Page 7 of Education with Dad's Best Friend
“Why?”
“Mom wasn’t feeling well and needed me to take care of her in the house.”
Shit. I should be mad about her absence from school, but the fact consoles me somewhat because at least she hasn’t attracted too much attention with her outfit. My eyes travel along her body again, from head to toe.
“Is that how you usually dress?” I growl.
She shakes her head. “No. I wear t-shirts and jeans. But I put this on today because I thought it was pretty. You don’t like it?”
The worry in her eyes makes me feel like a jerk. I pat her shoulder to apologize. “Yes and no, sweetheart. It is gorgeous, but it gives guys ideas.”
She blushes as soon as she realizes what I mean. I nearly feel guilty for contaminating her innocent mind. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m supposed to wear a slip, but I don’t have any.”
“I see. I’ll get you some clothes this weekend. We’ll go shopping,” I say without thinking through.
Her eyes brighten. “We will?”
“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat. “Now, let’s learn some math.”
I explain some concepts to her like I did last time, and Elsie does her best to listen, although I can tell she doesn’t comprehend a third of what I say.
I don’t blame the poor thing. Algebra is an abstract topic to everyone, but it’s easier to learn at an early age, like many other things. I don’t blame any of my students who don’t get math for the same reason no one blames me for not knowing how to play basketball.
After thirty minutes’ explanation, Elsie’s frown suddenly breaks into a sunny smile. “Oh! Now I get it!”
To my surprise, she reaches to hug me and stamp a kiss on my cheek. “Thank you for being so patient with me!”
She takes me by surprise, and I have to clench my fists in order not to hold her. No, I can’t do it here. I glance down the hallway through the opening of my door. Thank God no one is around.
My cock swells, and there’s no way I can hide it. I adjust my pants discreetly.
But Elsie sees it, and she gasps. “You’ve got the bulge in your pants again,” she exclaims, her eyes brightened with curiosity.
Holy crap. The way she reacted to my touch the other day fooled me into thinking she was knowledgeable about sex. Obviously, I was mistaken. She doesn’t know much at all! It’s why she dresses the way she does, not knowing she could lead men astray by revealing her body.
I think quickly. I have the impulse to give her a lesson in biology because she’s eighteen, and she has to know. Otherwise, men could take advantage of her. Hell, I nearly did the other night. But how am I supposed to speak of sex with this enticing girl without repeating my misdeed? My self-control is already waning just by the idea of explaining my attraction to her. If I form it into words, I will lose it entirely.
“It isn’t something we can discuss now,” I say in a strained voice, trying to will my boner to shrink so she wouldn’t fix her attention on it.
“Do you need to pee?” she asks innocently, reminding me what I did last time at her house. I had to beat off in the bathroom.
Damn. Maybe I should do it again. “That’s exactly what I need, sweetheart,” I say and stand up. “I’ll be right back.”
I’ve never jerked off in a restroom at work, but I must do it today because I’m on edge. I’m about to come when suddenly I hear my colleagues’ voices. “What do you think of the proposed new undergraduate major requirements?”
“I’m sad to see they lower the standards. There are way too many applied math and too little pure math courses.”
“Exactly. It makes us look like a public school that focuses on problem-solving instead of proving theories.”
Damn. I know what they’re talking about. It’s my proposal. I’m attempting to reform the requirements within the department as well, but I know I’ll have little chance to succeed. Two-thirds of the faculty members are over sixty, and they enjoy excluding the “less intelligent” members of the society from getting into the profession.
What a turnoff. My cock wilts right away, sparing me the effort. Thankfully, the distraction helps me to push Elsie out of my mind. I leave the restroom after my colleagues do. On my way back to my office, I feel like the composed and confident professor once again. Elsie is no different from the thousands of students I’ve had in the past, and I have no interest in her.
A few steps to the half-opened door of my office, I hear chatting inside.
“I’m not a student here. I’m here to see Albert. What about you?” It’s Elsie’s voice.
“I’m a business major. I’m taking calculus with professor Albertson.” It’s the voice of Alan, a student I frequently help.
