Some years ago, when I was in my thirties and coming out of a painful breakup, I took a
teaching job at a state university in a remote part of the country. The position was for a year; I
had no desire to teach permanently, but I felt I needed a change of scene. My old college friend
Phil had been appointed chairman of the English department, and when he heard about my situation,
he called and offered me a job. It was mid-summer and the department needed someone to teach
creative writing in the fall. The fellow I was replacing had left hastily at the end of the spring
term. This model family man, a popular teacher with a reputation in his field, had been caught
molesting one of his advisees. His faculty colleagues had winked at his misbehavior for years, but
he had finally hit on the wrong girl who refused to submit in silence. Her boyfriend and parents
had gotten involved, there were threats of a lawsuit, and a dozen other women came forward with
similar stories. The situation threatened to get out of control. Eventually, the professor and
department chair were allowed to resign, and Phil was brought in to fend off the state legislators.
Phil was an ivy league star; he must have cost them a bundle. Above all, he warned me, I had to be
discrete. There was plenty of action to be had - he himself was no celibate - but not on campus.
"Not on campus, Singer, have I made myself clear? Have I?" He almost seemed to be pleading. "And
not with the students, ever." But he needn't have worried, I knew the rules. I had no intention of
becoming involved with my students, not romantically and not sexually. I gave Phil my word. I flew
out in mid-August to find a place to live and get comfortable. I rented a furnished apartment on
the second floor of an old private house that looked out on a nature preserve owned by the
university. The back faced a squat cinder block building that housed government offices that were
busy from 9 to 5 but were deserted at night. It was much nicer than the attached suburban row
houses that most of the junior faculty lived in. During the final weeks of summer, I hiked and swam
in the nature preserve. I rarely saw anyone. In the evenings, I wandered the streets of this sleepy
university town, lingering in the deserted bars and coffee shops. If there was any action to be
had, I certainly wasn't finding it. Then suddenly, everything changed. The students began to arrive
and the streets filled up with people in their teens and twenties, young, vigorous and full of
hormones. I knew the girls were off-limits but they were impossible to ignore. They swarmed
everywhere, and since it was still summer, most of them were half-naked. I decided it was time for
me to get back into shape, and I dug out my running shoes and started each day with a workout. I
had been a high school athlete, and in college I had always done physical jobs, carpentry,
construction, loading and unloading crates. In those days I was tough and rangy, not big-boned but
solid, but I hadn't done much of anything for 10 years except bang on a keyboard. Now it felt good
to get back to my workouts and I threw myself into them. One morning, I saw myself in the window of
a Starbuck's and I was pleased. My face had clocked some mileage, I was clearly no longer young,
but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. My past was receding, my body was firming up, I was ready
for the rest of my life. Creative Writing was a prerequisite for other, more desirable courses and
there was never enough room. Students had to get my permission before they could register, and at
the beginning of each term they lined up outside my office asking, begging, wheedling for a place.
Since I hated all forms of favoritism, I promised myself that I would not follow in the steps of my
disgraced predecessor, I would not take this opportunity to stock the class with beautiful and
interesting women. I would choose those students who needed the class most. On the other hand, I
was not going to turn away a promising writer just because she happened to have a gorgeous body or
beautiful tits or a luscious ass. That wasn't exactly fair either. I interviewed the students
individually. I read their writing samples and asked them about their interests and their majors. I
listened attentively to their hopes for the future. I felt free to flirt with the girls since I
knew it couldn't go anywhere, and some reciprocated. A few of them went to extremes, for which I
was grateful. One plump chocolate-skinned sophomore named Sylvia turned up in a low cut blouse and
skin-tight jeans, her breasts practically laid out for my inspection. They were breathtaking and
showed off just a hint of dusky areola. "Tell me about Sylvia," I purred. A criminal justice major,
thought the class might be fun, always wanted to be a writer. Her voice practically dripped sex. It
was true she didn't actually need the credits, but why hold that against her? What wouldn't I give
to nibble on those gorgeous chocolate boobies? I was soon completely hard and had to stay behind
the desk to avoid making a spectacle of myself. She slipped me her phone number in case we needed
to talk further, but why waste time on talk? I signed her registration form and kicked out some
unworthy male philosophy major. Probably a Marxist. Then there was Milena. She made an appointment
to see me and arrived 30 minutes late. She was tall and willowy, with wild spiky hair and a
middle-European accent, perhaps out of Vienna or Prague. The contrast between her graceful body and
angular hair was striking. She wore grey sweat pants, sneakers and a tee-shirt and moved like a
cat. Milena explained her situation. She was an economics major, she needed the credit, it was a
requirement, she was leaving at the end of the year, etc., etc., etc. I was unconvinced. Then she
dropped her papers and bent over to retrieve them. The material of her sweatpants stretched over
the curves of her ass. She wasn't wearing a thing underneath. Her tee shirt rode up a couple of
inches exposing a lovely swath of skin. I imagined grabbing her from behind and pressing my
hardening cock against her snatch. What color was her pubic hair? The hair on her head was black,
but what if it had been dyed and her pussy hair was naturally blond? Or red? Was it thick or
sparse? There was something to be said for both. A rich, fragrant bush spreading from cunt to navel
like an overgrown garden, or a neat little patch, fresh as new mown grass. That was the glory of
nature, so much variety, and all of it delightful. Well, maybe not all of it. I never liked
underarm hair. Did she shave her armpits? I looked up to check. Milena had retrieved her papers and
was arranging herself in the chair next to my desk. Unfortunately, the sleeves of her tee-shirt hid
her underarms. They would have to wait. She smiled back at me gamely. Evidently she was used to
being examined, most likely she enjoyed it. "I will be able to register, yes Professor...?" She
fished for my name. Her voice was high pitched, slightly nasal and, I had to admit, not entirely
pleasant. Perhaps she had a sinus infection. That was unfortunate but no reason to deny her the
chance to develop her gifts as a writer. What would it feel like to have her long, shaply legs
wrapped around my back and my dick buried up to the hilt in pussy? I managed to squeeze her into
the Tuesday-Thursday, but things were beginning to get tight. As you can see, after enduring years
of abuse from editors and publishers, a little taste of power had gone straight to my head.
Nonetheless, I managed to keep a tight rein on my impulses and refrained from acting any of them
out. I had made a promise to Phil and I intended to keep it. One evening, about 2 weeks after I
moved in, my landlady, Mrs. Guthrie called to ask if she could bring something over to the
apartment. Mrs. Guthrie was short and chubby and wore large rectangular glasses. She looked like a
soccer mom. I figured she wanted to check out what kind of tenant I was, to see for herself that I
wasn't tearing up the walls or destroying the furniture. She showed up an hour later with a six
pack and made herself comfortable on my couch. We sipped the beers and since she seemed lonely, I
let her talk. Mrs. Guthrie was divorced. I could call her Irene. Her husband had owned an ad agency
in town but had run off to New York City with his secretary, who promptly dumped him for a famous
screenwriter. He had tried to crawl back, but she would have nothing to do with him. The divorce
had left her with a number of small apartment buildings which she managed. She had one child, a
teenage daughter. As I listened to her story, I began to find Mrs. Guthrie very attractive. Who
could resist her sparkling eyes, her warm smile and infectious laugh, her voluptuous figure? When
the beers were finished, I felt not merely lustful but positively amorous towards this juicy,
affectionate divorcee. It was months since I had been with a woman, it was late and we were clearly
fated for each other. I took her hands in mine. "There's no reason for either of us to be lonely,"
I told her. I kissed her and she responded by running her tongue around my mouth. I had forgotten
what that was like. I led her to the bedroom. We lay on the bed, kissing and stroking each other,
getting more and more worked up, removing our clothing piece by piece. When we had all our clothes
off, I gazed at her lying on the bed, arms spread out in welcome, and I knew I had hit the jackpot.
Irene had one of those pleasing, utterly fuckable bodies that guarantee the survival of the
species. She could have been 35 or 50, but she had clearly worked at staying in shape. Her legs
were firm and curvy. She had short brown hair, and with her glasses off, I could see her cute pixie
face. She had a nice hairy cunt with prominent pink lips. But her true glory, or glories, were her
tits. They sagged a little now, but in their prime they must have been wondrous. They were still
nice and round, a good handful each, topped by dark red nipples that now poked out half an inch.
Her body wasn't perfect, but it fit together perfectly, and like I said, she was utterly fuckable.
I hoped she felt the same about me. Although her breasts were glorious, she didn't want them sucked
or fondled. She wanted straight-ahead fucking. My dick was very red and hard and stood straight
out, and she pulled it toward her. I lay on top of her and slowly rubbed my cock against her pussy.
The lips of her moistening cunt made a squishy sound as I teased the head of my prick back and
forth over them. Meanwhile, she stroked my cock lightly just beneath its swollen purple head. Her
touch was velvety and made me groan out loud. No one had ever touched me quite like that, teasing
me higher and higher without quite making me come. She reached around and rubbed my balls. This
made my cock pulse with excitement. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft and gently squeezed,
which made me gasp for breath. After a few minutes of this, I begged her to let me put my cock up
her cunt. She wrapped her hand around it and pressed it against her pussy. Her stroking had made my
penis swell up so much that I was doubtful about getting the head inside her. I took some time
easing it in. The walls of her pussy gripped my cock tightly, but she keep pushing it deeper, and
once we started moving she didn't want to stop. I thanked my lucky stars that I'd been masturbating
every night since my arrival, so I was able to last. She gripped my ass and guided my strokes, and
soon we found an angle and a rhythm that she liked. Our bodies began to heat up and sweat together,
and I abandoned myself to the sheer pleasure of her cunt rubbing my cock. "I love fucking you," I
gasped, as I watched my prick move in and out of her hairy snatch, "I love your gorgeous fucking
cunt, you beautiful hot fuck." She was a groaner, not a talker, and her "mmm's" and "oh's"
intoxicated me. I wanted nothing more than to fuck her for hours, and I completely lost track of
time. At some point, her breath speeded up and she moaned with each thrust, which made my cock so
hard I thought it would burst. Then her "ohs" grew louder until she screamed "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus,
oh Jesus!" She bucked against me, and all I could feel was her cunt contracting against my cock as
we moved together, while I groaned in pleasure and went hurtling over the edge of a tremendous
climax. We relaxed and lay still for a few minutes, but I was so aroused that I stayed hard inside
her, and pretty soon we went at it again. This time she rode my cock from above, and when she cried
"Oh Jesus!" she was on her knees and her breasts were dangling over my mouth. When she came the
last time, she was on her back again and I was moving on top of her, and just before her climax,
she slipped a finger in my butt. I exploded in an orgasm while my penis and butt pulsed and she
cried "Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, oh Jesus!" We shared a cigarette and let our bodies cool as we drifted
off to sleep. I was thoroughly happy. Irene didn't want a relationship, and frankly, neither did I.
We really had only one thing in common. But once or twice a month, whenever she felt lonely or
horny, she would come over and warm up my sheets. I had been hired to teach creative writing, so I
required the students to write something creative every week and sit in front of the class and read
it out loud. If you've never done this before, it can be quite difficult. Many of the students
buried their heads in their papers and mumbled inaudibly. Some became nervous and giggly. A few
were confident or naïve enough simply to read their work. After a piece was read, I would ask the
students for their reactions. This relieved me from having to actually read all of the papers and
respond to them myself. Paula was in the class that met on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. She did
not attract my attention at first, though I noticed that she had no trouble reading out loud. On
the first week, she brought in a story about a cat. When Paula was 12, she brought the animal home
from a shelter. It was a 6 week old calico kitten that she called Mitzi. Its tongue was scratchy.
The first night, it curled up on her pillow and went to sleep, but the next morning it was gone.
The family searched and searched but it had disappeared. Finally, 2 days later, the kitten emerged
from a drain pipe in the back yard, no worse for wear. This was amazingly insipid stuff, even for a
college sophomore, but midway through her reading I noticed that my cock was completely hard. There
was nothing overtly sexual about the story or for that matter about Paula. She was a
pleasant-looking girl with wavy brown hair and a friendly open face, broad-hipped without being
fat, though perhaps with a little tummy. Her breasts were medium sized but hidden by a
loose-fitting sweatshirt. Her legs and ass were covered by baggy trousers. She was completely
ordinary, and yet here I sat listening to her with a total hard on. So I tried to ignore it. It
must be some neutral physiological phenomenon like the spontaneous erections that occur overnight.
Or I had attracted some stray pherenomes from one of the more obviously carnal girls like Milena or
Sylvia, both of whom were in the class. That must be it. The next week the same thing happened.
Paula's story was entitled "My First Day at Kindergarten." She described the terror she felt at
being left by her mother in a strange place, the comforting teacher who held her in her lap, the
strange purple tiles in the bathroom, her discovery of the doll area, her dawning realization that
she actually liked being in the place, and finally, her relief when her mother arrived at the end
of the day to pick her up.

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 Halfway through, I had an enormous erection that throbbed so intensely I
could barely focus on the words. I forced myself to listen but my cock just got harder and harder
and rubbed uncomfortably against my trousers. I looked around to see if I was the only one with
this reaction. A few of the students were listening, 2 were napping, most were bored. Obviously,
whatever was going on was between Paula and me. When it happened for the third time, I was prepared
for my reaction, but that didn't make it any less intense or any less disturbing. Her story - this
time about the purchase of a used car - left me panting with excitement. My breath quickened, my
heart pounded in my throat and my penis got completely hard. I could hardly sit still.
Concentration was out of the question. That night, I got home late from a faculty meeting. The
usual idiocy. It was already dark and I didn't feel like going out for dinner. As I prepared my
food, something outside the window caught my attention. I glanced at the building across the way.
The light was on in one of the second floor offices. Someone was working late. No, that was
impossible, it was a government office. I looked up again at the square of light from across the
street. Someone appeared to be making regular back-and-forth movements, as if sawing or planing a
piece of wood. Gradually, the scene came into focus. A man and a woman were sitting in a chair. She
was in his lap and they were facing each other. I looked closer. The woman was naked from the waist
up. She wore a short skirt that was hiked way up her thighs, and she was moving up and down on the
man's prick, fucking him fast and hard. I could see her breasts bouncing up and down. Every so
often she would shake her wavy brown hair out of her face, but neither of them paused for breath,
they just kept on going and going and going. Then she threw her head back, with her mouth open in a
wordless cry, and moving in slow, hard, deliberate strokes, she came, intensely, deeply came. After
about a minute, she collapsed against the man and rested up for a bit. Then she stood up and put
her clothes on. The man got up too. From where I stood, they both looked about 18 or 20. He had
long blond hair and a well-muscled body. She had a nice shapely ass and firm athletic legs. As a
matter of fact, she looked a little like Paula. Then the light went off, and they were gone.
Watching this office quickie had made my prick very hard, but it had also disturbed me. Was it
possible that the girl really was Paula? I felt a stab of fear. What if it actually was her? It
better not be her, and why not? Because I wanted her for myself, that's why. I hadn't realized it
until now and it caught me by surprise. I wanted her and I wanted her badly, but I couldn't even
think of having her because of that stupid promise I made to Phil. I lay in bed that night rubbing
my thick, hard dick, pondering my situation. Should I make an advance and risk everything or should
I let it pass? It would pass eventually, wouldn't it, or would I have to endure 13 more weeks of
this torture? I hadn't felt like this since high school, when I had become infatuated with one of
my teachers and things had gotten a bit out of hand. Why was I reacting this way to a completely
ordinary girl anyway? And what about my promise to Phil, how much was I obligated to him? At some
point, I realized that I'd been occupied with Paula for 8 solid hours. I had already come once but
my dick was still hard. I let it calm down and then I got up and phoned my best friend Ronnie, whom
I'd known since grade school. Ronnie was tough and practical, and he was incredibly successful with
women, he always had been. When Ronnie made an entrance, all the cunts in the room twitched, you
could feel the vibrations. He had gotten married, moved to the Northwest, and had a couple of kids,
but he still had a prick and women still responded to it. I told him about Paula. I explained the
sexual politics of the situation, my obligations to Phil and the quandary I was in. Ronnie was
silent for a moment and then delivered his verdict: "If you don't go for it, Singer, you're a total
and complete dickhead." "What's the point of living if you can't live?" I couldn't argue with that.
"Your clock is ticking...can you hear it? Soon you won't be able to enjoy the little gifts that
life throws in your path, and here I speak from experience. Live while you can." I interrupted him.
"What about my friend Phil, what about the promise I made?" "It's invalid," he shot back. "Why is
it invalid?" "Because I don't care who you are, I don't care if you're the President of the United
States or an adjunct professor at some dinky little state college..." I corrected him. I was not an
adjunct and it was not some dinky little.... "Shuddup. No one is capable of keeping that kind of
promise, and what kind of friend would even ask you to make it?" That silenced me. "Your innermost
being has responded to this woman, right? You have no choice. Make an advance and see if she's
interested, end of story. The problem with this other turkey was he couldn't take no for an answer.
That's not your problem. You can't take yes for an answer." Ronnie had always given me good,
commonsense advice, I liked that about him. Plus, I had to admit he was right about Phil, he really
was a manipulative bastard. How could he ask me to swear off sex with students? This was a
university for Chrissakes, it had nothing but students, it was teeming with young, nubile, barely
post-adolescent women who longed to be taught by an experienced but still attractive older man.
Ronnie was right, I might never have this opportunity again. I thanked him and hung up, and the
next week, I called Paula in for a conference. I normally met with students in my office, which was
fine except that I shared it with Professor A. R. Crouch, a retired old queen who minced in once a
week to give a seminar on Elizabethan poetry. Crouch was allright, he was hardly ever there, but he
had picked this day to show up and make phone calls. "We won't disturb you," I apologized, as I
ushered Paula out the door. He waved me away with a wink. That was close. If he'd arrived much
later or if we'd come in sooner, he might have walked in on us. Not that he would've cared, but I
didn't want to scare Paula. I suggested we go across the street to the coffee shop. It was a
departmental hangout, but at this hour it should be deserted, and it was. We had a whole section to
ourselves and sat down in a cozy little booth. This was a good omen, a little luck for a change. We
sat facing each other across the table, talking casually and I immediately felt the same attraction
as I had in class. It had been no mistake, I was very turned on, so I tried to get down to
business. "You're a good writer, a very good writer," I blabbed, "I like the way you write." I
couldn't believe I was saying this. She stared back at me across the table, her clear brown eyes
fixed directly on mine, the beginnings of a smile stirring in her eyes. "What do you like about
it?" "What do I like about it?" "Yes, what do you like about it?" Her fingers traced the rim of her
coffee cup. Ahh, she was enjoying this, she was playing me. "You write clearly and directly. I like
your simplicity and your balance. It takes a lot of confidence to write the way you write." My
heart had begun to pound and I had to work to keep it out of my voice. "But now that I've seen what
you can do, I think it's time for you to try and work more personally, to write about things that
are a little more private." She appeared to consider it. "I've been thinking that myself," she
said, "and I've been working on something that's very private, but I've been embarrassed to bring
it in to class." "I can understand that," I told her, and I did. "There are some things that need
to stay private until they're read, and there are some things that have to stay private forever. I
hope it's not one of those things." "Why not?" she asked. My dick had begun to ache. My heart
throbbed in it. A blush had formed on Paula's cheeks. I looked down at the table and took one of
her hands in mine. The blush spread down her neck. "Because I'd like you to read it to me." At this
point, a noisy band of students entered the restaurant, filling the room with shouts and laughter
and making intimate conversation impossible. This was fortuitous. "Let's go someplace where we can
hear ourselves," I suggested, "I want to be able to pay attention to your story." "Where do you
want to go?" she asked. I pretended to think it over. "Why don't we go to my apartment where it'll
be quiet. It's only a few blocks away. I can make us a pot of coffee." "Okay," she said and we paid
the bill and left. The walk to my apartment took about 5 minutes but felt like 5 hours. We had
crossed over into something but I wasn't sure what. Of course I couldn't take her hand, but I could
touch her shoulder or her bare arm to guide her in the direction of my house, and each time I did,
her body seemed to lean into me. Was it my imagination? Her skin felt hot through the cloth. I had
a chance to take her in physically. In the past, I had seen Paula in baggy pants and sweatshirts
but today she was wearing a tight blouse and jeans that fit her legs and ass perfectly. She moved
with confidence and her body looked firm, athletic and sexy. She was no longer nondescript, she was
beautiful. We arrived at my apartment and I let her in. I now felt free to take her hand and as
soon as I did, my dick started to harden. I led Paula into the dining room and we sat down at the
table. I made us some coffee and then I asked her if she'd like to read me what she'd written. She
took out a manila envelope from her backpack and withdrew a small group of pages, maybe a half
dozen in all, double-spaced. Paula settled herself in the chair and prepared to read. I moved my
chair closer to hers so that our knees were almost touching. She read, "All of us are given a
certain time on earth and no more. I arrived here determined not to waste a single moment." She
shifted slightly and her knees brushed against mine. My cock became very hard and I felt my heart
pounding. I tried to catch my breath. Paula paused for a moment and then continued. "In my second
year of university, I became fascinated by one of my teachers. I felt like I was a fish and he had
cast out his line and was reeling me in." I brushed my knees against hers again and I felt another
wave of pleasure. She inhaled sharply as a blush spread over her face and neck. Her nipples poked
out from the center of her breasts, surprisingly long and thick. "As I sat in class, I felt his
presence in my skin. I wondered if he knew, and I wondered if he felt something similar for me."
Paula raised her eyes from the page and looked at me. I took her face in my hands and gently
touched her lips. She kissed my finger, and I felt her mouth tremble, and then she opened her lips
and licked it. It felt like her tongue was traveling the length of my fully hard prick. I brought
my hand down to her wrist and stroked her arm from the wrist up to the forearm. My fingers left a
trail of goosebumps. I took the page from her hand and put it on the table. I placed my hands on
her shoulders. Her breasts seemed to reach out towards me. I slid my hands down her shoulders, down
the sides of her chest, along the sides of her bra. Her eyes closed. I brought my hands up again
and this time let my thumbs graze the front of her bra. "Oooh," she moaned. Her voice caressed my
cock. Some pre-cum leaked out, spreading a wet patch over the front of my underpants. I rubbed her
breasts through her blouse and then reached underneath it with both hands. Paula unhooked her bra
and shrugged it off her shoulders. I couldn't wait. I brought my mouth down, kissing, licking and
sucking her elongated nipples, holding her engorged tits in my hands. She dug her hands into my
hair and pressed my mouth against her. All of this activity had made me incredibly hard. I raised
my head and stood up. I led Paula to the couch and she lay down while I stepped out of my jeans.
Paula stared at my briefs. My cock was completely erect and poking out obscenely. I knelt down next
to her and unsnapped her jeans and opened the zipper. I stroked my fingers back and forth over the
outside of her white cotton panties and felt her soft bush. I brought my fingers down lower,
gliding them over the long, slick wet patch that had formed on the cloth. I lowered my mouth to her
other breast and gently flicked the nipple. She pushed up against my hand and groaned. Her hand
found the head of my cock through the cloth of my briefs and she stroked the edge, making me groan
with pleasure. I found the hard little nub of her clitoris and rubbed it lightly with my thumb. I
reached into her panties and rubbed her lips. They were drenched and their scent inflamed me. She
lifted up her ass and I slid her panties down her thighs. Then I stood up and freed my cock from my
briefs. It sprang straight out, red and pulsing. She cradled the head in her palm, making it jump
and sending pre-orgasmic shudders through my entire groin. I opened the drawer of the table and
pulled out a condom. She shook her head no and took my hand and rubbed it over her slit. Two of my
fingers slid easily into the warm channel of her cunt. She gripped my hand between her thighs, and
I brought my head down to her breast and rolled my tongue over the nipple. Paula stroked the
underside of my dick and I felt on the verge of an enormous climax. I began to groan, "Oh god, oh
god, you're gonna make me come, you're gonna make me...aaah..." as my orgasm started while her
thighs shook and she cried "Oh no, oh no, oh no," and the climax swept over us both. We lay
together holding each other for what seemed like a long time. I got up and brought her a towel and
we dried off. Paula got up. "I have to get back," she said. Her panties were soaked, and she
slipped them into her purse. I watched her dress from the couch. Then she bent down and kissed me
on the mouth, our first. "I want you to teach me," she said. We began to see each other every week.
Each time, Paula started out by reading me one of her love letters. Then once a week became twice
and three times. Although we tried to be discrete, our hormones gave us away. I only had to be in
the same room with her for my dick to get hard. For her part, her nipples would poke out and I
swear I could smell her cunt, and all this without even touching. We were Pavlovian in our
response, and we seized any opportunity to satisfy ourselves. In my office after class, at home in
a chair, in a bar seated at a table, my hand inside her jeans, 3 fingers up her cunt. Anywhere,
anytime, anyhow. Phil found out about our relationship, it was impossible for him not to, but to
his everlasting credit, he never mentioned it to me. I think he realized that he couldn't control
it and it was futile to even try. Or maybe he simply felt the heat and thought it better to let it
burn itself out. But it didn't burn out. Ronnie was right, my innermost being had responded to her,
although we drifted apart at the end of the term. I saw Paula several years later at a conference
in St. Louis and we spent a weekend together. We have been through marriages and careers, separated
by 3,000 miles, but as I sit here in my kitchen writing these words, I hear her voice reading to me
and it burns me, it burns me still. 

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