An autumn evening and it is already dark.
I am standing in the middle of a second floor studio apartment in the center of town while it's occupant, Nelly, a 19-year old student of mine, is down on her knees sucking my cock.
Amber light from the street outside glows through the front window and falls over her face. The flowery scent of shampoo rolls off her platinum blonde hair as her head oscillates back and forth.
Perhaps this story is all too typical, the young, single adjunct professor fresh from his doctoral studies, having an affair with one of his students. The story would be typical if it weren't for the fact that while Nelly is devouring my cock, her twenty-one year old lesbian sister, Uli, is kneeling behind me eating my ass.
I look around Nelly's apartment and try to take it all in, to verify that it is real. There is a well-worn green fabric sofa up against the wall, potted plants on the marble window sill, and the pride flag hanging in the doorway between the bedroom and the sitting area—which I assume is more a symbol of Nelly's acceptance of her sister's lifestyle than anything else.
So how did I end up here?
It all started with a dare.
Nelly dropped by my office one Tuesday afternoon to ask me a question about her thesis on the rise of Dutch feminism during the Northern Renaissance. But when she sauntered into my office that day and slouched down on the old vinyl chair next to my desk, there was something about her that told me she was not really here to talk about the intricate details of Dutch feminism during the Northern Renaissance.
It was in her eyes. The way she looked at me with those ice blue eyes set wide in her innocent round face — they were not the same eyes that looked up at me while I lectured. Right now they radiated a deviousness that belied the previous innocent facade.
She would ask me a question then sit back nonchalantly and wait for my reply. Her lips pressed together in a squiggly pout as she contemplated my answer.
"I don't know, I mean one thing I don't get is how Vermeer portrays women in his paintings, you know, with their glistening eyes and moist lips he attempts to show them as independent sexual beings, but yet they are locked in by the cool, controlled order of the rooms doing domestic chores."
"Good observations, but don't you think the images are at the same time liberating?" I shot back.
"Maybe, but they are still prisoners."
I let out a little laugh.
"Now you're making fun of me."
"I'm sorry, I wasn't making fun of you," I said, sitting forward in my chair trying to recover from my gaffe.
"Then what is it that I don't understand?" she continued.
"Well, Vermeer is complicated."
"I can tell."
"Behind those polished surfaces is a mix of contradictions. He paints life in the physical sense as it presents itself to us while at the same time conveys some of its underlying contradictions."
"Oh, you mean he's a bullshitter?"
I laughed again, but this time she genuinely amused me.
"Now, that's a good one."
"Thank you," she returned, her face lit up by a big wide smile.
I suddenly felt a connection to her. Her quick wit, her willingness to show her vulnerabilities.
"Listen, Nelly. You're a bright girl, you always have some good insights. You ask very good questions in class, and so far your writings show a keen curiosity that doesn't come natural to many students."
"Well, that must be because I have a good teacher," she said faking a modest smile.
"Thank you."
"Do I make you feel uncomfortable?" She asked after a brief pause.
"No, not really, why should I feel uncomfortable around you?"
"Come on, I mean, you're not THAT much older than me, and it's obvious we find each other attractive."
"And what makes you think that?" Oh no, this was going somewhere dangerous. Teaching jobs in art history were almost impossible to find, and whatever I did next would make the difference whether I would hold on to what I had or throw it all away.
I asked her if she had a boyfriend.
"No," she giggled.
"Why not?"
"I don't know, just haven't met the right one."
"Have you ever been in love?" I asked, hoping this would deflect the conversation away from me.
"Maybe. Well, I would say I has close once."
"But you weren't sure?" I continued.
She shrugged. "I guess I was always afraid of giving myself up totally to someone. When you're in love, you're vulnerable."
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" I changed the subject.
"An older sister."
"How old is she?"
"Ulrika is twenty one."
"Does Ulrika have a boyfriend?"
"You're trying to change the subject."
"Not really."
"Well..." she paused,"she actually has a girlfriend."
"You mean she'..."
"A lesbian?...yeah, at least that's what she says."
"What do you mean, at least that's what she says?"
"I mean, I don't know, she's been with plenty of guys. I mean, I used to catch her fucking them on our couch all the time when we were in high school. She was quite the slut, then all of sudden she was into girls."
My eyes widened. "Just like that?"
"Yeah, kind of."She leaned forward, licked her lips, then continued, "She was always into music and started a girl band when she was sixteen. I saw her kissing one of the girls one day and asked her about it, if she was a lesbian or something."
"And what did she say?"
"She just shrugged and said that one day she woke up and found a girl down there."
"What was that supposed to mean?"
"I have no idea, she can be weird like that. Saying cryptic shit that only she understands."
"You know you're really pretty." I couldn't hold back anymore.
"Thank you," she said with a giggle.
We spoke for a while about her sister, Nelly's theories on why she got into girls all of a sudden, then turned to Nelly's sex life. I learned about her first time, a boy named Peter who fucked her from behind in her bedroom. I was definitely way over the line at this point. But what the hell, I kept going.
"So, how's your sex life now?" I asked.
She puckered her lips and blew a loud raspberry and gave a thumbs down.
"Wow, that surprises me. I mean a good looking girl like you..."
