"One easy way to tell a cetacean from a fish is by the tail. A fish's tail is vertical, straight up and down. The tail of a cetacean, like a dolphin, is horizontal; it spreads out from side to side."
I'm listening to Dr. Demarbre give a lecture to a crowd of visitors to the Dolphin Institute in Honolulu, where I'm doing an internship while working on a Master's degree with a concentration on the behavior of social animals. I'm just along for the ride, and much of what she's telling the group is review for me, which is a good thing, because I can't concentrate, because I can't stop thinking about fucking Dr. Demarbre.
It started this morning, when we were introduced. It's my first day at the Institute, and she'll be supervising my internship. She greeted me in the lobby, and I was surprised to be met by someone so young, or at least who seemed to be young; I really have no idea how old she is. She's quite small and lean, and her face is unlined, betraying no indication of her age. She's completely businesslike, but I just couldn't help it; being a man, I immediately had to start sizing her up as sexual partner.
Well, my first thought was, "She's not my type at all." As I say, she's lean, skinny even, with an almost entirely flat chest, though the air conditioning did make her nipples stand out through her polyester shirt, which is always enticing. She wears her long, straight chestnut hair pulled back from a relatively plain face, with thin lips, hazel eyes peering out through wire-rimmed glasses, and a long beaky nose (though this last wasn't necessarily a problem. Have you ever seen Streisand in "What's Up Doc?"?
Damn
.) It didn't really hit me, though, until she turned around to lead me on a tour of the facility, and that's when I saw her ass.
In contrast to the rest of her frame, her buttocks were like twin soccer balls, straining against the fabric of her khakis. I was riveted, and instantly the image sprang into my mind of bending her over, and my hands tightly cupping those twin globes, raising their flesh between my fingers, as I drove my... well, you get the idea.
What can I say? The oddest things sometimes attract me, and I was hooked. I was only half-aware of the tour, unable to pull my gaze from that glorious, tight-yet-fully-rounded behind waggling in front of me, and the fantasies it engendered in my libidinous mind.
"You'll also notice the dolphins lack gills on their sides, like fish have. Instead, cetaceans breathe air directly through the blowhole on top of the head."
Blow. Hole. If she weren't talking about dolphins, I'd be convinced she was doing this on purpose.
Her lecture goes on for another twenty-five minutes, taking in the major interest points of the Institute's public portion. Once she finishes, the crowd dissipates, and Dr. Demarbre steps up to me again. I savor a momentary mental image of my come covering her face.
"So, now you have an idea of what I do here. Working with me, you'll be expected to assist me in, and become familiar with, all these day to day activities. From time to time, I'll attach you to some other researchers and departments, where you'll do other things, some boring, some interesting. Of course, time will be provided for you to do your own research, and you'll also be allowed to run your own experiments with the dolphins, pending approval from the Director, of course. Any questions?"
Your place or mine? "When do we start?"
"Well, officially we start tomorrow morning. If you're available, though, why don't you meet me back here about 7 PM? I can show you how the place is run overnight."
"I'm at your service!" Doing my best to drop the subtlest hints possible.
"Wonderful. I have some office work to do on my own until then. In the meantime, I recommend you get some dinner; there's an excellent sushi restaurant on Memorial. See you tonight."
"By all means." She spins on one heel and stalks off down the corridor, treating me to one more long look at that gloriously swaying behind.
She wasn't wrong: the sushi is damn good. I'm distracted, though, turning over in my mind every word she said, every gesture she made throughout the day, wondering if I have some "in" there somewhere. Was there some ulterior motive in her invitation to meet her in the evening? Come on, I say, it's her workplace. There's gotta be a dozen night watchmen, and every inch of the place is probably on security camera. Besides, she's all business, focussed on nothing but her work.
You
focus on
your
work.
I can't help it, though. As I nibble a tiny construction of raw tuna, its cool pink meat, and oceany taste mingled with the tang of lemon juice, conjure a fantasy of my tongue buried up the hilt in Dr. Demarbre's pussy. I finish the meal with a hard-on.
