Maggie, 37, had gotten her full professorship a few years back - and with it came an immense level of leverage. She had made a name for herself studying the life cycles of fauna in controlled forests. It attracted a lot of funding from logging companies and exposed her to many wood-be brawny executives, over whom she often enjoyed delicately exerting her intellect.
She was establishing her research group in Montreal now, and had found an enthusiastic young student to aid her in tracking the progress of an elusive species of salamander in northern New York State.
Mark had graduated early, so he was a bit young for a researcher at 21. Maggie found him intriguing. He was shy, but hard to keep quiet once he got on a subject he found interesting. Lately it was his newest hobby - cultivating an elaborate orchid garden.
He was wiry, a bit effeminate. She didn't think he could grow a beard.
Maggie would often sit on the bleachers at the track smoking cigarettes, watching the young athletes move. It was a good respite from negotiating with the loggers. It was there that she first saw him. Standing there, he didn't look like much. But he had an incredibly fluid gait when he ran.
"You know those are bad for you, right?" He said. She uncrossed her legs, turned her head to the side, which opened her white blouse a bit, and re-crossed her legs as she blew out the smoke - acknowledging him with her indifference. This was a typical tactic for her when initially dealing with men.
A few weeks later he showed up at her office. She liked that he had spoken very highly of her research in his plea to join her group, so she decided to give him a shot. She liked that he hadn't looked down her blouse once - despite her unbuttoning it at the top just prior to his arrival. Over the next six months, he turned out to be one of her more productive students.
It was 3:30 in the morning when she pulled up to his apartment. Barely awake, he got into her car, and immediately fell asleep.
He woke up when she opened the passenger door - he nearly fell out. "Mornin', sunshine", she joked. He tried to wring the sleep from his eyes as he stumbled out. They gathered their things and set off into the woods in search of the red-backed salamander they were tracking. The sun was due to rise in maybe 30 minutes.
Navigating in the murky dawn was not entirely easy, as they soon had to get off trail to make their way to the habitat. Mark held his tongue, and Maggie had learned to exude confidence at all costs. The sun did come up, but the forest was dense, and covered in a thick mist. Going from a dark haze to a lighter haze was not much improvement.
Her phone was no use - the canopy too thick for GPS. Without a clear view of the sun, there was no real way to orient oneself.
"I feel like I've seen this tree before," he said, pointing at one with a hunting camera strapped to it. She felt she had, too. She was starting to get annoyed with herself. She had no idea where they were, and it wasn't really clear which way led back to the trail.
"I think we should head this way," He said, pointing...somewhere.
"Mark, we're going to make it just fine, I just need a minute."
"OK", he said. He knew better than to argue with her. He sat down against a tree, after clearing a spot of any dew soaked leaves, and pulled out a small sketchbook and started scribbling.
Maggie set her pack down and leaned against a tree across from him. With a big sigh, she raised her arms to run fingers through her long, blonde hair. Her breasts, pushed down by her sports bra, followed her shoulders. They crested beautifully at the sleeves of her tank top. She lit a cigarette, holding her elbow in her hand, and calmed herself as she watched Mark draw in his book.
"What are you drawing?" she asked, carelessly tossing the butt aside.
"Oh, just doodling."
"Let me see," she said as she squatted down in front of him.
"Uh no!" He rushed to put the book behind his back, but not before she snatched it from him.
"Come on now, Mark, I just want to see." She flipped through his book and it sent chills down her spine.
It was all vulvae. Various shapes, shades, age, levels of pubic hair growth... all drawn meticulously from the same point of view, as if it were a catalog of species. Below each one, a latin-like phrase - "Puritas Tara", "Sucus ex Mars", "Tumidam Laura", ... and "Glabber Maggie"
She looked up; his hands covered his face. "Hey," she said, "is this me?"
"No," he said, uncovering his face as if to wipe the shame off it. "I met that Maggie on Saturday."
She liked that he was so calm about it. "So these are vulvae you've seen?"
"I love women," he explained. "I go out to bars, or with friends, and I find one that I feel could use a compliment. Then I go talk to them, and get to know them a bit, and tell them that I think they're beautiful. I find some feature about them that is unique and I talk about it like it's the best thing that I've ever seen. And it really feels like it is."
"Huh." she said, surprised that he would say so much. "It seems like you've been dying to talk about this, Mark." She snickered.
"People don't get it," he said as he snatched back his book.
"No, I'm interested! Tell me more." She looked down for a bit before she sat in front of him, her chin on her knees.
"Well, like Maggie, for example. She was really tall - taller than me. Kind of moved awkwardly, but I thought it was adorable. She had prominent freckles and those kinds of glasses that are really thick and make your eyes look huge."
