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From: michaeld38@aol.communism (MichaelD38)
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Subject: {ASSM} Vector, ch.2 {MichaelD}(MF, mast)
Date: Sat,  3 Jun 2000 03:10:35 -0400
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AUTHOR'S NOTE AND LEGAL STUFF
I did not e-mail you this story.  If you unexpectedly found it in your mailbox,
it's because your kid and/or your spouse is subscribing to adult newsgroups
without your knowledge.  Flame them, not me.
This story contains explicit sex.  If you're a minor, you've obviously gotten
past whatever paltry filters your parents tried to put on your computer, so
hell, you might as well read it.  No one ever died from reading about sex.
This story is mine.  Free reposting and archiving is okay; commercial use is
not (that includes using it on some slimeball banner farm).  Contact me if you
have any questions; cross me and I'll have you fed to rabid weasels.
This is another serial like "Call Girl Cheerleaders."  I have no idea where
it's going or how it will end.  Want to find out?  Send me mail.
My stories, including this one, are archived at:
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/MichaelD/www/
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www (all the work of my alter ego)
www.storiesonline.net (complete but not always up)
---
VECTOR
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com.  No commercial use without prior
authorization.
<->
"Listen," he said, "get this: I don't believe in anything."
The driver took the stump of his cigar out of his mouth.  "Not in anything at
all?" he asked, leaving his mouth open after the question.
"I don't have to say it but once to nobody," Haze said.
The driver closed his mouth and after a second he returned the piece of cigar
to it.  "That's the trouble with you preachers," he said. "You've all got too
good to believe in anything."
--Flannery O'Connor, "Wise Blood"
<->
Chapter 2.
Victor forced himself to finish his preparations for the morning and drove to
school.  He brought Leslie's (?) panties with him, if for no other reason than
he wanted to convince himself that he was not losing his mind.  He kept pulling
them out of his bookbag every few minutes, feeling the fabric to make sure they
were real.
Could they have been there all along, something he had never noticed? 
Something some woman had left there once?  Unlikely.  First of all, they were
exactly what he remembered Leslie wearing the previous night.  Second, no woman
had been in his bedroom in over two years, and he could hardly have missed them
in the middle of his floor all this time.
Unless--a crack appeared in his certitude--unless they had been somewhere else,
and his cat had dragged them out in the middle of the night.  Hemingway (for
that was his cat's name) had a bad habit of hiding things and then returning
them months later.  Could they have belonged to a previous girlfriend and been
hidden under his bed for several years?  Well . . . maybe. 
Victor pulled the panties out again.  They were flimsy and lacy, certainly
nothing a woman would wear every day.  He had not dated the sort of women who
favored fancy underwear, even for sex . . . but now and then one or another had
dressed up for him.  
Victor wavered.  The panties were the only physical evidence he had of that
unbelievable night, and now he was no longer so sure that they proved anything.
 They did not _look_ as if they had been under his bed for two years, but what
did that mean?  Probably nothing.
He shoved the panties back into his bag and finished the drive to work.  He
parked in the faculty lot nearest the English Department building and walked
rapidly up to his office.  He had a class to teach in about ten minutes, and he
was able to forget his dilemma long enough to find the lecture notes he needed
in his desk.  He stuffed them hurriedly into his bag and descended to the
classroom.
For a few minutes, the students filed in, talking quietly to themselves.  A few
of them greeted Victor as they entered.  Victor remained behind his podium,
reviewing the notes for class.
The bell rang, and the chatter faded away.  Victor straightened his notes and
began.
"Good morning.  Last time, I think we were talking about how Hemingway used
Jake's emasculation to symbolize his weaknesses.  You should have read the
first part of the O'Connor novel by now, and I want to get into how she
addressed  . . ."
For twenty minutes or so, things went normally enough.  The students were
engaged a bit more than usual this morning, and Victor was able to lose himself
in the discussion.  As one student was expounding on an element of O'Connor's
"Wise Blood," Victor leaned down to get something out of his bookbag.  Not
wanting to discourage the boy, he maintained eye contact as he reached down,
not looking at what he was doing.  He found the notepad he was looking for
after a second or two and pulled it out.
Victor was in his mode now, and he plunged into his thoughts about what the boy
had said without slowing down.  It was a minute or two before he noticed that
some of the students were not reacting as he expected them to.  Some of them,
on the right side of the classroom, were fighting grins and exchanging amused
glances.  They seemed to all be staring at his bookbag.  Victor paused.  The
whole class was now staring his bag, and a few of the students were fighting
giggles.
Victor left the chalkboard and examined his bag.  He saw what the commotion
was, and suddenly wished to God he had stayed in bed that morning.
The white panties lay on the desk in front of his bag, having fallen out when
he retrieved the notepad.  Face burning in mortification, Victor snatched them
up and shoved them back in his bag.  Barely restrained giggling rippled through
twenty or so students. One of them was unable to restrain himself any longer.
"Must have been quite a night, a professor," he said
The class exploded in laughter.  Somehow Victor remained in control of himself.
 He forced a grin onto his face.
"My girlfriend's." 
The students laughed again.  Victor tried to resume the lecture, and a few
minutes things had settled down.  As soon as the bell rang, however, he went
straight back to his office.
This was not good.  At least he knew now that he was not imaging the panties,
but that seemed to signify next to nothing.  He pulled the wad of white lace
out of his bag and shoved it deep into his pocket, wadding it down so it could
not escape again.
Thank God Leslie hadn't been in that class.  That would have been too much. 
But Victor then realized that he had Leslie's section that afternoon.  He
closed his eyes and put his face into his hands.  How could he face her after
what had happened?  How could he look her in the eye?  What if she came up to
him after class, wanting more help?  
Victor had convinced himself that Leslie had not shown him her breasts the day
before.  She had certainly not cloned herself and serviced him last night,
whatever had gone on.  The Leslie who sat in his classes was not the person who
was driving him out of his mind.  Something else was going on.  But he still
had to teach her, and the last thing he could do was start acting improperly
toward her.  
"Victor?"
His head jerked up.  Danielle Peyton, one of the other English Department
professors, was leaning into his door.
"Are you all right?"
"Um . . . yes.  What's up?"
Danielle's forehead creased.
"Are you sure?  I don't want to intrude."
"No.  No."  He waved at her to sit down.  "Come in."
"I just wanted to say that I read your article in the 'Boston Review.'  I
thought it was just wonderful."
"Thanks."
"I confess that I haven't seen 'The Matrix' yet, but I'm going to rent it the
first chance I get.  From what I had heard, I would never have thought anyone
could have analogized to Fitzgerald, but you did it just beautifully."
"The similarities just struck me one evening.  Only Gatsby never emerges from
his dream world."
"It makes you think, doesn't it?  Everyone lives with pretensions and
fantasies, only sometimes it becomes difficult to know where one ends and
reality begins."
A chill ran down Victor's spine.  He tried to smile.
"Indeed."
"Did you ever have that feeling as a child?  That everything might be a dream,
but you had no way of knowing?"
"Sometimes."
"When I was a girl, I used to think that if I fantasized about something hard
enough, I could make it happen."
Victor swallowed awkwardly.
"Did it?  Ever happen, I mean?"
Danielle smiled.
"I got a boy to kiss me in the third grade, but I think it had little to do
with my fantasizing.  It had more to do with trapping him in the coat closet."
Victor chuckled, beginning to relax a bit.
"Anyway," Danielle went on, "I have a piece I'm going to submit to BR myself. 
I was wondering if you wanted to fuck me first."
Victor choked, coughing several times.
"What?" he gasped.
Danielle looked at him with concern.
"I asked if you would be willing to look at it first.  That's not a problem, is
it?"
Victor tried to catch his breath and shook his head to clear the confusion.
"No.  No, of course not.  Bring it on by.  I'd be happy to."
"Thanks.  Are you sure you're all right?  You went pale all of a sudden.  You
look as if you'd seen a ghost."
"I don't know.  I think may be coming down with something.  I haven't felt
myself these last few days."
"I have some herbal tea in my office.  Would you like some?"
Victor took a long breath and leaned back.
"No.  No, thank you.  I'm just beginning to think I need a vacation."
Danielle smiled warmly.
"I know the feeling.  Well, I hope you're feeling better."
"Thank you."
"I'll probably bring the paper by tomorrow."
"Wonderful.  I look forward to it."
---
When Danielle was gone, and Victor sat at his desk rubbing his temples.  He had
not imagined that discussion.  He could still hear Danielle's voice in his
head, asking if he was interested in fucking her, could hear every inflection
in that word.  What in God's name was going on?
Danielle was only in her thirties and far from unattractive.  He had considered
asking her out on a few occasions, but his professional discretion had
prevented it.  Dating around the university was bad enough; dating within one's
department was just begging for trouble.  Which was not to say that he had
never once considered the possibility of fucking Danielle Peyton.  He had just
never expected her to proposition him like that.
But of course she had not.  She had been asking him to review a paper of hers. 
The words "fuck me" had come out of her mouth, but she hadn't known she was
saying them.  Somehow she had made that outrageous proposition without even
realizing it.
Just as Leslie had taken off her top without knowing it.
Either Victor was losing his mind, which he was no longer so sure about . . .
or his world was beginning to develop a few cracks.
---
Victor managed to bury himself in the current paper he was writing for several
hours.  He ate lunch at his desk and continued working right up until he
remembered his one o'clock class.  Leslie's class.  The apprehension flooded
back into him, and for a moment, he considered canceling the class altogether
rather than facing her.  But he could hardly avoid her the entire rest of the
semester.  If he could not face her today, he would still have to do it on
Friday.
He spent a few moments gathering himself up and stood.  He had best just get
this over with.  
He walked slowly down to the classroom, watching for Leslie but doing his
damnedest not to seem as if he were doing it.  He didn't see her on the way
there, and she was not in the room when he arrived.  A few other students were,
and Victor made a show of preparing for class as the minutes ticked down to one
o'clock.
He saw her first out of the corner of her eye.  His head jerked around, then
jerked back just as fast.  She walked into the room past his desk and gave him
a brief smile.
"Hi, Professor."
Somehow Victor retained his composure.  Her greeting had been friendly,
innocent, guileless, but he was still instantly transported back to the
previous evening when she had appeared in his living room in her underwear.
"Hello, Leslie."
She took her seat and began talking to another student, paying him no further
attention.  Victor forced his gaze away from her, praying no one had noticed
his reaction.  Leslie hadn't seemed to, thank God.
The bell rang, and Victor began the class, starting the same lecture on
Flannery O'Connor that he had given that morning.
For once Leslie seemed to be paying attention, though her attentions also
seemed entirely innocent.  Victor battled mightily not to make eye contact with
her more than once or twice after the class began.
He paused in the lecture, asking the class what they thought was the symbolism
of Hazel's car.  Leslie timidly raised her hand.
Steeling himself, and praying that another bizarre episode was not about to
start, he nodded to her.
"Yes, Leslie?"
"Does it represent his life, like his mortal life?  I was thinking about when
he tells the cop how he doesn't need God because he has a good car, but he has
a piece of junk.  And his life is a mess too, right?"
Victor nodded, relaxing slowly.
"That's very good, Leslie."  She beamed at him.  Actually, it was a pretty
basic observation, but he wanted to encourage her.  "The car can be looked at
as a personification of Hazel's fixation with the material world, how he has
turned his back on his spirituality for so long."
Victor continued the lecture, growing used to Leslie's presence now.  Nothing
weird was going to happen.  Whatever had gone on in his house the night before,
it had not involved this girl in his class.
About ten minutes later, Victor turned from the blackboard and noticed that
Leslie was staring at him.  Not with the eager openness of an engaged student. 
She was staring at him the way she--or whoever she had been--had done the night
before, eyes filled with lust.
Dear God no, Victor thought.  Not here.  Not in front of the whole class.
She winked at him slowly, languorously.  The tip of her pink tongue emerged
from her mouth, caressing her upper lip.
He tore his eyes away from her, trying to continue what he was saying.  When he
looked back at her a few moments later, she was still staring.  Then he looked
down.
Leslie wore a skirt, and her left hand was resting on her thigh.  Very slowly,
she was pulling the hem upward, turning herself slightly toward him.  Victor
glanced at the other students around her.  None of them seemed to notice any of
this.
But of course not, Victor thought crazily.  I'm the only one who is going nuts
here.
Leslie had her skirt near the top of her thigh now.  She spread her knees a few
inches, giving him a view right up between her legs.  She wasn't wearing any
panties, and for some reason, this did not surprise Victor one bit.  After all,
her panties were wadded up in his pants pocket.
Again Victor forced himself to stop staring, forced himself to pretend that
Leslie was not present.  He managed it for only a few seconds.
Leslie was sucking her middle finger now, obviously working her tongue against
it.  Victor had a momentary, hugely disorienting flashback to the previous
night, when she had done the same thing to his penis.
Victor realized that he was still talking.  He was continuing the lecture as if
nothing were wrong.  Somehow this both frightened and comforted him.  How could
this be going on without anyone else seeing it?  Leslie had her knees spread
two feet apart now, skirt bunched up at her waist.  Victor could see her
glistening pink sex, fringed with a little halo of blonde hair.  Yet the boys
on either side of her, who had spent much of the semester thus far flirting
with her, appeared to see none of this.
Leslie's finger left her mouth and descended slowly.  Victor's heart stuttered.
 She could not be about to do what she was obviously going to do.  The finger
reached the juncture of her thighs, found her little pink cleft, and began to
explore.  It circled around, dipping inside, emerging shiny with inner
moisture.  Around it went again, then in, disappearing up to the second
knuckle.  All the while, Leslie stared hotly at him, eyes burning holes in the
back of his skull.  She licked her lips again, face beginning to flush in
arousal.
"So we see," Victor managed, "we see that Hazel is searching for something that
he will not let himself find. Who can give me another example of the symbols
O'Connor is using?"
The boy beside Leslie raised his hand.  Victor nodded, trying not to watch as
Leslie continued to masturbate shamelessly.
"The potato peeler?"
"Good.  The potato peeler that the sidewalk vendor is selling.  What does the
potato peeler represent?"
"Redemption?  A cleansing?"
"Good.  Anything else?"
Leslie raised the hand she wasn't using to play with herself.  Victor's brief
composure shattered.
"L-Leslie?"
"Could it also represent how the answers are in front of Hazel every day, but
he refuses to see them?  That he just keeps ignoring what he needs?"
Victor was momentarily incapable of speech.  
"Uh . . . uh . . . that's good, Leslie.  Does anyone want to add to that?"
Another student spoke up.  Leslie lowered her hand to her side.  She reached
down into her purse and pulled something out.  Victor saw what it was, but his
brain refused to accept it.
It was a dildo.  A big, hot pink, jelly dildo.  Leslie brought it up her mouth
and began to suck on it, running her tongue slowly around the head.
This was too much.  Maybe the lecture had the other student mesmerized enough
to miss Leslie's exposed posture, but no one could possibly miss what she was
doing now.  Yet none of the other students showed any reaction whatsoever.
Leslie lowered the dildo to her lap, taking it in both hands.  Still staring
lasciviously at Victor, she pushed it slowly inside her.  Now one hand came up
to massage her breasts, pinching her nipples through her blouse.  The other
remained on the dildo, working it slowing in and out of her dripping sex.  She
was breathing heavily now, almost panting.  Her face and neck were flushed red
in arousal.  She began to whimper through her nose at what she was doing to
herself, yet it seemed that no one but Victor could hear her.
The discussion continued, the other students oblivious to the scene unfolding
in their midst.  Leslie let out a sharp cry, leaning back in her chair and
throwing her legs apart.  She was fucking herself rapidly with the dildo now,
so hard that Victor could actually hear the noises she was making, the wet
sounds of the silicone plunging in and out of her.
"Oh!  Oh, God!  I'm coming!"
Leslie's legs began to shake, and her whole body convulsed as the orgasm ripped
through her.  She jammed the dildo entirely into herself, palm against her clit
and rubbing furiously.  Her climax went on for a good ten seconds as she
shivered and shook in her chair.  
The bell rang for end of the hour.  The other students began packing up. 
Victor watched, dazed, as Leslie pulled herself back together.  She gathered up
her things and stood, walking to the front of the class.  Victor saw that the
sex-crazed girl had disappeared, and the old Leslie seemed to be back.   She
paused at his desk.
"Leslie," he managed.  "Yes?"
"I think I understand this book a lot more than I did the others.  I'm really
trying to participate in class."
"I can tell.  Thank you."
Victor realized that she still had the dildo in her hand.  She held it out.
"Do you want this?  I don't need it anymore."
He watched blankly as she handed it to him.  The thing was still wet and
sticky.
"See you on Friday," she said.
Victor gulped.
"Goodbye, Leslie."
---
<To be continued>
---
Vector
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com
Free redistribution permitted; no commercial use without authorization
Michael
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