I’m telling you, you would’ve pretended too.
“I’m going to head back to work,” Professor Trask says, and looks back at me. “Ms. Christine – I hope you feel better soon,” and walks out of the examination room. My eyes follow him wistfully. Fuck, he’s got a hot ass.
“Looked your fill?” the student nurse sneers.
I ignore him and push myself off the exam table. It was time go bathe in wine and chocolate and pretend today didn’t happen. First George and his stripper lap dance, and then being humiliated in front of the sexiest professor of all time.
Yup, definitely a dark chocolate and red wine kind of day. 9:30 isn’t too early to start drinking, right?
I didn’t think so.
185
Anders
With a sigh, I open up another folder as I sit at my desk. I have to choose which student I’m going to recommend for the UN Consultancy Program from NYU, and needless to say, there’s grad students who’d give their right arm to get into that program. This isn’t going to be an easy process to choose.
This is why I seemed a bit distracted earlier when I first walked in here.
This year, I’ve been tapped to sit on the nominating and evaluation committee. The whole UN Consultancy Program is the ticket to any political science grad student’s future. You get this gig, the world is yours, literally.
You get placed in high profile United Nations programs and get facetime with world leaders. Another way to put it is this – you cannot get into this program and not become a world leader. Even if you leave public service after this, you get snapped up by corporations who will ask you to provide feedback and advice and pay you a few million a year to keep you on retainer.
Not a bad way to retire, if you ask me.
I never did it. But then again, my family has more money than God. We’re just Boston Brahmins, so we don’t show it in between doing all our Yankee things like eating lobster rolls and summering in the Cape.
In fact, it’s probably my connections and my family that made the Dean select me to be on this nominating committee. The fact that I worked at the UN might have helped too.
Each year, NYU sends one person into this United Nations program and the nominating committee then judges all applicants.
Anyone can nominate. However, students have to ask first.
And damn, with Christine Jalili’s volunteer work at the local refugee program, she’d be an amazing fit. I had mentioned the program in class the other day and told all interested students to submit a pre-application – just some info on their background and interests. Based on those pre-apps, Christine is pretty much a perfect fit for what the UN is looking for.
She’s a perfect fit for my arms too. I feel my cock stir at the thought. Yesterday, when she was in my arms, she felt…amazing. The curve of her best above her lacy red bra, her skirt hitching its way up her thighs, her softness…
I felt myself grow harder. I know I’m not supposed to be dreaming about kissing my way up my student’s thighs, but fuck. More than anything in the world, I want to know if her panties matched her bra. Were they red and lacy? Were they a thong, sliding up between he
r perfect ass cheeks?
I reach under my desk to stroke my dick through my pants. I can’t stand it anymore. It’s either jerk off or explode. I can look at student files later. For now, I have to take care of busin—
A knock on the door stopped my hand in mid-stroke. I hurriedly shove my dick to the side and scoot further underneath the desk. If I’m careful not to stand up, my visitor will have no idea I was about to spank the monkey.
I clear my throat, suddenly having a hard time talking. “Co…come in!” I get out, around the desire thrumming through me. Whoever it is can talk and then get the fuck out. It’s seven at night, I’m not on the clock according to my contract with the university, and I have a certain…need that damn well be taken care of soon or I’m gonna go cross-eyed.
The door slowly swings open and in walks…
Christine Jalili.
I scoot closer to the desk, almost cutting off my airway, just as my dick, which had been softening at the thought of no fun in the immediate future, springs back to life. I am sporting one hell of a tent pole, my 12-inch dick practically ripping a hole through my slacks, and I am now stuck hiding it beneath this desk instead of standing to greet the cause of it as good manners would dictate.
I give her a warm smile, hoping she’ll ignore my bad manners if I turn on the charm high enough. There’s always a chance…
186
Christine