Seduction

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There were only three things I enjoyed at university. The drama club, Mister David Deekin and Stephanie Gordon’s tits; actually that’s four isn’t it, if you include both of her tits, which I most certainly did?

So I didn’t last. I made it through the first year and a little way into the second, but that was it. I left. Mum and dad went absofuckinglutely ballistic. They tried to persuade me to go back, threatened to ground me, cut off my allowance, send me to Coventry and also, probably, looked into the possibility of having me flogged or hung drawn and quartered, fortunately that sort of sport has declined in London in recent years. I didn’t care, well I did care for I badly needed the allowance, but there was no way I could go back.

It was the childishness of my fellow students and the way we were still really treated as kids that mainly got to me. I felt so much older than them all, other than Steph. I related much easier to the lecturers and even their wives in social situation than I did my fellow students, I hated having to continue studying and the typical night out, pints of beer in a grotty pub did little for me. So I was miserable, demotivated and unhappy.

I tried to suffer it for a while but during the holidays at the end of the first year I tested the water with my parents.

“Thinking of leaving, what the hell you talking about,” my dad almost screamed looking angrier than I’d ever seen him. Angrier that is other than during the first week of my hols when they came home early and found me in, shall we call it, a compromising position? Well I guess lying on a hammock in the garden, topless with the zip of my shorts undone in the arms of a naked aroused boy is compromising isn’t it? So when I made my announcement I was already in everybody’s bad books, especially mum’s for I think she quite fancied the guy. After all the way she leered at him as he pulled his shorts and tee on was far from the disapproving look of a parent!

“You can’t just bloodywell leave. It’s bloody university not a tennis club, you know.”

Mum joined in along the same lines but with more emphasis on what her golf and bridge club friends would think. I tried with her alone knowing that if she wanted to she could persuade dad to do anything; probably by rationing her favours with him, I always thought.

She was, well is, an amazingly attractive woman. She’s only nineteen years older than me, so now and then we’re taken for sisters, although as that’s usually by waiters or men such as golf or tennis coaches or pool attendants when we’re on holiday, I have my suspicions that they’re may be a degree of flattery involved. And I’m by no means certain that the flattery doesn’t sometimes work on my mum!

Anyway, whether their flattery works on them getting into her knickers or not, mine didn’t work on persuading her to try to get at dad.

“I’m afraid he’s totally made his mind up. You know how he so much wants you to have the education he didn’t, there’s no way he’ll agree.”

So that effectively ended that little plan. So, in late September there was I bowling down the M4 in my new MINI Cooper, going back to studying English, attending my sanity check, the drama club, seeing what would happen with Mr Deekins and learning more about Stephanie’s tits.

*

I couldn’t understand it. I had no comprehension. I just couldn’t see why the other girls I hung out with during that first awful year thought a man of just over forty was ancient.

“Far too old,” one said “makes my skin crawl,” said another, “can’t see how any girl of our age could want a man old enough to be their dad,” chimed in yet another. They all seemed to agree that older men that went with girls of our age must be some sort of perv and that the younger girls that went with them were, at the least, odd.

Sitting sprawled around in the flat I was renting with six or seven other female students I said nothing. I said nothing for even as they all talked about David Deekins I was almost wetting my pants for him.

He was a lecturer, in History actually, and one of the four or five who gave their time and services to the university drama club. That had become the only place in the entire uni where I felt comfortable and where I enjoyed myself; I hadn’t got to know Steph very well at that time so the other place where I felt the same, in her arms, hadn’t yet been experienced.

As we lay around drinking beer and smoking, Marlboros not dope, well mainly, so I’d said completely innocently.

“That David Deekin’s really dreamy isn’t he?”

To say the least no one agreed so I kept quiet. See the juvenile attitudes I had to contend with?

I’d somehow, probably because I had more time than anyone else for I hadn’t bothered to start studying yet, given that I thought I wouldn’t be returning, been elected the 2nd Year’s Drama Club Representative, a bit like being a school prefect I suppose, but without the silly blazer I had to wear at school. All that meant was that I represented the 2nd year on izmir escort the uni’s Drama Club Council for university wide projects and acted as the gofer on events put on by the 2nd year. Largely that meant getting agreement on the plays we would produce at Christmas and end of the year and then liaising with the lecturer who would vet what we proposed and then help us produce it. And would you believe who I had to liaise with? You got it.

“You really want to do What the Butler Saw?” He asked offering me a cigarette.

“Yes we do?”

“Hmmm,” David mused as I sat across his kitchen table from him almost quivering with excitement at being alone with him. “You’re aware of its reputation?” he asked referring to the furore that greeted its staging in the late sixties when it was booed by some audiences and condemned by many critics as being obscene.

“Of course,” I beamed, looking as coquettish as I could before adding softly in what I thought was a you can have me voice. “That’s why we want to do it.”

“What to shock?” He asked not seeming to realise my availability.

I explained that it was a lot more than to shock and with the seriousness that university applies to such topics we had an hour so discussion on the merits of Joe Orton’s rather risqué play.

“Well I’ll put it to the council, as I have to, but I can’t see they’ll turn it down so I guess you can carry on with the casting and all the other arrangements.”

“Great, thank you er,” I paused before saying. “David,” as I stared rather intently at him.

He held my gaze. He held it for just that second or two longer than was necessary. That very brief time that tells a girl so much; those moments when a woman feels that she knows what’s going through the man’s mind.

Although, I’d only got one more notch on my gun handle of sexual conquests during that first year at uni I felt so much more a woman than I had when I arrived. Why? I’ll tell you that soon, but I’ve given some clues already. Anyway with my new-found worldlywise womanliness I could tell. I knew now what men were after and how they went about getting it and so often that began with holding a girl’s gaze for just that few seconds longer. And that’s exactly what DD was doing right now. He was undressing me and thinking, ‘would she?’ He was imagining having me in his bed and considering, ‘should I try?’ He was fantasising about us having sex and contemplating. ‘What if I try and she turns me down?’

As he was doing that and I was clearing up my papers I was trying to silently say. ‘Yes.’ Trying to convey to him that my answer to whatever he wanted from me was affirmative. Yes to can I see you, yes to can we go out and yes to can I kiss you, caress you, undress you and take you to bed. And of course yes to can I fuck you?

But somehow, ten minutes later I was outside his house rather than in his bed with the door shut behind me and with none of those questions asked or answers given.

Most of the girls I was friendly with, and some of the guys come to that, were amazed at how close to us the lecturers and even the professors were. We’d all heard stories of affairs, quickies and one-night stands between students and the teaching staff, mainly female students but some men with female lecturers. Come to that there were stories of male students with male lecturers and girls with women who were on the uni staff. But then so what? That’s life and in fact it was one of the few parts of college life that actually appealed to me, for that aspect did treat us as adults.

So that gave me some assurance that my fancying of Mister Deekins wouldn’t necessarily end up as a finger job, alone in my bed.

He was married, but as his wife had some high-powered job in the Civil Service she lived in London and he went there most weekends, not all, though, I noticed, encouragingly.

“So you’re not playing the female lead then, Geraldine something isn’t it?” he asked as I leaned forward in the button up white blouse that hadn’t really got enough buttons done up. I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Yes Barclay, the doctor’s wife, I’m playing the secretary, Lisa Emery.”

“Why’s that?”

I looked at him and noted that as I did he turned his head away from where he’d obviously been staring at my chest. I smiled.

“Well you’ve read Joe’s notes to the script haven’t you?” I asked again leaning forward a little.

“Yes, yes of course I have,” he replied, again looking away, out of the window.

“Then you’ll know, won’t you, that I don’t quite have the build for that part?” I sat up straight pushing my breasts out and smiling as he laughed.

“Oh yes I see what you mean, she’s supposed to be quite large in that area isn’t she?”

I paused. I thought a moment. I actually considered taking my top off and making some smart-ass remark, but I didn’t.

“Yes, not like my tiny ones,” I said as a compromise.

David seemed to somewhat blurt out his reply as he stared at my chest.

“Well they’re not that tiny Sam.”

“No bayındır escort I suppose not,” I replied plucking up my courage and actually crossing my fingers as I, probably croaked, so nervous was I? “Some men prefer smaller don’t they?

“Yes, yes they do.”

I didn’t have the nerve to say what I was thinking and that was to ask what he preferred. That, I felt would have been too much, too soon.

He went on. “So who’s playing the wife?

“Stephanie Gordon,” I told him.

Smiling he responded. “Oh well yes that makes sense.”

I smiled back as I stared right at him, with my vampish look on my face.

“Well she has got the right equipment hasn’t she………” I asked, pausing before adding softly, “David?”

He looked to me to be getting wonderfully flustered as I quite clearly verbally flirted and duelled with him.

“Er yes, yes, she has got, er um, er,” he stumbled.

“Big tits,” I blurted out.

“Well exactly.”

On something of a roll I went on. “Do you like that David?”

“What?” he said sharply.

“Big tits?”

“I don’t mind either?”

“What big or small?”

“Yes.”

“Well you’ll have the best of all worlds in the nude scenes won’t you then?”

“Are you actually going to be naked in them?”

“Yes of course that’s how the play was written wasn’t it?”

“Yes but the scenes are in bed so there’s hardly any bare flesh shown.”

“But Joe’s notes say that’s what he wanted and the scenes were censored weren’t they?

“Yes they were. Remember the play was first produced not long after the outcry about Lady Chatterly’s lover; things were so much different then.”

I was very aware of the situation then and how society’s views had changed. I was also aware of what Joe Orton had wanted from the play, for I’d studied him at some length during my A levels.

“It’s rumoured you know that he wanted the wife and the secretary to have a full on lesbian scene,” I told him.

“Yes I’ve heard that and it is strongly implied in the script.”

“Well we’re going to do that?”

“No,” he, almost, gasped.

“Well if Brookside, Emmerdale and Eastenders can have girl on girl kisses, we’re sure Bristol can, can’t we?”

“I suppose so, but maybe I should check first.”

“You mean the university might censor it?”

“No not censor.”

“Well what then?”

We discussed it for a while and he agreed that he wouldn’t mention it but reserved the right to ask for changes if he felt it was out of character for the play.

I crossed my legs knowing full well that the short denim skirt would shoot up my thighs and I lit a ciggie as I mulled over what to say next. Sitting there with him in the kitchen of his house talking about sex had got to me, as I hoped and felt it would have done to him as well. Lifting my head and blowing the smoke up towards the ceiling caused my top to be stretched across my breasts and as I lowered my face I caught him again looking at my tits. ‘It has got to him,’ I thought, feeling pleased, but still unsure how to proceed for I’d never really tried to pull a guy before. But I knew that it had to be down to me to, at least, show him a very green light. It was just too risky for a member of the university to make all the running.

“Well David,” I started hesitantly. “You could always have a preview of any of the scenes that you have a concern over. Shall we run through the script and decide them now?”

“How do you mean a preview?”

“A private showing, I suppose.”

“What just us and Stephanie?”

“Yes, where she’s in the scenes, but where she isn’t it’ll just have to be me, I suppose.”

I moved round the table and sat next to him the one copy of the fairly dog-eared script in front of us. My leg was almost touching his and our shoulders brushed against the other several times as I turned over the pages.

“I guess this is the first scene you might need to preview,” I told him opening the script.

His eyes dropped to the script and I watched him read.

‘Her hands slid the panties down her legs and she stood before the mirror naked. Her hands went to her small breasts and cupped them as she stared at her image in the mirror with such lurid thoughts going through her mind.’

“I’d forgotten that,” he said croakily.

“I hadn’t,” I replied looking at him, our arms touching our faces close. I took the bull by the horns. “Would you like a preview of that scene David?”

He simply stared at me for a while. And then magically, just as it happens in the movies, our heads moved towards the other and we were kissing. As we broke for air I heard his magical reply.

“Yes Sammi, I rather think that I would like a preview.”

And that’s how my affair with Mr Deekins, a, nearly, forty year old lecturer began.

*

David had me first time on the sofa in his study. It was a leather Chesterfield, big and comfy but bloody cold on my bare skin.

We didn’t continue following the script of What bayraklı escort the Butler Saw; that had served its purpose, it had got me where I wanted to be, in his arms, and it had got him where he wanted to be for some time, or so he told me later, in my knickers.

I guess he was pretty used to students throwing themselves at him and I know that he was used to catching a few. He certainly caught me, for as we kissed he pulled me onto his lap, his hands easily finding my unfettered breasts through the front of my blouse several buttons of which had “mysteriously” come undone. I so wanted him, but it wasn’t to be, well not right then at least.

“Sam, I don’t want to do this,” he said easing me off his lap.

“What? Why? What do you mean David?” I asked confused.

“It’s very dangerous.”

Standing just a few feet from him, my blouse still undone the right edge of it catching on my nipple, which was still hard, the left almost, but not quite covering my breast, I smiled as I said.

“Mmmmm, yes deliciously so isn’t it?”

He smiled as well. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes I do, but you seem to like me and I like you,” I said hating the words as they came out for they were so childlike.

“Yes that’s as maybe Sam, but I’m married and I’m a lecturer at the college.”

“You’re also a man David and I’m a woman,” I responded staring right into his eyes as I popped a Marlboro into my mouth, letting the blouse fall completely open as I leaned forward to light the cigarette from his match. He was staring quite unashamedly at my tits, but then I was quite unashamedly flashing them wasn’t I?

“And a very attractive one at that Sam, but you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for. It can be very complicated and messy”

“How do you mean?”

“If we have an affair?” were the stunning words he came back with.

I hadn’t really been thinking like that. An affair? That implied longer term didn’t it? It meant a commitment; emotional as well as physical involvement; cheating and lying, going behind his wife’s back and not telling my friends. None of that had occurred to me, I hadn’t thought it through. I was thinking more of having a shag now and then than of the other consequences. But of course he was right; there were all these other things to consider, especially for him. This was grown up stuff, but then it’s grown ups that have affairs isn’t it? Kids have relationships. Now he’d said it though I wanted one, yes an affair would do me nicely, it would be right up my street to have a lover and to be a mistress. How decadent and wonderfully romantic was that? Very grown up indeed.

I was smiling, probably looking inane to David as I mulled all this over, the daft thought coming into my mind of. ‘Could I now put mistress down as my occupation when asked on forms?.’

“If David?” I asked taking a drag on the ciggy and looking intriguingly at him through the smoke. Unfortunately, the intrigue look on my face rather vanished for I had a coughing fit, not being that used to smoking. “I rather thought we’d sort of started,” I went on placing my hand on my hip opening my blouse right up as I did.

“Well yes, er, yes we have sort of.”

“Well?” I asked holding the, what I thought was an incredibly sexy pose, of one hand on my hip, the other holding the fag, real Marlene Dietrich stuff!!

“Look Sam, I can’t lie to you and make out I don’t do things like that, that I haven’t had flings before and probably will in the future. I have. But I am married and that’s important to me as is my job. If an affair with a student became known I’d probably lose both. That’s a big, big risk.”

“So it mustn’t come out then, must it?” I said simply and I hoped meaningfully and sincerely. Smiling I added. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” as I moved closer to him.

As I stood there, no more than a meter or so from this attractive forty-year old man, I felt so excited. As I offered myself to him, as I sort of flaunted my body at him, flashed my bare breasts at him and as, effectively, I seduced him I have to admit, I felt great. It really was an amazing turn on to. Inexplicable and completely outside my experience, it gave me such strong sensations to be doing something that I’d always previously sort of frowned on and had thought was something I’d never do. To be putting myself on a platter and basically saying to a guy, ‘you can have me’ was so far outside my moral code, if they’re the right words, that in an odd way it became acceptable. Not just acceptable, but also arousing, stimulating, challenging and somehow empowering. I felt powerful and for the first time in my sexual life, in charge. I was directing proceedings, making things happen, doing what I wanted; I was, I suppose, using terms I hardly knew the full meaning of, dominating him as he became my submissive.

My eyes not leaving his for a second I slipped the blouse off and gently let it fall to the floor. I placed my hands on my breasts as I closed the space between us and stood looking down at him sitting on the high backed chair his legs, in the corduroy trousers so popular with uni lecturers, slightly open. Caressing my boobs I stood so that my knees were touching his. He didn’t say a word so I decided silence was the best policy.

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