But then my mind returned to pragmatism. “Get dressed. In case there’s another knock.”
“Good call.”
He slid out of me, a sense of hollow emptiness replacing his hard length. We dressed with quick, efficient motions, and then he helped me pick up the exam papers that were scattered all over the desk and floor.
“Some of these are, uh, dirty,” he said.
I grimaced when I saw what he meant. Half a dozen exams had dark wet stains on them.
“I’ll worry about it later,” I said, shoving them into an empty drawer.
When I turned back around, Jace braced me by the shoulders and stared at me with a frown.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“You look like you just had sex.” His fingers dove into my hair, sweeping it back and brushing down a few strands. “There. That’s better.”
His hand paused on my cheek. We stared at each other for a long, sensual moment. Then he rounded my desk and sank into the guest chair. It felt like a symbolic return to our proper roles.
Except for the satisfied smile he was wearing.
“You should probably go,” I said. “In case that student comes back and jiggles the handle some more.”
“Now I can tell you actually want me to,” Jace said. “Leave, I mean.”
The funny thing was that I didn’t. I wanted him to stay. To extend the moment, to cuddle in his arms, to feel the warmth of his chest press into my skin and heat my body again.
But instead of saying that, I only nodded.
Jace rose, gave me another suggestive smile—one that now had alotmore context to it—and then picked up his backpack from the floor by the door. “Have a great weekend, Professor.”
With a final wink, he opened the door and disappeared out into the hallway.
I sat there for a long while, allowing my heart rate to settle. Then I got up and went down the hall to the women’s restroom to clean up. When I returned, I lingered in my office doorway, watching the students and faculty passing by between classes. The University was still continuing on, oblivious to what had just happened in my office.
An excited shiver ran through my body.
Nobody knows what we just did.
It was thrilling. It was wrong, and immoral, and wasn’t the kind of person I thought I was… butoh my Godwas it thrilling!
Nobody else came to my office hours that afternoon. I went to my final class of the week, settling into the routine. Welcoming the class, discussing the previous reading assignment, and then diving into my lecture.
But the entire time, I kept thinking:I had sex with a student.
The thing was that Jace didn’tfeellike a student. He was basically my age. We’d met before he appeared in my class onthe first day of the semester. He was mature and confident in a way that few of the Freshman on campus were.
Yet he was still my student.
As I packed up my stuff and walked across campus, it felt like my entire worldview had changed. Yes, what we had done was technically wrong. That hadn’t changed at all. And I did feel some lingering guilt about the whole thing. But with a body full of post-orgasm hormones, I could already feel myself rationalizing what had happened.
We were both adults.
He was only my student until May.
I was self-aware enough to ensure I didn’t give him any special treatment in class. I would continue grading his papers as if he were just another student who meant nothing to me. It was probably a good idea to grade all tests and papers blindly, covering up the name to ensure I didn’t let any subconscious biases affect things.
And just like that, the guilt faded.
