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It started with the glances. The library was a place where it was easier to study than the cafeteria in the student union. Jane would go there after she was done with the class she taught. After grades got updated and everything was done for next class, she did her studying. After years of teaching at the local community college, she found out she enjoyed it. She didn't enjoy her piecemeal way of living. She had three part time jobs. Policy changes at the community college meant she should probably get a master's degree. The school was in the process of phasing out the one class Jane was qualified to teach. Her only other alternative was try to sub in the local public school systems. She couldn't bear the idea of subbing. She didn't have the personality to deal with snotty, disrespectful kids without losing her temper every single day. Last semester was bad enough. Her three classes meant enough money to live on, but her afternoon class was mainly newly minted high school graduates, except for one woman in her late twenties. After Jane laid down some rules about cell phones, and had a mini-meltdown to enforce them, that class seemed to shape up a bit. Jane's problem student got a talking-to by Jane's boss, and he seemed to settle down. However, most of the semester was gone at that point.

The bright spot in the semester was talking to Phil. He also taught at the community college, and she probably wouldn't have ever noticed him until the day he complimented her on her hair. She'd recently had it cut, but he waited a couple weeks before telling her how flattering it was. Jane beamed and thanked him. And from then on, she was hooked. Men never complimented her. But the very fact that he had said something nice was enough to make her notice him. Later, she realized it was one of her weaknesses. In college, she'd never noticed her freshman composition instructor until he wrote brief notes at the bottom of her essays, telling her how good they were. And that was when Jane paid attention to him. Not that it did her any good.

But there was something about Phil. She first noticed him glancing at her over an astronomy book. At that point, Jane wouldn't have known what color his eyes were. Shortly after that, he was carrying on a conversation with the woman sitting beside Jane. The woman left, and he continued the conversation. With Jane. That never happened to her, either. And then, the day of the compliment. That was, perhaps, when she noticed him for the first time. For Jane, men were just props in the daily scenery of life. Terrifying props. Jane felt she was stuck in eternal girlhood, never knowing what to say to men, and feeling that her mother's words and wisdom failed her. Few men had run their fingers through Jane's hair, despite her mother telling her that's what they wanted to do. And frequently, they said mean, condescending things to her, or looked past her. Jane wasn't a girl anymore, and what was the magic of being grown-up to a woman who was terrified of men and couldn't do anything to make them like her?

Phil seemed nice. Amazingly nice and polite. And soon Jane was looking forward to seeing Phil. She was attracted by his very ordinariness. In a world filled with tattoos and stretched earlobes, Phil's dark hair, blue eyes and wholesomeness was an aphrodisiac to Jane. He would ask her questions, want her opinions about things. And he would look at her as she answered. She found that refreshing too. He wasn't looking at his cell phone when he talked to her or was listening to her. He later told her he didn't even own a cell phone or laptop.

A couple months of chit chat once or twice a week was enough for Jane. She noticed the wedding ring right off the bat. Had he not been wearing one, she would have asked him out for coffee, despite her utter terror of men. But he was married, and that was that.

However, Jane found herself becoming more particular about her wardrobe. Sometimes, she'd hang out in the library on her days off, just to see if Phil would be there. As the weeks sped toward the end of the semester, every precious moment with Phil counted. She would feed voraciously off his every look, his every word. She would analyze his intense, speculative gaze. What did it mean?

Jane realized she was acting like a schoolgirl around Phil. He'd ask her a question, or she would volunteer information, and realize she was babbling. But the brief encounters added a delightful element to her working life. She couldn't put a name on it, but it felt like she was back in sixth grade and analyzing the boy she had a crush on. She tried not to realize how pathetic she seemed about it all, but she would never forget the day she'd smuggled some soup into the library. No food was allowed at the computer terminals (a rule which was broken all the time) but Jane had eaten a few spoonfuls, and slid over to a keyboard. Phil had sat in front of her, facing away from her. A few seconds after she had slid over, he turned around and looked at where she had been sitting, a space that was now empty, with that adorable, absent-minded look on his face. When he turned back, Jane smiled. Why had he turned around in the first place? She was the only person who had been sitting there at the table.

It was these moments that had her smiling at odd times of the day. Because Phil's face was burned into her brain. His very wholesomeness, which would have been brushed aside by some women as nerdiness, caused Jane to become wet. His blue eyes held a sensual intenseness that caused a chill in Jane. What was he thinking of when he looked at her? She knew very well he was married, but knowing little about men, felt that he was looking at her a bit too long whenever she came into view. She wouldn't believe he had any feelings about her. It couldn't possibly be true!

She'd broken up with her boyfriend over three years before, and hadn't noticed anyone that she was interested in. Looks were one thing, but Jane was looking for an intellectual attraction. However, she realized that unless she put in some effort on her end, her pick of men would be limited to the kind of men she wasn't attracted to. She could have made arrangements with her ex-boyfriend to be fuck buddies, but although she was still attracted to him, they both lacked what the other needed and wanted.

A co-worker at the big box discount store where Jane worked on weekends was fed up with her mooning over an unavailable man. She set Jane up on a blind date with her boyfriend's brother. Jane, with no illusions or hopes about this date, went into it as a writer would. She observed every detail about the date: the greasy food at the diner where they ate, the jeans and t-shirts everyone (except Jane) was wearing, the way everyone looked at their cell phones (three hours spent together didn't yield a single shred of interesting conversation) the loudness of the bowling alley, the cigarette reek of her date. Not to mention the fact that his upper body looked like it had been attacked by several packs of angry Magic Markers. Her Phil was not a tattoo fan, she was sure of it. He looked too wholesome, too clean, too pure-minded to scrawl up his body with some Chinese character or tacky motto.

The blind date only made things worse. The men she didn't want were out there. The man she wanted was taken. Why there wasn't a single, available man out there who turned her on was the problem. On Facebook, she had posted the question, “why do I always fall for married men?” and someone had answered, “because you don't really want a relationship.” Jane didn't think that was true. She didn't want to go out with someone she wasn't attracted to. And at her age, it wasn't as if she was going to attract a Christian Grey-type either. But wasn't there someone out there for her? Someone who would stimulate her mind as well as her body? If there were a God, thought Jane, miserably, he had dangled some appetizing bait in front of her. It was nice to know that in spite of having a hysterectomy four years before, she wasn't dead yet. Far from it.

So that fall semester had been busy. Jane taught three classes, worked retail and worked her ass off to get into grad school. She looked forward to the end of the semester with mixed feelings. She was afraid of starting school, even though it was necessary. She was looking forward to having time off. She wondered what Phil would do for the holidays. And she wanted to ask him so many things.

Do you know what you do to me? Do you know that your face is burned into my brain? Do you know that I think about you non-stop? Do you know that I think about the way you look at me?

Soon enough the month-long break was over. School started again, and Jane was both teacher and student. Her days off were taken up with studying and yet another part-time job. She would see Phil, but rarely.

The community college where she taught and the university she attended collaborated on an event for women's history month. Students and alumni and faculty from both schools would read selections that were female-centered. Most read their own work; others read from women writers.

Jane was reading a short story of hers. She was especially excited, because last year, the event was not held. She was especially proud of this story because it was empowering. It was based partly on someone she'd once dated, someone she had met ten years ago, and a fictional scenario she had dreamed up. For the event, she wore her little black dress she had finally lost enough weight enough to fit into. Her hair was freshly cut and fluffed around her face. She'd finally found high-heeled shoes she could walk in. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror before she left, and was pleased. She was no fashion model, but the dress fit well and she thought she looked … tasteful. Maybe even cute. She kept make up and jewelry to a minimum. She put in her new contacts. Jane enlarged the font on the story so she could see to read it a bit better. She didn't want to wear glasses to read the story.

She wondered if Phil would be there. She barely saw him anymore. When she did, there were other people near them. She noticed that when they weren't alone, he wouldn't talk to her. Not being particularly experienced with men, she wondered if he was just being discreet. One of the other instructors would openly flirt with him, but Jane didn't have the guts. One time, when he seemed to be putting himself down, she told him not to do that. But she didn't consider that being flirtatious. She just didn't want him verbally bashing himself, because she was convinced he was the most polite man she'd ever met.

Do you know how much you thrill me? Do you know that when I think of you, it's as if you've touched me in the most intimate of places? Do you know that you are the only man who has ever made me feel this way?

She sat in the front row of the auditorium. The room was half full. She hoped Phil would show up.

Jane already had noticed a former friend of hers in the sea of faces. She made no sign of recognition. Their friendship had ended in an embarrassing way. He'd traveled two-thirds of the way across the country to spend a day with her. After that day, he told her he had a girlfriend who had a son. Jane predicted the relationship would last a couple of months. Jane's friend and his girlfriend were married six weeks after Jane had met him in Chicago. She'd shown up at his wedding reception at the request of the friend's brother. Her friend had exploded in fury, and his brother didn't want Jane to contact him again. And Jane and her friend didn't speak to each other again for 10 years. By then he was divorced. And it was awkward. It was obvious that whatever they'd had was destroyed. She sat through the first five presenters. Four were original poems and short stories; one woman read from the S.C.U.M. Manifesto, while sitting on a man crouched on all fours, with her feet propped up on a man, presumably a human footstool. Then it was Jane's turn.

Having taught, she was experienced in speaking in front of crowds, and unlike the majority of people, didn't mind it. Despite her lack of self-confidence, for some strange reason, Jane felt invisible. She knew it didn't make sense to think that way at all. However, this was a bit different. These were people gathered to hear her. She relished the sense of power when she read her story in a clear voice, amplified by a microphone and speakers, alone on the stage. The lights made it hard to see the audience. She glanced up from time to time, but mainly kept her eyes on her papers, so she wouldn't lose her place. She reached the climax of the story, with the heroine shouting obscenities to the antagonist, pretending to shoot him. The story ended shortly after to the most enthusiastic applause of the night, so far. Jane smiled, introduced the next reader, and walked off the stage, back to her seat.

She exhaled, and took notes on the next reader. Jane wondered exactly what they were planning to serve by way of refreshments. It would be hard to avoid her former friend in the food line. While sitting there, it felt like something had struck her chair. Probably someone down at the end of the row who banged against the last seat. And then a voice: “Is there anyone sitting in this seat?” She turned, and it was him. Thrilled that he was there, she smiled and said coyly, “just you.” He sank into the chair, and Jane took a deep breath.

She continued to take notes, but the fact that Phil was there, sitting beside her, was enough to send her heart racing. She hadn't seen him in a couple weeks, and was flattered he had remembered the event. Months ago, he had asked her about the books she had self-published. He'd asked her if they'd been successful. She admitted the only book she'd really tried to promote was the erotic fiction. That was embarrassing to admit, since Phil looked too wholesome to have ever had sex, even though she knew he had children. But he didn't seem embarrassed at all. He just continued to look at her with that contemplative look that always made her feel naked.

Do you hear my heartbeat? Do you understand the way I feel? Do you understand how wonderful and miserable you make me? Do you know why I babble when I'm around you? Do you understand why I can't look into your eyes? Do you know you make me feel like a schoolgirl?

Jane could feel his body heat radiating. She was also aware of her own body, the way it quite literally felt it was vibrating. She felt as if she could touch something metal and see sparks fly. Both of them sat silent until the end of the program. She gathered up her jacket and papers. “They said they were going to have food, but I don't know what it's going to be,” said Jane.

“I could use something to drink,” said Phil. “Maybe water or ice tea, if they have it.”

They climbed the stairs to the lobby. Jane wasn't hungry. She was self-conscious about eating in front of Phil. She was suddenly aware her panties were damp. Because she couldn't stop thinking about him, she recently got into the habit of carrying a spare pair with her. She figured she'd have to change into them before the night was over. Pretty impressive for being a post-menopausal chick, she thought.

Jane and Phil glanced over the offerings. Both of them took bottled water, and moved off to a relatively quiet corner. Through her teaching, Jane was becoming more well-known, and a few students and faculty came over to chat briefly with her. She introduced Phil, who responded politely with everyone. He seemed a bit more relaxed with people he knew. He watched her as she interacted with fellow colleagues and answered questions about her writing. Gradually the crowd thinned out.

Jane and Phil stood together. She noticed her former friend across the room. She had a pang of regret. They had been platonic friends, and at the last minute, she hinted they could have been more. But that was a long time ago. It was only the second time in her life she had pursued a man. The first time had been in high school, and that had failed as well. The next time (if there would be one) she would let the man do the pursuing.

Phil turned to her. “Would you like to go somewhere and get coffee?”

Jane was surprised. “They have coffee over there, didn't you see it?”

“I guess what I meant to say was, would you like to go somewhere and get coffee away from all these people?”

“Well, since you put it that way, okay,” Jane smiled.

Inside her car, Jane took deep breaths. It had been on the tip of her tongue to blurt out, “you're married,” in response to the coffee question, but maybe it was just coffee. Nothing wrong with just coffee.

They settled on a diner a short distance from the university. They talked about their classes; Jane talked about the class she was taking. She was happy. Her limited experience with men meant she wasn't as observant about clues and cues from men. She was the kind of woman who, if a man invited her to his house to listen to music, she actually thought they were going to listen to music. Or if the offer was to watch a movie, she expected to watch a movie.

She was well aware that she was babbling. Phil's head was tilted to one side, an amused smile on his face. He seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. Jane talked so much, her hot chocolate (she hated coffee, but didn't want to tell Phil that) was lukewarm. She gulped it down. Phil was drumming the sides of his coffee cup. “I'm sorry; I've been hogging the conversation” she said. “So what's new with you?”

He continued tapping his cup. “My wife left me.”

And yes, his left hand wasn't wearing a ring. Keep calm. “Oh,” said Jane. “Oh God. I'm sorry.”

“The last couple of months haven't been so great,” said Phil. He sighed. “I have plenty of classes to teach, so that's okay, at least.”

Jane looked down at her almost empty cup. This was not a scenario she had prepared herself for. She had had crushes on unavailable men before, and was happy enough to gaze and daydream—and that's where it ended. Now, her crush was suddenly available, and she felt on the edge of something. She thought she felt a drop of moisture make its way slowly down between her legs. Was she that starved for romance? And if this was what teenage boys felt like all the time, then no wonder they thought about sex all the time.

“You look really nice in that dress,” Phil said. Jane looked at him. He had that intense look again.

“Thank you,” Jane said. “I finally lost enough weight in order to fit into it. I bought it a long time ago, and I couldn't bear to get rid of it. I love it. I feel like I can conquer the world when I wear this dress.”

They were silent for a while. Phil looked at Jane. She looked back. She felt something; vibrations, electricity, chemistry. She thought of their past conversations and how she had gone over the things he said in her mind over and over again.

Do you know how much I want you? Do you know?

“I'm house sitting for some friends. Well, I'm not really there all the time, but they have cats, and I want to check in on them one last time tonight,” said Phil. “You should come and see the house. It's pretty amazing. I've never seen anything like it in town. Spectacular art, sculpture, things like that.”

“Right now? Tonight?” asked Jane.

“Yes, tonight,” Phil said. “I'll give you the directions, and you can follow me over.”

The house was in an older part of the city, on the south side of town. The phrase, “south side” usually meant one thing to north siders, and that meant the bad part of town. However, this particular section of houses was spectacular in comparison with the houses three miles east on the very same street. Jane had looked at these houses with envy and awe. Huge brick houses, Spanish villas, replicas of Swiss Chalets. While a delivery driver, she'd had a few opportunities to see some nice houses, but this was where the original old money people lived. The newer money built houses southwest, and more recently, northwest.

Phil made it there ahead of Jane. She parked her car behind his in the circular driveway. It was wide enough so that when she left, she would just back up a few feet, then pass Phil's car. There was no need to back out of the driveway, which would mean curving backward for about 200 feet and hoping she didn't hit the shrubs.

He was waiting for her. He was framed in the doorway when she made her way up the front walk. “I'll hang your coat up for you,” said Phil, as she stood in the foyer. She unzipped her jacket, and handed it to him. She put her handbag on a long table of shallow depth with a mirror hanging over it. Despite the late hour, she still looked good. She checked her make up in the car before driving over. She heard the front door close, then a clinking of clothes hangers. “I'll give you the grand tour,” said Phil, who took her hand.

Jane didn't remember much of the tour. The house was so beautiful and intimidating. The art. The furniture. The space. Jane lived in a small house barely over 1,000 square feet. Clean clothes stayed on the couch for days. Mail accumulated on the dining room table, which was now in the living room. She was ashamed of her house, but reminded herself at least she had a house. She was more concerned with the fact that Phil, who had never touched her before, now had her hand. And she was a jangle of nerves. They had started in the basement, worked their way through the first floor, and the bedrooms were upstairs. And that's where they were heading now. Jane tried to stay calm.

There were five bedrooms upstairs. More art, more furniture. No Ikea here. And nothing was out of place. This was the prom king of houses. And they were in the master bedroom. Phil brushed his hand against a wall switch, and the room appeared. “Master bedroom,” said Phil. “With a master bath,” he said, turning on another light. “And Jacuzzi tub.”

“It's beautiful,” said Jane. “Just … amazing. I love older houses.”

Phil let go of her hand, and opened the shades. “Look at the pool and the garden.”

Jane gazed down. She shook her head. “I wouldn't live in a newer neighbohood. The houses don't seem to have any character. This is a showplace. But comfortable looking.” Phil was leaning against the frame of the window. He had a small smile on his face, and seemed to be looking down at her feet. But he slowly looked up, and as their eyes met, Jane felt a spark. He was so beautiful. Yet, he wasn't arrogant about his looks. His self-deprecating personality tore at her heart. He would bear whatever the world threw at him with stoicism. Jane didn't want anyone to suffer. She turned back to the window and looked out. It wasn't helping. The unfamiliar surroundings, the nearness of Phil, the knowledge that his wife was no longer in the picture bore down on her like a weight. She'd only felt faint once in her life, when she saw her father being prepared for a sponge bath by a home health care aide. Jane tried to help, but had to sit down next to her father, because she thought she was going to pass out. Seeing her dad so weak was incomprehensible. So were her current circumstances. The sound of rushing water seemed louder. “I'm sorry, I've got to sit down,” said Jane. She went over and sat on the bed, the nearest piece of furniture. She felt even worse—would Phil think she was being too forward? The rushing continued, and then suddenly, she felt warm. “Could you get me some water?”

Phil disappeared into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water—real glass. The water must have been a couple degrees above freezing. She gulped it down, and gradually the rushing stopped. “Are you okay?” asked Phil.

“I think so,” she said. “I just … for a minute there, I felt so weird.” Jane held on to the glass. Phil leaned against a bureau in front of her. She finished the water, but it wasn't enough. “Could I have some more?'

He reached for the glass and shortly she heard the sound of water running. The bureau had a mirror. She looked flushed, but other than that, she looked good. Phil came out and handed her the glass. He continued to lean against the bureau, just to her left. Jane took a few sips, and looked down into the glass. She was afraid to look at Phil, and didn't want to look at her image in the mirror. She was sitting on a bed in a beautiful house with a man who excited her beyond belief. She felt another drop work its way down. She pressed her thighs together. She gazed into space, but couldn't help notice that Phil had an erection. Or was that just her imagination? The conversations had seemed innocent, but the looks they had exchanged all evening seemed full of energy. Dangerous energy. She slowly looked over to her left, where the window was. Oh, yes. Phil was casually leaning against the bureau, but the bulge in his pants was obvious. She drained the glass, and he leaned over and took it from her.

 “Want some more?”

“No, thank you.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, a little.”

She thought about him having an erection. The idea struck her as being funny, but she knew enough to know men were sensitive about their genitals, so she kept quiet. She thought he would be more self-conscious about it. The elephant in the room, she thought. The silence was unbearable, and the more she thought about it, she couldn't help it. She smiled, and looked down, but it was too late. He'd seen it.

“What's so funny?”

She looked up at him. His head was cocked to one side, and he looked amused. Well, what the hell? She looked at his bulge again. Yes, still there. How to play it? She gave it some thought. She gave a little sigh, smiled and looked up at him. “You have an erection,” she said, with the same kind of sympathy a cashier would use when saying, “I'm sorry sir, your card has been declined.”

“Occupational hazard of being male,” he replied. He moved over to her and knelt before her. “How about a foot massage? I'm sure you could use one by now.”

“A foot massage?” repeated Jane. She hated to sound like a dimwit, but she wasn't expecting that.

“Yeah. Those are great shoes, but heels aren't comfortable, or so I've heard.”

“These are the first high-heeled shoes I've found that I can walk in,” Jane said, in a small voice. “I don't know why I said that.”

“Because you didn't know what to say about the foot massage,” said Phil. He placed his hands on her sandal-clad feet. “And your feet feel like ice. No wonder you had to sit down. You probably can't feel anything.” He started unbuckling her shoes. Once he had them off, he looked up at her. “If you take your pantyhose off, I can do a better job with the massage.”

Jane hesitated, then stood up and stepped to the side. She lifted up the back of her skirt, and hooked her thumbs over the waistband of her pantyhose and pulled them down. She tried not to think that only a damp pair of underpants and her dress skirt were the only things keeping her modest. The pantyhose were a barrier—a thin barrier, but a barrier nonetheless. Without them, Jane felt naked.

Phil took one of her feet, and placed it between his thighs. Her toe was right up against … something. He took her other foot and firmly grabbed her ankle. She was trapped, for the moment.

Phil looked up at her expectantly, but was amused at the same time, as if he'd put something over on her. Phil gently started kneading her heel, too gently. He slowly worked his way up her foot, teasing her arch with his fingertips. When he got to her toes, he moved back down her foot, making slow, delicate circles.

Meanwhile, Jane was trying to control her breathing. She felt she couldn't move her right foot, firmly planted between Phil's thighs, without being rude or provocative. On the other hand, Phil had a good grip on her left ankle, and the feather-light touch of his fingertips on the bottom of her foot was making her fairly delirious. She tried to breathe deeply. Her bottom was tingling, she was light-headed, the man of her dreams was torturing her in the most exquisitely excruciating way imaginable, she was squirming, and the flesh between her legs was wet. She gripped the bedspread. He reached the bottom of her foot, and increased the pressure on her foot. It was beginning to feel more like a massage now. She relaxed. His fingers were strong, his hands were warm, and he was actually using both of them to work the bones and muscles in her foot. For a few minutes, Jane calmed down.

Then, Phil went back to the feather-light touches, tracing gentle ovals and circles. She tensed. She swallowed. She gritted her teeth. She squirmed.

He looked up at her, a smile on his face. He looked like a naughty little boy. “Are you enjoying your massage?” he asked, innocently.

Jane stared straight ahead. She couldn't look at him. Couldn't. “It doesn't really feel like you're giving me a foot massage.”

“So what does it feel like?”

“It feels like you're tickling me.”

“Really?” said Phil. “And are you ticklish?”

“What do you think?” said Jane. “In case you haven't noticed, I've been squirming for the last few minutes.”

“And breathing a bit hard,” he said. He took her right foot from between his thighs, and replaced it with her left foot. He proceeded to caress her foot with the same leisurely sensuality as he did the left. Shamelessly, he traced a line from her heel to her toes, over and over again. Jane looked at the ceiling. She gripped the spread again. Would this never end? How could this be so exciting? He had touched her with nothing but his fingertips, on a part of her anatomy that she thought the least sexy, and she thought she was going to faint again. She was sweating and wanted nothing but to strip her panties off. Now, he was starting again with the circles, and Jane thought she was going to scream. “This is not a massage,” she said, with all the righteous indignation she could muster.

Phil stopped, and he placed his hands on her thighs, and leaned forward into Jane's face. “No, it's not a massage. But if I'd said, 'I want to tickle you, because watching you squirm excites me,' would you have let me do it?”

“No. Because … it's...”

“It's what?”

“A bit forward to say the least. You should have been honest with me.”

“And I should have said, 'I want to tickle you.' And you would have said 'no.' Or you would have slapped me. And we wouldn't be in this position right now. And I kind of like this position.” His eyes were inches from hers. He placed his hands on her calves, and started stroking. Up, down. Up, down. “Be truthful with me. Are you excited?”

“About what?”

“The tickling. You were trying to control your breathing, and you were squirming, and I have to tell you how cute you are when you're flustered. You always seem so professional, and innocent, and in control. And watching you in a situation where you're not in control, and you're obviously getting turned on, well, it's fun. Lots of fun.” His eyes blazed into hers. How could a man look so boyish and sexy and determined at the same time? He traced his fingers up and down her calves, then placed his hands on her knees. Then, they were on her thighs. And he leaned forward and kissed her.

Jane was pinned. There was nowhere for her to go except backwards. Suddenly, Phil was kneeling above her. He grabbed her wrists and kissed her again, his erection urgent. She couldn't quite believe this was happening to her. His lips eased their way down from her earlobe to her shoulder. He lingered, then gazed into her face.

“I've always wondered what it would be like...like this,” he says.

“This is crazy.”

“What's crazy?”

“This … is crazy.”

“Why is it crazy?”

Jane thought. “It … just is. It's all happening so quickly.”

“And yet, it's taken months. I had hopes when you beamed at me after I complimented you on your hair.”

“I noticed you before, though. When you were looking at an astronomy book. I looked over at you, and you were looking at me.”

“Ah, so the 'pretend you're reading a book while you're checking her out trick' did work,” Phil said, smiling. He continued nuzzling her. “I wasn't just checking out your hair, though.”

“You weren't?”

“No, there were many other parts, but I felt I had to tread carefully. But it worked. And now, here we are.”

“Phil, this seems scary.”

“It doesn't have to be. My wife left me. You and I have both been busy, and we haven't really been able to talk until tonight, and we've been eying each other for months. We're both adults. And I've been thinking about you for a long time. Have you been thinking about me, at all?”

Do you know that the impossible can happen? Do you know how happy you make me? Do you know you're the first man I've been completely attracted to, in every sense of the word?

“I've been thinking about you a lot,” said Jane. “You … you make me really happy. I look forward to our talks. You're probably one of the few people who talk to me, and actually look at me. You're not looking at a cell phone, I mean. And if you hadn't been wearing a wedding ring, I would have asked you to go for coffee months ago. And I'm terrified of men. But I'm so attracted to you, I would have done it, if it hadn't been for the wedding ring.”

Phil kissed her, tenderly. Jane wasn't fond of mouth kissing, because her mouth was so small, and it seemed like bad breath was more of a problem than most men realized. But Phil smelled of coffee, and tasted of cream and sugar. And he seemed to know all the sensitive spots. He nuzzled her for several minutes, and she felt herself acknowledging his maleness and the wonder of him. She was so attracted to him in every way, and there they were, on a bed. Jane couldn't believe it. But he slowly pulled back and his eyes, those blue eyes that were so intense, were looking deeply into hers. “I guess this does seem sudden, but … I couldn't resist. You look amazing … cute and sophisticated and innocent and sexy, all at the same time.”

“And you look so wholesome, and clean, and handsome.” Jane whispered into his ear. “You have no idea how much I thought about you, and how excited I got. I told a friend I had a crush on you, and she said I looked like I was totally smitten. She said it was wonderful to see me like that.”

Phil released her wrists, and slid his arms under her. The cool March night seemed far away as they kissed on the bed. Jane was shaking. She'd felt this way once, a long time ago. She felt her body was sending out vibes, vibes that it was okay for Phil to touch her. This was the first time, she thought. The first time she was completely attracted to a man and didn't care what happened next. As Phil said, they were adults, he was separated and Jane was single. All the months she'd ached for him, wondering what he was doing, and now they were on a bed. It was like something from a movie. She grabbed him, running her fingers through his short hair, then pushing him back so she could look at his face, into his eyes, feeling that no matter what had happened in her life with men, despite the rude treatment and the humiliation, it had all led up to this moment, with the man she'd craved for months.

“You don't know,” she said. “You have no idea how excited you make me. I'm attracted to so much of you. I always looked forward to seeing you, and this semester I hardly saw you at all. I've never been so excited in my life.”

They kissed.

Phil slowly leaned back on his knees, straddling Jane and looking down at her, searchingly. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. It was too slow for Jane, who had reached for his belt and started unbuckling it. Then, she stopped to run her fingers over the bulge just below the dangling belt buckle. She had to laugh. The buckle seemed limp, but Phil certainly wasn't. The sudden caress caught him by surprise. His sharp intake of breath told Jane what she needed to know. She unbuttoned his trousers, then unzipped them. Phil whipped his shirt off and his undershirt almost in the same motion. Bare chested, he pulled Jane up from the bed, and unzipped her dress. She wore no slip, but had put on the black push up bra and matching panties, never dreaming that someone else was going to see them that night. Phil leaned back, and pulled Jane off the bed.

“Wow,” he said. “Turn around for me,” he whispered.

Jane felt shy as she slowly turned around. She'd lost weight to fit into the dress. She wasn't a size zero, but if she were, she wouldn't have anything to put into the bra.

“Wow,” he said again. His pants had fallen to the floor, and he looked comical, his ankles shackled, as he came toward Jane. He stepped out of his pants, naked, and reached for Jane's hand. “Come here,” he said. “I think it's time for some more tickling, since that's what seems to excite you.”

He slid her panties off, then unhooked her bra. Since the weight loss, her breasts were smaller, but still formidable. He reached for his belt and tie. “Lie back on the bed,” he said. Jane did so, and Phil wrapped the belt around her ankles, fiddling with the buckle. He then took the tie and bound her wrists. Crouching over her shins, he delicately teased her thighs with random strokes. He would occasionally pause, fingers hovering over her skin, before finding another spot to torment. He enjoyed the element of surprise: he'd trace circles or long ovals, then stop and find another spot to caress. It was always slowly; of the few times he watched tickling videos, he couldn't get excited by the men who looked like they were jabbing their fingers into the ribcages and armpits of their victims. No, he lived for the tense muscles, the restraint of his victims, and the resistance they put up, as if to say, “no, I will not be conquered,” but they always were.

Jane happened to be the perfect height for what he wanted to try next: tickling her feet with one hand, and gently working his way up her thighs to the flesh in between her legs. Always gently though, always gently. Anticipation added to the excitement, and he tormented both her feet with his index and middle fingers of his left hand, while he stroked the insides of her thighs with his right hand. He worked his way up, slowly. When he was almost to her pubic hair, he made circles with his fingers back down her thighs, then continued the pattern on his way up again. Then, he changed his mind. There were the obvious parts of a woman's body, of course, but Jane's plump arms and breasts reminded him that this foreplay could be extended.

He straddled her torso, touching the palms of Jane's hand with his fingertips, making his way down her arms to linger in her armpits, making the same maddening circles and ovals. Jane had giggled and shrieked, but he hadn't heard her words, nor had they chosen a safe word. She had not begged him to stop, but soon she would. Phil was too patient, and despite his wholesome face, he was merciless.

He traced straight lines down her ribcage, to just above her hip, with slow, meandering S patterns. He drew a figure eight incredibly slowly up and down her sides. With his full weight on her, she couldn't move, not her torso, at least. He attacked her stomach with several fingers, with the lightest of touches. Soon, even if she didn't beg him, he'd have to stop. He was getting more and more excited, and he knew the release he wanted. He worked his way up to her breasts, gently pinching the erect nipples. He drew wide, slow circles around her breasts. Then, he traced lines down, down. He reached her thighs, then stroked upward, then down. His thumbs slid between her thighs, gently teasing the hot, wet flesh. Rhythmically, he moved his thumbs, gradually increasing the speed, but with the same delicate touch.

“Are you ready for me?” he whispered.

“I think so,” Jane whispered.

He stopped and unbound her ankles. He spread her legs apart, and pulled her closer. He was unbearably hard now, and longed to jab himself into her. But he slowly eased his way in. Anticipation, wasn't that the biggest turn-on? Her flesh closed around him and he stayed still for a moment. Then, he started thrusting, but as he did so, he continued to tickle her. He unbound her wrists, then played between her legs. Her gasps told him it was his caresses and not his manhood that was giving her pleasure. Jane had not had intercourse in a while, so she was extremely tight, which only added to Phil's pleasure.

He started stroking the backs of her thighs, and Jane, surprised at this new sensation, knew that the unthinkable was going to happen. She was close to orgasm, which was something she naturally assumed would never happen during intercourse. She knew her body well; knew that everything had to fall together and accepted the fact that without a vibrator, an orgasm just wasn't going to happen. But she was relatively inexperienced, and her previous lover didn't find tickling exciting, so he had never indulged her. But here was Phil, and she was on the edge, and she knew it was going to happen …

Phil was fully inside her, and his fingers had resumed stroking her wet flesh. Jane's voice seemed far off as she told him she was getting closer, and not to stop. He caressed her thigh while he gently fingered her, his thrusting paused. “That's good,” gasped Jane. “Don't stop that, don't stop ...”

He kept going, then started thrusting again slowly. The three-point assault on Jane's flesh was too much and for a brief moment, she climaxed, body tense. When Phil was sure she was done, he thrust madly, relentlessly for several seconds until he too, completed release.

They lay together, silent. Jane couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Yet here she was, naked, with a man she barely knew. She didn't care.

“Thanks for the hot chocolate,” she finally said.

“You're welcome,” said Phil.