Page 10 of Prosecco with My Professor
“It’s a perfect topic,” he rants. “Gamification and environmentalism are both hot right now. I can’t believe the director isn’t going to add it to the curriculum.”
I grunt in sympathy. Our university has a new director managing the full-time MBA program, and there’s been a bit of upheaval over it. Our previous director stepped down because of health issues, or at least that’s the story. Unlike the previous two directors, he is not staying on as a professor, which makes me believe that the split was less amicable than the university presented.
“Director Greco hasn’t approached you about making any changes, has he?”
I shake my head. This year, I’m already taking on more than I would like. I have one full-time MBA and two undergraduate courses per term, and I’m expected to turn in one new case study a year in addition to publishing a book. And don’t forget about the consulting work.
For a man with a net worth in the eight figures, I shouldn’t be so busy. But outside of the university, I only have my cat and my ex-stepdaughter. My mother died a few years ago, my father before that, and I never had children of my own. Leaving the tech industry for academia wiped the slate clean, as most of my friends didn’t have time for someone they couldn’t network with.
It was a rude awakening, but I probably would have done the same thing.
“How do you think he’s doing, anyway?” Vincente asks. He flags the bartender down for another beer.
“The new director?” He nods. “He doesn’t have a straightforward job.”
Vincente laughs. “That is an understatement. I can’t imagine having to lead experts in leadership. It must feel like everyone’s looking over your shoulder all the time.”
Kind of like the expectations everyone has when they hear my last name.
“No one’s happy with an outside hire,” I add. “Especially not one with such a history of fundraising.”
Vincente makes a face of disgust. Even among a group of academics that understand the bottom line, no one enjoys fundraising. “You teach Change Management; surely you have some thoughts.”
I point at Vincente. “See. Exactly that.”
Vincente laughs, and I get away with that non-answer, and the conversation moves on to something else.
Back in my new apartment hours later, I prepare for bed. Zola sits in a wooden bowl I have on the table reserved for her. She never sits in it just right, her weight off to one side enough that I worry she’s going to tip the bowl over, but she never does. At least, not this bowl, anyway.
There’s also a pinecone in it. She refuses to sit in the bowl if I take the pinecone out.
I flop onto the mattress. At some point Zola will move to the bed with me, but for now, she’s happy with the bowl and pinecone, so I figure I’ll have some “alone time.” I rest my hand on my dick over the black briefs.
My mind drifts back, as it has often this past week, to Emma.
I don’t know why Emma ran out, and I’ve played it over and over in my mind since then. I made sure she felt safe, her friends knew where she was, she’d found the making out in the car hot, her kisses and the taste of her pussy were all signaling to me that she had been enjoying herself.
In my sex life, I’ve always found that things are never straightforward and simple, but I am frustrated that Emma just ran without talking about it. Bottling things up does not make for satisfying sex.
Perhaps it’s best then. I couldn’t be that for her, somehow, and besides, she’s gone back to the States, and I’ll never see her again.
That doesn’t mean I can’t think about it, though. I remember getting to my knees in front of Emma and allow myself to think about how that would have played out; using my lips, tongue, and teeth on her until she shoved her hands into my hair and ground onto my face. Or maybe she’d come fast, desperate for me.
My dick hardens, and I shove the waistband down, taking a firm grip. I close my eyes and stroke, thinking about fucking her right there in the hallway after she’s come, or walking her back to my bed. How would I have fucked her? I don’t know why she ran away, but I hope she would want something other than lights off and under-the-covers sex. Maybe she’d?—
On the other side of the wall, a raucous barking starts up, so loud it makes me jump, my hand leaving my dick as if guilty of something.
“Oliver! Shut up!” Eva shouts, loud enough to be heard over the barks. “God damnit!”
I’ve heard Oliver a few times through the wall; usually, he barks when someone’s at her door, but he quiets down quickly. Eva, I almost never hear, though she has a loud voice. It’s not as loud as Oliver, apparently. I wait until all is quiet and then start up again, keeping my mouth shut because while Oliver is loud, I don’t want to risk my neighbor hearing me.
But not thirty seconds later, Oliver barks again, and I have to listen to Eva repeat her admonishments.
I stroke myself again, much quieter this time, nearly holding my breath. A few strokes in, Oliver barks. I sit up, gesturing wildly to the empty room. I’m not making any noise, but somehow, Oliver is barking at me. I live next door to a masturbation detection alarm with four legs and supersonic hearing.
There goes my sex life.
My father would hate this,I think as I walk into the university building on Monday. It’s fairly unremarkable from the outside; a tan brick front that looks much like any other building in the district of Borgo, but inside houses one of the best International MBA programs in the world.
