly form-fitted to her full, luscious ass. In this outfit, she truly was Sophia Loren come to life in my class. An image of me kneeling behind her naked ass popped into my head. In my fantasy, I reached down to guide my engorged cock into her velvet pussy. …

Suddenly, I realized with a shock that I was rubbing my crotch. “Stop this, Dr. Wilson,” I said aloud to myself. This was clearly not right. I had started with a plan merely to learn her name. Now I realized that I had actually obtained a picture of her and I was starting to use it as whacking material. While Mr. Chubby was yelling at me to continue, my conscience realized that I just couldn’t do this. It was partly my sense of my moral obligation to all students in my class, and partly because I had already started to feel true affection for my Mediterranean goddess. I didn’t really realize it then, but looking back I already respected her and I desperately wanted her to respect me. I couldn’t use her picture for these nefarious purposes. So, I moved onto the next image until I finished adding lines to all and printed them.

On Wednesday, I saved 10 minutes at the end of lecture for students to write their names beneath their picture. This went smoothly. I noticed that the woman of my interest was again wearing casual clothes. Back in my office, I quickly shuffled through the stack of photos to find hers. There she was — Maria del Carpio. Finally, a name with the face. West Side Story music started running through my head “Mariaaa. I just met a girl named Maria.”

I was jolted from my reverie by the voice of one of my colleagues at my office door. Looking at my stack of photos he queried skeptically, “So, what are you doing there, Carl?”

“Oh, I’ve got one of the big Intro Chem lectures, and I thought I’d try this new technique to learn names.” I explained that I would go over their pictures and names like flashcards to memorize who they were.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that technique at a teaching workshop,” he replied. “It seemed like too much work at the time. Let me know if it works for you.” With that, he moved on down the hall.

I was relieved that my colleague didn’t think I was a weirdo, but I was disappointed that my “new technique” wasn’t new at all. I had always planned on following through with learning their names, but now I was determined to succeed as quickly as possible. I Etiler escort had Maria down — I wasn’t going to forget that one. I started by locating the photos of the five or six students who had already asked questions in class. I learned them first because the same students tend to be the ones who participate all the time. Later that night at home. I worked hard to get down about 25 of the names.

By Friday’s lecture, I could name about 40 of the students in their photos, plus Maria. About 10 minutes into lecture I got a question from one of the students whom I had studied because he had previously asked a question. I smiled inwardly and responded, “Good question, Justin. …” The answer doesn’t matter, but Justin was pretty shocked that I knew his name. To my pleasure, other students also looked surprised. Well, my little self-serving scheme might actually improve my teaching. About 15 minutes later, I asked the class a question, and luckily another one of the students whose names I had memorized responded. I also addressed him by name. Two for two.

About five minutes before the end of class, Maria held up her hand. It took everything I had to swallow my excitement. “Yes, Maria,” I said with apparent exterior calm. Inside, my heart was pounding. Her question indicated that she really wasn’t following the concept of electron shells in atomic structure. I tried my best to answer her question, but knew from experience that it probably wouldn’t be sufficient help for her level confusion. If I went back far enough to explain what she was missing it would mean boring most of the students and worst of all point out to the other students that my Mediterranean goddess was pretty lost. At the end of my explanation, it was the end of class time. Students started packing up and filing out. Just as I would do for any student, I wandered over to Maria in the front row and asked, “Did my explanation answer your question sufficiently?”

Maria looked straight into my eyes (schwingg!) with a somewhat tense look on her face. I could tell that she was trying to decide how to respond. Finally, she went with the truth, and replied, “Not quite. I still feel a little confused.” When she spoke her tenseness left, and she looked vulnerable.

Before I could think it through, I blurted out the response I’d give any student, “Well, why don’t you stop by my office later where we can take more time to talk.” Over half of my brain was pre-occupied getting lost in her big, dark eyes that seemed so hopeful, innocent, and sultry all at the same time. I hoped my statement hadn’t sounded like a come on, but I couldn’t focus.

Maria half-shrugged and said noncommittally, “Oh, yes. I probably should.” It was past time for both of us to clear out so I smiled as non-lecherously as I could and went back to the podium to gather up my materials.

During my office hours that day, I spent the whole time hoping that every little sound in the hall was Maria coming in for help. Even though after the first five minutes I was beating myself up for blowing my chance, I kept looking for her. I tried to focus on work, but it was no good. All I could do was go over in my head all the things I’d done and said wrong and how I should have done and said them. Well, that, and keep an eye out for Maria. I realized then that I had it bad. My wife and I had been happily married for 25 years before she passed on a little over a year ago. Therefore, it had been a very long time since I had been so concerned over what a woman thought of me — if she thought of me. I even stayed in my office long after five pm on a Friday night. By that time there wasn’t a student in the building, but my hopes that Maria might stop by had become completely irrational.

That weekend I worked hard to learn as many student names as possible. After I got to about 75 who I could name confidently, the process got much tougher. The educator in me told me that I had probably reached brain capacity for sheer memorization at this time. To keep my mind occupied, I tried to spend the rest of the weekend productively. I tried working on a research paper I was writing; I tried puttering around the garden; I tried a thorough Fall house cleaning. But not even watching football could successfully distract me from my daydreams of Maria. In my mind we spent the whole weekend like a happy dating couple. We held hands, shared wine, and stared into each other’s eyes. I snuck glances of her gorgeous derriere, of the ample cleavage of her bosom, and an imagined camel-toe. Somehow, I didn’t have to work to keep my fantasies PG rated. I told myself it was because I was maintaining a proper teacher/student distance. Now I know that it was because I so strongly hoped that someday I would live these fantasies with Maria that I wanted to leave the rest of the fantasies to real life. By Sunday night I had begun to exhaust the possibilities of these PG fantasies, which somehow made me start to realize that the chances Eyüp escort bayan that Maria and I would develop anything other than a student/professor relationship was pretty close to zero.

Back at work Monday, I was busy enough to temporarily forget about Maria. I was restructuring my upper level class that meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which required all the brainpower I could bring to the situation. I also had numerous emailed questions from students to answer, and a few faculty committee items to attend to. When the electronic calendar reminder went off 1.5 hours before my afternoon Intro Chem class to tell me to prepare, I thought briefly of my Mediterranean goddess, but I quickly focused on reviewing my lecture before class. So, by the time the class began, I had reached a level of comfort that I hadn’t felt in days. I was in the faculty groove and had put the middle-aged puppy love phase behind me. At least until Maria walked into the classroom.

Before class I was chatting with some students about the weekend’s football games, when I looked up to see Maria bouncing down the stairs. She was dressed in a tight scooped neck t-shirt and jeans. Simple when you say it, but not if you saw her in it. Although giving ample views of her lustrous olive skin, her t-shirt still stopped just short of revealing any of her ample cleavage. But the tight fit showed off her heart-stopping figure better than anything she had worn before. I couldn’t help but stare momentarily as her luscious boobs jiggled with each step. They have to be at least double E’s I thought to myself. Their effect was accentuated by the fact that her shirt tapered with her narrow waist. Her hips succulently swelled below her waist in her tight fitting jeans. I’m sure that for many of the 20somethings in the class, Maria’s waist was probably not narrow enough. But I prefer a well-rounded woman, and in comparison to her exceptionally endowed top and wide hips Maria’s waist made a perfect hourglass shape.

I realized that one of the students was asking for the second time whether I had seen the fantastic fourth quarter catch that had lifted the Vikings over the much-hated Bears. I returned from my reverie and answered, “Yes, that was an awesome play.”

One of the guys in this group noticed where my attention had been and chided, “I think that Dr. Wilson maybe occupied with more interesting things than football, Mandy.” I felt quite embarrassed and tried to pass off the situation as being occupied by a problem in my research program. I don’t think the students bought it, and Mandy the blonde young lady who had been asking me the question seemed put out by the fact that I could ignore her. Although not quite my type (too young and too blonde), Mandy was a quite attractive young woman who was likely used to commanding the complete attention of every man in the room. As I awkwardly excused myself to start lecture, I could swear that Mandy had a little pouty look on her face.

I put aside the fact that at least four students in the class knew that I was attracted to Maria and concentrated on giving a great lecture. I stopped 20 minutes before the end of lecture to give a quiz. As I handed out the quiz I reminded the students, “This quiz is mainly for you to judge how well you will be prepared for next Monday’s exam. There only two questions, both of which are rather long. One question is one that I expect everyone should get if they have been keeping up with the class and represents the difficultly of about 75% next week’s exam. The other question is much more challenging. It’s meant to separate the As from the Bs. About 25% of the upcoming exam will be at this level of difficulty.”

As the students took the quiz, I quietly organized my lecture material. If it hadn’t been for the earlier incident, I would probably take this time to steal some significant glances at Maria. However, I was concerned that the four students in front would be watching me for just this behavior. So, I looked over at these students instead. I was met with an extraordinary view of Mandy’s cleavage. She had on a low-cut revealing t-shirt anyway, but I could swear that she was leaning farther forward than necessary. Her perky tits were squeezed between her arms, in a way that seemed purposeful. Mandy was no where nearly as well endowed as Maria, but she had a full C cup which she was currently exposing to almost nipple level. I didn’t let my eyes rest there too long, because I didn’t want to start the rumor of the horny chem professor today.

I started reading a journal article. In a few minutes, I looked out over the class to see if there were questions. My perusal of the room started slowly in Maria’s direction, letting me glimpse her without raising attention. At this point, all students were hard at work, with their attention full on their task at hand. In comparison, Maria seemed uncomfortable with a somewhat pained look on her face. My scan ended on Mandy’s side of the room. Again, Mandy was displaying a magnificent view that no straight man could avoid looking at. At just that moment Mandy looked up and caught me eyeing her. I tried to nonchalantly return my attention to my paper so it wouldn’t seem like I was “caught.” In that brief time, a self-satisfied smile grew on Mandy’s face.

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