Arlene Shea – 1 of 2

Tom walked into the room, his presence detected seconds before by the cologne he insisted on exhibiting.  Eyes rolled as he strutted, the women knew him as a self-professed gigolo. The men knew him as the rat faced jackass who thought he was on a different plane.

Dropping heavily into one of the chairs in the center of the classroom Tom looked around as if his appearance would elevate the level of enlightenment.

“Mister Doucet; very nice of you to join us. Your auspicious entrance is eclipsed only by your perpetual arrogance. Class started ten minutes ago. I would sincerely appreciate your purchasing a watch or better yet, setting your alarm early enough that you could grace us with your presence before I begin teaching.” Doctor Shea was confident as she approached Tom’s seat; her pace deliberate. The rhythmic clicking of her pumps against the hard linoleum floor foretold a woman who got what she wanted.

Shea received tenure at the local college twelve months ago, teaching ethics to senior year students mostly. That’s when she experienced her first teacher-student sexual encounter. Young men, twenty-one years old or older were her current drug of choice. The first student that approached her for tutoring survived two tutoring sessions before Arlene’s exhibition of low cut skin tight sweater, short leather skirt and five inch sling back peek toe patent leather shoes.

Fifteen minutes into the session she brought her pupil to the edge of orgasmic pleasure. Thirty minutes later the tutoring session ended with the two willing participants dancing the horizontal mambo. Arlene terminated the tutoring session at the end of the semester; sending the student into the real world with an advanced degree in sexual education.

The truth about Arlene Shea was her desire for virile men of any age. She was in love with herself. It was difficult to castigate her for her obsession; she worked hard to look the part of temptress. She looked more sensual, youthful and put together than most of the women in her class. At first she thought her burgeoning beauty would engender rapt attention from her students. When the need for sexual satisfaction threatened to erupt she knew she had to address it before it distracted her.

That morning she rose early. When she rolled out of bed, golden shoulder-length hair danced across her alabaster shoulders. Her supple naked five foot four inch curvaceous body moved slowly to the master bath as Tom Doucet slept. She wanted time alone to caress her body in the shower. Arlene loved herself. Unfortunately for her and even more unfortunately for Tom, Arlene’s need was deeper and stronger than Doucet’s ability to satiate her carnal desire. She needed to get off to sharpen her focus. She wanted it selfishly. This is how it started; she felt unsatisfied. Arlene took matters into artificial territory. She tutored less and bedded even less frequently. Within a month her latest conquest could be nothing more than a yesterday’s news.

As she grabbed her briefcase she woke Tom and told him to follow the ritual. On the nights they screwed he was to come to class late. She thought a confrontation in class about his failure to respect her might play well.

As she watched Doucet’s smug face radiating confidence she felt a twinge of sadness. She would distance herself from him slowly. Like most men she used, he would fail to see the end until it was too late.

Tom’s girlfriend sat across the room; jealousy burned in her eyes. Tom stood her up the night before. Lucy wanted Tom; he shook her world like an 11.0 earthquake. Her mistake was telling him as much. Doucet was as shallow as a puddle. Lucy thought her pleasures would turn him into a compliant and devoted man. She thought that she might even consider something permanent with him if he pleased her enough.

Arlene moved to the front of the room, her perfect body hidden under soft clothing and oversized glasses she wore for effect.

The power she felt as teacher, rapt attention of her male students contrasted by the jealousy of her female students, helped to fuel the sensuality that mutated into something north of unhealthy.

After class she retreated to her tiny enclave. Sitting in her small office grading term papers, Arlene’s focus was riveted to the response from one of her students. Flipping to the first page Arlene checked the name. Returning to the essay Arlene read.  The writing was stilted, uneven and almost nonsensical. The student was one of her better ones, not her type, purely and simply a student. Every fourth word seemed out of place. Grabbing a notepad Arlene read the essay again circling each errant word.

Scribbling each circled word onto the notepad she dropped the pencil and read the result. Her body heated with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. Tucking the notepad into her oversized handbag she slipped back into her shoes and rushed out of her office. Hurrying across campus she slid behind the wheel of the car, cranked the key in the ignition and bolted into traffic.

Driving like a woman possessed she swerved in and out of traffic; running three yellow lights.  When she pulled up to the corner just shy of the motel she shuddered with anticipation. Pressing on she pulled into the parking lot slowing to a crawl seeking the number from the notepad.  As she scanned the room numbers that were painted on the door of each room, a hint of familiarity sparked a glint of recollection. When she was in college she played in this sandbox with married men who needed a spark of pleasure to enhance their mundane personal lives.

As she pulled up to the designated room, she checked her handbag. The pocket-sized .22 caliber gun was nestled in the inside pocket; the clip holding six bullets.  She extracted the gun, pulled the slide to chamber a round before slipping it back into her handbag.  Pulling it over her shoulder she slipped out of the car and slowly approached the motel room. As she raised her hand to knock, the door opened. Arlene pushed it open. The room was dark, except for the light leaking in from around the edges of the curtain.

“Step inside and close the door.” The voice called. Arlene ran the voice through her mind hoping the memories of pillow whisper would reveal a clue about her mystery man. Taking a deep breath she gathered enough courage to step into the room. She felt that familiar feeling between her legs; the one that brought her to the point of unbridled desire.