30 comments/ 61437 views/ 57 favorites Cairin's Quest By: SarabethW *1* I can't remember my father. He left when I was so young. I remember only crying, and crying, and crying. So many divorces are made under the principle that it will be better for the children if they didn't have to listen to their parents fighting constantly. I personally think it would be better for the children if their parents would act like the adult role models they would wish their children to become, and work out their differences and stop fighting, but that never seems to enter the equation. Divorce has become a byword in marital relationships, an easy out, a convenience too easily applied to a messy situation. The adults go about calling their exes bastards and bitches, and their little circles of friends pitch in, believing they are providing support, when in actuality they are simply strengthening the myth they wish to hide behind, blaming it on everything but their own childish incompetence and failure. Then there are the courts, rubber stamping the plague of broken and dysfunctional families, not giving a damn about the society they are passing on to a coterie of youth who may never know the example of love two people can hold for each other. Is it no wonder the sins of the parents are visited upon the children? Would it be so bad if one judge simply said, "Quit bickering and think of someone besides yourselves...namely, your children!" And yes, I'm bitter. I had to grow up without a father. *2* When I entered high school in Virginia, I already had my sights set on a college...The University of Montana. Why, you may ask? Quite simply because it was the best school for paleontologists on the planet. Like all children, I was interested in dinosaurs. The difference with me was that I never for a moment grew disinterested, but scoured the bookstores for the most recent discoveries and textbooks on the subject. But I had gaps in my knowledge, and I knew that I would have to gain the respect of the experts in what I had made my field, by attending the best college and gaining the imprimatur of the best teachers. Ergo, The University of Montana. Of course, I had other reasons. My father was one of the professors there. He was an expert in the field of bone identification. Anyway, I studied hard all the way through high school, never falling from the honor roll, and becoming a prime candidate for scholarship money. After presenting the valedictory address at graduation, then acing my SAT's, I applied to, and was accepted by, the college of my choice. As you might gather, determination is one of my strong points. *3* My mother raised me well. She was a self-sacrificing, loving parent, who was always quick to denigrate her "ex," my father, for his abandonment and lack of support over the years. She hadn't even cared to keep track of him, never wanted his money, and never even talked about him, save to criticize him for his multitude of faults. "I've done all I can for you, and he's done zilch!" was a mothering mantra I grew up with from an early age. She even moved us to another state and legally changed our names so that he could never find us. It's not that I believed everything she said, but she certainly painted the only picture I had of him, outside of a few visual and imperfect toddling childhood memories. As I said, I was top of my class in high school, and younger than most graduates, having turned eighteen the last week of May, two weeks before graduating. I believe I skipped seventh grade in middle school...I never really missed it. I was self-driven to learn and far advanced in my reading and math abilities. To be honest, I was entirely socially inept, never getting along with boys whom I considered terribly lacking in maturity, which described just about every boy in high school. As I didn't wear makeup and thought that the biggest waste of time was walking around in malls with other girls shopping for clothes...well, I guess you get the picture. Not that I wasn't pretty. I'd look at myself in the mirror and evaluate myself against the other girls in my class. My breasts were small, but well-rounded. My skin was pale and nearly free of freckles and moles. Maybe I was a little skinny, but looking over my shoulder at my reflection revealed curves in all the right places. Besides, quite a few boys had told me I was pretty, which usually meant, "I want in your pants!" so I never paid much attention to them. So there I was, standing on the platform waiting to board the train from Washington DC to Chicago, then another line to Montana. My mother was in tears, not believing that I was actually traveling 2000 miles from home to study a subject that would result in a life of grit and sun-burn. Of course she had no idea of my ulterior motives, nor did she know that my father taught there. If she had, I probably would never have been able to board the train. It was my mother's mother who had kept track of him. Grandpa had died when I was twelve and we went to Georgia for the funeral. It was during that visit that Grandma showed me a letter from him. She said that periodically through the years, not knowing where we were, he would send her a card or letter. She had kept the last one he had sent, announcing that he had taken a professorship at the University of Montana, and she gave it to me when Mom wasn't looking. I've kept it hidden over the years, looking at the University website to follow his career and the classes he taught. I held my mother tightly as we both sobbed our farewells, and my tears continued on the train as it careened across the continent. A new world...a new life. *4* Three days later I woke in another world, much drier, flatter, and emptier than Virginia. The sky seemed to be much bigger as the trees were not as tall, thick, or close. The campus of the college was immense, with an enormous student population, which was fine with me, as I could lose myself in the crowd. On day one I roamed about the buildings, looking for my classes, passing all the sorority-fraternity-and-everything-Greek tables, ending up with an armful of papers, which I promptly consigned to their proper bin, eventually finding the basement apartment I had signed a lease for, months before, just across the park that adjoined the campus. It was snug and cozy...and quiet, as an aged widow lived above stairs. So far, so good. My next hurdle was my first encounter with my father. He occasionally lectured to freshmen, but usually he taught only upper classmen, leaving his associate professors to do the dirty work of giving long boring lectures concerning elementary principles of paleontology. It was finally on the third week that I was able to meet him face to face. Or should I say, we met in a rather different orientation. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I spent a sleepless night pondering what I would say if there happened to be an opportunity. I chose my clothes carefully, drifting between skimpy to ultra-conservative looks. I finally settled on a mid-thigh pleated skirt with a peach-colored button-down shirt, completed and complemented at the collar by an unassuming navy blue silk scarf. I laughed when I came across an old pair of bright pink panties with the word PRINCESS printed across the bottom...something a girlfriend had bought me as a joke when I was much younger. They were a little tight, but I wore them as sort of an amusing counter-prop to what was an otherwise serious situation. Next was my decision to announce myself, if the opportunity occurred, as his daughter. Better to get things out in the open and out of the way, in my opinion. I thought of all the scenarios that might occur following such an announcement: "Daughter!" he would cry, followed by a huge hug; "Daughter?" he would shrug, saying we would talk later; or maybe he would give me an odd look and just abandon me there at the door of the classroom. The third option seemed the most likely. After all, he had done it before. That morning I brushed and brushed and brushed my teeth, wishing them to be bright and white, followed by an immense inundation of mouthwash. Dressing and primping to make sure everything was just right. "You never have a second chance to make a first impression," I said to myself in the mirror. Then hoisting a load of books into my arms for all my classes that day, I stuck a pencil over my ear for any note taking, and set out for the seminal moment of encounter. Never had a hallway seemed so long as the one leading to my father's lecture room. My heels seemed to click endlessly on the linoleum as I slowly neared the door of the room. At times I thought of running...running and not stopping, until I was back in Virginia, but what would that accomplish? Nothing. And I'm not one to embark on a mission to accomplish nothing. I steeled myself, and opened the door. Peaking around the doorway into the room, I discerned immediately that the professor, my father, had yet to arrive. In the process of sneaking that quick peak, the pencil tucked behind my ear caught on the doorsill and fell to the floor. I bent to pick it up. At that moment, the professor arrived, walking hurriedly down the hallway in conversation with another professor. Upon reaching the door, he turned to wave goodbye to the other professor and backed into the classroom, meeting an unexpected obstruction...namely, my behind! I was propelled, sprawling, across the linoleum floor at the front of the classroom, my books flying willy-nilly every direction. As I was taken completely by surprise, it took me a few seconds to realize and assess what had happened. There I was, lying on the floor, the force of the fall turning the orientation of my skirt upside down, and exposing my behind to a lecture room of freshmen who began to laugh, hoot, and wolf whistle at the bright neon pink panties advertising my PRINCESS status to the world. But worse, my father and professor had a ringside view. "Oh my God," I thought to myself, "What must he be thinking?" I slowly rose, getting my bearings and looking about me in a daze, trying to collect my thoughts and find my books which seemed to be everywhere. It was that moment when I got my first look at the professor and breathed a sigh of relief. He was very young, probably a grad student serving an internship as an associate professor, with sandy hair, and incredibly good looks. "I – I'm sorry," I whispered as I began to turn a deep scarlet. "It's ok. It's ok," he replied, reassuringly, "Accidents happen, and it was entirely my fault. It's I who should be apologizing to you." He began to pick up my books, deftly and quickly, until a second or two later they were again in my arms and I found myself invited to a nearby desk. Upon taking my seat he spoke. "Once again, my sincerest apologies, Miss...?" His words were like honey, sweet and calming...like an aloe, soothing my troubled spirits. "Rutger, sir," I choked forth an answer, "Cairin Rutger." "And my name is John," he said, then realizing his informality added, "Professor John Rodgers." The world froze around me as my jaw dropped in disbelief. It was him. My father. So much for meeting "face to face" I thought to myself. Luckily the class dealt with subjects I had already comprehended from reading years of studies and reports. It gave me time to think of what just happened. It also made me realize that there would be no possibility of introducing myself as his daughter. Not after what he saw. I would have been embarrassed beyond belief. But furthermore, I didn't want to invite further embarrassment upon him. Best leave the subject alone for the time being. Later in the year, things would be forgotten and a more opportune moment would present itself. For now, I was thinking how young he looked, without a touch of grey, exhibiting that sandy-haired pate of his. And his eyes! Bright and hazel, touching all those he lectured to, bringing them home to the subject he loved and revered so much. Then I began to think of my clumsiness and stupidity. Why had I worn those damn pink panties? They were so tight I could only think of how they must have accented my buttocks and the crease of my vagina. I was mortified. I could not look him in the eye. What had I said to myself in the mirror? You never had a second chance to make a first impression? I could have crawled into a hole and died! *5* My classes didn't allow me to return to my apartment for lunch, so I ate at the redoubtable cafeteria on campus. I slid myself into a booth with a bag of chips and a Diet Dr. Pepper, desiring a little privacy. There were oriental paper screens between the booths set up in long rows to provide study groups a little privacy, but they didn't screen out sound very well. "Can you believe that girl?" said a coed with a brassy voice, "She just laid it all out before him. What a slut!" "Well, it's not like you wouldn't have done it too, given the chance," retorted a younger girl with a mousy voice, probably a freshman, "I saw your face when Professor Rodgers appeared." "Can you blame me?" said the first girl, "He's quite the looker, if you ask me. He's one professor I'd like to roger!" The girls giggled at her sophomoric pun. "Obviously Miss Rutger thinks so," chimed in a third voice, "But I have to admit, it was a smooth move she pulled off. If Professor Rodgers was of a mind toward those things, he certainly got an eyeful of goods all wrapped up in a pink package. Ha! What a preview that was." "And a princess to boot," brassy tossed in, "Plastered across her ass just to make sure everyone was aware of her intentions. I wouldn't be surprised if she fucks half the freshman class by the end of the semester." "I'm not so sure of that," interrupted mousy, "It looked like an honest accident to me. It was unfortunate though. I kinda felt sorry for her." "Frosh naiveté," said the third voice, "When you're a junior like me, you'll see through all the tricks, as plain as the nose on your face. Too bad it won't work though. I've seen others pussy up to the Professor to no avail. He's simply impervious to seduction. I don't know if it's a sense of professionalism...or maybe he's just gay." "Anyway," said brassy, "He still got the eyeful. I saw him take a quick look at her goods. Jesus Fucking Christ! Did you see that camel toe? Well, I did, and half the freshman class also, not to mention the Professor. I'm betting offers are gonna come rolling in for that alone. It's at least good to know your competition...and she has set the standard pretty high, I'd say." Mousy's thoughts seem to have been kept to herself after that. So that's what the whole school was thinking. Not only did I totally screw things up with my first meeting, but I had branded myself the quintessential school slut, to be admired and hated by all the others who aspired to get their freshmen hymens busted before midterm. To say I was mortified would be an understatement to end all understatements. I gathered my belongings and ran from the cafeteria and across the park to my apartment. I would attend no more classes that day, or perhaps ever. My mind was running toward thoughts of returning home and attending a small college in Virginia. As long as I stayed here I would never be able to live this down. The tears welled up in my eyes. How stupid could I have been to think there would ever be a favorable outcome to this whole charade. So that was it. Before I had made it half way across the park, my mind was made up. I would have a long talk with the landlady and work out some arrangement until she had another boarder, and I would take the next train out of this nightmare forever. I sat down breathless on a bench, struggling with my thoughts, when I noticed a petite girl standing about thirty feet away by an oak tree. When she saw that I had noticed her, she approached cautiously, not sure what to say. "I saw you running from the cafeteria," she said. The mousy voice was unmistakable. "I'm sorry you had to hear that conversation. It was deplorable what Ginny said. She's so hot for the professor, she can't think straight. We went to the same high school on the other side of town, and she was the school slut. I guess she's intending to make a name for herself here too." I looked at her a moment, my eyes dripping tears, and looked back down. "My name is Missy...short for Melissa." The last thing I wanted to do at the moment was make a new friend. After all, I'd just have to say goodbye to her in a couple of days. My body convulsed in a sob I would rather have wished to hide. I felt her sit down close beside me, wordlessly conveying to me, with her tiny frame, the message that she was no threat and wanted to help if she could. "Cairin," I said, "Cairin Rutger." "It's a pretty name," Missy replied, "And you are a pretty girl, undeserving of what occurred this morning. I don't think for a minute it was intentional." I emitted another convulsive sob. "You're probably the only one who thinks so," I assured her, "It seems the rest of the school has branded me a slut. I don't know if I can stay. It's too painful to contemplate." She sidled up next to me, oddly smelling of lemon drops, and took my hand. "It's ok," she said, "Sometimes we just have to have a good cry. I won't think any worse of you. Let's go to your place and have some hot tea. It'll make you feel better and calm you down a bit." She helped me up and we walked hand in hand to my place. She gave me a lemon drop to feel better, and oddly, it did make me feel better. I found her presence very calming. We spoke very little. After a good hot tea I felt better. "You're not leaving are you?" she asked. "I was thinking about it," I answered, "but I'm reconsidering." "Good." And she rose and left. Somehow I knew I had just acquired a lasting friendship. *6* The next two months found me ignoring everything but my lessons. I was a hard studier. Missy accompanied me to most of the classes we shared. She was a good friend, ready to give anyone the finger who cat-called or whistled. Eventually the princess comments died down and life became a little more normal. My social life, as you might gather, was nil. I had taken a full load of classes and being the over achiever I was anyway, time sort of took on a spirit of its own, regimenting my life in a way that, thankfully, helped me forget the disaster early on. Missy spent every evening studying with me, which was a big help to both of us. Finally, near midnight, she would stretch and yawn and disappear with very little fanfare. I had asked her once if she wanted to study at her place, but she just shrugged and shook her head. "You're right next door to the college...no need," she'd reply. *7* The Fall was brisk and breezy, sweeping up the leaves in swirling eddies about the campus. The smell of harvest was in the air. Halloween was nearing fast. All about the campus, signs were being posted, announcing costume parties at every frat house. Halloween was an annual event that swept the campus and whipped it up into a frenzy of activity. One night Missy piped up, "So, which party are we attending?" Honestly, I hadn't thought much of it, but she seemed to have her heart set on it, so I agreed to go with her to whatever party she chose. I wasn't very keen on fraternities. She chose one with an omega somewhere in the Greek jumble of acronyms. I had no real costume, but I did have a wraparound Indian sari, that if I added a red dot between my eyes, I could pass as an Indian rani. I just couldn't bring myself to use the word "princess." Missy showed up dressed in impeccable cosplay fashion as Little Bo-Peep, complete with fluorescent green eye makeup and bright purple wig. An astonishing sight! She took one look at me and cried, "Cairin, you're outfit is screaming 'panty lines!' You have to wear something different underneath." I ran into the bedroom and grabbed a thong, the only one I owned for this very reason, and quickly changed. Then we were off, giggling and making jokes. Cairin's Quest Walking across the campus we were bombarded with loud speakers invading the senses with ceaseless pounding bass rhythms and skreeling leads. Every frat house seemed to be alive and crawling with students dressed up as everything the mind could imagine in its most avant garde moments. "Halloween happens to be the night when most virgins, if there be any left, sacrifice themselves to the gods of Samhain," laughed Missy. I didn't respond or laugh. Missy stopped dead in her tracks and gave me the look. "You've got to be kidding!" "What?" I said. "Girl," she continued, "I gotta keep you close by. Not only are you eighteen and ripe for the picking, you're a virgin most pure I take it?" I lowered my eyes and quickly nodded. "Why should I not have known!" Missy locked her elbow in mine and we proceeded. It was an embarrassing thing to admit, but Missy had become such a friend as to make admissions of that sort comforting. I knew at that instant that I would keep out of trouble with her help. The Omega crowd was maniacal, with music so deafening that no amount of screaming could counter its effect. Beer and liquor and wine flowed from every cooler and fridge in the place. It was a free for all. Some of the costumes were practically non-existent, if you catch my drift, making me feel formal and overdressed, but I didn't mind. I was here with Missy, and she was enjoying herself. Periodically the crowds in the corridor would separate us from each other, until we found ourselves on opposite sides of the room. Missy had found a nice sophomore with whom she was trying her best to carry on a conversation. She motioned to me across the din that she was stepping just outside, and left with a wink. This left me standing against the wall with my Diet Dr. Pepper in hand, just watching the activities surrounding me. Students were slowly pairing off and going to rooms above stairs in states of semi-inebriation. I smiled to think how true was Missy's earlier observation. As my thoughts were wondering, three frats approached with an offer of beer. I graciously refused for reasons I didn't drink the stuff, not to mention being under the legal age to drink. One of them winked. "Guys! This here's a princess! Get her a glass of our finest wine. The one in the box over there." It was just a small glass so I figured, why not? As they adopted their typical frat guy posturing around me, I sipped on my wine, wondering what Missy was up to. I was beginning to tire of all this anyway, and was thinking of finding her, when the room began to slowly gyrate with the music. I hadn't had much of a supper earlier, so I just attributed it to the wine having a pronounced effect on my empty stomach, giving me all the more reason to find Missy. Suddenly the room began to lurch and I seemed to lose my ability to stand or walk. I leaned against the wall, seeking its support, but to no avail. The next thing I knew, I was being carried up the stairs by the Omega team and into a room at the top. My head was becoming fuzzy as they plopped me down on the bed and began untying the sari, and with a single pull, spun me full circle and back onto the bed in nothing but a bra and a thong. I scrambled for the sheet to cover myself and asked for the sari back, but words just wouldn't issue from my mouth. I was forcing myself to stay awake against an overpowering need to drift into unconsciousness. The three students were drunk and laughing the whole while. One took a lighter and lit the sari. As the flames began to swallow the fabric I watched them throw open a window and fling it out. Then they staggered toward me with a drunken hunger that was unmistakable. I clutched the sheet as best I could, covering myself from their gaze and advances, but found I had almost completely lost control of my muscles, fumbling hopelessly in the folds. I realized then that something had been put into the wine, and my hymen would be tonight's sacrifice to the gods of Samhain. The room grew quiet as they stared at me. Somewhere music was blaring loudly. No one would hear me scream. In the adjoining room, a bedstead was pounding rhythmically against the accompanying wall to the unmistakable sounds of sex and orgasm. I was drifting into an irresistible state of unconsciousness as I felt two hands grasp my ankles. The last thing I remember in the room was Missy busting in and threatening the guys with all sorts of evil if they continued. They backed off. I was naked except for my bra and thong. Missy wrapped me in the sheet and talked the strongest one into carrying me back downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs there was a shopping cart with some six-packs which were thrown aside and I was lowered into it. But the frat boys weren't giving up that easily. There I was, unable to move a muscle, and practically comatose, as Missy began bargaining with them. Everything was a blur, but I caught the general drift that the guys expected something for their efforts and would not leave us alone without some satisfaction. Missy was not joking when she said she'd protect me. She slowly went down on her knees at the bottom of the stairs in front of a room full of drunken frat whores and Omegas, and began to give one of them a blowjob. Quickly the word began to spread around the room. It was electric. A chant began to erupt from the whole room as she deftly sucked the first one to an orgasm. The second one lasted only a moment as she gave him a hand job which sent ropes of cream across the front of her shepherdess outfit. As she began to take charge of the third, the crowd gave way and opened up. Moments before I completely passed out I remember regurgitating my glass of wine all over myself and looking into the eyes of my father as he broke up the public display of fellatio and sent people on their way, effectively shutting the party down. I had a vague memory of bumping along in a shopping cart across campus, accompanied by the professor and Missy, who was frantically explaining to him what had happened. When Missy had seen my sari in flames being defenestrated onto the lawn, she ran up the stairs and began pushing open all the doors until she found me. She just wanted to protect me and get me out of there, so she did what she felt she had to. No mention was made of my virginity, thank God, I was already mortified enough to never want to show my face in public again. I woke up on a couch in a strange house that turned out to be my father's. My vision was blurred and I could still hardly move. Missy was sitting in a robe that she had borrowed from the professor, while her costume was being washed and dried. I was still in bra and panties, wrapped in the sheet. Professor Rodgers approached me and seemed to be glad I was awake. He drew back the sheet and both he and Missy winced from the acrid and sour smell of regurgitated alcohol. It had soaked everything; the sheet, my bra, my panties, my self. "Why is it, young lady, that every time we meet, I end up staring at your underwear?" He helped me up and led me into the bathroom, where he instructed Missy to clean me up as best she could and to hand out the bra and thong so he could put them, along with the sheet, into the wash with the costume. "Professor Rodgers is a true gentleman," Missy said to me, "He saved us from a lot of nasty treatment out there. I mean, who knows if they would have stopped once I had jerked the three of them off? I was frightened. I didn't want my friend to be deflowered by that bunch!" I managed to utter the first words since that first sip of wine. "Thank you, Missy." Then I fell asleep in the bathtub as she was sponging the sour residue of vomit from my skin. I don't know how long I had been out, but I woke up on the couch again, completely covered by a warm fleece blanket with absolutely nothing on underneath. The professor and Missy were talking and drinking hot tea and were delighted to see me conscious again. Missy ran into the kitchen to fetch me some tea, which was her cure for practically everything. The professor, being the gentleman that he was, averted his eyes as I began to blush a crimson red from embarrassment. I apologized for blushing, explaining that I was particularly prone to it, especially since I had arrived at college. This brought a smile to his face. A kindly understanding genre of a smile. "I'm glad to see you blush. It expresses a modesty that is sorely lacking in most of the coeds I saw out there tonight, and it also indicates you're coming around from whatever they put in your drink." "That was a close call," intruded Missy, coming back with hot tea and shortbread cookies, "I don't know what we would have done had you not arrived. How did you know we were there?" "I didn't. I was just walking across campus from my lab and heard the huge ruckus coming from the Omega frat house and thought I would just look in. I will be talking to the dean tomorrow to see if we should take any disciplinary action." "No! Don't!" I cried out, "It might reflect on Missy's status here too, as some might think she was engaging in or instigating some illicit activity. I wouldn't want that. She was just protecting me from..." My voice trailed off as I couldn't bring myself to admit I was still a virgin. My blush resumed its course. I think it turned my toes red. "What she's saying is," interrupted Missy, "is that there was no harm done really. We don't want to make a stink over things. And they had better treat us like fucking goddesses from now on, if they know what's good for 'em." I have to admit, I was seeing a side of Missy I hadn't seen before. I would have to talk about it to her later, without the professor present. A buzzer buzzed indicating the clothes were dry. My father brought them in and laid them out on the coffee table, obviously trying not to pay too much attention to my underthings, especially the thong. "I'll just go up to my bedroom while you two get dressed." Then realizing that my bra and thong were my only items of dress, added that he would find a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants for the walk home. Once we were dressed and ready to go we thanked him and headed out across campus into the night. I was still very unsteady and she held my arm tightly in hers. We must have looked a sight; a bedraggled girl in oversized sweatpants being led by Little Bo Peep in a Day-Glo purple wig. Missy smiled the whole way back. "Why the huge grin, Missy?" I asked her. "Oh, I don't know," she mused, "The professor is such a nice man, a true gentleman. I didn't know they existed anymore." "I must admit," I answered, "I'm beginning to change my opinion of him." Missy gave me an odd look at that response, then went back to her musing smile. Indeed, my opinion of her was greatly changed after what she did to protect me earlier that evening. And of course, the derogatory view my mother held of my father had certainly been altered by the night's activities. All in all, it was a night for the memory. I just wished my father could have a close encounter with me without having my knickers involved. *8* For the next few weeks we returned to the grindstone, hardly taking a breath between the endless cycle of classes and tests, looking forward to the Thanksgiving holiday. I was struggling especially with the elements of bone identification. One day at the end of class, after the associate professor left, Missy and I snuck into the back room where the bones that were used for identification in class were kept. We just thought we'd brush up and get a little ahead of the class through practical means. As we were examining the differences between saurischian and ornithischian pelvic girdles, we heard the classroom door shut. Of course, as it was questionable whether what we were doing was above board or not, we crept up to the small opening where the lab door was ajar and looked into the classroom. There, sitting on the edge of his desk, was my father. He was talking to someone out of our range of vision, obviously a student, from the fact that he was advising him or her to work harder since midterm grades were due and they were lacking the levels the student needed to pass. "I'll work harder, professor," came the unmistakable voice of Ginny, brassy and seductive, "but I might need some help. Could you perhaps...er...help me with something?" "Sure," answered the professor, "What can I show you? What bones are you struggling with?" Ginny suddenly came into view. She was wearing a halter top, despite the cold, which made her nipples erect, and a short skirt that barely covered her ass. Her red hair was a shower of curls covering her shoulders. "Oh, I can identify most of the bones in this class," Missy and I stifled a snicker, realizing how true that statement really was, "but I am struggling with one." "And which one would that be?" the professor asked. "Damn! He walked right into that one," I thought to myself, looking down at Missy, who returned my gaze with a cross-eyed look of disbelief. Ginny slithered up to the professor, ramping up her potent powers of seduction, until they were touching. She reached down and caressed his cock, which Missy and I could see was beginning to respond. "It worries me," she whispered cajolingly, "that if I saw this bone without knowing who it belonged to, I would not be able to identify its owner. Can you help me, Professor Rodgers?" I was about to burst through the door right then and there, but Missy stopped me, whispering, "Let it play out. The professor's a big boy. He can make his own choices." Ginny pressed herself closer to him, rubbing her hardened, and quite pronounced, nipples against his chest. While doing so she slowly reached around behind her and pulled the string that held the halter up. "Ooops!" she whispered, leaving her boobs with their crowning nipples exposed to his gaze. By this time she had already undone his belt and the zipper of his fly. Taking off his tie, she tied her wrists behind her back in some very deft and practiced moves, then slowly lowered herself, taking the rim of his jockey shorts into her teeth and pulling them down, pants and all. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go out there and deck Ginny a good one. But I was paralyzed by what I was seeing; my own father being seduced by that fucking whore. But then my eyes froze at the sight before me. Springing from the edge of his briefs as they were being pulled down, was the most potent specimen of a man I have ever seen, perfectly straight, long, robust, and erect. I couldn't take my eyes off of it, even though I knew it was my father's tool that I was fixating upon. It projected from a nest of sandy-colored hair that was thick and curly, just like the hair on his head. It was beautiful. I watched Ginny as she inched closer and closer to the magnificent mushroomed head at the end of his penis, her ruby-red lipsticked mouth opening to take him in, when suddenly two hands enmeshed themselves into her ginger curls and she was lifted bodily to a standing position before him. "You have two choices, Miss Katz," he sternly addressed her, "Either you improve your grades and never come here again like this, or drop my class. I won't put up with this nonsense." By the time he had finished , his pants were zipped and buttoned. "May I have my tie, please?" To see the look on Ginny Katz's face was priceless. Blood rushed to her cheeks as she spit out the words, "Fuck you!" and stormed from the room. The professor stood there, half leaning against the desk, staring down at the tie in his hands. It was hard to tell what he must have been thinking. Was he angry for having thrown away the fuck of his life, Ginny, eighteen years old and nubile like no other? Or was he breathing a sigh of relief that he had escaped from what might have been a compromising position, both personally and professionally. He slowly slipped his tie on and checked that his erection wasn't too obvious through his khaki slacks. Then he walked from the room. We waited a few minutes, then slipped out of the lab and out of the classroom, making sure the coast was clear. Just as we were almost at the end of the hallway, my father came wheeling around the corner back toward the classroom, almost colliding with us. We all stopped and stood for a fraction of a second. "Miss Rutger, Miss Mills, I was returning to the classroom for a book I left in the lab, but this is most fortuitous. Would you like to be my guests for Thanksgiving dinner? I have no family in town and since you are far from home also, I thought that you two might..." "Yes! Yes!" Missy replied, rather too exuberantly I thought. "Good then," he continued, "Seven o'clock Thursday. I believe you know the address. Oh yes, I have something I'd like to show you after dinner. I've been encamped in a coolie nearby these past two weeks working on a new dig. I have a bone you might be interested in seeing." "Most definitely!" cried Missy, trying to suppress a giggle. He looked at Missy, puzzled, for a second by her reaction, then turned on his heel and walked away. "Shame on you!" I whispered, as soon as he was out of earshot. Then I started to giggle too. *9* "Did you see it? It was magnificent!" she yelled, as soon as we closed the door of my apartment. "Oh hush, Missy," I admonished, "He's your professor, for God sakes!" "Did you see how he brushed Ginny off?" I think this is what Missy was enjoying most. "Like a pesky gnat buzzing around his head," she giggled at her own allusion to his penis. "Yes," I said, "but he could just as easily have taken her. After all, she's the prettiest girl on campus, and sexiest." "I would disagree," Missy replied. "Oh?" "You're the prettiest, the sexiest, and the brightest," she continued, "The last thing you'll ever have to do is fuck your way to a better grade." I sat down and looked at Missy in amazement. I had come to always expect the unexpected from her. I never knew she thought of me as anything but a friend and classmate. But here she was putting me above all the others in several categories which I had never considered. I shrugged off the compliment and began to study. The last week before Thanksgiving flew by, leaving me little time to prepare. Before dinner I was fussing endlessly over what to wear. I decided upon a loose fitting, and very conservative, dress. One that would not reveal any panty lines, and underneath it all, the most plain simple white cotton panties I could lay my hands on. Missy showed up in a glorious state of simplicity, wearing what she wore just about every day of school. I was beginning to believe she had maybe eight, at most ten, different ensembles. We were in a jolly mood on the walk over to his house. "I can't believe this," she kept saying, "A whole evening with the professor...all to ourselves! Isn't it glorious?" "At least the conversation will be enlightening and above what is usually heard on this campus," I said. "Oh, Cairin, you know what I mean." "Not exactly, Missy, except that you're acting like a child just about to walk into a candy store." "Candy is right," she interjected, "and you can't find any candy on this campus more delicious than Professor Rodgers." "Why Missy! If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a crush on the professor." "Well, what if I did?" "Missy!" "No, really," she continued, "I don't know his age, but he can't be more than thirty or thirty-two." "Thirty-seven," I corrected. Missy stopped in her tracks and stared at me. "How would you know that?" "I...er...he said in class the other day, the year he received his PhD. I just worked it out from that." I knew I was totally unconvincing, but Missy just shrugged her shoulders and walked on. Cairin's Quest "Well, he looks to be about twenty-five," she concluded with a grin. It had never occurred to me to ask Missy's age, but she volunteered it as she rambled, which is what she usually did. "I'm twenty. If we went on a date, no one would even blink an eye." "Except for the fact that you look to be, hmmm, let's see...twelve? Possibly fifteen?" I was surprised to find that, tiny and mousy as she was, she was two years my senior, and yet a freshman. It was then I realized how little I actually knew about Missy, where she lived, her family, and other things like her age. "I can only see one problem," I told her, "He has to ask you first." "Oh, he will," she replied without hesitation. "And how can you be so sure of that?" I asked, "You saw how he rebuffed Ginny." "Hmmph!" she answered, "Ginny and I have known each other for years, and she's taught me a lot." "Like what?" I was curious to know. "Like what NOT to do," she responded, and we both started laughing. Dinner was a simple, but satisfying affair. The professor was a gracious host, and a good cook to boot! We ate until we all were stuffed, while carrying on conversations that ran from paleontology to plate tectonics. He was engaging and talkative. Missy spent most of the time smiling and staring. I tried as best I could to make up for previous disasters by not showing off my panties to the world, and impressing him with my accumulated scope of knowledge. I had a lot of ground to make up before I told him who I was. Maybe tonight would be the night, or at the latest, Christmas. It was a long, conversation-filled Thanksgiving dinner, complete with a glass of wine for each of us, the professor promising they were not drugged, which caused a renewed round of giggles and laughter. I had much to be thankful for; friendship, trust, good company, and a chance, though neither of the others knew it, to get to know my father better. Missy and I insisted on cleanup duty afterwards, as we started clearing dishes off the table and giggling from the slight buzz the wine gave the two of us. Missy was as happy as I think I've ever seen her, singing and dancing around the kitchen like a little songbird. I pulled the roasting pan, containing the grease from what was left of the small turkey carcass, out of the oven to put it into the sink to cool. Just then Missy, who had finished the dishes in the sink, did a pirouette behind me and slammed me against the stove, splashing the hot grease all down the front of me. I let out a scream. The hot grease saturated my dress and seemed to adhere to my skin. The searing pain was like a hot iron burning into my chest and down my stomach. I couldn't stop screaming, and Missy with panic in her voice kept yelling, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" It would have resulted in terrible burn scars had not the professor thought swiftly, and, not hesitating a moment, quickly pulled the dress over my head and threw it to the side, and instantly stripped me of my undergarments, which were also quite saturated with grease. But still the burns were severe. He picked me up and laid me on the couch and convinced Missy to stop screaming and fill some plastic bags with ice cubes, while he fetched some dish towels that he wetted with cold water. The soothing coolness of the towels, along with the icepacks placed on the reddest spots, was most welcome. I was shaking from the trauma, and the professor was examining the burns closely, trying to determine if an ambulance was necessary. He was so concerned about the burns, as were Missy and I, that it didn't occur to us that I was naked. It didn't seem to matter really. "I'll run these through the wash," he said, taking my clothes and underwear in hand, "Missy, keep moving the ice packs around and we'll see how it looks in another fifteen minutes before we decide whether an emergency room visit is necessary. In the meantime, there is a blanket in the linen closet over there. Now that the worst is past, you need to cover yourself up. Tent it over the back of the couch so it doesn't touch your skin." "No!" I said in a panic, "My whole body is sensitive to the touch of anything. I don't think I could bear it." I couldn't believe this was happening. "Why me?" I cried, "Why me?" I began to cry like a child that has skinned a knee falling off a bicycle. I cried because it hurt so bad. I cried because I was such a clumsy idiot. I cried because I had ruined everybody's night. And I cried because I had once again proved myself a total fool and ended up once more undressed in front of my father. Missy, with an intense worried look, dried my tears like a little mama, and spoke with her tiny mousy voice, soothing words. When the professor came back into the room, he realized that I couldn't bear to put the blanket over me. He didn't once give me the "look" a man usually would give a naked girl. Instead he kept a caring eye on me and sought only for my comfort. Periodically he would check in on me, but usually left me and Missy to ourselves. As the pain began to subside, he came in to examine the burns, pronouncing them not as bad as they could have been, suggesting it would be best if I didn't move, and stay there for the night. Finally I could bear a light silk sheet over me to cover up, which helped alleviate yet another humiliating and embarrassing position I had got myself into. After another hour he came in with a bottle of aloe. "The best thing for burns," he said. He put some on his hands without warming it up, so that the coolness would feel good against the burns and began to lift the sheet to apply it. I wasn't so sure about this. My fist tightened around the edge of the sheet. "It's ok," he said, "I'm a doctor." The three of us looked at each other and began to laugh at the joke, which eased the embarrassment of having him rub the aloe into the burns that ran from the inside of my right breast, down my stomach and abdomen, to my left thigh. It was quickly accomplished without fanfare and I thanked him. Then he gave me a couple of pain relievers and a glass of water, which helped alleviate the burning somewhat, but made me very sleepy. The last thing I heard before I drifted off was Missy and my father discussing their sleeping arrangements, but I never knew what they were as I was out like a light. *10* It was a long and restless night. I couldn't roll over without experiencing sharp pains. The sheet would get wrapped around me, waking me up so regularly, that I just kicked it to the foot of the couch. Suddenly there was a noise and a voice I did not recognize issuing from the entry hallway. Before I had totally awakened from a half sleep, a woman wandered into the living room, where I was laying, exposed, on the couch. "Shit!" she yelped, "John, where are you, and who is she?" Then turning to me, asked, "How old are you, girl?" "Her name's Cairin," the professor interjected as he entered the room, "And she is my guest." "Obviously," the woman shouted, her voice dripping with innuendo, then to me, "Answer my question." By this time I had wrapped the sheets around me and looked to my father for instruction. He simply nodded to me to answer her question. "Eighteen, ma'am," I replied. "Oh my God, John, have you gone mad?" The professor rolled his eyes and proceeded, "Cairin, meet my sister, Mary. She has obviously come all the way from Boise, unannounced, to visit me for the holidays." I would have told her it was nice to meet her, but it just didn't seem appropriate. At that point, Missy came sauntering in from the master bedroom, dressed in one of the professor's t-shirts, yawning and wishing all a good morning. Needless to say, Mary almost had an apoplectic fit when she saw her. "John, I can't believe this," she yelled, "You must be out of your mind! It's bad enough you have a high school girl lying naked on your couch, but this? Are you out of middle school yet, little girl?" "Missy, meet my sister, Mary," the professor continued in as nonchalant a manner as he could project under the circumstances, "Mary...Missy." Mary looked from me to Missy and shouted, "Get out!" But the professor was having none of it. "Don't move, Cairin. Missy, stay right where you are. And Mary, I think you should apologize for your rudeness and kindly find a hotel if you insist on staying in town. Cairin burned herself with some grease last night and she is not moving off this couch until I am certain she is in stable condition. As for Missy, she is also my guest and I will not let her be insulted by my sister or any other member of my family. Understood?" "Ha!" Mary retorted, her face flushing in anger, "Wasn't the first eighteen year old enough for you? You remember what happened with her? Can you be so fucking stupid to do it all again? Think, John. Don't make yourself a fool again. Screwing little girls, hardly past puberty! And how old are you exactly...Missy?" All this while, Missy had been standing in the corner, trying to take in what was happening. As the professor's sister became more condescending and insulting, her cheeks began to take on a scarlet color, as her lips tightened so thin that they almost disappeared. Finally, she could take it no longer. "That's Miss Melissa J. Mills to you, you God-damned, fucking bitch!" she exploded, "What kind of sister are you, to call your own brother fucking stupid. He is the most brilliant professor, and kindest gentleman, I have ever met. I suggest you go back to Boise where you belong, you sorry excuse for a sibling. If you don't, I can't be responsible for the fat lip I'm gonna give you." She drew closer to Mary with fists clenched, and every intention to make good on her threat. Mary stood her ground until they were just inches from each other. The silence reigned discomfortingly for a few seconds, then Mary blinked. "I'll go," she spoke to her brother, without taking her eyes off Missy, who to the surprise of everybody watching, was like a tiger ready to spring, "but don't expect me to get you out of this mess. You have gone completely mad, and I will not be visiting again, unless you can guarantee that your little cunts will be out of sight and mind. You have exceeded all bounds, John...all bounds." Missy certainly didn't like being called a cunt, and with a swift and unexpected movement, laid an open-handed slap across her opponent's face, leaving a red, glowing handprint. Mary raised her hand to return the insult, but Missy stood on her toes, nose to nose with her nemesis, and whispered menacingly, "Bring it on, bitch!" Another moment of silence, thick enough to slice with a knife, passed. Mary slowly lowered her hand to her side, clenching it into a fist so tight, her fingers blanched. Then she turned on her heels and stormed from the room and to the van outside, covered with soccer mom magnets and bumper stickers, and sped away with screeching tires. *11* The air in the room was charged with a tense energy. Missy stood frozen in her place, trembling, while tears began to run down her cheeks. I was speechless. I had never seen Missy like this. My burns were stinging and I thought it best not to move, or else I would have run across the room completely naked to give her a supporting hug. The professor silently took Missy by the shoulder and sat her gently down in an easy chair by the fireplace. Not a word was spoken. What was there to say? I thought it rather surreal...the feeling we shared. Finally, the professor, gazing out the window at the tire marks in his driveway, broke the silence, "I've always wanted to do that," he uttered, matter-of-factly. "You're welcome," replied Missy, her mousy voice returned. Like a sunrise after a stormy night, smiles slowly broke out on our faces. "Sort of gives a new meaning to Black Friday, doesn't it?" I added. Then none of us could hold back our laughter. Of all the Black Fridays I have lived through, this one will be forever inscribed in my memory. I spent the weekend as an invalid, Missy and my father bringing me whatever I needed for my comfort. Missy became very adept at massaging the aloe into my burns, relieving the professor of the compromising duty, though I never felt he was compromising himself in the least, as he exhibited absolutely no ulterior motives doing it. The days had turned cold, and a fire was started in the fireplace. We popped popcorn and watched movies late into the night, talking endlessly about anything that came to mind. I believe I have seldom been as content as I was that Thanksgiving weekend. On Sunday night, as the fire burnt to cinders and the night turned into early morning, we turned in once again; the professor into his winged-back library chair, myself still on the couch, and Missy in the master bedroom. As she was about to close the door of the bedroom, she stepped back out into the hallway and gave the professor a kiss on the cheek for being so kind and helpful. It was a lingering kiss and their eyes met for a fraction of a second, upon which a book could have been written. The house became dark and quiet, save for the few glowing red cinders left on the hearth that crackled as they cooled. I think I fell asleep with a contented smile on my face. *12* After lying around for three whole days without any clothes on, and only a silk sheet to cover me, going back to school was quite a shock, but I grit my teeth and did my best. I was bound and determined to make my father proud of me, even though he had no idea he was my father. But I did think, since our holiday weekend together, that we had become closer, and he did have an interest in my scholarly advancement and success. I was worried about Missy though. She was starting to fall behind and couldn't seem to keep up, and when she spent the evening studying with me, she seemed distant and distracted. I, on the other hand, grew daily more curious about her family, her personal life, and where she might live, for she was always putting me off when I brought it up. She was almost secretive in her efforts to conceal things from me. But I'm persistent, and I determined upon a plan. Late one night, shortly before the Christmas break, I bid her farewell as I quickly changed into my night clothes. From my window I watched her walk down the street, as I quickly changed back into my street clothes and stealthily followed her. She walked over a mile and a half through the cold night air, her breath forming little haloes of fog around her head. Finally she arrived at a high rise hotel and slipped down an alley behind. I quietly slipped into the alley behind her, curious as to her intentions in such a place. It was then she took a key out of her pocket and slipped into the service entrance. Before entering she put the key into a crevice between two marble building stones in the wall, then looking around behind her, she descended a stairway just inside. I quickly retrieved the key from its hiding place and entered after her, down into the boiler rooms beneath the hotel, puzzled as to what she could possibly be doing here. Along several long rows of pipes there was an area where they met, forming a private enclave in their confluence. There was a faint glow casting eerie shadows from inside. As my eyes got used to the semi-darkness, it was then I realized what I observing. Missy had set up house here! She was homeless, struggling against untold odds trying to get an education. I was about to reveal myself when I heard a sudden sound from up above. I hunkered down in my hiding place so as not to be seen by the intruder. It was what looked like a maintenance man in his fifties, a bit overweight, bearded, and a look of mischief in his eye. He went up to the confluence of pipes and greeted Missy by name. They sat down and talked for a few minutes. "You're late again," the man said, "I can't have you not being here when you have an appointment. It was bad enough having to convince the Thanksgiving holiday customers that you were ill and indisposed. Don't let it happen again. Ok?" "Yes sir," was her only reply. "Come now," he continued, "It's not like you have a heavy load. Not like some of the others. And the advantage is I can't get in as much trouble with you as with the others, as you are of age, though I make no secret that you are all of fifteen." He let out a laugh that echoed through the pipes and down the conduits surrounding us. "But your four customers per week are firm and you must be ready for them. You don't want to be out on the street again, do you? Especially in this cold. You'll find this circumstance heavenly compared to being out there having to be one of Santa's hos." Again the sinister laughter bounced off the metal pipes. I couldn't believe my eyes, but Missy began to unstrap the man's belt and without any hesitation whatsoever, pulled his pants down and took his cock into her mouth. Worse than the laughter echoing among the pipes, was his groaning as she continued, seemingly unconnected to the task at hand. After a few minutes he stood her up and began to strip her clothes off, until she stood naked before him. "I want out," she muttered, "I want the DVD and I want to get the hell out of here." The laughter erupting from the man as he stripped himself was horrible, so horrible I had to clasp my hands over my ears. I was crying, trying not to sniff or sob so as not to give myself away. Finally the man spoke. "Look, little Miss I'm-gonna-get-me-an-education-and-become-someone," he quipped, "Not a chance!" "That's the rub," she sighed, "If it wasn't for that fucking video, I'd be out of here tomorrow." She seemed to be encouraging him to talk about a subject that pained her, but she pressed on. "And how many young girl videos have you collected for blackmailing purposes, huh? Fifteen? Twenty? You must have quite a clientele by now." "Well, for your information, my little slut, I have only a dozen, and that suits me just fine." He laid her down on the mattress on the concrete floor and lowered himself down on top of her. This was his night with her, a weekly occurrence, and he wasn't going to be deprived of his fun. She seemed oddly detached from the whole process, committing herself only to the mechanics. "Hmmm," she continued, as he began to rhythmically hump her supine figure, "A dozen young girls enshrined in DVD's in your china cabinet. If only their parents knew." "If only," he responded to the taunt, "Ha! Their fathers would probably have reservations for the hotel rooms where they ply their little trade. That's an idea. Step right up. Step right up," he cried like a carnival barker, "Fuck your own daughters to show them how it really should be done!" Once again...the horrible laughter. By this time he was humping her so hard, with every thrust it was expressing the air from her lungs. "Settle down now," she said, "you got an extra half hour tonight...don't wanna throw it away too soon." I couldn't look anymore. I put my head in my hands and wept for my friend. So this is why she was so mysterious about her life. I couldn't bear it. The sound of the humping was pounding in my brain. I looked up from hands, my face wet with tears. My eyes met hers. She was staring straight at me. She had known I was there all along. With her eyes she motioned upstairs. "Of course!" I thought to myself. The DVD's in the china cabinet. If I could find her's, she couldn't be blackmailed into staying here and fucking four clients a week to pay for her rent. "Ok, buster," she encouraged him, "Let's have the fuck of your life. I wanna hear fireworks. Loud ones!" Her mousy voice and her preteen looks were obviously reaping a profit for the maintenance man/pimp. As she encouraged him to groan ever louder and faster, I was able to creep away and upstairs. I was happy to leave the sounds behind, but devastated to think it was my friend who was being used in such a manner. But she was distracting him so I could find the DVD and steal it.