Maisy and Harriet by Professor Peterson

Maisy was a Boston Irish girl, brown curly hair, faint freckles and an open personality that anyone liked immediately. Harriet, Maisy’s best friend, was a gorgeous but more reserved woman. I always thought that Harriet had trouble coming to terms with her effect on men. I taught both girls in several classes, although not at the same time. By senior year, I advised both of their research projects. Harriet looked exactly like a particular movie idol of the day (if I say which, anyone from the school will know who she is and who I am). The resemblance was so striking that Harriet was asked for autographs on occasion.I lusted after both of them, but for most of their time at school, our interactions were strictly business. Maisy, however, being the more mischievous of the two, often sprinkled our interactions with some suggestive wordplay. She often asked when we were going to “eat tacos” together, with a sly grin on her face. Another time I was discussing a dish I had in Asia, saying that “it tasted better than it smelled,” to which Maisy remarked “That is true about so many things,” spreading her legs almost imperceptively as she spoke. Maisy wore a variety of loose cotton tops to my office, not buttoned all the way up and always braless, even though her breasts were large enough to warrant some support. More than a few times Maisy leaned in in such a way as to let me see her fine young breasts.

Harriet graduated first, and every man on campus was sad to see her leave. Maisy was a year behind, but totally crushed her academic program. After successfully defending her senior project before the department faculty, I invited her out for a drink and maybe dinner to celebrate the completion of her degree requirements, a practice I had with Harriet the year before and all of my senior advisees. Before coming to meet me, Maisy went home and changed into one of those flouncy dresses that gathered below the bust and then were ridiculously short. The relaxed style of the dress fit Maisy perfectly. Maisy was the kind of person who everyone opened up to immediately, and I was no exception, especially after a couple of scotches. We swapped stories about other students and faculty, mostly classroom related. But soon Maisy steered the conversation toward the sexual rumors about particular faculty members.

“So is it true that Professor Douglas has married three former students?” Maisy asked. Ed Douglas was in the math department and nearing retirement. But in the time I knew him, he got older, but successive wives remained in their mid-20s.

“That’s what I hear,” I replied cautiously, not wanting to engage in idle gossip about a colleague. “I’ve met his wives over the years, and they do seem to be on the young side. His current wife has to be 30-40 years younger than he is. Everyone thinks she is his daughter.”

“He must have something going on, to attract such younger woman.”

“I suppose,” I said noncommittally. “The fact he is on number three suggests that these women discover pretty quickly that they made a mistake.”

“Or he wore them out,” Maisy said with a grin. “But I wondered why he would marry them?”

“What do you mean? Maybe they loved each other at the time.” I protested.

“Maybe,” she mused. “But don’t most professors just fuck their students?”

“I suppose,” I said uneasily, lifting my jaw off the table. Maisy and I didn’t really talk like this. I really wanted to change the subject. “You hear a lot of stuff, not necessarily true.”

“Well, girls know that there are professors who you do not want to be alone with in their offices. Or anywhere else,” Maisy enlightened me. “Some of you professors are real horndogs.

“Oh, I hadn’t heard that,” I lied slightly, hoping my name was not on that list. Maisy’s expression in response was “yeah, right.”

“It’s kind of mutually beneficial, I guess. Lots of girls have ‘Fuck a professor’ on their college bucket lists.”

“Well, it is good to have aspirations, I suppose,” I mused. For once I thought I could wrest control of the narrative from Maisy. “So did you complete your college bucket list?” I asked laconically.

Maisy blushed bright red against her pale skin. “No!” she protested. “I wouldn’t have that on my bucket list!” As she often did, Maisy regained her composure and turned the tables on me, “So professor, when was the last time you helped a student complete her bucket list?”

Now it was my turn to blush. I was woefully outmatched.

“Oh now Maisy I am not that kind of guy. I wouldn’t just fuck any student who expressed an interest in doing so.”

“Oh but you would fuck some students, no?” Damn, she backed me into a rhetorical corner, and her smile said she knew she had done it. She was great at getting what she wanted out of a conversation.

“Maisy, it is very personal, but I will tell you because I consider you my friend. When my wife left me suddenly, I was angry and confused. I thought that mindless, NSA sex would help me get over my loss. For a couple of months there I was fucking anything that moved. My dog even got nervous around me,” I tried to lighten my remarks a bit.

“Oh professor, I am not trying to pry…”

“I know, Maisy, but you asked a valid question and I will tell you my adult answer.” I proceeded, choosing my words carefully. “While it would have been easy to do, I never slept with a student in that period. It would have been an abuse of my position. But there are some townie singles bars I can never show my face in.”

We both laughed a bit at my awkward joke. “But I learned from that experience that I wasn’t into the kind of mindless, purely physical sex, the kind I imagine that my colleagues engage in with their students. I am not saying I would never have sex with a student, but if I did, it would have to be someone that I found interesting, someone I cared about and someone who I enjoyed being with as a person, not just a sex partner.”

“And a nice rack wouldn’t hurt…!” Maisy piped up with a laugh, her bright brown eyes shining.

“Maisy! I am being serious! Don’t kid about that.”

To my surprise, Maisy did get serious for a moment, “It does sound like you are describing me, no?”

“Yes I care about you, and I have since I’ve known you. And I greatly enjoy your company. But it is not like you would waste your time on an old man like me. We could play Ed Douglas and wife.” I really wanted to change the subject.

We laughed and dropped the subject. Some other students and faculty stopped by our table and we had another round, but then I was ready to go. I stood and was saying my goodbyes when Maisy asked if I could give her a ride home.

“It got cold tonight, and I have several blocks to walk. If you could drop me by my apartment I would appreciate it.”

“Sure, no problem.” We left fairly quickly, Maisy leading the way. I was checking out her ass as we walked through the door. The wind blew her dress against her ass and I noted that she appeared to have no underwear, or maybe a thong. Anyway.

Outside there was a strong wind. Maisy hugged herself and sidled up against me.

“Sorry, I’m freezing,” she apologized.

“It’s okay,” I said, “Here take my jacket.” I draped my jacket over he shoulders and kept may arm around her as we walked. She drew closer still and slid her arm around me. It felt nice.

“Professor, you know I was just kidding around tonight, right? I was actually touched that you opened up to me about your life experiences.”

“No worries, Maisy. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to joke around like that. I’m sorry to unload my senior angst on you.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence, Maisy noticeably shivering as she hustled along beside me. I unlocked my car and opened the passenger door for her. Once Maisy was in her seat, I closed her door and got in on my side.

“Let’s get your seat warmer fired up, Maisy. Get some of that chill out.” I leaned over to switch on the seat warmer, and leaned in to embrace Maisy and stop her from shivering. As I slid my jacket off her shoulders to give her more body heat, my arm brushed against her braless nipple, rock hard and erect from the night chill. Maisy made a slight sound as I made contact with her breast. Half grunt, half moan, hard to describe.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that Maisy! I was trying to hug you to warm you up. I’m sorry.”

Maisy replied with her typically smart mouth, sexually suggestive banter, “Thanks for warming me up. I thought for a second you were trying to get me hot!”

“Ach, you are impossible, Ms. Maisy! Which way am I going?” I asked as we exited the parking lot.

“I am off-campus, in the Stansted Apartments over on Covington Road. It’s not far, turn right at the next light and then left at the third light. That’s Covington.”

“That’s a bit of a hike to campus,” I noted. “Why do you live so far from campus?”

“There is good bus service, and my roommate has a car that I can use so it’s not too bad. She went home yesterday which is why I didn’t have a car to come meet you. Get out of the student slums and the apartments are nicer and your neighbors aren’t all bros. Worth the trouble.”

Maisy was right, her apartment wasn’t far from the bar, and we arrived in just a few minutes. I was bidding her good night when Maisy interrupted me.

“Can you come in for awhile? I want to have another drink to warm me up and I hate to drink alone. As I said, my roommate is back home already.”

“I have an early day tomorrow,” I said, still not certain what Maisy had in mind and not wanting to get too optimistic too soon. “But I can come in for a quickie.”

Maisy got her mischievous smile again, but spared me. “I am not even going to touch that straight line.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Poor choice of words.” We walked arm in arm across the parking lot and up the stairs to her apartment door.