Authors: Madeline Moore
Sarah’s eyes opened when her hand felt the swell of the other woman’s breast. But Caroline lured her back in, her mouth insistent on hers, her gaze gentle for all its intensity. She touched Sarah’s breast, above the pinafore, and kissed Sarah throughout the initial shock of a woman’s touch. Sarah didn’t know her buttons were open until Caroline’s hand slid inside her blouse and bra to cup her bare breast.
Sarah closed her eyes again.
19
THE NOTICE ON
the bulletin board said that the ethics course had been moved to the Grand Auditorium.
‘That’s crazy,’ Sarah said. ‘How many philo-nuts are we, a dozen? In a hall that seats a hundred and forty?’
Penny giggled and nudged her. ‘There’ll be more than a dozen of us this semester. Haven’t you heard? Doc Braun’s been sent to the funny farm. It seems that he’s gone totally gaga. For real.’
‘Poor guy,’ said Sarah. ‘But what’s that got to do with enrolment?’
Christopher grinned at her. ‘It’s not who’s gone, but who’s taking over, that’s drawing the crowd.’
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘We have a celebrity lecturer now – Professor Jonathon Trelawney.’
‘Is he good?’
‘Supposed to be, but it isn’t just that.’ Penny wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist and gave her a squeeze. ‘Ever have a crush on an older man, Sarah?’
Of course she had, but she wasn’t going to admit it. ‘Not really, why?’
‘If you had, he’d likely be something like our new prof. He’s tall, good-looking in a rumpled sort of way, very strict, I hear, absolutely brilliant and has an air of danger about him. Shame he’s so old, but that won’t stop some of the girls from throwing themselves at his feet.’
Whispering, Christopher confided, ‘As I hear it, at his last post, a lady teacher and a townie got into a fight over him – a real catfight, with hair pulling and everything.’
‘It happens,’ said Sarah. She was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt to cover the souvenir she had from her own catfight. ‘You’d be surprised.’
‘Why do you think he’s come here, when Harvard or Yale’d be glad to take him?’ Penny wrinkled her brow.
‘Their loss, our gain.’ Sarah shrugged.
‘He’s English,’ Christopher supplied. ‘That means he’s gay. Maybe Harvard and Yale have filled their quota of gay profs.’
‘Just because he’s English doesn’t mean he’s gay.’ Penny shook her head at Christopher. ‘He could be kinky, though,’ Penny added. ‘All Englishmen are kinky.’
‘Cut it out you two,’ said Sarah, giggling. ‘Show some respect.’
Christopher said, ‘Maybe he’s gay and kinky. A gay, kinky ethics professor would be cool, don’t you think?’
Penny got to the Grand Auditorium early and saved seats in the front row for Christopher and Sarah. By the time they arrived the hall was half-filled.
‘Look who’s at the back,’ Penny hissed.
Sarah twisted in her seat. At the very highest tier there were half a dozen profs, four women and two men. ‘They’re curious to see the new guy perform,’ she said.
‘Fans, I bet,’ Penny whispered. ‘Hoover’s gay and old Loretta’s after anything in pants. That’s two of them at least who are interested in more than Professor Trelawney’s style of lecturing.’
The auditorium fell quiet. A tall figure in a tweed jacket with leather patches at its elbows strode to the centre of the stage. He wrote on the board, ‘Ontology recapitulates phylogeny.
Post hoc, ergo propter hoc
.
Sarah sank down in her seat. John – Jonathon. Her John, her dream john, had really been a ‘Jon’ and here he was, her prof, the man whose marking she was relying on to get her degree; the man she’d been fantasizing about in her dreams. The man who’d …
Thank goodness she was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with
no
make-up. Maybe he wouldn’t recognise her? For an entire semester? Who was she kidding!
He turned to face his audience. Sarah lifted her notebook to half obscure her crimson face.
He started, ‘First, I would like to thank my learned colleagues at the back for showing up to support me during my first lecture at Seneca.’
Christopher nudged Sarah. ‘Gay, def-in-ite-ly gay.’
She elbowed him back, harder than was necessary.
Penny whispered, ‘Doesn’t that accent simply make you tingle?’
Professor Trelawney continued, ‘For the rest of you, I have good news and bad news. The good news is, I don’t give a damn about attendance. Many renowned scholars achieved academic success without ever attending a lecture. Can anyone name one?’
Christopher’s hand shot up, drawing Jonathon’s unwelcome attention to the area that Sarah sat in.
‘Yes, young man?’
‘You, sir?’
Jonathon grinned. ‘Thank you for that unsubtle sycophancy, but I was thinking of such luminaries as T E Lawrence – Lawrence of Arabia – and Sir Richard Francis Burton – translator of
The Arabian Nights
, among other things.’
Christopher muttered, ‘Gay, like I said.’
‘The bad news is,’ Jonathon went on, ‘that I expect my students to think, to use their intelligence. Bear with me while I explain what I mean by “intelligence”.’
At the end of his first lecture, most of which failed to penetrate Sarah’s funk, Jonathon drew their attention back to the words he’d written on the board. ‘I’d like you to consider these statements,’ he said. ‘How do they relate to each other? Do they have a relationship? Does either contradict the other? Think about those questions and write your thoughts down for me, perhaps two thousand words? By Friday at noon?’
The students saluted him with the traditional groan, applauded and filed out. Sarah scurried to the door, bent over as if in pain which, in a way, she was.
* * *
That night in her bed, in the misty zone between fantasising and dreaming, Sarah imagined that she’d been summoned to Jonathon’s study. She wasn’t the least surprised to find that he’d had two whipping posts set up. He did have a reputation as something of a disciplinarian, after all. Without any transition, she was tied, spreadeagled, between the posts. The dress she was wearing was gauzy, white, flowing and virtually transparent. Beneath it, she was nude.
Jonathon took an old-fashioned crook-handled schoolmaster’s cane from a rack. He circled Sarah, describing her many shortcomings in humiliating detail. He paused behind her but she could still see him clearly from some out-of-body viewpoint. He slashed the cane down, ripping the fabric of her dress from just below her bottom to its hem. She flinched even though the cane hadn’t touched her skin. He resumed pacing, then slashed again. The tip of his cane tore her dress from side to side, just below the swell of her breasts. She pushed her chest out in an effort to seduce him away from punishing her further, but in vain. The cane whipped again and again, reducing her dress to shreds and then slicing the tatters away to leave her totally naked but completely unmarked.
Dream-Jon tossed his cane aside and was instantly nude, or perhaps he’d been naked all along and she just hadn’t noticed. He embraced Sarah. She had just enough time to be aware of his burning shaft, pressed against her cool belly, before she experienced a hard little climax and woke up with her fists clenched between her thighs.
The next morning there was a note for Sarah, asking her to drop by Jonathon’s study at four-thirty, if it wasn’t inconvenient. Was her dream about to come true?
She didn’t have the chance to get home and change but she did touch up her make-up before reporting as ‘invited’. She knocked.
He called, ‘Come in.’
Jonathon was seated behind his desk so she didn’t have to decide whether or not to run into his arms. He said, ‘Take a seat, please, Sarah.’
She sat, hands in her lap, twiddling her thumbs.
He smiled. ‘We have a slightly uncomfortable situation here.’
‘Yes, Jon.’
‘Best call me “sir” or “Professor Trelawney”, like the other students do.’
‘Yes, Professor Trelawney.’
‘Our past relationship, brief as it was – it’d be unfortunate for both of us if it became public knowledge.’
‘But the proctors already know. I was a gift to you from Seneca, wasn’t I?’
‘No.’
‘Then who –’
‘It’s none of your business, Sarah.’
‘Of course.’ She flushed. ‘I’d never tell a soul.’
‘Nor would I. We are agreed then? It never happened? You’re a student; I’m your professor. We met for the first time, yesterday, in the auditorium.’
‘I can keep secrets.’ She gave him a conspiratorial grin. ‘In my “other life” I have to.’
‘I understand. So, no secret looks, no innuendos between us, just our professional relationship from now on? I give you my word that my assessment of your work will not be affected one little bit, neither positively nor negatively.’
She looked up at him through her lashes and purred, ‘I was hoping …’
He shook his head. ‘Delightful as our encounter was, Sarah, and even if things were different, on a professor’s salary, I couldn’t possibly afford you.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Explain then.’
‘We – I know I was paid, but I felt, um, there was a connection, wasn’t there? You and me? A fit? Something more?’
‘I won’t deny that I felt more emotional involvement with you than the circumstances of our meeting warranted. Had we met some other way – but no – that wouldn’t have worked, either. You’re my student, so off-limits.’
‘I’m twenty-one, an adult, and you know I’m no little innocent.’
‘Sarah, I’m incredibly flattered. Our encounter was great, but we can’t possibly resume our relationship.’
‘Why not? You want me, don’t you? I want you.’ She pressed on. ‘Jesus, Jon, you made me come to the count of ten! Don’t tell me we weren’t connected then.’
He smiled. ‘That was a matter of pain and Play-O and, more than anything, luck.’
‘I see.’ Her voice wavered. ‘Strange. This is the first time you’ve truly humiliated me.’ Tears welled in her eyes.
‘Sarah. Please. It’s a matter of ethics. We “fit” as you say, because of our natures: me dominant, you submissive. No ethical dominant will take advantage of a dependent relationship. That means no doctor and patient; boss and employee.’ He smiled.’ No Scout master and Boy Scout, priest and parishioner, and especially, no tutor and pupil. Can you understand that?’
‘It would be against your morals?’
‘I have no morals, just ethics, which are much more binding.’
Sarah blinked back a tear. ‘But I think, I lo –’
‘Don’t say it. In any case, at the most, what you feel is infatuation.’
‘Is not!’
‘Don’t sulk.’
‘Or you’ll spank me?’
Jonathon sighed. ‘Sarah, is this the way it is going to be? Are you going to be coming on to me every time I lecture? If so, you’re going to make my life very difficult.’
Sarah dropped her eyes. ‘Sorry. No, I won’t come on to you, I promise, not overtly. I can’t make the same promise about covertly.’ She raised her eyes again and gazed directly into his. ‘Just remember, Professor Trelawney, every minute I spend in your class I’ll be wanting you. Any time you change your mind about your ethics, all you have to do is crook your finger and I’ll be yours, any way you want me.’
His face was stone. ‘Then, the situation is this, we keep our past secret, but you intend to torment me in any unobtrusive way that you can. I’ll treat you as just another student and will
be
impervious to your subtle seductions.’ He sighed. ‘The unfortunate thing is, this conflict that you insist on will inevitably sour us against each other. We’re going to end up detesting each other, and that’s sad. It’ll sully some very happy memories, on my part, if not on yours.’
Sarah made fists. ‘You … You … You man you!’ She got up and ran from the room before she broke down in tears.
20
‘SARAH. NANCY. COME
in.’ Veronica’s voice was carefully neutral.
The two girls, who had been left in the waiting room for what seemed like an eternity, rose as one. They shuffled into Veronica’s office. Craig was already inside, seated on an armless chair. He was holding a crop. Veronica closed the door behind them.
‘I think you know why I’ve asked you both to come in. I’ve just been informed that your behaviour on New Year’s Eve was a shockingly poor representation of Classique.’ Veronica slowly circled the girls as she spoke.
‘That bastard said he wasn’t gonna tell,’ griped Nancy. ‘What a jerk.’
‘I thought Mrs Pettifer was a satisfied customer, too.’ Sarah flushed as she remembered the brief but intense make-out session she’d spent with Caroline.
‘The Pettifers did not complain, happily. Nonetheless your dreadful behaviour has been drawn to my attention. Comments?’
‘Who was it, then? Mimi? Andrea? Those bitches.’ Nancy’s voice rose. ‘Or was it Naomi – I saw her there and she’s a vicious gossip –’
‘Not gossip. Fact. My girls, rolling on the floor, clawing and scratching at each other. Classique girls.’ Veronica shuddered. The image is seared into my brain.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Sarah. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘No, it won’t,’ said Veronica. ‘Have you any guesses about the identity of my informant, Sarah?’
Sarah shrugged. ‘Not really. Does it matter?’
‘You have no guesses because you don’t know any of my girls. Isn’t that right?’
‘Um, well, I’m an independent worker –’ Sarah faltered.
‘Not a team player,’ stated Veronica. ‘That may be fine in your other life, but here at Classique I expect my girls to back each other up. Understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Sarah hung her head. ‘I shouldn’t have made Nancy look stupid. But how do you think I felt, showing up dressed as Dorothy?’
‘Nancy? Any ideas on how Sarah ended up with such an inappropriate costume?’
‘I was rushing around and I guess I grabbed the wrong one.’ Nancy jutted out her jaw. ‘I was just trying to do you a favour, Veronica, and –’
The swish of the crop slicing air cut short her explanation. Nancy glanced at Craig, flushing furiously.
‘I’m sorely tempted to let you both go, but I’ll give you one more chance. No more back-stabbing. No more idiocy. Understood?’
‘Yes, Veronica,’ whispered Nancy. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the crop, which was once again settled across Craig’s knees.