How To Fuck Your Professor

Resplendent in your floor length gown, you enter the large ballroom, trying to catch a glimpse of Hunt amidst all of the masks.  You walk around to the bar, quite sure that if he was anywhere he would be there. You see a dark haired man leaning against the counter, holding a glass of amber scotch and watching the dancers waltz across the floor. He’s wearing a jet black mask decorated with a delicate silver lining. You glide along the polished tile floor to stand next to him and order a martini.

Sipping daintily, you address the man, “Not one for dancing?”

He turns to look at you, and his scowling dark eyes confirm your suspicions. “It depends,” he says shortly, turning away again.

Undeterred you sidle slightly closer to him, breathing in his rich and heady scent. “I must admit, I only learned how to dance this year, and I’m still not very confident.”

“What a pity,” he says without looking at you.

You narrow your eyes in irritation; his reluctance starts to get on your nerves. “Perhaps you would care to dance with me?” He turns to look at you and something about his stone cold eyes makes you flustered. You continue hurriedly, “It’s just that I don’t know anyone here, and although I’m always a fan of an open bar, I don’t think I want to spend the whole night here.”

You think you see the edge of his mouth turn up in a slight smile, but it’s gone before you can be sure. He downs the rest of his scotch, and your nerves urge you imitate. You take the olive from the empty glass and slide it into your mouth. You see Hunt’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, watching you. Taking his proffered arm, the two of you join the rest of the dancers on the floor. Hunt smoothly joins the rhythm of the dance, and you struggle to keep up because you can’t take your mind off the fact that his hand is firmly holding your waist, pulling you into him. Eventually you manage to get into tempo, and the dance steps begin to flow naturally. You look up at Hunt, drunk on the feeling of being so close to him. You find that he’s looking back at you, and when your eyes meet he pulls you slightly closer to him. You gasp softly and close your eyes as you twirl across the dance floor, unable to remember when you had felt so happy. The music ends and you find yourself being drawn to a set of comfortable cream brocade armchairs. He guides you to sit in one and says he’s going to find some drinks. You smile widely and look over the beautiful room. The crystal and gold chandeliers sparkle and dance in front of your eyes, and the renaissance murals on the walls swim and contort. When Hunt comes back with two flutes of champagne, you can’t help but let your face break into another wide smile. His own mouth curves upwards as he hands you a glass and moves to sit down in the chair opposite you.

“What are we celebrating?” You ask, indicating the glasses of champagne.

His mouth quirks up again. “Meeting you,” he says, and there’s not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

You and Hunt talk for well over an hour as you sit in those armchairs, both of you slowly getting drunk. He tells you about his favourite movies, his love of classical music, and even recites his favourite poem for you.

“You’re so…unexpected,” you say.

“So are you.” He says, his eyes roaming your face and body. “What about you? What are your interests?”

You lean forward, ensuring you give him an incredible view of your décolletage. “You are,” you breathe, your voice infused with sweet seductiveness.

He stands up, offering you his hand to pull you to your feet. “I’d say we’ve nearly dried up the bar here, so perhaps you would care to come to my place for a drink? I have a rather impressive unopened bottle of ’83 Chardonnay.”