The Applicant: Who Really Interviewed?

Author's note: I've changed the names of the actual people and places for everyone's protection, and I've been deliberately vague about a few dates. You'll soon understand why that is necessary. Not everyone believes in the incredible power of real love, and that's likely the reason so many settle instead for so much less. If the people who work with me figure out that I'm the man in this story, I'm certain they'll think I'm mentally and emotionally unbalanced. They're already openly concerned about what I did. Real love is truly much more powerful than most people believe. Not me. Not anymore.

I'm a professor of biochemistry at a medium-sized university. Our department is growing, and we recently began the process of hiring a colleague. We were seeking a young biochemist who was just finishing graduate school. Because two-thirds of our job is classroom teaching, we were also looking for someone who had teaching experience. About a dozen qualified applicants had applied for the position, and we had read their r‚sum‚s carefully. We had conducted telephone interviews with six of them, and we had finally trimmed their number to three for on-campus interviews.

A few weeks earlier, two of the three had presented papers at our national convention, and I had traveled a considerable distance to attend. I had wanted to see how they presented their work in order to assess their capabilities both as teachers as well as colleagues. I was the only member of our department attending the meetings because my colleagues had to cover my classes in my absence. (Being the senior professor in a department does have its perquisites!) I checked into my room at the conference center, picked up my credentials at the convention desk, and noted the rooms and times when our two applicants would be talking. Then I went to the hotel's gym and worked out for over an hour. I've always kept myself in shape. Since I don't have a family, I have plenty of time for exercise.

The first of these two presentations was by a young man named Aaron Thompson, and he was excellent. He described his recent research with both enthusiasm and clarity, and I was properly impressed. My field had advanced rapidly in recent years, and I was almost completely out-of-date. I felt certain that he could help get me back into research and publishing, things I had always loved (in conjunction with my teaching) but had somehow abandoned. I knew it would feel strange to have a colleague more than a quarter-century younger become my "teacher," but I was reasonably confident that Aaron could assume that role and work with me effectively.

But it was the talk presented by the second candidate, a young woman named Sarah Nottingham, that completely confused and bewildered me. The session began normally. I found a seat near the back in a large lecture hall, and I began looking around to see if I knew anyone. I didn't.

There were two people presenting before Sarah, and I listened to their talks with interest, even though I was trying to guess which woman on the front row - which I couldn't see very well - was our candidate. As the second presenter sat down, a pretty young woman stood up and moved to the front of the room. Although I had intended to pay close attention to what she said, that quickly became an impossibility. I became incredibly aroused as soon as I saw her. I stared at her and I could feel my heart pounding as my blood pressure rose.

As she walked to the lectern, her movements were smooth and supple, almost feline. She was slender, with small breasts and long legs. My erection stiffened until it was as hard as any I could ever recall. The front of my pants had bulged out, so I hastily covered my lap with a handful of papers that I had been carrying. As she gave her talk, she moved back and forth between the lectern and an overhead projector. I was unable to think about anything except how her body would look undressed. Each time she leaned over and I caught a glimpse of her brassiere under her blouse, I felt my penis pulse. My testicles began to throb, and I was so incredibly turned on I was afraid I was going to embarrass myself.

What the hell was going on? Over the years I had seen dozens of truly overtly sexual women give presentation. Some of them had been provocatively dressed, but I had never reacted this way to them! Was I thinking of the power I would have over her if she joined our department? Did I think I could use that power to trade sex for a positive tenure revue? Was I that kind of predator? I really didn't believe I was so evil, but my throbbing penis belied my claims I was really a nice guy. I really wanted to make love to a complete stranger!

I was at least thirty feet from Sarah, yet even from that distance everything about her excited me - her voice, her movements, even her professional and non- provocative clothing. Twice in my life I had reacted to women this way. The first to arouse this all-consuming raw lust had been my ninth-grade English teacher, and the second had been my only real love, Liz. This young woman was half my age, so what the hell was going on? She wouldn't willingly make herself available to me for sex! Was I losing my mind? My penis and balls continued to throb as she mouthed words that I didn't hear. I thought about how it would feel to kiss her and press my body against hers and undress her and feel . . .

I closed my eyes and I experienced an abrupt, vivid memory of a naked Liz sitting on my lap, facing me, as she slowly raised and lowered herself on my penis. I could see her stiff nipples bouncing gently on her tiny breasts as she moved. I could hear the little sounds she made in her throat as my penis moved inside her. The memory was so intensely real I could even feel her vagina squeezing my penis as she moved up and down. Since I had lost Liz, I had never had such incredibly vivid erotic images of her like this - not even when I masturbated. What the hell was going on? I felt pressure building in my groin, and I knew I was just moments from ejaculating. Liz's body began the trembling that always preceded her orgasms, and I felt my balls pulling up tight against my shaft.

The sound of applause as Sarah concluded her remarks jolted me into reality from my dream. I opened my eyes, and all I had remaining from the dream was a painful and throbbing groin. At least I was no longer dreaming about having sex with Liz! But I was still so aroused it had become almost unbearable to be still. I felt hot, and my breath was coming in short, quick gasps. My heart was pounding as fast as did when I exercised.

Sarah had been the last presenter in the session, and the room began to empty. I was still painfully erect and unable to stand up, so I remained sitting and I watched her. Doing so only made my condition worse. She was intelligent, pretty, and incredibly sexually attractive to me. But why? What had brought about my incredible lust? The memory of making love to Liz? If that were so, why was I still staring at Sarah?

Several people talked to Sarah briefly, but in a few minutes I was alone in the lecture hall with her. I watched as she finished packing up her notes. She looked up and saw me sitting alone near the back of the room, and she froze and stared at me, clearly surprised. Her face flashed red for a moment. Then she smiled. "Was there something you wanted to ask me about my talk?" She inquired.

There was something odd - almost mocking - in the tone of her voice, as if she had known I would stay until everyone else had gone. Another dark blush briefly appeared on her face and quickly vanished. I thought I saw her tremble for a moment. Perhaps my presence made her apprehensive. Perhaps she could sense that I was overcome with lust for her. Perhaps I was losing my mind!

I shook my head. My penis was still throbbing painfully, and I felt dizzy. In spite of the air conditioning I felt overheated and my entire body was slightly sweaty. When I answered her, my voice sounded as if it came from a great distance, rather than from inside me. The room was beginning to spin as I looked directly at her. "No, your talk was excellent. I just wanted to introduce myself. Forgive me for not standing. I'm feeling a little faint. You'll be interviewing with us in a couple of weeks. I'm Mike Steward from Podeski College." I was feeling more and more disoriented as the room spun faster. Sarah picked up her briefcase and purse and walked toward me. As she approached, I felt heat and tension building once again in my groin. She extended her hand. "Dr. Steward! I'm so glad you were able to attend my talk. I'm looking forward . . ."

I looked into Sarah's alert, intelligent eyes. They were beautiful! As inappropriate as it would normally have been, I was unexpectedly acutely disappointed she hadn't called me by my first name! I foolishly wanted her to acknowledge the dreamlike intimate connection I had felt with her! As I shook her hand, I felt a sudden shock go through me, almost like a jolt of electricity. There was a roaring in my ears and I couldn't hear anything else she said. I stared deeply into her eyes and I almost blacked out. I felt wave after wave of heat erupting from my groin and spreading through my body. Did she know what she was doing to me? Was it deliberate on her part? Was it some sort of spell? Or was I having some kind of seizure?

Sarah released my hand and gave me a worried look. I saw her mouth moving, but all I could hear was the screaming roar inside my head. I took a deep breath and I gradually began to hear again as the roaring subsided. " . . . sure you're all right? Should I call someone? Your wife?" I heard her ask as she pointed to the wedding ring on my finger. I looked down and saw my left hand twitching and bouncing against my thigh. My wedding ring sparkled brightly on my finger in the direct light from an overhead spotlight.

I let out a long sigh. "No, I think I'll be fine. I'll just sit her for a few minutes until whatever . . . that was . . . is over. Thanks for being concerned. And I no longer have . . . a wife. She died a . . . a long . . . a very long time ago."

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" She said. "Are you sure you don't want me to get help?"

I again stared into her eyes and it felt as if she were pulling me inside her mind. She gave me a sudden, knowing smile, and I knew she realized I was overwhelmingly sexually attracted to her. My hand was no longer trembling and I took another deep breath. I nodded.

"If you're certain you're okay, I'll be going. I'm meeting some friends for dinner. If I don't see you here again, I'll see you soon at Podeski. Thanks for coming to my talk!"

I told Sarah I was fine. She seemed to be perspiring. Her face was red and she looked overheated, almost excited. I didn't want her to leave, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. After looking at me for a few seconds she smiled and gave a little wave, then turned and left the room. I stared at the captivating movements of her shapely behind as she walked away. The absence of pain in my groin made me realize that my penis was no longer hard. I lifted the papers I had held in my lap to conceal my erection, and there was a gigantic wet spot spreading slowly across the front of my slacks. I sat alone in the room, smelling my cum, trying to figure out what had just happened to me. Was this the onset of senility? Why had Sarah Nottingham affected me this way?

After several minutes of sitting, I felt almost normal. Well, as normal as I could feel sitting alone in my cum-soaked pants. I stumbled to the back of the room and poured two pitchers of ice-cold water on myself. The shock of the cold water on my body helped clear my head. I soaked my shirt and made my pants wet from my waist to my knees. I left the room, muttering aloud about "slippery water pitchers." I hoped I fooled the people who saw me as I hurried to my room. Given the aroma of cum I exuded, anyone who came close to me almost certainly knew I was really a dirty old man.

I quickly undressed and rinsed the cum out of my clothes. I took a shower, then went out for a quick meal. Confusing sexual thoughts of both Liz and Sarah swept through my consciousness as I ate. Afterwards I lay naked on my back on my bed. I closed my eyes and thought about what had happened in the lecture hall. My vivid memory of having sex with Liz immediately returned. As my penis stiffened, I gently rubbed myself as I dreamed about making love to her again. Then her hair changed color and her face changed to Sarah's. I began to fantasize that it was Sarah, not Liz, riding my cock and moaning. This image was so incredibly intense it only took a few minutes of slow stroking to produce another intense ejaculation.

Once again I nearly blacked out. When I recovered, I needed another shower. There was cum all over my chest, and there were also some cum spots on the bed. I hadn't ejaculated so much - or so quickly - in more than a quarter century. Again I wondered what the hell was going on? Sarah's figure was nearly the same as Liz's had been, but Sarah had dark hair and Liz had been a natural blonde. Certainly their faces were dissimilar, and their voices were pitched completely differently. Their body shape was all they appeared to have in common. Was that all that had been required to evoke such intensely erotic memories of my long-dead love? Given the number of similarly-built young women in my classes, why had something like this never happened to me before?

The conference ended two days later, but even though I constantly looked for her, I didn't see Sarah again. Each morning and evening I masturbated, using her as my imaginary partner. Each time I would first imagine I was having sex with Liz, but then I could feel the dream change so that it was Sarah who was naked in my arms. My ejaculations continued to be both powerful and voluminous. I felt guilty that I was using these vivid, new images of Liz to enable me to climax while thinking about having sex with someone else. But the intensity of my ejaculations was extremely addictive and beguiling.

I returned home, and, with the exception of the upcoming pressure of interviewing and selecting a potential colleague, life almost resumed its normal routine. There was one marked change. Nearly every morning as I awoke, I dreamed of making love to Liz. Similar dreams had occurred occasionally in the past, but this was the first time I could remember them happening on so many consecutive days. During each dream I masturbated to ejaculation, with a clear image of Liz as the object of my passion. This, too, had been normal, although since my unexplained reaction to Sarah, the sexual memories were now sharp, bright, and graphic. I also could "hear" Liz's moans and the wet sounds of our sexual activities.

Because I was single, I had always had time to take advantage of the workout machines in the campus gym. My hair was turning gray, but my waist had remained the same since I had been twenty years old. I was in great shape for a guy my age, but the others in the workout room must have wondered what demons I was exorcizing as I exercised that week! Several people asked me why I was pushing myself so hard, but I just laughed their questions aside. How could I tell them I was afraid of having lustful thoughts about a young woman who was coming to interview?

I deceived myself into believing there was no connection between my frantic exercise and Sarah's pending visit to campus. I really believed that I had recovered from whatever Sarah had caused to happen to me at the conference. Sarah was completely out of my erotic thoughts. I could now enjoy intensely satisfying fantasy sex with Liz without guilt or concern. Of course I was naively and completely wrong.

We began on-campus interviews with our three finalists two weeks after I returned from the conference. The first two were men, and not surprisingly Aaron was the apparent favorite. Sarah was our third and final candidate. She had postponed her interview for nearly a week, thereby delaying our final decision. My colleagues asked me to compare her talk at the conference with Aaron's, and I lied and told them into believing I had missed it entirely. How could I possibly explain the real reason I hadn't heard her speak? I doubted they would believe anyone of my age was capable of such intense passion! I certainly knew they wouldn't understand why I was beating off every morning while dreaming about making love to my dead wife! Hell, I didn't understand it myself!

I was aware of the day of the week Sarah was coming, and as it approached I began worrying about my possible intense sexual reaction to her. This concern kept me from noticing the precise date when she was due to arrive. It was only later that I realized it was the first year since Liz had died that I had not dreaded the approach of that date.

The night before Sarah's interview I slept fitfully. I awoke several times after dreaming about Liz, and each time my penis was fully erect and leaking pre- cum. That morning, for the first time since the conference, I did not masturbate. Sarah's interview day had begun and my mind was in turmoil. I hoped I would be able to control my reaction to her, but I was afraid I might embarrass both of us. My artificial confidence that she would no longer affect me had completely evaporated.

Fortunately my class schedule prevented me from seeing much of Sarah during the day. Between classes, but always being careful to be in the company of several colleagues, I managed to briefly chat with her. As I had feared, each time I did so I became intensely aroused as soon as she looked at me. I sensed that she was aware of my reaction to her, but nobody else appeared to notice. Certainly none of the other men reacted as I did! What was causing me to respond to her this way? I was twice her age, for God's sake! Her similarity to Liz was at best superficial!

In mid-afternoon I locked my office door and sat at my desk. I read through her file, hoping to find - a clue? Something? I found her name, Sarah E. Nottingham, followed by her date of birth, on one of her university transcripts. Her birth date wasn't a date I recognized, but there was something about it that was familiar. I couldn't remember why, and it bothered me. I struggled with this puzzle for several minutes as I worked my way through her reference letters, but I couldn't figure out why her date of birth might have any significance. Perhaps I was simply concerned that her birth date made precise the huge difference in our ages. Yes, I was indeed twice her age. But realizing that fact didn't seem to satisfy my nagging worries.

I was working my way through her file a second time when I happened to glance at the calendar on the wall. I felt as if I had been hit in the stomach and I immediately began to perspire. I felt my abdomen tighten, and I tasted acid in my throat. Today was the twenty-eighth anniversary of my Dark Day. With abrupt clarity I realized that Sarah's birthday was on the same-numbered day, but three months earlier. Was that what had bothered me about her birth date? The same day, but in a different month? But why?

As my stomach continued to churn, I felt a familiar sadness welling up inside me and I ignored the puzzle of Sarah's birth date. My worrying about her visit had caused me to completely forget about the Dark Day - for the first time, ever. Then, as always happened on this date, incredibly vivid images of the Dark Day filled my mind. I crossed my arms on my desk and laid my face down on them, and I began to weep. I cried, alone in my office, filled with a sense of complete and total hopelessness. I couldn't help remembering those terrible events of nearly three decades earlier.

My Dark Day. I had met Liz in my fourth year of graduate school at Ohio State. From the first time we had talked we had known we belonged together, forever. We had found a tiny off-campus apartment and moved in. Our lovemaking had been frequent, intense, and completely uninhibited. After more than two years of living together, we had married in a small ceremony. Because we had almost no money, we had honeymooned by camping outdoors, in a borrowed tent, at a secluded campsite a few miles from campus. It had been our fist time making love without protection, and that extra intimacy had fueled our already powerful passionate love to a level which had completely overwhelmed us. Each time my semen had splashed inside Liz, the excited glow on her face and her special cry of joy had made my love for her feel almost unbearably powerful.