The Billionaire Professor (2015)

Chapter 1

Maxwell

 

The deafening cacophony of so many voices, trying so hard to out shout each other jangled my nerves. I stepped as far out of earshot as I could, without being called out by some drunken professor trying to be pals with me.

 

I was stuck at the yearly art department mixer, trying hard not to listen to the same bloated egos, telling the same exaggerated stories as the year before. Those overbearing, over-rated academic snobs knew nothing of the art world.

 

What a shame that they were charged with instructing others. Not only is their knowledge of the real art world superficial – they wouldn’t know an original Bosch if it bit them in the ass – but they’re boring as hell even in class.

 

I took another sip of my Scotch on the rocks. The ice melted ever so slightly that the smooth taste of the single blend whiskey was slowly moving to the more subtle stage two taste. A little more mellow.

 

That’s when I saw her. How could I have missed her? She was standing just outside a group, fiddling nervously with her glass. I could tell immediately she was part of the group, yet she distinctly separated herself from it.

 

Her dress highlighted every curve in her figure. What a refreshing view. A woman who didn’t try to hide her classic sensuality. When she turned around, that’s when she definitely aroused my loins. Her dress was cut just low enough to tease me. I hardened immediately. Not something that usually occurs during these god-blessed mixers.

 

And certainly something worth getting chastised over for leaving this dreaded blatant one-upmanship. I took another small sip of my drink and made my way through the crowd. The day before fall session at New State University brought everyone and their brother out.

 

On my way there I encountered no less than three coeds who had taken previous courses with me and thought that – and their drunken state – gave them the right to try to pick me up. Coeds like that, little do they know, are a dime a dozen.

 

But the one lady I was searching for was cut from an entirely different cloth. Let’s say that I was no stranger to the many varieties of women the good Lord created for the delight of the male gender. But there was something distinctly unique about this one. This one is the woman you’d want to have modeling nude for you. This woman was a celebration of the human spirit and she didn’t know it, I’m sure.

 

Finally I was close to her. She exuded sensuality from every pore. I’m not sure what cologne she wore, but it was subtle enough to entice me. I purposely approached her at an angle so she wouldn’t, couldn’t see me coming. The way she worked her fingers on that glass I was afraid if I approached her straight on, she would sprint off like a deer.

 

“Well, you don’t hide your true feelings very well, my dear,” I said. “Are you really as totally bored as you appear to be?” I touched the curve of her back gently and dragged my finger slowly over her spine.

 

She stood motionless for a moment, then turned my way. I tried to read the expression on her face but my interest was piqued when I could detect no surprise, no delight, not even a hint of wonder.

 

Jazmin

 

I had seen him there almost as I entered the bar. He stood there as if he were waiting for the admiring, adoring women to flock to him. Without a doubt he was the most incredibly handsome man I had ever seen in my entire live. Dark, thick hair with a controlled wave. He wore it back but not slicked back so he looked like a gangster.

 

No, he definitely had a class of another era. Was he a reincarnated spirit? Or perhaps merely a figment of my over-active, hopeful imagination? Throughout the dreadful dorm social I stole glances of him. Of course, he never noticed. And why should he? After all, I was that plump girl that always got overlooked in high school. The one who never got asked out a date. The one . . .

 

Oh, I could go on, but what good would that do? That would just make me more miserable. I really didn’t want to come to this event, but my best friend Myriah insisted. “It’ll do you good to get out and check out the men at the very least.”

 

You’d think she would know me better by now. The one girl no guy ever looks at. But my friends were all apparently oblivious to this. If I had a dime for every time some guy asked what I looked like and my well-meaning friends said, “She has a great personality.”

 

So there I stood, with the crowd but apart from it just like at every other social function in my life, nearly in tears. It was my own stupidity for agreeing to attend to this hideous function. It only brought back horrible memories of the cruel words of both men and women who felt they had to comment on my weight.

 

I had taken several stolen glances at him throughout the evening. After all I had nothing else to do. Not a single person I came with was talking to me. Mariah found a cute football player who wanted to make small talk with her.

 

There was something that told me this man – my man, I’ve already claimed him -- quietly drinking and surveying the landscape, was a true gentleman, that is if I ever got the opportunity to meet him he would actually treat me like a lady and at the very least not belittle me for my looks.

 

But then that was just a fantasy on my part. It would always remain a fantasy. Why was I even looking at this man? I’m sure he could have any girl in the bar. But in my mind, I envisioned him walking over to me, my knight in shining armor. Approaching me from behind and pressing his hard penis against my body. In turn, my vagina would immediate respond, but I would stand there, not giving him the satisfaction of how he had made my body sing.

 

His hands would then make their way perilously close to my clit and slowly rub the area. At that point, playing the cosmopolitan girl I never was, I would . . .

 

Even before I finished my well-crafted fantasy reply, I took another sip of my Coca Cola – no I didn’t even drink alcohol – and glanced his way for the fifth, or was it the sixth? -- time that evening. Much to my chagrin, he was gone and I could feel an abrupt depression stir my soul.  My heart dropped so thunderously I thought it overtook even the horrendously loud music.

 

“Good grief, Jazmin,” I muttered, “what did you expect? Did you really think he would stand there all night just so you could stare at him?”

 

Then she saw him talking to two stunning, tall blondes. Ahh, of course, Jazmin, old girl, your fantasy is now officially burst. He, like every other man on the planet, is guided by his penis. Did you really expect him to be any different? Did you --?

 

My thought process was abruptly interrupted as I felt a hand on the small of my back. I stood without moving a muscle for just a moment making sure it was what I thought it was. When I turned around, there he was, the dark-hair mysteriously brooding man I had been coveting for who knows how long.

 

Don’t panic, my brain said. Play it cool. My body, however, said don’t let a good thing get away. Jump his bones now. You may never have another chance. Screw his brains out, woman.

 

My brain responded, “You’re still a virgin. How in the world are you going to ‘screw his brains out’ let alone even begin to satisfy him?”

 

After all that conversation passing between my body and my very excited sexual organs, I could only manage a weak smile and I “Hi.” Not really an intelligent approach.