In what I could only believe was a further effort to piss me off, Langely refused to review my class material choices in the classroom. He required me to come by his office before I left campus. It was bad enough that I had to endure him five times a week for more than an hour at a time. Now I had to use up some of my own precious spare time to cater to his superior posturing.
And it was never just, "Yes" or "No" and "See ya". He always had some personal comment to pass, some observation or direction he felt I needed. My speech was too crude, I should avoid vulgarity. My clothes were unfeminine, hadn't I ever heard of dresses? Why didn't I ever wear makeup? I bit the inside of my mouth till it was raw. I was truly surprised when my free checkup at the college clinic showed normal blood pressure and no sign of ulcers.
It didn't help that I was failing Number Theory. Not struggling, failing. I'd never failed academically in my life. Kurt wanted to help, but admitted that anything more complicated than Algebra I was beyond his grasp. I had to start looking for a tutor.
No one in any of my other classes was taking Number Theory, as it was a senior credit course. In desperation, I finally tacked up a pleading card on the bulletin board in the student center.
The afternoon I'd put up the card, I went to Langely's office for approval of a themed collection of short stories I was to review. I'd been tempted to pick Nightmares and Dreamscapes, by Stephen King, but I knew it would be vetoed. Instead I chose a collection of Poe. I might as well enjoy it, and even Langely had to admit that Poe was a Writer, with a capital W.
I opened the door, without knocking, and leaned in. Langely once again slammed his briefcase shut. His face was flushed. You know I'm coming, I thought. Why the hell don't you put your porn away earlier, if it embarrasses you? I silently held up the book.
"I've asked you before to knock and wait, Miss Benoit."
"Whatever. How about this one?"
"Come in."
I gritted my teeth in impatience. "Look, can't you just give me the approval and let me get on with my life?"
"Come in and sit down."
"Fine." I did so, ungraciously sinking onto the love seat and folding my arms belligerently. I wasn't about to sit in that straight backed chair, like a supplicant.
"Your work is suffering." I scowled, looking away from him. "Miss Benoit, your work is falling off. That last pop quiz barely escaped a C. That would be perfectly acceptable for some students, but not for you."
"You're not my daddy, Professor Langely."
"No, I'm not. I'm your teacher. And your performance reflects on my abilities. Now, why are you struggling like this?"
I just glared at him. He already showed far too much interest in my personal life. I wasn't about to give him any more access.
He slid an index card out of his jacket pocket and twirled it in his fingers. "Could this have anything to do with it?"
I looked. No, I wasn't mistaken. "What are you doing with that?"
"I saw you put it up, and I read it. You're failing math, aren't you? That's why you're so distracted lately."
"I don't need you to remind me of my troubles. Why did you take that down? How am I supposed to get help now?"
"I'll tutor you."
I laughed then. I couldn't help it. "You're going to help me? Excuse me, but isn't your field English?"
"My grade point average in mathematics was 3.89. I can help you."
"Probably. The question before us is why would you? Or, more importantly, why would I want you to?"
"Answer to the first question, I've already told you that I hate to see you squandering your mind. Answer to the second... you really don't have any choice, do you?" I stared at him. His voice was measured, smooth. "I've looked into your situation. You barely qualified financially for your assistance, but you don't make enough to continue your education without it. And that continued support depends on your grades. You've been doing well in your other classes, but the stress of math is making you slip. If you don't get your grade up there, your average will be below a C, and your finances will be cut off. That pretty well sums it up, doesn't it?"
I wasn't going to admit it, not aloud. But he knew he was right, I could tell by his smug expression. "Don't try to tell me you're doing this out of the goodness of your soul."
"No. You won't believe this, Miss Benoit, but I enjoy being around you."
"You're right. I don't believe it."
"It doesn't matter whether you do or not. The fact remains...you need me. I can make sure you finish the semester with an acceptable grade point average."
"I can always find someone else."
"You can't find anyone else who'll be as effective as I will, and you know it." He cocked his head, and smiled, "Quit struggling against the inevitable. I'll tutor you Monday and Wednesday afternoons at, say six, in the library, and after class on Thursdays. Bring your text. And the Poe collection is acceptable. You can go now." He picked up a sheaf of papers and began flipping through them.
I stood up and took a deep, trembling breath, then said slowly "Mother fucking, cock sucking, arrogant, son of a bitch bastard."
Without looking up he said, "That's Professor mother fucking, cock sucking, arrogant, son of a bitch bastard."
I managed to leave without killing him.
I discussed it with Kurt. I discussed everything with Kurt. He might whip some poor craving bastard pink before ramrodding him, but he was a remarkably sensitive and supportive friend. "I don't see any way out, Emmie. Unless you'd like for me to kick his ass for you?"
"You're sweet, but I guess not. The really shitty thing about it is, he's right. He probably is the best one to tutor me, at least academically. I just hope I don't die of apoplexy before the semester is over."
So now I was spending at least eight prolonged sessions a week with Langely. He'd also begun frequenting the library during my shift. I'd look up from a stack of cards I was sorting, or a cart of books I was shelving to find him nearby. I began to feel haunted. It wasn't scary, really. Not like I was being stalked. It was just confusing.
The first Thursday night, we went to his office for the tutoring session, as the library was closed by that time. He sat beside me on the love seat, and attempted to force the concept of fermatic numbers on me. My mind resisted like a woman being raped. It just didn't make sense to me. Finally I began to get a faint concept of what he was talking about.
By that time I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. When we were done, I left the office and made my way toward the building's back exit. It was spooky. There are few places as quiet as a deserted school.
I heard him behind me, locking his door. Then the rapid clatter of his footsteps as he caught up and fell into step beside me. "You ought to park in the front lot when you're going to be leaving at night. It's much safer."
"I'm walking home."
"No, you're not. I'll drive you."
We were close to the door. "No. I don't want to ride with you. I don't like being around you, haven't you got that yet?"
"That's as may be. But I can't let you risk being raped and killed by some lunatic just because you don't like me. I have to insist."
"What? Do you plan on dragging me into your car?"
"I'd hope that wouldn't be necessary."
At the door, I stopped to look at him in amazement. "You're some piece of work, Professor. You don't have to worry about me. Someone's waiting to walk me home."
We pushed out into the cool, moonlit back parking lot. Kurt was at the empty bike rack, his butt propped on the top rail. He stood up and came over, eyeing Langely curiously.
"See? I'll be perfectly safe."
I turned to Langely, and was shocked by what I saw. His face was paper white in the pale moonlight There was no color, except for the blue green blaze of his eyes. They looked... hurt. And then he looked at Kurt, and there was an unmistakable flare of hatred. No, anger. No, hatred was the right word after all.
"I see." He walked past us quickly and went to his car. The door make a gunshot sound when he slammed it. Gravel arced several feet into the air as his tires spun, and rubber smoked on the asphalt when he hit the road.
"Well. You see what I mean, Kurt?"
Kurt nodded. "He's jealous."
My jaw almost hit my chest. "Jealous?"
"Of course. I'm not bragging, but I'm familiar with the signs of a jealous lover."
"You've cracked." I accused. We started walking home. "You're as potty as a hippie commune in the sixties."
"Come on, Emmie, don't be so naive. You mentioned that he seems to take an unusual interest in your personal life, how he's always just happening to show up."
"I'm his pet project, Kurt. His academic charity case."
"Pffft." Kurt made a rude noise. "That kind of man doesn't do charity. He only deals with someone if he thinks they have something for him, or they interest him. I think it's both with you."
At home, he brought me a cup of hot tea and pulled off my shoes and socks, massaging my sore ankle soothingly. I sat with all three cats cuddled on top of me. Mika had climbed my shirtfront, gone down inside, and was nestled in my cleavage, purring contentedly. The only problem was that every now and then he decided to 'make biscuits', kneading me with his paws. The booger needed a nail clipping.
"You've been talking about him for weeks," Kurt gently manipulated my toes, stretching out tense muscles. "But I didn't know who you meant till I saw him tonight. I know him."
"Sure, he's been teaching for years."
"No, not like that. I know him from my scene. Not intimately, just in passing, you know? He used to be with Mademoiselle Sacristy, and I've done a vid or two with her. I think he was round the set once."
"Oh, well I guess that explains it. At least the fucking control freak part."
"You do realize he's acting very proprietary toward you?"
I thought about it. You know what I want, so just give in and do it. Quit struggling against the inevitable. I have to insist. The times I'd turned around to find him staring.
"Son of a bitch." I said meditatively. "Kurt?"
"Um?" He gave my sole a kiss, lowering my right foot and picking up my left.
"I think...I think it was Langely who made that obscene phone call. He'd just been there at the door, remember? I accidentally flashed him a little nipple with that old housecoat. And he has a cell phone, I've seen it. I think he went back out to his car, dialed me up, and masturbated while I talked to him."
"That sounds logical. And hot." Kurt licked my instep.
My foot twitched, and I giggled. "You're tickling."
"Any other signs?" He ran gentle, nipping kisses across the top of my foot. Looked like I was about to discover another one of Kurt's kinks.
"I'm not sure, unless... He always has a sex magazine of some sort open in his briefcase when I come to his office. I never see what it is, but you can't miss the type, with those big, glossy photos. And he knows I'm going to be there. So he'd have plenty of time to put it away before I got there. Do you suppose he wants me to see it? Want's me to know he's been looking at dirty pictures before I came in?"
"I wouldn't doubt it." Kurt watched me questioningly as he unzipped his fly with one hand. I didn't make any comment. I just wiggled my toes against his palm. Kurt pushed down his pants and shorts, freeing his genitals. He drew the sole of my foot against them. I began to move my foot carefully, flexing and wiggling. "In fact, he's probably exposing himself under the desk, at least part of the time."
"Langely?" I marveled. "That's hard to believe. He's always so cold."
"He wasn't cold tonight, was he?" Kurt held my food against his rigid cock with both hands as he ground slowly against it. His detached conversation coupled with his carnal actions was incredibly erotic.
"No, I guess he wasn't."
He took my foot away from his erection and sucked each toe, then lavishly licked the sole and applied it to his throbbing dick again. "You need to examine your feelings for him, and decide what you're going to do."
"I'm going to endure him till the end of the semester."
His hips moved smoothly, and he made a small, satisfied noise "No, you two are going to be something to each other. There's no telling what, but there's too much of a spark there for nothing to come of it." Kurt snatched a handful of Kleenex from a box on the table and caught his spunk as he orgasmed He wiped my foot, cleaned himself, and tucked his equipment back into safe keeping. Then he sat beside me on the couch and plucked Mika out of my cleavage. "Bad kitty. Don't stick mama."
"He doesn't mean it. He's just a baby, and he wants attention." I paused, thinking of Langely. Then I shook my head. No, some things were too ridiculous to consider.
