The Professor (6 page)

Removing my glasses I arched forward again, and set them on top of the books, then straightened and lifted my hands to the scarf at my neck. I untied the scrap of pink cloth, and cast it to the side. The Professor's eyes followed the movement, then snapped back to me, and I saw heat rising in their deep blue depths. Exhilarated at his response, I waltzed the few feet back to my prop chair, and dragged it forward with me to the front of the stage. My eyes locked on his, I set the chair in place, and sat, one leg crossed over the other, a demure pose that belied my intentions. Wriggling in my seat, I squeezed my knees together and fondled the lace of my stockings. Playing the timid schoolgirl, reluctant to share the grand prize too soon, my hands flew from my thighs, to my blouse instead. I attended to the buttons slowly, popping them one at a time, my eyes never wavering from his face.

A muscle in his jaw twitched and the soft line of his lips hardened. He took a draught from his beer, then opened his jacket and removed his wallet from an inside pocket. He flipped it open, withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, and set it on the edge of the stage. Then he pointed to his head.

His meaning was immediately clear, but there was no way I was going to shed my wig that easily. It was my safety blanket, my mask, the last raft of pretense to which my courage clung and I was reluctant to give it up.

Instead of removing the wig, I smiled at him and shrugged my blouse off one pale shoulder at a time, letting it slide from my fingers, over the edge of the stage, onto his table. He smirked and shook his head, held up another twenty-dollar bill and set it on top of the other. He pointed to his head again.

I glanced at the money and back at him, then swiveled and propped my feet up on the stack of books, removing both of my heels in turn. He took another sip of his beer, set it on the table, and removed another bill from the wallet, setting it with the others. Once again he pointed to his head, this time propping his elbows up on the table he rested his chin on his tented hands, and smiled faintly, expectantly.

The music changed at just the right moment, the ever-watchful DJ Mandy seamlessly transitioning from the sexy drone of The Police, to a striptease track that echoed their distinctive tones.

Smiling sweetly I lifted my arms over my head, allowing my hands to fall tantalizing close to the wig and then past it. Over my breasts my fingers trailed. Along the dip of my waist, the swell of my hips and finally, gliding over my thighs down to my knees. I pried my legs open by degrees, then bunched the tiny pink skirt up my thighs to gain access to the garters. I unclipped them one at a time and rose. Resting a foot on the chair, I rolled the first stocking down slowly, mimicking the burlesque moves I'd seen the other girls perform a hundred times. I repeated the movements, tugging the second stocking from my foot. I sat again in the chair, leaned over, and dropped them both into a silken puddle on his table.

He stared at the stockings for a moment and I saw his shoulders shake, with laughter or frustration I wasn't sure. He reached into the wallet, and pulled out more money. He held it up, a crisp one hundred dollar bill. He set it on the stack at the end of the stage, and then produced another, adding it to the pile. He did this five times, then held up his wallet and showed me its gaping interior. Empty. He didn't point at his head this time, instead he sat back in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and scowled at me over the top of those glasses.

He was visibly shaken now, the intensity in his gaze raging over my body like the heat from a furnace. His eyes roamed hungrily from my lips, to my neck, my breasts, and the silky bare expanse of my legs. The course of his study set me aflame, and for the first time in years, I felt shy. But the scrutiny was delicious, addictive. I was raw, exposed, beautiful. Overwhelmed, I flinched, and lowered my chin for a moment, steadying my nerves. Breathless moments passed. Finally, I lifted my head, and peered at him from under the fringe of my lashes. His expression softened a fraction, a hint of awe flickering across his handsome features. A blush of color rose in my cheeks, and across the tops of my breasts. My eyes flitted to the stack of money then back to him. I rose from the chair and as my hips swayed gently in time with the music, my focus returned and suddenly, I had an epiphany. I knew what I wanted to be.

Every time I walk out onto this stage, I read the crowd, my customers, in order to become their fantasy. It's my special talent, my guy intuition, my Lizzy Bendit mojo, and it'd never failed me. Until I'd met the Professor. He was right. I didn't know him, couldn't read him, hadn't figured out his mercurial nature. But he didn't know me either, he never had a chance. All week long I'd been trying to seduce him based on my ideas of what he wanted. Not once had I been honest or vulnerable, the real me. That was going to change, right now. This was my chance, in this moment, to live out my desires.  For the first time on stage, I didn't want to conceal my identity. I longed to be recognized for who I was. It wasn't Lizzy Bendit on stage right now, it was me, Jane Claremont and I wanted the Professor to see me. To see all of me. It was time to take it all off, including the wig.

I smiled at him, danced to the pole and grasped it with both hands. My heart pounded recklessly, but I thrilled to find my courage resolute. I would not falter again. Hooking one leg around the pole I kicked out with the other and sent my body spinning rapidly around it. I pivoted midair, and crossed my legs, clenching the pole between my thighs, then shifted, rotated my hips and flipped upside down. My legs holding me firmly, I quickly removed the wig, and tossed it mid-twirl to the back of the stage. I whirled once more, my hair rippling around me like a silken curtain, before my body made a final rotation and I came to a stop, stage front. I shook out my hair, and let it cascade in a wave of mahogany curls down to the floor.

I raised my eyes to the Professor and saw him, arms still crossed, one hand pressed to his mouth in a fist, hiding his expression from me. I spun again, and used the momentum to lift my torso upright. My fingers found the side zipper on the pink plaid skirt, and I slipped it off with just one hand, tossing it to the front edge of the stage. I was clad in very little now, only a thong, corset and a demi-bra. We were getting to the end of the dance, to the good stuff. My temperature and my nerves shot up by several thousand degrees. Arching my back across the pole I spread both legs wide and lifted my arms, twirling around the silver column like a butterfly. I reached up and anchored myself with one hand, then slowly lowered to the floor, letting my legs glide away from me in a full split as my thighs made contact with the stage. 

Rising to my hands and knees I crawled slowly to the end, then leaned down to my glasses, still atop the stack of books. I gazed up at the Professor, and without breaking eye contact I flicked out my tongue and caught the glasses by the temple arm. Pulling the end into my mouth, I played with it for a moment, sliding my tongue over the earpiece, before setting them back on my face. I pushed the prop chair away from me and reached for the clasps of my corset, snapping apart each fastener until the front of the garment gaped lewdly. I peeled it away from me, and sighed at the tingle of blood returning to constricted flesh. I was nearly naked now, just the demi-bra and thong, two sheer scraps of lace left between me and the Professor’s eager gaze. I reveled in the sensation, and rose to my feet, writhing to the music, my movements a performance of wanton arousal.

My gaze met the Professors again; he was fixed in his position, fist still raised to his mouth, only his eyes had changed. They'd grown darker now, fiercer. He looked like he either wanted to punch something or fuck something. If it was the latter, I hoped I was his target. I danced to the edge of the stage again, removed the glasses from my face and tossed them to the large pile of my clothing that was pooled on his table. It was time for the grand finale, the piece de resistance, the money shot, whatever euphemism you prefer will do just fine here. As the British say, it was time to get my kit off, and my entire body was trembling with anticipation.

I reached behind me for the clasp at the back of my bra and unhooked it, then whirled around, whipping my hair over my shoulder to bare my back to his eyes. Removing the bra, I held it to the side and then dropped it, rather over-dramatically I admit, to the floor. I palmed my breasts, covering them and danced backwards to the end of the stage, my hips undulating seductively as I moved. My breasts felt heavy, swollen and tingling with need. I rolled the hard nipples between my fingertips and almost gasped aloud at the sensation. As the music reached its crescendo I threw my head back and closed my eyes. Spinning to face him, I raised my arms, gathered my hair at the nape, and lifted the waves high above my head. I let the silky strands cascade through my fingers, and down my shoulders, to caress the sides of my naked jutting breasts. The dance was over. I stood before him, exposed, free and eager to meet the Professor's gaze once again. Was he moved by my performance? What would I see in those brilliant blue eyes? Lust? Desire? I leveled my head and opened my eyes.

Nothing.

He was gone.

"
W
ell that wasn't totally fucking
humiliating!" I muttered to myself as I stalked backstage. I was mortified. I'd taken a risk, I'd danced my heart out, just for him, and he'd left, rather than watch any more of it. Talk about a blow to the ego.

"That..." said Sasha as she entered the dressing room, "was amazing. A truly lovely performance Jane."

"Hardly," I shook my head as I wiped at my face, anxious to remove at least two of the three pounds of makeup I was wearing. "It was pretty much the definition of pathetic."

"Well," Sasha moved to join me at the mirror, her kind eyes searching mine. "I don't think the customer would agree with your assessment. I'd say he was quite taken with you."

"He left Sasha," I rolled my eyes. "He's not
taken with me
. At least not enough to do anything about it. He's made that quite clear."

"He has? What am I missing? Do you know him outside of the club?"

“He's a Professor at my school," I confessed. "There was an attraction between us, that turned into a flirtation, and then things started to escalate. But then yesterday he basically told me to forget it. Totally. No chance. "

"Ah, I see. So he didn't know you dance here?"

"No! Not at all. He was as surprised to see me as I was to see him."

"Mmm-hmmm."

"When he didn't leave right away I thought well maybe he changed his mind again. Maybe there was still a chance after all. So I danced. This is going to sound so cheesy, but I really poured my heart into that routine. I felt like we were connecting. I really thought I was getting to him."

"It certainly appeared that way to me," Sasha nodded.

"But then he left before the dance was even over. I gave it everything and he left. So that's it. Rejected. Again."

"Fascinating," said Sasha, her cheeks dimpling with a sly smile.

"Glad you find my humiliation so amusing Sash," I scowled at her.

"It sounds to me like he's was conflicted," she said, pushing on my shoulders gently to guide me into the makeup chair.

"That's putting it mildly."

"Maybe he's not anymore." She picked up a brush from the counter and began stroking my hair.

"Well, I think that's clear, since he got up and left," I sneered, dabbing at my eyelids with a cotton pad.

"He didn't leave. He's in the damask suite."

"What?" my mouth fell open and I turned to face her.

"He wants a private dance. From you. So go easy on the war paint or you'll have to reapply."

"I don't understand."

"What's to understand, Jane? You're gorgeous and sexy as hell, and he wants to see more of you. In private. It seems pretty straight forward to me," she said arching an eyebrow.

"You think?"

"Only one way to find out," she smiled at me.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," I hung my head in my hands. "Sash he probably wants to see me privately just so he can lecture me about my moral failings. Stripping my way through college and all that. I'm telling you he's been hot and cold since we met. Why should tonight be any different?"

"Because tonight I had Jane Claremont on my stage. And Jane Claremont is a thousand times the woman that Lizzy Bendit ever was."

I reached up and squeezed her hand at my shoulder. "Thank you," I mouthed.

She winked at me. "Get dressed," she narrowed her eyes, thoughtful. "Something sweet I think, romantic."

I stood, walked to my costume rack and selected a sheer, embroidered empire waist nightie with an ultra-short hem. I paired it with a pair of lace-frilled panties, stockings, garters and demi-bra.

When I had dressed, Sasha handed me a pair of elegant cream lace pumps and led me back to the makeup chair. She arranged my hair into a messy side bun at the nape of my neck and clipped it with a pale pink silk rose.

"And the final touch," she said, tying a deep pink velvet choker around my neck. A single crystal hung from its center, glinting in the light from the makeup mirror.

"You were right to remove most of the makeup, I think," she said. "Now I can see you. You look soft, ethereal. Lovely."

"Thank you." I said, admiring myself in the mirror.

"You're welcome."

Sasha walked to the intercom at the far wall of the dressing room, picked up the handset, hit a button and spoke into the phone. "Parker? Did Dr. Grayson get his tea? Good. Listen, send the rest of the staff home, we're closing for the night. You can go too, I've got some paperwork, so I'll close up later," she paused and glanced at me. "Parker, before you go, turn off the monitoring in the private rooms. No, no it's okay. Jane won't be needing it. Thank you. Goodnight." Sasha hung up the receiver and walked back to me. She took my hands in hers and smiled.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Let's just call it peace of mind. Now, you and your Professor needn't worry about prying eyes, or recorded indiscretions. Whatever does, or doesn't, happen in that room is no one's business."

"
J
ane Claremont
." The Professor sat on the crescent shaped black velvet lounge that took up nearly the entire floor space of the damask suite, so named because of the damask pattern wallpaper that covered the room. His blue eyes were liquid, spiked with drink and lust and mirth. His arms were stretched across the back of the seat, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled to his elbows, those strange tattoos on his forearms clearly visible. A beer in hand and a smile on his face, he rose as I stepped through the door, and set the beer on the coffee table in front of him. It held a china tea service. I didn't even know we had a china tea service at Clouds but, since Sasha is Anglo-Indian, I suppose it wasn't surprising.

"You have a coat," I said, trying to break the tension. I pointed to the dark wool coat that was draped over one of the lounge cushions. "You've been holding out on me." I smirked at him.

"As have you," he said, his expression wry.

My face flushed at his words. He was calling me out about my job. I wondered what he thought of it. Of me. He'd only known me as a student, a flirty one, but a student just the same. How had his assessment of me changed now that we were here together, alone? Me, barely dressed, my body exposed, available to be commanded according to his whims, his pleasure. The thought of what might happen next had me quivering in my heels. Was he going to lecture me? Or ravish me? Oh god, please let it be the latter. I stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing at him, willing myself not to faint. What the hell was wrong with me? All this week I'd flirted and seduced with the confidence of a lioness on the prowl. Now I felt like a pile of goo. A horny, drooling, gelatinous pile of goo. I panicked and was tempted to fall back on my crutch.

What would Lizzy do?
I thought.
No wait! Don't! Just stop, Jane!
I stared at the floor, shook myself mentally and then met his gaze.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured to the lounge.

I smiled at him, not a stripper smile, not a naughty co-ed smile. Just a Jane smile.

"What? No new name?" I asked. "I'd think that if this afternoon I was calamitous - after tonight, I should surely be considered cataclysmic."

"No," the laughter dimmed in his eyes and they grew serious and heated. God he was gorgeous. "No, not at all. Definitely not cataclysmic."

He held my gaze in his own and I felt my feet carry me towards the lounge, drawing me closer, an irresistible magnetic pull. I sat down.

"Then what am I?" I asked.

He sat across from me, his eyes raking my form, drinking me in. I felt the color rise in my cheeks, that telltale blush that always reveals my feelings no matter how much I wish to hide them. I crossed one ankle over the other and straightened my back, my fingers playing with the lace edge of my lingerie.

"You are...Resplendent," he said, and the word sounded like a prayer on his lips.

"Resplendent?" I whispered.

"Yes. Resplendent," he said again. "A favorite word of mine. It means: incomparable beauty, radiance and splendor."

"Oh, is that all?" I bit my lip, to hide my smile. "Thank you."

He nodded and sat back in his seat, his legs spread wide. He tapped his fingers on his knee as he studied me.

"Can I pour you tea?" I asked, anxious to fill the silence.

"Yes. Just a splash of milk please."

I stood and bent to retrieve the pot, poured milk into the base of the teacup and then added Earl Grey. I breathed deeply as the aromatic steam scented the air. The fragrance was divine, and tempting, so after serving the Professor I poured a cup for myself, and returned to my seat.

"You surprised me today, Jane. Three times," he said holding up three fingers to emphasize his words. He sipped his tea, then set both cup and saucer on the table with a clink.

"Three times?" I prompted. I was sure I knew what one of the surprises was. No teacher expects to walk into a strip club and find a student on the pole. But two other times? What on earth was he referring to?

"The first time was in my office when you turned my own arguments on me and then handed me my ass."

"You deserved it," I said, smiling as I took a sip of tea. The liquid warmed down my throat and across my chest, awakening my nerves. My skin was hypersensitive, and the thin fabric of my lingerie began to feel restrictive.

"I did." He picked up his beer and took a sip, eyeing me over the mouth of the bottle.

"So we're doing tea and beer tonight?" I teased. "What's that taste like?"

"Disgusting," he said grimacing, and I laughed at his expression.

"You said three times," I prompted. "What were the others?"

"The second occasion was in class."

I raised my eyebrows in query, and set my tea on the coffee table, giving him my full attention.

"You had the most entertaining argument with that horrible person that sits in the fourth row, what is her name again?"

"Claire Frank," I answered.

"Yes. Ms. Frank," he rolled his eyes and I laughed.

"How did that argument surprise you? I don't understand," I replied.

"I was both surprised and impressed actually. Not only with your erudite defense of Ms. Austen in the face of Ms. Frank's brutal Brontien attack, but with the scope of your knowledge regarding female fiction writers of the 18th and 19th centuries. Your assertion that if Ms. Austen were writing today she'd be practicing her craft in the romance genre was well argued. Your observation that an artist is not only a product of their upbringing and their environment, but of their era was absolutely correct. And your skillful rebuttal of Ms. Frank's clumsy attempt to shame the entire romantic genre was brilliant. I think you left her quite speechless, and hopefully enlightened. I know I was." He leveled his eyes on me, intent. 

"You were?" I asked, shivering under his gaze.

"Yes, and I wanted you more in that moment than I have since we met."

"More than the pool?" I asked.

He nodded.

"More than the Laundromat?" I smirked.

"Yes and that's saying quite a lot. Because in the Laundromat I nearly spread you wide and bent you over those dryers."

My body thrilled at his words. I felt goose bumps erupt across my arms and thighs, my nipples hardening against the sheer fabric of my dress. A pool of heat collected low in my core and the smirk fell from my face.

"As I watched you this afternoon I realized that I had not yet glimpsed, not until that moment, the real Jane Claremont. I was fascinated, and I wanted more. Tonight you showed me more."

No, I tried to! But you left!
My head shouted. But I didn't say the words aloud. I sensed, I hoped, this speech was going somewhere, and I didn't want to stop him now. 

"This evening, as I watched you on stage, my tendency to casually fetishize your name suddenly made sense to me."

It did? Good because I've been wondering about that, too.
I smiled at him, inviting him to continue.

"I believe my constant invocation of your name has been part exorcism part mantra." He laughed. "I was inexorably drawn to you since the first I saw you. And I didn't want to be. I wanted you out of my head Jane, and I haven't managed it." His eyes were thoughtful now, shadowed.

"I don't understand," I murmured.

"As you bore witness this afternoon, my life is, at the moment, complicated. It's been complicated for me by others, and by my own hand. It's been complicated by secrets, by hidden agendas, and by lies."

"I'm so sorry," I said.

"No. no, don't be, we all have our
stuff
as you so effectively reminded me."

I laughed and was pleased to see the warmth return to his eyes.

"I've recently taken steps," he continued and his fingers tapping idly on one knee, "to rid myself of these complications. But the consequence of this ordeal has been that I am now rather jaded, suspicious, and quite good at detecting these deceits in other people."

I frowned at him, no longer sure I liked the trajectory of this conversation. So it was to be a lecture after all?

 "The Jane Claremont I met this week had a secret, a hidden agenda, and a reason to lie. Did you not?"

"I won't deny it," I said, unable to keep the sneer out of my voice. I felt my defenses rising. From turn-on to turn-off in less than thirty seconds. God, that must be a record.

"I'm glad," he said, leaning back in his seat, he rested an ankle on the opposite knee and leveled his gaze. "You should know, I force this confession from you, not to chastise you. God, I hope to avoid that mistake again," he laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "You have every right to your agendas, your secrets and your lies. We all do," he murmured. "I only bring it up now by way of explanation."

"And what does it explain?" I asked and watched as a lazy curl flopped onto his forehead. Its presence softened him and suddenly he was a little less Professor, and a little more just an extremely hot guy I was sitting across from in my underwear.

"That the nature of our acquaintance," he continued, "has been colored from the onset by my prejudices..."