Tanya Thorsen looked at her hair in the double mirrors. It hung down to her bra strap, now that she had it out of the bun. She had been a very good girl in her instructor's position at the U of Missouri, and then the department had screwed her. They'd taken away the group-theory classes she'd taught, and taught well, her first year. This semester Prof. Bronson was back from his sabbatical, and she had only calculus classes. Well, she was damned tired of being a good girl.

Missouri was supposed to be a party school, and she was fucking-well going to party. At least it was supposed to be more of a party school than Chicago, where she'd taken her doctorate. Of course, she admitted to herself, the average theological seminary was probably a better party school than the U of C was. She had a calculus course Saturday morning, but she was prepared for it. This was Friday night, and she was going to have a Friday night for once.

She had her hair down, literally as well as figuratively. She had her old contacts in. She would wear her tightest jeans and a Missou T-shirt -- extra small -- she had bought at the bookstore just this morning. She was already wearing her sheerest bra. The boys wouldn't even look at her face. To keep the girls from recognizing her, she would drop the professor-sounding voice she had practiced so hard. Nobody was going to recognize her. There was really no rule against faculty going to the dance clubs, anyway.

The guy at the door carded her, and she showed him her driver's license. She had carefully left her faculty ID at home. He looked from her face to the license suspiciously.

"Look at the height on the card," she said, not in her girly voice. Everybody thought 4' 11" meant underage. Well, it was the ID of a 4' 11" adult. He nodded and stepped aside. The laughing girls he let in behind her looked underage to her, but they were tall. They were giggling, but maybe they had simply started their drinking before coming here.

She went directly to the dance floor. She started shaking to the beat without looking for a partner. When the record ended, a guy came over and raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded, and they danced together, or at least in front of each other, when the DJ put the next record on. Her third dance partner offered her a drink.

"Phil Young," he said when they were sitting at a table. She recognized him now. He'd done fairly well in beginning group theory a year ago. Not a math guy, but not an idiot, either. Grad student in physics, she thought.

"Tanya," she said. He didn't ask for her last name. Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies. She sipped her Manhattan and tried to steer the conversation to him. When her first drink and his second beer were done, he invited her to dance again. She agreed happily, needing to burn the ethanol off.

He seemed pleased with her, and she was damned pleased with him. He was solid, looking like his muscles had muscles, but he moved smoothly. He looked down into her face and smiled. If he looked a little further down, that was okay, too.

"How tall are you, anyway?" she asked in a break between records. She instantly regretted it. He'd be certain to ask back.

"Six-three, and you?"

"A little less." As if he couldn't tell that. "Almost five feet." He grinned at her. They danced one more dance.

"Want another drink?" he asked. Really, she didn't yet. She needed to pace herself. Her third would be her last, and even that would mean hoping she wasn't stopped on her way home. She was conscious that her small frame could hold less than his massive one.

"Not really," she said. "I like to keep a clear head."

"Well," he said. "We could get Cokes." She liked that 'we.' He wanted to stay with her even if it meant sobriety. "Or we could keep dancing." That sounded great. "Or..."

"Or?" She couldn't let him stop there.

"How would you like to go for a walk?" How would she like that? He was already more important to her than the dance was, and talking while the records were playing meant shouting in her girly voice, and she didn't want to drop that.

"With you? I'd like that." And if he found them a hidden place on their walk to make out a little, she would like that, too. Where? Well, he was the student. Her experience, and damned little experience it was, had been in her apartment and the guy's. A student would know where.

And, indeed, he soon had her in deep shadows backed up against a tree. He kissed her, and his lips on hers felt like fire. The kiss was hard, forcing her head back against the bark. Then it was gentle, barely touching as they breathed into each other. Then he wove his fingers into her hair and explored her mouth with his tongue. She was gasping when he let her go. He led her by the hand out to the sidewalk again. She shivered, and he put his arm over her shoulder to warm her.

Their next kiss was in a doorway. He stood below her with their heads nearly level. His tongue played with hers while his hands roamed her breasts, her back down to her butt, and then around front while he stroked up the thighs of her jeans.

"Tanya," he said.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to come up?" Was this his place? Was this where they had been walking to? Well, she'd wanted to live, and that would be living. She'd been on the pill since leaving Kurt, and she'd only had one pallid fellow instructor two times to justify them. Phil, whatever his other faults, wouldn't be pallid.

"Yes."

Up in his apartment, they stopped in the living room -- obviously shared by a bunch of other students. The kisses lasted longer, and when they stopped, he turned her around to kiss her neck while he held her breasts. Then, still sucking on her neck, he stroked down, down between her thighs, down where there was already a fire to welcome him. He pulled her hand towards his bedroom.

"Wait," she said. "My contacts. I have to take them out first." She wasn't used to them any more, and she liked to cuddle up afterwards. She'd woken up beside Kurt with them still in her eyes a couple of times.

"First?" He blushed nearly crimson. What sort of cock-tease did he think she was that she would go this far and stop? She took her purse to the john. After she got her contacts out and into their case, she did the necessary business and washed her hands.

He was waiting when she came out. They had one more kiss before he led her into his bedroom. He'd made his bed, or at least pulled the blankets and bedspread over it. As they kissed, his hands roamed over her once more. She started to unbutton his shirt. He tugged at her T-shirt.

When he had removed her panties and she'd gotten all but his briefs, he lifted her. He kissed her breasts, giving each nipple its own kiss, and then her belly. He laid her down on the bed and kissed her deeply. He was shifting as if he were taking off his briefs.

"Do I need something?" he asked as he lay down beside her.

"Please." The pill was all very well, but she didn't know this guy and didn't know where his cock had been.

"Sure." He reached across her to a drawer in his night stand. He rummaged a little, then lay back down. He showed her a wrapped condom before going back to the kissing.

He stroked her inner thighs, and she opened them wider. He kissed her again while he spread her labia and stroked her clit. He took her hand and led it to his erection. He was big all over. She opened the condom and rolled it on. The way his cock jerked in her hand said that he found that sexy. She thought it was safer than trusting him to do it right.

Then he was rolling over and rising above her from between her legs. She led him where he wanted to go -- where they wanted him to go. He spread her open, eased into her, filled her.

"So tight," he said. She felt stretched around him. It had been a long time. As Phil drove into her, she pressed upwards to get all of him. As he withdrew, she felt her arousal rise. She became more and more excited as he stroked into her ever more deeply.

She felt herself rise, though he was above her. She broke into clear air and shuddered.

"God!" he said. He drew back further. He hammered into her, driving her deep into the mattress. Then he was pulsing deep inside her. Then he was lying limply on her.

She gathered her strength. When she pushed on his shoulder, he rolled off her, reached out and turned off the lamp. He gathered her against his front, and she cuddled back against him in the spoon. He held her right breast in his big hand. She was almost asleep when she heard him.

"I never, never..." he murmured. "You're such a pretty girl, and I never thought I had a chance until..." He didn't finish the sentence, and she thought it was a strange comment on their evening.

She, herself, hadn't been exactly surprised. He looked strong and sexy. He'd lived up to those looks. She was trying to find a way to express that when he relaxed in what was clearly sleep. She fell asleep soon after.

. . .

She woke with his hand on her breast, his bristly chin against her neck, and his cock pressed into her thigh. She suddenly remembered that she had a class to teach this morning.

"What time is it?" she asked. He turned the clock radio so she could see the dial.

"Not much after 7:00."

Well, that meant there was time, but damned little time. She had to get back home, shower, dress for the day, and get to class. And she couldn't take the wrong prep with her this time. A taxi would help, especially if the driver could be bribed to wait.

"I have to go," she said. "I've got Calc 101." She got out of bed and began dressing. She looked desperately for her purse.

"Cut your class."

"No!" she said. "Look I have to go to the john. Could you call a cab for me? Minutes count. Tell them the address. I'll be down in less than ten minutes, closer to five." She scrambled for her shoes and socks.

"First year calc? You aren't underage, are you?" He hadn't heard her. At least, he wasn't moving to call the cab.

"I'm older than you are." She grabbed her purse to find the card for the cab company she'd used. She would make the call. She pulled her glasses out and set them on his night stand while searching for the card.

"What is this address?" She used the professor-voice projection she had practiced. She needed answers, and she hadn't been getting them.

He was looking at her glasses, sitting there. They weren't even on her face.

"Doctor Thorsen!"