MY PROFESSOR'S WIFE
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Beth is a grad student at the University of Kentucky. She is a mathematics and physics student. As a perk for being a grad student, Beth is invited to all the weekly, faculty parties.It is at the parties she begins to think of Sarah, the professor's wife, in a romantic way. A hopeless fantasy Beth knows, until it is announced that the professor and his wife are separating.
A friendship slowly builds between the two women, and Sarah invites Beth to Thanksgiving diner at her place.
A few martinis later and each has revealed their most private secrets. An soon Beth is eating more than turkey this Thanksgiving.
.
I knew Sarah from the weekly department parties. She was the wife of Jared Hastings, esteemed professor of mathematical physics, who taught my tensor calculus course. Ex-wife, I should say.
For a woman in her fifties, Sarah was quite attractive. Take it from a woman who's spent a lot of time fantasizing about other women. She wore her long silver- grey hair pulled back in a neat braid or pony tail. And if her round face was creased with laugh lines, it was because Sarah laughed often, easily. She was short and a bit chubby; but to my taste, she was plump in just the right places.
It began the fall of my second year in grad school, at Lexington, Kentucky. I was twenty-three years old, a young woman living on my own for the first time, my life dedicated wholeheartedly to the study of physics, which I immersed myself in till my dreams were full of conversations between quarks and neutrinos About half- way through my first year, the news came that they were separating. But after fifteen years as a faculty wife, Sarah was as much a part of the department social life as Jared was, and so no one found it odd that she kept coming to the department parties; it was Jared who dropped out.
Now, as for me, I have short blonde hair, a slight overbite, and big green eyes. In high school, my nickname was "Gopher." I'm fairly petite, not very well-endowed in the chest department; though I have rather wide hips for my build (like a bottle of salad dressing, a girlfriend once said). I've been called cute more than once; though only Sarah has called my beautiful.
I began to realize I was a lesbian in junior high. I had a miserable, protracted love affair with Marla Gaard, which began in seventh grade, and didn't end till tenth. Mostly it consisted of me hanging around her like a devoted puppy, while she ignored me.
Just when the pain got to be too much to bear, and I pulled away from her, she would suddenly turn into Ms. Sex Kitten around me, and we would feverishly kiss, touch, and -- when we got a little older -- lick and suck. Then she'd turn back into the Ice Princess.
I never figured out what game Marla was playing with me, but when I finally broke up with her, I resolved to play it "straight", date boys, and channel my passions into my studies -- and so I did through the remainder of high school and, aside from a couple of flings, through college as well (though by then, I'd given up on men as well). But as I say, that didn't stop me from fantasizing.
I could fantasize about Sarah Hastings, over a glass of white wine, from across the room, watching her gab with the senior faculty ... admiring the radiant smile that periodically flashed across her face ... admiring the generous curve of her hips beneath her denim skirt, the heavy swell of her bosom straining against her blouse. But Sarah was straight -- not to mention old enough to be my mother, and I don't have a general thing for older women. She was friendly enough to me, asking me how my research was going, telling me not to let Dr. So-and-so intimidate me, and so on. But she belonged to the world of the senior faculty: overlapping with, but far above my own world as a grad student. And so, it never occurred to me that I could actually have this woman as a close friend, let alone lover.
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