Anna And The Sexologist

I set down my cup of tea with a sigh as I logged in to the computer and opened both e-mail accounts - mine, and my adviser's, which I checked for him each morning. Another day, another pile of work. But wait - was there something here, something other than the usual spam and messages from colleagues?

Yes! I couldn't believe the news - the two e-mails we'd been hoping for, and they arrived on the same day. Not only had our paper been accepted by the journal, finally, after all those edits, but we'd also received an invitation to present at the upcoming national conference! Finally, some payoff for all the hard work, and something tangible to share with the friends and family who'd been mocking me and my work for the past year.

John wouldn't be in the office for another twenty minutes, so I had a chance to read the messages thoroughly, soaking in our success. Perhaps I should share a little background, to catch you up?

My name's Anna, and I'm a grad student, studying with one of the pre-eminent American sexologists. Yes, yes, I know. Go ahead and snicker, I'm used to it. But it's a legitimate field of study. Ever heard of Kinsey? Well, his work made a world of difference, bringing previously taboo topics into the scientific arena, and scholars today continue to expand on his work and branch out into entirely new areas.

But hey, who am I trying to convince? I'm proud of the work I've done, and the position I've found myself in at such a young age. By day, I'm surrounded by prominent scholars who treat me as an equal, and I am the only grad student John has ever taken on as a research assistant.

But, that said, it can be awkward. My friends tease me incessantly. My parents, while proud, don't like to discuss what I do, and blush whenever I talk about work. Trying to meet a guy is a crazy roller-coaster ride between two extremes: those who assume I'm a wild nympho, willing to try anything, to those who are afraid I'll whip out a ruler and laugh once I discover their dick is smaller than average.

Anyway, all that said, I was bouncing off the walls at this morning's news. Our paper, "Societal acceptance and pervasiveness of oragenitalism in America's cities: 1900-2000," would be appearing in print next month. John's name would of course be listed first, but I would actually be listed as a second author, not just in the footnotes.

Oh, and just in case I lost you with that title, it's basically an oral sex study. We compiled existing data from Kinsey and other historical sources with new research, from various surveys to interviews that John and I conducted ourselves. Our work analyzes both the societal attitudes towards certain practices, and also the practices themselves.

It was actually the interviews, and my transcriptions of them, which caused John to give me such a prominent role in this particular project. Once he trained me in his interviewing philosophy and methods, it was quickly obvious to both of us that many subjects felt more comfortable talking to me, a young woman, than to him, an older man. He was also very impressed with my writing, and since he didn't give such praise lightly, I was extremely proud of the trust he placed in me to actually write much of the paper once our research data was compiled.

Ah, here he was, finally. As John walked in, setting down his coffee cup and briefcase in their usual places, I couldn't help but notice how attractive he really was. He exuded confidence and brilliance, and his body revealed how he spent his time when away from his research - he was fit and tan from his love of all sorts of outdoor activities. He was 42 and married - to his work, that is - and our relationship was as professional as they come. Ironic, really, two attractive, single people working together on sex research, yet he never made a move.

"John, we got some great news this morning - the paper has been accepted, and you've been asked to speak at the conference in Chicago!"

"Ah, great news. Congratulations, Anna, your first major publication!" I half-hoped for a hug, but he interrupted that daydream with a gesture more typical of him, an enthusiastic handshake.

"I hope you don't think I'd leave you behind for Chicago? You'll come with me, of course?"

"Well, I was planning to attend anyway, to hear the presentations."

"No, Anna, I want you to be there with me to present the work. This project is yours just as much as mine. Now, I know I have a big ego, and I appreciate that you respect it, but I really do want to share the limelight on this one. You've earned it."

Giggling at his dry humor, I thanked him and immediately began work on the presentation we'd give at the conference. The next few weeks were spent pouring over my notes, pulling out a few particularly interesting interview subjects which John wanted to focus on in a panel discussion. He asked me to focus specifically on mazophallism and clitorilingus - I wasn't sure why he had picked those particular examples, but I'd long since learned not to ask such questions; I'm sure he had a good reason.

Oh - you need definitions? Mazophallism is masturbating the penis between a woman's breasts. Clitorilingus is oral sex performed on a woman, focusing on the clitoris. Forgive me, but I prefer to use the more academic terms. Otherwise, with my sorry excuse for a sex life, I tend to get turned on just thinking about these things, and lose my focus when I'm supposed to be working!

Anyway, the conference finally came. We arrived at the high-rise hotel just off Michigan Avenue, and lucked out with rooms on the 14th floor with a fabulous view of the lake and the city skyline - thankfully, because we hardly had time to leave the hotel. It was a flurry of activity as John and I attended a non-stop flurry of presentations, lunches, dinners, panel discussions, and finally, on the last full day, gave our own talk.

John introduced our work, explained the project, and then turned the microphone over to me and my pounding heart and sweating palms. It wasn't that I was a nervous public speaker, because I wasn't; I just suddenly felt the pressure of presenting our joint work. I handled it well, taking a deep breath and launching in to my prepared speech. I answered a few questions, John summarized our presentation, and then with applause and innumerable handshakes, I was back in my hotel room, changing out of my dressy clothes and packing for the flight home the next morning.

There was a knock at my door. "Who is it?" I asked as I approached the door, not expecting anyone so late.

"It's John."

"Oh, OK, hang on!" I made a quick decision that I would be decent enough to let him in if I firmly tied my bathrobe, and then opened the door to find him standing before me with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

"Room service?" he said with a smile.

"You didn't have to do this, John!"

"Actually, Anna, I did. You've had far too little celebration, considering how hard you've worked on this project."

"OK, I'll accept that. One glass of champagne, please!"

"So, Anna," he said as we sipped the sweet bubbly, "thanks for finding those great examples from our interview subjects. They were exactly what I wanted."

"Oh, you're welcome. Now that the presentation is over, can I ask why you singled out those two practices?"

"Well, frankly, because they're my favorite. There's nothing that turns me on more than going down on a woman, bringing her to orgasm, and then reaching my own climax between her beautiful breasts."

Now, you have to understand, strange as it may sound, I didn't automatically assume this was an invitation to sex. If any other man said these words to me, I'm sure I would have, but with John, it was different. We'd maintained a completely professional relationship to this point, and after all, it wasn't exactly unusual for us to discuss sex.

But this encounter was different than any we'd had before. And not just because we were alone in a hotel room, drinking, with me naked under my tightly-cinched bathrobe. There was a look in his eye I'd never seen before. This wasn't hard-working, all-business, nationally-recognized scholar John. This was horny John. John who had just shared with me a desire that involved pleasuring me orally. And it was turning me on like crazy.

I could feel myself blush as his eyes moved over me, from my curly brown hair which cascaded down over my shoulders, to my nipples, now making themselves obvious even through the plush fabric of the robe, to my tanned legs, exposing my nakedness. I nodded ever so slightly as he reached for his belt and he smiled at my subtle invitation.

I took his glass and set it next to mine on the table, then slowly backed up to the bed, where I sat down, never taking my eyes off his. I watched with fascination as he undressed before me, studying first his torso, his strong arms and hands, then watching as he pulled off his slacks and boxers, freeing his impressive cock to jut out from his body. Suddenly overdressed, I quickly pulled at the ties of my bathrobe, standing up to free myself from the fabric, and John stepped forward to pull me into a passionate kiss.

As his lips and tongue explored mine, he gradually moved me back to the bed, where I again sat down. His kisses now moved to my ear, down my neck, slowly exploring my shoulder, then down to my tits, pausing to suck and lick each nipple for a moment, before again moving on. He now climbed onto the bed, kneeling next to me, and gently spread my legs with his big, strong hands, his fingers teasing my inner thighs as he kissed around my navel.

He had yet to touch my pussy, yet I was already burning hot and wet. I could feel myself, almost out of my own control, squirming in an attempt to meet his touch, and yet he maintained his deliberate and gentle pace, moving ever closer to the source of my desire. Finally, his fingers reached my pussy lips, and he began stroking them, still avoiding my clit, still avoiding any penetration.

I couldn't believe the anticipation as he slowly intensified his touch, gradually pulling my lips apart and exposing my wet pussy and clit to the air. I felt his weight shift on the bed, and eagerly pushed towards him, expecting his tongue on my clit. But again, he was more patient, and instead of his tongue, I felt a cool air as he blew gently on my clit.

As I squirmed beneath him, he began to alternate the blowing with occasional touches to my clit with his tongue, each one so brief as to merely titillate, never allowing me to completely let go. Meanwhile, two of his fingers were exploring the entrance to my pussy, pressing without actually penetrating. The pleasure was overwhelming, already surpassing anything I had felt before, and yet I knew I was still climbing towards a higher, more profound climax.

Finally, he buried his face against me, sucking on my clit, pulling it into his mouth and gently rolling it between his tongue and teeth. I couldn't help but moan loudly, unable to form words as I reached the start of a huge orgasm. At the perfect moment, he thrust his two exploring fingers firmly into my pussy and began fucking me. But the true source of my pleasure was his expert tongue on my clit. I cried out, bucking wildly on the bed as I came.

Before I had completely come down from this incredible sexual high, he climbed off the bed, pulled me to the edge, and thrust his hard cock into me in one smooth motion. I gasped as he filled me, expecting him to fuck me, but then I remembered his fantasy. He moved in and out of me a few times, but then pulled out, his cock lubricated with my juices.

I knew what he wanted next, and positioned myself to give him the best access. I moved to the head of the bed, laid my head on the pillows, and pressed my 34C tits together for him. He practically jumped on top of me, his knees meeting my elbows, and pressed his cock between my breasts. His first motions were slow, allowing me time to explore the tip of his cock with my tongue, tasting my own juices and hearing him moan with pleasure at my touch.

Gradually he began thrusting faster and faster, my juices allowing him to slip easily between my luscious breasts. I pressed my tits together more firmly, and he pinched my nipples firmly in thanks for the change in sensation.

"Oh, yes, Anna, that's it. I'm going to cum! I'm going to cum all over your gorgeous chest."

After a few more thrusts, he jerked, arched his back, and shot an enormous load of cum all over my chest. I caught what I could in my mouth, eager to taste him, as he massaged his sticky cum into my tits.

"So," he said to me after we'd caught our breath, "should we document this for our next round of data collection?"

"Whatever you say, John. Now that I know your expert sexology isn't just on paper, I'm up for whatever you say."