Her name was Autumn. Names often told him a lot about people, and Charles was fairly certain that with a name like that, Autumn Hewitt would be more inclined than most towards the art of romance.

He was going over his class list as he did every fall, selecting out those for "special" attention.

His classes were small and comfortable, usually no more than twenty each, of which fifteen or more would be female. He had ten such classes, with a total of about a hundred and fifty young freshmen women. Each fall he got their pictures from the registrar, then pulled out the ones with the most promise for early research.

Then he would go to the registrars office and read their files. He would read their high school records, what their favourite activities and hobbies were, and what they said in their submission about their hopes for the future.

From these he would cull pull the ones he considered the most spacy, most naive and optimistic, and use these as a guide for his opening few months of entertainment.

Autumn had written about her hopes for peace and love to spread through the world, for her desire to make a difference in the lives of the poor, of her love of art and fine music and literature.

She was just out of Lester Gilman high school in Northman Illinois, and wanted to come to California because "I've never been anywhere in my life yet".

Uh huh, he smiled, as he read this. Definitely on the list, this one.

Charles had long learned how flattered and even light-headed the young coeds could get when he, a professor, a grown "man" paid them attention. Though they would bridle at the term girls, few of these recent high school graduates really considered themselves as women, not in their hearts anyway.

Dates, for them, had consisted of being driven to a movie, maybe even a drive-in. Charles often found that taking one to the theatre and a fancy restaurant all but bowled them over.

And so it was with Autumn.

Often pictures did not agree with reality, and so Charles would always revise his list of prospects after his first classes. Some girls were added, others dropped.

Autumn, remained right where she was. She seemed unusually bright-eyed the first class he saw her, and entirely too self-consciously self-possessed. She wore a knee length skirt, a conservative blouse, and sat straight and attentive as he delivered his opening lecture.

She had long brown hair that she kept tied back in a fairly tight pony tail, with no bangs. No doubt as a sign that she was serious about her studies and did not want to be distracted. She wore no makeup, but needed none. Her face was a little bit round yet, for his taste, but she had a statuesque body which could not be hidden by the simple clothing she wore.

She wasn't tall, but filled out her blouse quite, quite well, and had a narrow waist, nicely rounded hips, and a behind which, though he could not tell in her present garb, looked to be a nice handful.

As was his habit Charles personally addressed many of his students, smiling and chatting, asking them what they thought about this or that, engaging them in conversation in order to get to know them.

There were several prospects in this class, and he spoke to each of them. The whole class was impressed with his knowledge of them, and his erudite and often witty anecdotes about the college and previous classes.

As he wandered down the small aisle, he stopped suddenly, as he had done twice before. He had just caught Autumn glancing at the clock.

"It's ten to nine, Miss Hewitt," he smiled.

She blushed and smiled.

"Still a good four years to go before graduation," he teased.

The class, and Autumn, laughed at his witticism.

"And how do you like California, Miss Hewitt? A big change from Illinois?"

"Yes, sir," she smiled shyly.

"Oh, please! Sir is for old men. Call me Charles. That goes for everyone." He looked around and smiled.

"And how are you enjoying having roommates for the first time?" he asked.

"I... uhm...okay," she said in surprise.

"Autumn is an only child," he said to the class. "Quite surprising, really. One would have thought that such astonishing success would have convinced your parents to try again."

Autumn blushed, and he moved on to one of the other girls, not a real prospect, but one included merely so he would not be seen to have been flirting too obviously with just a few.

"Like Miss Connor's parents," he said, moving over to a redhead. "Who were so delighted at her they proceeded to attempt to repopulate the world with redheads. Seven siblings, Miss Connor?" he smiled. "I trust they'll all be coming here eventually?"

"Of course," the girl laughed.

He interspaced his personal commentary with poems and quotations, and had Holly Moore, another of his prospects, flaming red after he sat on the windowsill next to her desk and recited a poem about the wonders of golden haired women... while looking directly at her.

His first assignment was to find the passage which each of them thought of as describing most exactly their own vision of romance.

He ended the class early, as was his habit, so that those who were so inclined would have time to chat with him before heading for their next class. There were always a few, and he was pleased to see that Autumn was one of them.

Mostly this class they just wanted to know about testing and grading and assignments, as well as textbooks and consultation times. He answered them all quite smoothly, and the little group slowly cleared away until there were only a few.

Autumn moved around so she was between him and the window, with the sun shining on her back. He pretended to notice her for the first time, his eyes going wide as he let out a mock gasp.

"Ahh, and how the sun doth illuminate the beauty of thine grace, fair lady," he said.

She blinked in surprise, and blushed again.

"And how, fair Autumn, can your humble servant be of service to you?"

"Uhm, I uh, I was wondering about the uhm, the type of... I mean, do we have to uhm, type the uh, assignment," she gulped.

"T'would be most helpful, my dearest lady. These poor eyes of mine have to read through thousands of them every year, and interpreting the strange calligraphy of freshman writing has never been amongst my greatest talents."

She blushed again, and almost stumbled as she headed for the door.

Needless to say, two weeks after first class a good half of the girls had crushes on him. Autumn, he was happy to note, appeared to be among them.

The turning point for her came when she was in his office asking him about a paper on true beauty he had assigned. She was trying to argue, in her naive, young way, that beauty came from within, and was not on the surface. He was, gently, and with much amusement, showing her the errors of her way.

"It isn't, of course, that beauty of the spirit and soul isn't important, Autumn," he chided. "But in this instances we're only speaking of the eye of the beholder, and most specifically of the vision which appears to the eye.

"We're speaking of what we as humans consider to be true beauty."

"But that's different for different people, and for different cultures," she argued.

"Certainly true, but there is a universality to it as well, and though I am loath to simply dismiss the cultural beauty standards of the Ugandans or Uti indians of Brazil, the stands of California will do for this small introductory course."

He took her hand, and her skin slowly flushed as he held it in his and stroked the back of it.

"Now take this simple appendage," he smiled softly. "It's made for an entirely utilitarian purpose, is it not? Hardly conducive to beauty? Yet it is beautiful in its own way. Look at the softness of the skin..."

He stroked the back of her hand. "Look at the perfect alignment of purpose here." He opened her fingers and moved one up and down. "It has a beauty all its own, often not appreciated by the culture at large."

"You simply have to open your eyes to the beauty around you, my dear Autumn," he smiled. "Beauty is not just faces or breasts or behinds. Look at the beauty of this hand of yours."

Autumn was breathless as he turned her hand over and traced his finger along the palm. Her heart was pounding and she was blinking rapidly as the professor smiled at her.

"Accidental beauty," he said. "Do you see what I mean?"

"I... uhm...yes," she gulped.

"Your hair, for example. I see how utilitarian you've made it, pulled back tightly and bound there. Now you've hardly done this for the purpose of attracting roving eyes to its beauty. Most likely, quite the opposite, yet it has a beauty which cannot be bound, though the hair is."

"This isn't beautiful," she protested, blushing even more.

"The beauty of simplicity," he said.

They were sitting beside each other on separate chairs at his desk, so he could easily reach out and grasp her pony tail. She started to raise her hand, then dropped it, swallowing as he unbound her hair and let it fall around her face.

"Ahh, another kind of beauty," he said, sitting back and smiling.

"Oh I'm not beautiful," she gulped.

He snorted in amusement. "I think you know better than that."

In fact, he was constantly surprised at how girls with obvious beauty would deny it even to themselves, and be so wonderfully happy when someone else pointed it out to them.

"There's the beauty which pleases the eye," he said. "The beauty which pleases the touch..."

He slid his fingers lightly through her hair.

"The beauty of scentl..."

He leaned forward as he pulled some of her hair towards him, inhaling lightly.

Autumn blushed even deeper.

"What does this tell us about beauty? That beauty is what pleases the senses."

"I-I... guess," she gulped.

He slid his fingers away from her hair.

"Do you know... Hiram Zyphelus is giving an exhibit at the Elanium Gallery which opens on Friday night. Why don't you go and see it?"

"Uhm, I uh..."

"Better yet, I'm going there myself Friday. Why don't you come with me?"

She stared at him, jaw slack, eyes wide.

"Hello?" he smiled.

"I-I-I uh... sure! I mean, I'd love to," she gasped.

"Good. Why don't I pick you up at the Mcarther building... that is your dorm? At say six?"

Autumn, of course, was in seventh heaven, and it was all she could think about for the next few days.

Going to a gallery opening! With Professor Merrill!

Her friends at home would simply die!

She spent hours just trying to decide how to wear her hair. Should she keep it simple, or let it hang, or maybe do it up, or get it done at the hairstylists?

She didn't even have anything to wear to a gallery opening! She went shopping and bought an ankle length dress that was extremely simple, fairly tight, came up around her throat like a turtle neck, yet left her shoulders bare.

She decided to let her hair hang down loose, though she brushed it hundreds of times to make it soft and loose as spun silk, and drew just a few bangs across her forehead.

She knew she looked good, and sexy, and - she hoped desperately - mature. Makeup added to the look of maturity and age.

He picked her up exactly on time, telling her how pretty she looked, then they drove to the gallery.

There, she had wine in crystal goblets as she hung on Charles' arm and absorbed his wisdom. They went from picture to picture, drawing to drawing, sculpture to sculpture. Charles touched her a lot, stroking her arm or putting his arm around her waist, or taking her hand.

She was a bit too anxious to enjoy herself, since she was desperately afraid of screwing up, of making some really dumb remark or something, but she did enjoy the attention Charles lavished on her.

After a couple of hours there he brought her to an upscale cafe where she had a bit more wine, and they talked about romance and eroticism. Some of this talk turned her on, though she did her best not to show it.

Charles invited her back to his place for some coffee, and to see his partial manuscript. Autumn dreamily agreed.

His apartment was calculated to bring out the right mood in his female visitors. It had two main focuses. The first was the fireplace, always ready to be lit, a large soft furry rug in front of it. Second, the huge picture window that looked out on the lights of the distant city, the ocean, and the stars high above.

Charles took her hand and led her through the living room, then out to the balcony. They were thirty five floors up, and she could not help but be impressed by the view as they stood there together, his arm around her waist.

It seemed entirely natural to her when he turned and kissed her lightly on the lips, and she melted against him. He wasn't anything like any of the boys who had tried to get into her pants, who had groped her breasts so hard they hurt.

His arms stroked her back very gently as their lips moved softly together, then he was the one who backed away, taking her hand as he led her back inside.

No guy had ever stopped kissing Autumn before, not without good reason, so she was a little disconcerted, wondering whether she might have done something wrong, whether she wasn't, perhaps, a very good kisser.

Autumn was, in fact, a virgin. She had had too many comments about her breasts during her teenage years, and the supposed lack of virtue their size suggested. She had been too embarrassed of confirming people's opinions, and too worried that all the boys wanted was to get at her breasts.

So she had held out, not because of a lack of libido, not because she didn't want to, but because she didn't trust their motives and didn't trust people not to find out and call her names.

But as Charles led her back inside she realized that if he wanted her she was going to give in to him. He was so mature, so distinguished and intelligent and sexy and... and... sensitive, that for the first time she considered making moves herself.

He led her to the sofa and set her down, then got a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. He turned on the stereo, and sat beside her, pouring for them both.

They kissed again, lightly, then he broke apart and moved forward onto the rug.

He lit a long match and pressed it under the kindling and paper in the fireplace. The fire started slowly, then caught, and began to crackle. He put a couple of logs on, then stood up and returned to her.

He sipped from another glass, then put it down and took her hand. He drew her to her feet and stepped back into the clear as he began to dance to the soft music flowing from the stereo.

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder as they danced. She was sure now that this was the night, and thankful she had waited for it. For surely Charles was a man who knew more about making love than the ignorant adolescents she had dated so far.

She marvelled that everything seemed so perfect, so romantic, with the crackling fireplace, the soft music, the lights of the city...

She never thought, of course, that Charles had planned it to be that way, that he knew very well what young women, accustomed to fast groping and grunting in the back seats of cars were longing for.

He slid his hands behind her and pressed his lips against her. She kissed back, carefully, her heart pounding as she slid her arms over his shoulders. She felt his fingers on the buttons of her dress up behind her neck, and did nothing.

They pulled free, and she felt her dress loosen. Her heart gave another leap, her blood racing through her as the dress began to slip away. It dropped to her waist, but Charles kept his lips on her, even as his hands slid up and down her suddenly bare back.

She felt a hand at the catch of her bra, and groaned softly into his mouth, her body heating up rapidly, her mind filled with passion and excitement and anxiety.

She felt her bra parting, and trembled as he backed up a little, his hands sliding up to her shoulders, his fingers slipping under her bra straps and pulling them forward.

She stared at him anxiously as she let him pull the bra down her arms and off, swallowing repeatedly as his eyes fell to her soft, round breasts, thick and heavy and full, but firm with youth.

She expected him to grab them, to grope and squeeze and try to suckle on them. Instead his hands slid down her sides to where her dress still lay and pushed it further, letting it slip down her thighs to pool at her ankles.

She blushed, fighting the childish urge to cover herself with her hands, and attempted to stand up straight and proud. He took her hand and had her step forward, out of the dress.

She wore no stockings or panty hose because of the length of the dress and the heat outside. She wore only her thin lacy black bikini panties and her high heel shoes as he pulled her in against him and began to dance once again.

They kissed as they danced, his lips on hers, on her cheeks, on her earlobes, on the nape of her neck. His hand was in hers, the other on her back, and he danced just as though she weren't almost naked.

Autumn felt almost light-headed as her naked breasts pressed against his chest. She could feel her hard, sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest, sparkling with pleasure each time his shirt brushed against them.

She felt very strange as they danced. She was practically naked! Every nerve ending in her body seemed to quiver in anticipation. Her heart was pounding and her head filled with desire and apprehension. She was desperately hoping she didn't disappoint him.

The song ended, and his hands slipped down to her waist, then onto her buttocks as they kissed again. She groaned as he kneaded them softly. His hands moved up and down against her thin panties, then slipped inside, stroking and squeezing the soft flesh as their tongues danced slowly together.

His hand moved up behind her head and slid through her soft hair, then tangled in it. He pulled back, firmly but gently, and she sighed as her back arched. His lips came down on her exposed throat and she trembled as he sucked and chewed and licked at her.

He pulled back and led her towards the fireplace. She tried to control her breathing as he eased down onto his knees, pulling her with him on the soft rug. He kissed her again, his hands around her, pulling her tightly against him.

He turned and slid back, pulling her down on top of him. Quickly he rolled, and she was on her back on the soft rug, the fire flickering and crackling beside her as his lips slid over her throat and shoulders.

His hand caressed her taut belly, then glided upwards to cup her breast. He squeezed it gently, then stroked his fingers up over it, using a very light touch. His finger seized her nipple, incredibly hard and swollen now, and he rolled it between them.

His lips moved down onto her chest, then over her breast. He circled her nipple again and again, his lips mouthing her soft flesh, then his tongue slipped out and licked across the hard straining center of her bud.

She groaned, her eyes closed as she absorbed the blistering heat that was pumping from her swollen breasts. He mouthed her nipple, massaging it with his lips, then nibbled at it with his teeth. His tongue slid across it with a deft touch, taunting and teasing it.

His hand continued to stroke the underside of her big breast as his mouth worked on her nipple. He took his time, and she found herself urging him to do more, to suck hard, to chew, to bite, to squeeze harder.

The heat was boiling inside her, and she wanted to be taken, to be ravished. She was ready to give herself to him.

But he took his time.

He moved to her other breast, licking and sucking on the big nipple, squeezing and massaging it with his lips, nipping with his teeth until she thought she would scream from frustration.

He returned to her other breast, his tongue more demanding now, his lips harder. He sucked on it, drawing it and her flesh up into his mouth as he licked and chewed on the surrounding flesh. Her breasts felt ready to explode. Her nipples felt like hard, burning coals.

Her legs were open, rolling and twitching on the floor. Her chest was rising and falling as she gulped in air. She moaned softly as he chewed on her nipple, pulling it upwards, stretching it. Then he let it go and it snapped back. She gasped, then gasped again as his lips engulfed it and he sucked hard.

Autumn arched her back, pushing her hot, swollen breasts up at him. Her body was abuzz with heat and desire, and her mind felt a longing and a need. She cried out as he bit down on her breast hard, and then came.

His hands clamped down on her breasts as she writhed and bucked her hips upwards, and his teeth chewed on her outraged nipple as she moaned and groaned and panted for breath.

The sexual electricity crackled up and down her body, centered on her throbbing, burning breasts, and her mind swam as the pleasure rolled over her.

His hand slid downwards and into her panties, and she bucked up explosively as his fingers found her slit.

"Ooohhhhhh," she groaned, her eyes going wide as she felt his fingers probing at her clit.

She was moist, and hot, and his fingers rubbed up and down along her tight cleft, stroking across her clitty with deliberate force. She bucked up again, her legs flopping wide, her back arching.

"Uuunnngghhh!" she groaned, her mind swimming through a haze of steaming sexual heat.

She felt an orgasm approaching, then it blasted through her, far more complete, far more powerful than any she had felt during her occasional masturbations. She bucked wildly against his fingers as they sawed over her clitoris, and rolled her head in bliss as the ecstasy took her in its all-encompassing grip and shook her like a rag doll.

His fingers caught at the elastic band and tugged her panties down. He had been laying on his side, pressed against her. Now he eased up, moving between her legs on his knees. He lifted her legs high as he pulled her panties down and off, then let them down gently, to either side of him.

She panted for breath, slowly recovering from the orgasm. She stared at him heatedly, her legs apart, sex bare and open. He sat on his heels as she lay there spreadeagled before him. Their eyes met, then he undid his shirt and shrugged it off.

He slid forward atop her, his chest pressing down on her fat breasts as his lips sought hers. She grunted weakly as he laid his weight on her, then sighed as he propped it on his elbows.

"Are you ready?" he breathed.

"Ye-yes," she gasped.

"Tell me. Say it."

"I-I'm ready," she whispered.

He kissed her, then pulled back again.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes," she groaned.

"Say it."

"I... want it."

"Again."

"I want it."

"What do you want?"

"Please..."

"Tell me."

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"You."

He kissed her nipple, then nibbled on it.

"Tell me what you want, Autumn."

"I-I... want... I... UngghhhH!"

He smiled as he squeezed her soft, steaming pussy.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart."

"Oohhh. D-D... doo it."

"Do what?"

"D-D...do iiiiit."

"What?"

"Fuck me," she panted.

"Ask nicely," he smiled.

"Pleeeassse," she moaned.

Oh yes, he thought.

He undid his pants and brought his stiff cock out, then rubbed it purposefully up and down her wet little pussy slit. She moaned and humped up at it as he teased her.

"Fuck me," she gasped. "Fuck me."

He pressed the nose of his cock against her opening and pushed inward. She groaned as her pussy was spread, as her sex lips strained. She felt the head of his organ pushing into her, and arched her back as another orgasm swept through her body.

 33,000 words    $5.95