Page 1 of The Professor's Surprise Baby

Chapter One

The pictures are far, far better than I expected. They’re really stunning. They’re all risqué but they range from slightly sexual to overtly near pornographic. There are drawings, painting, photos, and mixed-media pieces. T-Angle is a multi-disciplined artist, and I can understand why the gallery decided on this exhibition even though he’s an unknown. This gallery actually shows several unknown artists. Several hide their identities so their art is judged on its own merits without reputation. My best friend got me into the gallery tonight as a going-away present. I just graduated and my flight leaves tomorrow night at eight.

Kayla knew I wanted to see this, though.

I see there’s a program book that has full-page pictures of the pieces on display. I take one and text Kayla to tell her I’m buying it.

Then, I hear a voice behind me. “How do you get in here? This isn’t open until tomorrow.”

“Oh, my friend took care of it for me, and…” I stop talking when I’m fully turned around and I see Vance French standing in front of me. It’s no exaggeration for me to say that I’ve been crushing on him forever. “Dr. French,” I say, “It’s great to see you one last time.”

He smiles. “Emily, wow. It’s good to see you. How are you here?”

“Probably the same way you are,” I say. “Kayla told me I could look at T-Angle’s art tonight since I’ll be on a plane tomorrow. She’s helping you avoid the crowd, too? Something like that?”

He smiles and says, “Something like that.”

“Oh, Vance. I’m sorry,” she says. “I should have warned you that Emily was here.”

“It’s no problem at all,” he says. Why would it be a problem?

“Do you have the list for me?” she asks with a smile. List? She graduated last year.

“Actually, I think everything looks fine. The only thing I wonder is if the books need to be quite as expensive. It’ll mostly be students here tomorrow, right?”

Kayla nods and says, “What if we create a deep discount for students?”

“That’ll work,” he says with a smile, “and I’m really happy with how you’ve displayed everything.”

Then it clicks. “You! You’re T-Angle!” I say in shock.

He smiles at me. “Guilty as charged.”

This is a pretty darned significant realization. I turn around and stare at the picture in front of me. It’s a woman’s face in watercolor, and she’s very clearly experiencing an orgasm. This man is… Well, he’s a scientist focused on genetics and… Well, who cares? The point is that he’s a genius in the hard sciences. The university has equipment and laboratories paid for by grants he’s received. There are certain medical developments linked directly to his research but some of the applications of his research affect industries unrelated to the medical field.

So, the fact that he has drawings that include a woman’s face during orgasm or the bulge of her throat when she’s performing fellatio or a girl masturbating while a group of men watches… I mean, you can see the disconnect, right? It’s tastefully done and artistic but the subject matter is still risqué as hell for a guy who’s famous in certain scientific circles.

But what really seems disconnected for me is about me, not him. I am so desperately enamored of him. I mean, from my first class with him four years ago to this moment, I’ve wanted him. I’ve taken every class he offers, and I’ve studied molecular biology because I’m inspired by him. Speaking of inspiration, I think it’s fair to say a good number of guys received orgasms because of how turned on after his classes.

But this… This adds a whole new element to the man, a whole new dimension. I mean, I’m not saying that I never thought of him sexually before now. I’m just saying that there’s something about those pictures that change that up. He’s not just a brilliant scientist and teacher who also has sex. Not anymore. Now, he’s a fully sexual being and… “It’s my last night in town,” I say.

“Yeah. I’ll miss you in class,” he says.

I turn to face him. “I’m not your student anymore.” Damn, I feel confident!

He nods. “Yes. That’s why I’ll miss you in class.”

Okay, not so confident anymore. I say nervously, “That means you can… um… you can make my last night in town special, right?” He looks surprised and I quickly say, “I mean, if you want to do something and I’m not saying that you have to or that I deserve to be treated like… It’s just that I can…”

I stop talking.

I stop talking because his lips are on mine.

His tongue flicks lightly over them as they part. Then, he pulls back and says, “Wanting me to make your last night special is the sweetest and kindest gift anyone could ever do for me. I want to buy you dinner, anything you would like. What are you in the mood for?”

It isn’t confidence that guides my response. I’m just in shock. It’s almost absent-mindedness that makes me respond in a voice of wonder, “Room service.”

He smiles.

---