Henry felt lonely in the big city, no matter how many girls he looked at. Small girls, tall girls, it didn't matter anymore. He liked pretty much anything that came into view through his horn rimmed glasses. Although his penis would grow faster at the sight of a young girl, fresh in her college sweatshirt and tight jeans, eagerly reading a book, or typing away at a laptop. To escape from his cramped apartment was grand, but to see a flock of young girls was even better. But the looks, they didn't mean anything at all. It was just mind fucking. It wasn't flesh on flesh fucking. No, all these college coeds learned in the university was how to tease. At first he thought they were really interested in him and what he had to say. He talked on length about Joyce, could recite whole monologues of Shakespeare, and could quote freely from Marx. But, really, these girls thought his English accent was cute to listen to. He noticed it in class, these lazy American girls, daydreaming. They weren't listening to what he had to say, just how he said it. It made him sick. He couldn't get his point across or get them to truly appreciate the English language. By the end of his fourth year at the university, he didn't talk as much during his lectures. He let the students do more of the work then he did.
Alexis was different. She sat in the front row of his early morning class. She didn't blend in with the other female students, all wearing their usual low slung jeans, and too small tops. They each looked like they were going to cut class to go to a nightclub. They loved to display their fake boobs, most likely a graduation present from daddy. Each girl wore flashy high heels or shiny leather boots, something Henry hadn't remembered seeing almost ten years back when he was working on his bachelor's degree. No, girls nowadays were much more suggestive. Except for Alexis. Alexis' eagerness, and well written essays, reminded him of a girl named Emma, a student who he had had meetings with all over campus last semester. The top floor of the library had been their favorite meeting spot.
With its old and outdated computers, few students, and tiny pockets of sunlight, it was an ideal place to have quiet conversations without other students interrupting them. Henry had assumed something was there between them. Emma was someone to read Ezra Pound poems with. She appreciated a good essay by Foucault. All these talks had wound Henry up, and eventually he would spend more time on campus than at home, with his messenger bag in front of him, a quick fix for hiding his hard-on. Emma would blink her pink sparkly shadowed eyes, gloss her cherry colored lips, and Henry would listen to her as she talked of the poems she was writing. He had given her an A. And then, she suddenly disappeared. She no longer frequented the library. Henry had assumed she graduated, until he saw her crawling out of Professor Roswell's car at five in the morning. Henry watched as she stood next to the car, conversing with Roswell, in all of her just fucked glory, and began to feel ill.
So when Henry saw Alexis, glowing with petite and innocent beauty he was happily relieved. She diligently took notes, got good grades on the exams, and responded politely to Henry's "hello, how are you?" every morning before class. A good number of times she had bummed a cigarette off of him in the courtyard near the classroom. Her cute button nose, big periwinkle colored eyes, and thick brown highlighted hair, gave her a doll-like quality. He admired her for her academic prowess instead of the usual flaunting of the assets.
This all changed the day she wore a mini skirt to class. The torn, distressed denim mini hung off her hips, skimming her thighs at an almost scandalous level. She sat directly across from Henry in the discussion circle, her saucer cup eyes piercing into his mind. He let the students lead the discussion as he focused on Alexis' legs, which continually crossed and uncrossed.
Henry kept this image with him throughout the day. The moment his morning classes were done, he rushed to his office, thankful that the other professor he shared it with was out for the day. He sat at his desk, going through the information cards he had collected from the students on the first day of class. He had purposely put Alexis' card on the top, so he could read it as he visualized her. He began to read the card slowly. She enjoyed creative writing and for after school activities she had listed a job at Freshville supermarket. Henry had never shopped there, but was familiar with where it was. He rested his hand on his corduroy covered knee and sighed.
The knock on the door startled him out of his pre-orgasmic daydream.
"Hold on, " he mumbled, biting his words to hide the anger.
Henry opened the door with more strength than he realized he had. It flew open, slamming into the wall, and then bouncing back.
"Professor Cheshire, I'm sorry to bother you," said Emma, her tight yellow tank top lighting up the room, like a cheap neon sign. She pushed her way inside and took a seat without him asking.
Before he could reply, she continued in her sing-song voice, "I know you saw me with Roswell".
Henry nodded. Emma was irritating him already. The thought of going to the Dean with the information of her rendezvous had crossed his mind. Roswell had stopped him. He had briefly told him about the escapade, saying it was more his fault then hers. He had complimented Emma, saying her pussy had tasted like pineapple. When Henry had asked him if she had returned the oral favor, Roswell shook his head in a firm, hard, no. It was such a firm no, that Henry was afraid the man's mustache would fall off.
The more Emma talked, the less Henry listened. Instead he focused on her lips. She was turning into just a pair of full, pouting, over-glossed, not-kissable, just fuckable lips. The lips parted. They pushed together. They pulled apart, forming "Oh's."
"Let's go for a ride, you like cars," Henry said, interrupting her.
The grin on her face clearly projected sex.
"Look, don't walk with me, I don't want anyone to talk. My car is in the parking garage, so meet me at 11th and Oak, sit on the bench near the internet café. I'll be in a gray Honda," Henry said, wiping some sweat off his brow.
She nodded, and batted her eyes one last time before she left.
Henry grabbed his bag from under his desk, removed his tie, and headed towards the Anderson parking garage.
