The soft leather kissed the exposed flesh of her thighs. She ran her hands through her long blond hair as she studied the steely grey eyes of the 40-s...mething woman who sat across from her. ‘Would you like a glass of water, or a cup of tea?’ The woman asked, her voice deep and sultry with hints of a British accent. ”A glass of water, thanks,” Ava said as she let her gaze slip from the woman’s eyes to her rich brown hair, which was wound tightly into a spiral at the nape of her neck. Ava bit. I told her that she couldn’t continue to get away without organization. Still, her paper was, by far, the best in the class and she had earned that A. Why did this almost disappoint me? Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I’d entertained the fantasy that she would need ‘help’ if she were to pass the course—’help’ that I would be happy to supply in a private setting: In a bed, say, with both of us naked! That fantasy hadn’t reached the level of my consciousness, but it must have been there. More

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