Office Hours

I raised my hand nervously and knocked on his door. It wasn’t technically office hours, being close to the end of the day, but I was hoping he’d be in. I had to ask him about my essay topic, and it wasn’t going to be easy. I didn’t seem to be able to find my words when he was around.

There was the sound of a chair pushing back on creaky wheels, a pause, and then the door opened a few inches. His tawny eyes peered out from under that mop of chestnut hair. A crooked smile flashed onto his face. “Indigo,” he acknowledged me. The door opened wider, revealing him. A soft blue cotton shirt, collar open one button. Khakis broken in to the point of being comfortable, without being too shabby for the faculty.

“Hi, Dr. Dee.” My heart jumped. “Uhh, is this an okay time?”

“Sure. What is it about?”

“Oh, ummm… my essay topic. I wanted to check with you on… something.” Watching his kind eyes, I felt a flash of confidence.

“Why don’t you come in and sit down?” The door swung all the way open. He motioned me towards a wooden chair, standard issue for the university, beside the desk.

I had to step past him, just a centimetre or two from brushing against him with my arm. The skin on my shoulder tingled.

I seated myself, and he also took his seat on the wooden swivel chair at his desk. Looking anywhere but at him directly, I took in the space he called his own. The wall opposite the door was a nearly floor-to-ceiling window, but all the other walls (and above his desk) were lined with bookshelves, crammed full. A couple of stacks of books teetered beside the desk, which was itself surprisingly uncluttered. His keyboard, a notebook, a few pens, and sticky notes were laid out beside a few slim volumes of poetry.

“So, what topic are you considering?” he asked casually.

Looking at him, I felt my pulse quicken. Oh dear, this is really not good, I thought. He’s not even trying to be handsome, but I find him so irresistible. What are you doing, get out of here now! My inner voice warned. Seeing his head cocked to one side, a curious and gentle look on his face, made the words come back to me all at once and tumble out.

“I’m going to write about how the submissive female is viewed as a victim in critical analysis, but güngören escort with a broader understanding of feminist values, we can see space for both submissiveness and dominance as choices that denote strength on the part of women. And that liberates the dominant male voice from being one of oppressor, to being part of a functioning dyad allowing broader expression of personal identity within a dynamic of exchange. I want to find examples in modern literature that show this.”

My face had reddened progressively as I spoke. There was a moment of silence and inwardly I cringed. His curious and gentle look had morphed into a curious and slightly bemused look. Oh no, I thought. How much of that actually came out of my mouth? Did I make it sound like I was talking about literature, not the other things that had started crossing my mind the minute I set foot in his classroom this fall?

“Well, that’s an interesting topic,” he noted, lightly. His eyes didn’t leave me. I was painfully aware of my slight lack of breath that made my chest seem to shake. “Do you think this – what did you say, dyad? – do you think this dyad including the dominant male voice is congruent with feminist values, then?”

“Oh that depends, sir, uh I mean, Dr. Dee,” I responded quickly, without giving a second thought. “When paired with some women, certainly. But that’s what feminism gives us – choice.”

“Choice in what way, would you say?”

“Well, choice…” I stammered, running low on courage. “In how you want to relate…”

“… Yes?” He prompted me, pushing me to finish my thought.

Deep breath. “In how you want to relate to a man,” I blurted hastily. Again, a moment of silence, but this time his curiosity had turned to more of an assessing look, those tawny eyes boring right into me.

What was this? I wanted to have a whole other kind of conversation with this man: a conversation that definitely wasn’t condoned by the faculty. I looked back up at him, checking to see if my radar was correctly picking up this intensity. When our eyes met, though, he seemed to shake himself mentally and slip back into professor mode. The intense stare was replaced by a mild smile, then: “well that should be an interesting essay. I look forward halkalı escort to what you find.” He turned his head and looked away quickly, towards the door, and then back to his computer. I felt dismissed.

Standing up, I brushed my hands down to smooth out my skirt. I stepped forward into the door frame, and then halted. There was something here, I felt. I didn’t want to leave. Slowly, I pivoted on the balls of my feet. “Sir?”

He looked up at me again, this time for quite a few seconds, as if he were waiting to see if I was going to say something more, or lose my nerve and leave. After about fifteen seconds of silence, he answered, “why don’t you come in and close the door, Indigo.” He watched me from his chair, observing me swallow hard, then step forward into the room. I reached behind me and closed the door softly, looking over my shoulder to note that the hallway was deserted. I stood back against the closed door, my hands clasped in front of me nervously.

“What do you want now, Indigo?” he asked. My mouth felt dry and my heart was beating a little harder than normal.

“You, Sir.” I couldn’t tear my eyes off the floor to look at him directly. I cringed inside. What possessed me to say that?

“I’m your professor, Indigo. Surely you know I can’t take advantage of my position.”

“Yes, Sir.” The disappointment in my voice was obvious.

“I can’t approach a student that way, or ask them to do things for me like that.”

“No, Sir.”

“I’m very sure that I can’t initiate any kind of personal contact, which I think is what you’re looking for, isn’t it, Indigo?” He moved closer on his chair, taking him into my line of sight, and he looked up into my eyes, daring me to look away.

“Uh, yes, Sir.” My voice shook. This was humiliating.

He paused, then rose to his feet. He stood about four inches taller than me. He blocked my view to the window, standing just two feet from me. Close enough to reach out and touch, but I mustn’t.

“You would have to be very clear about what you’re asking of me,” he spoke again, in a low voice, slowly. “I would have to be very certain of your consent. Otherwise you and I would both be in a great deal of trouble.”

He was offering me a içerenköy escort chance. Here was a way that I could have what I longed for – him to touch me, to have me – if only I could find the courage to ask.

“Oh… Yes Sir, I see.”

“What do you want then, Indigo?”

“I want you to… touch me.”

“In what way?”

“To dominate me, Sir.” There. It was out. My insides felt wobbly.

“Yes, Indigo, I figured that out five minutes ago.” Now he was stern. “Specifically in what way?”

“You’re going to make me say it?” My voice rose, frightened.

“Yes. You have to say it all. Each step. Otherwise I cannot be certain of your consent.” He had leaned closer and his mouth was just a foot away, speaking into my ear with a commanding tone. “I will only do what you specifically, clearly ask me to do. Use your words.”

I inhaled deeply, quivering because of his closeness. Each step, he said. What comes first? Exhale.

I looked up at him.

“Hold my jaw then.”

“Is that how you are going to ask?”

“Oh…no. Will you hold my jaw, please Sir?”

He reached up swiftly and took my jaw, holding it his fingers with enough firmness to make me quickly breathe in through my nose. He tilted my head somewhat, staring down at me with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, and?”

“Kiss me, please.”

“Kiss you…how?”

“Kiss me like you own me, Sir.”

His mouth came down on mine hard, passionately, leaving me in little doubt: he wanted this as much as I did. His lips pushed mine open, his tongue invading, moving quickly, taking me off balance. Each time I tried to respond, he’d push me harder, while using his hand on my jaw to control how I moved against him. Eventually I yielded, allowing him to plunder my mouth freely. That passiveness seemed to be what he wanted, as he gradually slowed his assault and then, as I was ready to melt to the floor, he pulled away.

My head fell back, my mouth still open. I was gasping for air and my eyes were barely seeing. He stood over me, just one hand still holding my face. A knowing smile spread across his face. He leaned in close to my ear, his skin brushing my cheek. I could feel the roughness of five o’clock shadow against my soft skin. His mouth, right against my ear, caused a bolt of urgency to shoot through me. I leaned forward against him, nearly onto my tip-toes, as he held me there in anticipation. My hands spread open wide, and then made fists at my sides. I moaned, but it was more like a purr.

“Now, Indigo, what more do you want?”