The Professor. Charlotte Stein

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СКАЧАТЬ might allow her lover to sink in, softly and slowly and smoothly?’

      He gestures with his hand, but I don’t see what the gesture is.

      I try to avoid looking directly at it.

      Or at him.

      Or at anything that ever existed since the dawn of time.

      ‘Well…it…I…that was just…’

      ‘On page four you describe the following: “I run my tongue over him slow, slow, savouring the taste. It is too bitter to love yet still I am greedy for it. When he bucks into my mouth I welcome it – that sense of him using my mouth to sate himself.” Yet I see no corresponding scenes depicting her being readied for this.’

      ‘It just seemed more realistic that way.’

      ‘If realism was your aim then why have her achieving orgasm over so little? You said yourself that you wished for a new world entirely – so take it. Don’t linger in these half-measures, hampered by the tawdry reality of teenage boys who barely care if a woman is enjoying herself or not. Go the whole way. Show me how you believe she might be made to moan. Give me reasons for her cries of pleasure.’

      His voice is bold, suddenly. Too loud and big. It swells to fill the room.

      My voice when I answer is faint and faded – as if left too long in the sun.

      ‘What sort of reasons do you think there should be?’

      ‘To begin with: her clit is her primary sex organ.’

      ‘I see, so you want me to…’

      ‘I would like to see him lick it, at the very least.’

      ‘You would like that. You would like him to lick it.’

      ‘Indeed, yes. You spend a good three pages lovingly describing a woman sucking cock. I feel some similar attention to her quim might be warranted.’

      I have to take a breath, then. A long, deep breath of air that I wish was fresh. As it is I just get a lungful of his book smell, now heavy with an undercurrent of something else. Something that seems suspiciously like deodorant working overtime to mask the scent of a body glossed with sweat – though there are no real signs of anything of the sort, on the surface. On the contrary: he seems completely composed and unmoved. He sits back in his chair with one hand ever so lightly resting on my work. Brow entirely untroubled; eyes as still yet sharp as ever. He could be talking about his elderly grandmother.

      No, no, it’s me who is drenched.

      Me who is probably filling the room with the sweet-thick smell of something faintly perfumed. Though really, could he blame me if I have? He said ‘clit’, as casually as others would say ‘cauliflower’. He trimmed it down to something you might grunt during a good hard fuck, and followed it with something that sounded like he might personally want it.

      He wants to lick, I think.

      Then struggle even harder to come up with a response. He’s waiting, now. Tapping his fingers on those papers impatiently, while I imagine his tongue curling around that very thing. Around my clit, around my quim. God, did he really say ‘quim’?

      How am I supposed to cope with him saying ‘quim’?

      ‘I will bear that in mind.’

      ‘At the very least show an awareness on the page that it exists. Show me how it feels to have her clit swell at the thought of him taking her.’

      ‘I could try. I will try.’

      ‘Give me her fingers sliding through her slippery folds, stroking over herself as he fills her and fucks her – let me see her dissatisfaction with his attempt at making her climax, when she knows she needs more, so much more. She strives for more, on the page. She aches for it.’

      ‘Yes. Yes. OK, yes,’ I say – too impatiently, I know.

      But what else can I do?

      He keeps saying things.

      Christ, the things he says.

      ‘She is no longer willing to accept so slight an offering.’

      ‘No, of course not. No, why would she ever?’

      ‘She wants to come hard – with as much abandonment as he does.’

      ‘That seems reasonable to me.’

      ‘And when she does it…’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Tell me how her back arches.’

      ‘Yes, yes, I will.’

      ‘Tell me how she tightens around him, how her clit seems to burst beneath her fingertips, how her belly clenches as though a great fist has taken hold of it. Tell me all these things and then begin again, with all the ones I cannot possibly know, as a man. For you see, there is your advantage, Miss Hayridge. You may fully articulate what it is to be a woman, exploring what pleases her best. Never overlook that, in service of realism that is really only a reflection of male pleasure and male desire. The true reality is whatever a woman actually feels, and not what men have been erasing for the last thousand years.’

      He has said many arousing things throughout this conversation. Most of which left me speechless, or at the very least unable to say more than a few breathless words. But none have the impact of that. It hits me hard, somewhere deep and low down. For the first time I fully acknowledge that I’m not just warm between my legs, or flushed through the cheeks and throat and chest. I am aroused, fully and completely. My pussy is as wet as it’s ever been; my nipples are two hard points trying to press through my bra and shirt and jacket. Every part of me is trembling, to the point where it must be visible.

      But if it is he gives no sign.

      He gives no sign of anything. He still looks completely calm about all of this. There is no flush in his cheeks. No tremble to his hand. I know there isn’t, because when he abruptly hands me a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover I see how firm and steady his grip is. And his tone when he next speaks is almost offhand.

      Like it just occurred to him that we should finish up here.

      Rather than it being a necessity, as it currently is to me.

      ‘Now, for next time I should like you to read some of the sex in this and note down all the ways where it goes completely wrong. Both because I want it to be absolutely clear that even great writers can fail on the details, and because I believe you are perfectly aware of what may be missing from your story – you simply have not had occasion to address it. Does that seem acceptable to you?’

      It shouldn’t, considering the state I am now in. I should stop here, I know. Tell him that I have other engagements; explain that I feel I have learned enough now. The chance of me embarrassing myself is getting too close. Who knows what I will do during our next meeting, if the word ‘clit’ puts me so on edge?

      Yet when I open my mouth, all that comes out is this:

      ‘Of СКАЧАТЬ