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Almost Doesn't Count: Part 4


Hello, everyone. I know it's been a long time. While I haven't released anything in a year or so (depression is kicking my ass), I am behind the scenes creating. However, until I do release something new, I've decided to release parts of a story I wrote in 2005, long before I became a published author. I'll release a new part, on my website, every week. And it's FREE! Here's the fourth part:

Isis

I started shaking. Got nervous like a motherfucker. I almost messed up. Almost lost my balance, but I was a professional. I couldn’t let his presence get to me. My boss was also standing right there looking at me . No way I could embarrass myself or him.

I got my wits about me. I tried to zone back out and let the music take me away. I hated like hell that I’d told Mr. Meyers I would do this for him. There was no way I could back out even if I wanted to—and I did want to.  

I couldn’t believe Dr. West was sitting right in front of me, seeing me in a way I was sure would change his perspective of me. I didn’t know why I got so nervous. Usually, I didn’t care if a person found out where I worked. I’d always been of the mind that they couldn’t judge me because everyone had a few skeletons in their closets. However, for some reason, seeing Dr. West gave a sense of shame. To be up on a stage half naked, gyrating my most private parts in his face made me break out in hives. I felt as if I was going to pass out from the embarrassment of it all.

I found myself wishing I was back at my apartment, locked away in my bedroom. I wanted to run and hide under the biggest fucking rock I could find.  But I couldn’t. Mr. Meyers was motioning for me to come down to where they were. I took Mr. Meyer’s outstretched hand and walked down like I didn’t care that Dr. West was sitting in front of me.

My feet had never hurt in these shoes since I had been dancing, I thought. But in that moment, they made my feet very uncomfortable. Dr. West’s eyes were glued on mine. It was hard to read what he was thinking. His poker face was strong. Behind his glasses, his light brown eyes twinkled at me under the spotlight. Even under intense pressure, it wasn’t lost on me that Dr. West was fine as shit. He had the kind of fine that stood out in the crowd. Amongst mere men, he was king. His thick, plush lips called out to me and, by God, when he licked the bottom one, my pussy puckered.

 I shook those feelings away, which was hard to do because the closer I got the more aware of his pure masculinity I became. It was all encompassing. Even with all the loud, thumping music, all the flying money, and all the other men and women ogling me like I was the Black Madonna, Dr. West demanded my attention.

Mr. Meyers led me right between the thighs of my college professor, a man whom I respected more than any man I’d ever come across. There he and I were; face-to-face. I could only do what I was paid to do; entertain. I moved my body like a snake as I got rid of the thin piece of material that covered my perky C-cups and my thighs. I kept on the little piece of thong. I turned around, bent over and gave him a full view of my ass.

“Good Lord,” I heard a man groan low in his throat.

I danced for Dr. West like it was only him and I in the room. I dropped it low and made my pussy pop. Made my booty jiggle and wiggle with a little extra “umph.” I didn’t want to make it obvious that he had me locked onto him, so I moved around. Damn near thought he had a twin when I laid eyes on the man next to him. That man, who was clearly of some kind of relation to Dr. West based on the similarities in looks, was fine as hell, too. He carried a smirk that unsettled me though. There was something about the devilment in his eyes that alarmed me.

 As that man rained down money on me, Mr. Meyers whispered in my ear and told me to go back to Dr. West. I did like there was no problem. The DJ had gone back to playing a song telling me to get low. So that was what I did.

I placed my hands on Dr. West’s thighs as I bent to make my booty clap. Dr. West touched me. I jumped. As if I imagined it, there was a smirk on his face that disappeared as if it was never there.  He placed one hand on my thigh as he put a few hundred-dollar bills in my garter with his other. Something akin to fire shot through me. Made me jerk my head up and look into his eyes. He held me there for as long as he wanted to. Made me stare back. I didn’t even know the other girls had started back dancing.

I stood directly between his legs and looked down at him. Moved slow. Moved sexy. Deliberately teasing him while I held my breast in my hand playing with the rings that played roommate to my nipples. I was high off something, and I didn’t know what it was. It was a natural high that liquor nor drugs could give me.

Dr. West just sat there. Leaned back in his chair. The black dress shirt he had on strained across the muscles in his chest and arms. His belt buckle was gleaming from the light. I looked down at his black dress pants. I don’t know why. Just did. Saw the bulge. Turned around and backed up on it. Felt what I was doing to him, and it turned me on.

I got up before the thin barrier between us betrayed me with my wetness. He put more money in my garter. Gave my thighs a bit more of a rub than he had to. All I was thinking was when my high came down, I was going to have to go to class on Monday and look Dr. West in the face.


Dr. West

Monday morning found me in my classroom preparing for the lecture-based part of the class. I sat there, going over my notes to make sure I’d covered everything. I watched the class as they filled in. I hated to admit it, but I was looking for Ms. Jones. Although I shouldn’t have been, I was surprised that Ms. Jones wasn’t the first one in class like she normally was. She had been on my mind heavily. To say I was shocked to see her dancing Saturday night was an understatement.  Didn’t know what to think when I finally saw her. I felt as if we’d had some kind of forbidden sex over the weekend. Like I had broken the student-teacher code of ethics.

 The woman had skills. She made the booty clap look as if she’d gone to school for years to perfect it. For reasons I couldn’t explain, I just wanted to look at my student and see the same woman I saw on stage. Was still kind of shocked.

I kind of got lost in my thoughts as the class filed in. I knew I shouldn’t have been thinking of my student in any capacity beyond out student-teacher relationship, but…that bridge had long been crossed. I looked up from my notes to see that Ms. Jones had come in and was sitting in her usual spot in the back of the class. She had her head down as if she was reading her book. I knew she wasn’t because the book was closed. She looked up at me and caught my eye. We held it like that for a few seconds. Then she turned away.

   I wanted to dwell on my feelings, but I knew I couldn’t. There was no need for me to keep my mind on something that was forbidden. I put thoughts of Ms. Jones and away and got to teaching my class.
I talked to the class about anxiety. I lectured for about an hour and a half and then asked for commentary on what I’d lectured about. I talked about anxiety and wanted to know if my students could recognize the different disorders and phobias. Everyone did pretty well, but today Ms. Jones didn’t seem to want to participate.

Just because I wanted to connect with her in some way, I asked, “Ms. Jones did you forget that class participation was ten percent of your grade?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Well then, would you like to join in and participate?”

She nodded and sat up straight in her chair. She still didn’t much of anything, not like she usually would. It was safe for me to guess that she was just as bothered by our interaction Saturday as I was.

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Copyright © 2005 by Nikki Michelle
All rights reserved
Singleton’s Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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