“I’m late to class!” Michael announced as soon as he managed to regain his breath. “Which, incidentally, starts in about 30 seconds,” he added, glancing at his watch.
At the moment, however, Mireille had a more pressing concern than his class. “Double D dropped by earlier this morning looking for you,” she said with an ambiguous look in her eyes, half-taunting, half-reproachful. “Double D” was their code name for Lisa, his well-endowed student from French 101. Michael preferred to avoid, as much as possible, crossing wires among his women. But Double D came by his office so frequently during the past few weeks that Mireille would have to be blind not to get the picture. Not that he felt that bad about it. After all, Mireille was no saint either. She was engaged to Jack, an all-American blond, tall law school student, through whom she hoped to obtain U.S. citizenship.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my fiancé,” Mireille had said to Michael when she first informed him that she was engaged. But this exchange of factual information didn’t prevent either of them from taking every possible opportunity to lock the office door and do whatever it took to make sure the desk would need cleaning up with plenty of Kleenex tissues dabbed in Evian water afterwards.
Although Michael never erred on the side of caution in his actions, he was usually pretty careful with his words. “That girl’s so huge, she’s a freak show!” he tried to make Mireille feel more at ease with the whole situation.
Fortunately, Mireille wasn’t one to hold a grudge for long. “See you at lunch,” she confirmed. “Tu me manques,” she added sweetly in her native tongue.
In moments like these, Michael felt that it might be wrong to lead on the poor girl into believing that he loved her. But what else could a man do when, after having carnal relations with a woman on a regular basis for two years, she whispered je t’aime into his ear with such genuine ardor several times a week? Could he afford to say nothing in response? Michael was clever enough to realize that when you mess around with a chick for that long, you’ve got to have the decency to tell her “I love you” once in awhile. Besides, truth be told, he was genuinely fond of Mireille. He hated to sound superficial, but what got in the way of a deeper commitment was the gap between her two front teeth and her excessively lanky body, which looked downright skeletal at the shoulders and hips. Which is why he preferred to view her from behind: say, bent over a desk. If he positioned her like a master photographer and the light seeped through the blinds at just the right angle, one could plausibly claim that Mireille looked like a model, at least one of those anorexic, Twiggy types.
Once in class, Michael found it difficult to focus on explaining the difference between l’imparfait and le passé compose. As usual, Lisa made goo-goo eyes at him from the front row. She occasionally passed her tongue over her lips and snickered into her hand, amused by his frazzled reaction. Though certainly no prude, Michael was somewhat disconcerted by Lisa’s behavior. He was quite sure that the other students must have noticed that she received what could be easily misconstrued as “preferential treatment” from the teacher. Of course, in class, Michael tried his best to be friendly and fair to everyone. He joked around and bantered with the boys and was as avuncular as an exceedingly horny twenty-something male could be to barely legal girls. But Lisa violated the unspoken code by making suggestive comments to him, since part of the thrill of seduction was being acknowledged as the teacher’s pet by her classmates. She got it into her head that her main academic goal that semester would be to seduce her male instructors. She selected her courses carefully on the basis of who would be most open to such extracurricular activities. As it turns out, Lisa’s judgment proved impeccable: she was 3 for 0. Michael was her favorite instructor, since being with him was not just about the thrill of the chase, but also about the pleasure of the game.
Michael knew the risk he was taking. He realized that if he conveyed favoritism towards one of his students, some of her classmates, particularly the weaker ones who got, God forbid, a B- in a gut course like French, might complain to the department chair about his conduct. Then he could kiss his teaching assistantship goodbye. On the other hand, Michael thought, Lisa’s tits were well worth the risk. No matter how much he tried to avoid looking at her ample chest during class, his gaze was magnetically drawn to it. Quite simply, Lisa’s boobs had the capacity to hypnotize a man more than a beautiful woman’s eyes. Which, when he considered the matter more coolly, right after he had taken care of business, didn’t make a lot of sense, because Lisa wasn’t even his type. Aesthetically speaking, Michael preferred medium-sized implants that give the chest the perfect hemispherical look favored by men’s magazines. Erotically, he preferred small boobs with tiny sensitive nipples that became instantly erect under his touch. But reason had little to do with his fascination with Lisa’s chest. When she came to his office hours for the first time to allegedly complain about her low exam grade—a D+, appropriately enough --he offered to give her a make-up exam which turned out to be the best oral he’d ever had. That morning, Lisa surreptitiously slipped him a note as he walked around the classroom, checking to see if the students had done their conjugation exercises: “See you at our usual place. I cunt wait!” Michael read her girlish cursive with a bemused smile. Although a stay-at-home mom well into her thirties, Lisa had the sense of humor of an eighth-grader. A woman after my own taste, he thought approvingly.
Since Mireille usually waited for him in their shared office, the love nest he reserved for Lisa turned out to be even less glamorous. They made out in a handicapped bathroom with a single stall. Michael recalled the first time Lisa unhooked her bra for him. Her ample chest cascaded forward, overflowing into his open hands. He placed his perspiring palms under her breasts gently lifting them up, one at a time. “Double D’s?” he estimated with closed eyes.
“How did you guess?” she marveled at his scientific accuracy.
“I’m an expert,” he modestly replied. He then proceeded to prove his point by massaging, licking and sucking those mounds of flesh for the next five minutes, until someone began knocking with a sense of urgency on the bathroom door.
“It must be a deaf person,” Michael whispered, zipping up his pants. He had a look of regret each time Lisa stuffed those awesome mounds of flesh back into her bra, as if putting the genie back into the magic bottle.
When Michael emerged out of the bathroom followed by Lisa, as if by sheer coincidence, Mireille crossed their path, on her way to the Xerox machine.
He noticed her look of wounded dignity. “Hey!” Michael placed his hand on her shoulder, to appease her. “Do you need help with this stuff?” he offered to help her carry the pile of papers.
“No thanks!” Mireille snapped back, in an uncharacteristically irate tone.
This time I need to finesse her, Michael told himself. He wasn’t about to lose a perfectly decent long-term lover for a short-lived, albeit large-chested, fling.
“On déjeune ensemble?” he amiably invited his officemate to lunch. “Au revoir Lisa! Bonne chance avec les devoirs. A demain!” he turned to dismiss Lisa as graciously as possible. She left him with his colleague, but only after giving him an incriminating wink.
“Aren’t you worried about screwing your own student? You could easily be fired for this, you know,” Mireille said loudly enough to be overheard by Ms. Jones-Alter, the Senior Administrative Manager, who looked up disapprovingly from her computer.
But Michael didn’t mind Mireille’s indiscretion. On the contrary, he felt touched by it. After all, the poor girl was jealous and in love with him. To demonstrate his appreciation, he made love to her more tenderly than usual on that day. And when he said je t’aime to her, he almost meant it.
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