’ I kissed her face, her cheeks and forehead and her chin before letting my lips rest once more lightly against hers, probing between her half open lips to find and gently touch the tip of my tongue against hers. It was almost déjà vu. As she had done in the ladies room at the restaurant she started to slide down me until she was kneeling between my feet her hands tugging at my belt and then slowly drawing down the fly zip of my trousers. She looked up into my face smiling, and without taking her sorcerous eyes from mine, nudged and tugged until she had drawn my trousers, shorts and socks away and my prick was standing stiffly erect between us the tip level with her face. She touched it with one finger, ‘It is nicer than I remembered,’ she leaned forward and lightly kissed the tip, a fluttery, butterfly touch which made me gasp. Her hand curled softly but firmly around my prick and she started to work it up and down the length, just lightly squeezing as she reached that sensitive. Doing something. I stood there, imitating a statue (except for the lack of pigeons, but I felt I'd been shat upon altogether sufficiently already). She came back with a bag, which she dropped by the front door. "G-get your d-dress and g-get out!" she said. Oh. My stuff, in the bag. I flinched when she called it 'my' dress, but not even the powerful yearning within me was enough to convince me to touch the damned thing.I wanted to say something, but when she opened the door, the choice was pretty clear. Shame-faced, I slunk out, picking up the bag on the way. It occurred to me, then, with a sinking feeling, that she must have cleared her stuff out already. In anticipation. That brought it home to me: the relationship was *over*. I barely made it to my car before I started crying.It cleared my head a little. It occurred to me that she had a very complete file on me, if she wished to blackmail me, or make me lose my job. Junior faculty can wear long hair, and maybe even get away with an.
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