This story deals with quite a few touchy issues, and centers around a relationship that many might find taboo. If this doesn't appeal to you or you think it would offend you, please heed this warning. Similarly, it will be very deserving of its M rating in later chapters. It is about two adults and their interactions, so there will be language and lemons. This story also dives right in to the thick of the plot. I'm currently writing another story that is chapters and chapters of build-up and anticipation and I wanted to write something that would allow me to get right into the fun stuff, so don't be surprised.

This is just pure fun for me to write amidst all of the writing I do in school, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my little tale! Finally, when you're picturing the main male character, picture a youngish Alan Rickman. Yum.

Disclaimer: The title comes from the Damien Rice song "The Professor and La Fille Danse." I take no credit for coming up with it whatsoever. If you haven't heard this song or any of his music, I highly recommend it. He is one of the most ridiculously talented musicians around today.

Chapter 1

One might say that Charlotte Clark was simply magnificent when she was angry. Never was there a more perfect storm of animalistic rage, raw energy, and flawless vocabulary.

Her voice turned deceptively low and her eyes misleadingly bright when she was at her most volatile, but those who knew Charlotte knew that the more appealing she might look, the more dangerous she was certain to be. Those who didn't know Charlotte knew only one thing: that her chest heaved quite marvelously when she was in a snit.

That heaving bosom seemed to be the singular focus of one Professor David Cartwright. He sat comfortably at his rather grand oak desk, in his rather grand office—which he was quite proud of, for not every university professor had such a grand office—and attempted to focus rather halfheartedly on the words coming out of his teaching assistant's mouth (truth be told his attention was much less inclined to favor the meaning of the words rather than the lips that formed them.)

"You can't…" Charlotte took in a shaky breath in a fruitless attempt to calm herself, "You are honestly saying that…" She paused to collect her thoughts before beginning again, "Let me just see if I understand you correctly. You are trying to tell me that you're putting me on some sort of made up probation—"

A curt nod,

"A punishment that you obviously just came up with—"

A raised eyebrow,

"Because I don't know enough about sex to properly convey the erotic undertones of Toni Morrison—"

A quirk of the lips,

"To a group of eighteen year old college freshmen?"

A self-indulgent smile,

"You can't even do that! They're eighteen, for Christ's sake! They still think sex only lasts for two minutes at a time! How could I possibly be naïve enough about intercourse to be unable to educate them?" The last few words came out in a screech.

"Now, Miss Clark, don't be upset. I am only trying to help you, here." His smug British accent and perfectly basso profundo voice did nothing to help assuage Charlotte.

"Excuse me, sir, but how could you even imagine that this is for my benefit? And stop staring at my breasts!" She crossed her arms protectively across her chest. It may have been her imagination, but his smile appeared to turn quite feral.

"Miss Clark, all I'm saying is that I wish to observe several of your discussion sections so that I may get a better idea of the areas in which you have opportunity for improvement."

"All due respect, sir, but what you're saying is that my sexual history doesn't provide enough background for me to understand the sexual politics of an author whom I've been reading since I was fourteen!"

"Yes." His brief summation served only to further her outrage.

"You can't do that!"

"Well, Miss Clark, as your superior, if I feel the need to monitor your classes for a brief period of time, I most certainly can do that." His hands were clasped and resting on in desk in the most infuriatingly casual way.

Charlotte was standing only inches away from his desk, taking large, huffing breaths as she fought to calm herself. This man—for whom she had such respect!—believed her to be nothing more than an innocent child.

"Charlotte, do not think that I don't appreciate your vast knowledge and intelligence. You are one of the most enjoyable graduate students I've thus far had the privilege of working with. Your contributions to this department do not go unnoticed." Charlotte only narrowed her eyes at this, "It is not your fault that your generation is so vastly uneducated about sexuality."

"I hate to be blunt, Professor Cartwright but I have had plenty of sex."

His eyes ran unashamedly over her body, "Oh I don't doubt it, Miss Clark." His words ran like silk over her skin and wrapped ever so gently around her ears, "Unfortunately the amount of sex you may have had has little to do with what you know about it. Tell me, Miss Clark, have you ever spent an entire weekend doing nothing but having sex?" He rose from his chair and came slowly to the other side of his desk, "Have you ever had a man put his mouth on every inch of your skin, or tie you to a bed to have his wicked way with you?" He was standing a hair's width away from her, and her mouth had fallen open, either in terror or desire, "Have you been shagged against a wall just because your lover wanted you so much he couldn't wait to get to a bedroom?" Charlotte felt a strange jolt in her stomach as his voice dropped, "I believe that you've had plenty of sex, Miss Clark, but have you ever made love? Have you ever been fucked?"

She drew in an unsteady breath and David tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear, "I thought not." He withdrew quickly and gave her a studious glance. She fought to keep herself composed under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Should you ever feel the need to… further your sexual education, as a sort of advisor in your life, I would be remiss in not volunteering my assistance. My services are always available, Miss Clark." He motioned her towards the door, "Until then, I shall be observing your discussion sections once a week until I feel that you have made suitable progress to teach them alone." Charlotte blinked disbelievingly, "Now then, I'm a very busy, important man, Miss Clark, and my duties mustn't be kept waiting,"

Charlotte didn't miss the sarcasm is his tone as he said these final words, and allowed herself to be ushered out of his office with no argument. Her previously enraged self had been reduced to a docile, quivering mass of nerve endings from the moment Professor Cartwright began discussing such things as tying one up to one's bedposts.

She had never felt so confused, insulted, and aroused in her entire life. Professor Cartwright was a man for whom she had the utmost respect, a truth that had only flourished in the time she had spent teaching under him. Half of her was seething in justified anger that he would approach her with such a proposition, and the other (less reasonable) half was overwhelmed and overjoyed that he was unarguably attracted to her.

Charlotte shook her head, as if clearing out the dozens of lingering questions dancing around her mind and noticed the young female student sitting outside of Professor Cartwright's office.

"Oh, are you waiting on the professor?" Charlotte asked her, "Go one in, I was just… finishing up." Charlotte started to say something more, then caught herself, and then began again, "Just… he's in a bit of a mood today, yeah?" She warned the younger girl, who nodded before opening the heavy wooden door with some trepidation.

Left with little idea of what had just happened and even less of an idea of what to do about it, there was only one irrevocably true fact about Charlotte's life: she needed to get her hands on one hell of a stiff drink.


Charlotte swirled her water glass rhythmically, unnoticing of the loudly clinking ice that drew the attention of more than one of her fellow diners, so consumed was she with thoughts of the professor with whom she had lately been arguing.

But—arguments rarely ended with sexual propositions, did they? Charlotte honestly didn't know; her inner turmoil had so devastated her penchant for logical analysis. Her recall must be off—there was no other way to explain it. And there was certainly no way she could actually be considering the offer! Except…

Well, didn't his voice feel just lovely floating over her skin? Professor Cartwright did have that kind of handsomeness that transcended age, but it was most assuredly his deeply soft manner of speaking that caused so many of his undergrads to offer him their more… lascivious … methods of extra credit. Charlotte should know, she'd been fielding these desperate emails all semester. To her professor's credit, he had yet to take the bait on any of them, instead allowing Charlotte to respond to them as she wished.

But wasn't his proposition borne of the same foundation? How could he consider himself to be above the pleading requests of students when he was asking almost the same bounty of her? Charlotte didn't want to believe it, this man she so fiercely respected and admired engaging in behavior she found so reprehensible.

Maybe she was sexually repressed. Maybe these activities were going on constantly under her nose, and she had spent all of these years closing her eyes to it.

No—Charlotte was no innocent. She was not an inexperienced virgin. She had spent four years in college partaking in the exact same extracurricular activities as the rest of her peers. Professor Cartwright was simply trying to get under her skin.

The appearance of her best friend, Alison, came at the perfect time, for she was hankering to get a second opinion about her current dilemma.

"Sorry, sorry!" Alison said, throwing her bags on the table and leaning across to give Charlotte a dry kiss on the cheek, "Richard had a meeting with the big boss, and you know how he gets. Spent two hours just picking out his tie." Richard was Alison's boss; or rather, she was his personal assistant and essentially in charge of organizing every facet of his life—a job she did with immeasurable patience and skill.

Alison snapped her fingers at a waiter and Charlotte covered her face to hide her embarrassment. Alison's bluntness was not one of the characteristics that Charlotte favored about her. After ordering a Chardonnay, Alison turned her full attention to the girl sitting across from her.

"So, Char, what's up? You seemed pretty desperate to go out for drinks when you called. Did something happen?"

Charlotte began to speak…

And the words stuck in her throat. She couldn't tell Alison what happened! If was far too personal and she was an extremely private person. Explaining her situation would be like opening up her innermost feeling and putting them on display for the world to see. Charlotte simply couldn't make herself say it.

But there was a way to hedge around the subject without revealing too many details, "Do you think I'm too sexually repressed?" A flicker of understanding passed across Alison's face, as if she had been expecting this question for some time now.

"Not… sexually repressed, per se. More like…" She struggled to find a comparison, "Jaded." Noticing the undisguised drooping of Charlotte's features, Alison rushed to explain herself, "It's not your fault! It's the men you've been with." Charlotte cocked her head, confused, "It's like you're twenty-four years old and already tired of sex. It doesn't even make sense! Most people our age haven't even hit their prime yet, but you? You seem like you'd be just fine if you never got laid again."

Charlotte digested this information, not wanting to respond accusingly towards her best friend, a woman who she knew what only trying to help her. "It's just different for me, Ali. I'm just one of those women who can't orgasm during sex. I've told you this!"

"Oh, bullshit, Charlotte. That myth is a fuckload of crap perpetuated by men who were too proud to admit that they couldn't get their women off. Look, can you come when you masturbate?" Charlotte tilted her head in acquiescence, "Then you can come during sex. You just haven't found the right guy to make you do it yet."

Truthfully, Charlotte liked this way of explaining things much more. It removed a significant amount of the blame from her, save her admittedly bad taste in men.

"What brought this up, anyway?" Alison queried.

"I've just been… thinking a lot."

Alison sensed her resistance to discuss the subject any further. "You know what you should do? Have a few drinks—hard drinks, not a watered down Cosmo or some bullshit—and lower your inhibitions and take one of the fine men in this here bar home with you."

Charlotte choked, "You can't be serious! I couldn't. I've got classes to teach tomorrow, I can't be hungover!"

"Come on, you're only proving my point," Alison glared but Charlotte didn't give in, "Fine, don't drink. But do take someone home! If it sucks, then at least you weren't expecting anything more, and if it's awesome, then you'll finally understand why you are such an anomaly."

"I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Just find someone attractive and buy him a drink. You're the sexiest woman here, I can't imagine that you would have a terribly difficult time convincing someone to share your bed."

Charlotte hated being described as sexy, and blushed thoroughly. She knew she was blessed with looks that generally made her… appealing, but with no desire to work them to her advantage, they only made her feel awkward.

"Well, I need to run. Richard will be done with his meeting soon. Sorry to leave you here but… take my advice, babe. One night of debauchery isn't going to kill you, you know." Alison stood up quickly, swinging her purse off the table with enough force to rattle Charlotte's drink glass.

As quickly as she came, Alison was gone and Charlotte was left alone with her roiling thoughts. It made sense, what Ali had said. Charlotte had never been one to enjoy sex. She certainly partook of it, but rarely did she initiate and never did she feel any kind of satisfaction. She had always thought that was the way of it for some girls. It was, after all, much more guaranteed that a man would achieve release. And her experience thus far proved that men cared little about finding anything more than their own completion.

Charlotte definitely didn't see how the little assignment Alison had left her would do anything but further cement her negativity towards sex. And if she could find it in herself to be completely honest, there was one man she could not take her mind off of for long enough to even give someone a second glance. And she fervently doubted that Professor Cartwright would be showing up at this bar anytime tonight.

She wished she had never checked her email that afternoon. After a long day of grading papers, she had been so ready to give herself a much-needed day off. That irksome twinge of responsibility had prevented her from leaving her office without doing one last check up on her email and phone messages. But, oh, how she wished she hadn't. For then, she would never have seen the brief missive from Professor Cartwright, would never have felt so obligated to drop by his office on her way home, and would certainly not be considering taking a semi-decent looking man home for a perfectly unsatisfactory evening of carnal delights instead of curling up on the couch with Sense and Sensibility and her cat!

It was upon thinking that exact sentence that Charlotte finally grasped the totality of what Alison and her professor had been trying to say. While she didn't think it to be problem that she preferred to spend her evenings watching Alan Rickman movies in the company of a thirteen-year-old Persian, she did understand that it was not the behavior de rigueur of her peers.

The part of Charlotte that was 24 going on 87 told her to fuck what Professor Cartwright had said, she'd damn well do what she pleased (in none-so-graphic language), but the part of her that had never been able to take criticism told her go one and just… fuck Professor Cartwright.

She jumped when the waiter came up to her table to drop off the check.

You know she thought to herself, that waiter doesn't look half bad…

In a moment of unadulterated insanity and a need to prove everyone wrong, Charlotte scribbled her number on her receipt and threw a $20 next to it. A tip that large should at least give her a chance.


It was with great trepidation that Charlotte entered the lecture hall the following morning. She just knew her hair was a mess and that her minimal cover up was doing nothing to hide the gaunt circles under her eyes. It was no great surprise that her waiter had called quickly after the end of his shift, and Charlotte agreed to meet him at a popular tapas bar near her apartment.

It was also no great surprise that her waiter had been no better in bed than any other male with whom she had the misfortune of communing. Charlotte's body felt like someone had used her as a battering ram the previous night. All of her muscles were sore, and she could barely walk, let alone sit down. The vagina was not meant to be treated as such, and Charlotte heavily regretted ever listening to what Alison had said.

Charlotte took her seat to the side of the classroom just as Professor Cartwright called the class to order. Grad students were required to attend each of the lectures so as to have a better idea of what topics to cover in their discussion sections that week and normally Charlotte loved attending Professor Cartwright's lectures. Today, however, she was a bundle of nerves. After sleeping (well, for an hour or two, anyway) on it, she knew she would have to discuss with him what had unfolded in his office the previous afternoon. She felt so uncomfortable with him now, and she couldn't stand to feel awkward around a man from whom she received so much guidance.

The lecture passed much too quickly for Charlotte's taste, and she took very few notes on what was discussed. She would have to ask one of her fellow TA's for theirs.

She waited for the room to clear, waited for the very last overly flirtatious female to flutter her lashes one last time before approaching her professor. He was rifling through the papers on his podium, and Charlotte was brushed with the unnerving feeling that he didn't even realize she was there.

She cleared her throat, "Sir?" She asked. Damn, that was too passive. She needed to be her usual, aggressive self and take charge. He glanced up at her.

"Oh, Miss Clark, did you need something?" He asked absentmindedly, "Well you certainly look like hell, girl, did you sleep quite well last night?"

"No, actually, I didn't, no thanks to you," She returned with some of her usual vigor.

"I fail to see how it is my responsibility to ensure that you get a decent night's sleep."

She sputtered. He was acting as if nothing had ever happened between them! Was this a common occurrence? Did he ask every female grad students if she wanted to sleep with him?

"Well, sir, if you hadn't felt such a pressing need to inform me of my sexual inadequacy, I never would have felt the need to go out last night and try to remedy it!" She spat quite indignantly.

He looked vaguely amused, "Well I certainly didn't mean for you to spend the night with an incompetent oaf, did I?"

"How do you know he was incompetent?" She screeched. He had been, of course, but she couldn't say that to her professor.

"If he weren't I quite imagine you'd be glowing right now, rather than practically falling over in exhaustion."

This man knew how to try every ounce of her patience, didn't he?

"Miss Clark, any particular reason you stayed after today?" He began packing his things meticulously in his briefcase. Charlotte studied his features carefully; his strong nose, his harsh eyes that could be so lovely when his smile actually reached them, his slightly graying hair, and she allowed herself to be consumed by the velvety timbre of his voice, each word a fresh gust of air surrounding her and enveloping all of her senses.

It was almost an out of body experience. She felt as though she had no control over the words rushing forth from her lips. "How old are you, sir?" She asked unapologetically. She made no effort to explain away her blunt question and he looked at her with no small amount of surprise in his eyes, quickly covered when the cool, emotionless mask he usually wore slipped back into place.

"I'm forty-two, Miss Clark."

"Have you ever been married?"

"Never been close," He returned with a lift of his eyebrow.

"Personal preference?" She pried.

"I find that I value intellectual substance much more than simple beauty, and the women I associated myself with in my younger years could not satisfy this requisite."

She quickly jumped on this, "Is that why you want to sleep with me? Because I am your intellectual equal?"

"You flatter yourself, Miss Clark."

"Sorry, sir, but any arrogance about my intelligence has been rightfully earned,"

"Perhaps that's not to what I was referring?"

That one momentarily stumped Charlotte. She had been so sure he'd been attracted to her. She was afraid to hesitate now for showing any weakness. "I rather thought that part had been made clear in your office yesterday, professor. Did you not imply that you would be a willing participant in furthering my sexual education should I so desire?"

He smiled broadly. She was not going to be able to best this man. "So I did, girl."

He was intentionally making this as uncomfortable as possible. He walked towards the door and she followed closely behind, blinking as he turned off the classroom lights.

She wasn't at all prepared when he turned around to face her, and she found herself inches from his chest. He smelled like a library. She leaned in more, inhaling deeply, and suddenly her chin was being tilted up by two of his fingers. Even in the darkness of the classroom, his eyes were glittering. Her breath came in short puffs and she found that it unnerved her very much that he was so composed. He was touching her and oh, God, her skin was tingling desperately. He said nothing, and the tension of the silence reached an uncomfortable crescendo when,

"Do you have any children, sir?" It came out in more of a breathy whisper than Charlotte had hoped, but she felt she had effectively gotten the point across.

"No," His breath skated softly across her face and she barely even registered his briefcase dropping to the floor. The hand on her hip, however, that she noticed… He was taller than she thought, or she was shorter. Either way, the top of her head only came to his chin and she shivered inadvertently. How did this man just exude power?

"Good. I'd hate to think I was fucking someone who had children my age,"

Her professor needed no more prompting, and he was kissing her with a sudden ferocity that Charlotte felt to her very core. She couldn't help thinking that this was hands down the best kiss she had ever received and she eagerly kissed him back. It was so much more than the wet, tongue-filled, sloppy exchanges she had shared with boys in the past. His lips were cool, but somehow scorching her own and she emitted a low moan when he opened his mouth just slightly. It was like a jolt to her nervous system when his tongue barely touched hers.

What was she thinking? This was her professor! Charlotte was not the right kind of girl for this. She barely slept with anyone, much less someone who determined her employment status.

But she was utterly incapable of stopping when for the first time in her life, she understood what it felt like to want more.


It was all David could do not to throw the young woman to the floor and take her right there. Her innocence was intoxicating and he couldn't remember ever wanting someone this badly. Oh, he knew she was not a virgin, but that didn't belie her virtuousness. Surely he had never been with one less experienced and that idea aroused him so much that it hurt to breath.

David couldn't be exactly sure when he had began lusting after the chit, but one morning he had stopped by her classroom and he'd left with a raging hard on that he couldn't seem to deflate.

There was something irresistibly sexy about watching her in action. Miss Clark was a little waif of a girl, but commanded so much power while in front of her students. And those eyes…

David had always had something for blue eyes.

A soft moan startled him back to reality and he began to focus his full attention on the young woman in front of him. She was kissing him back with as much enthusiasm and passion as he had sincerely hoped and never expected. He ran his teeth roughly along her bottom lip before soothing it gently with his tongue. This brought forth a keening noise from Charlotte's throat, and this time he bit her with a little more force. She responded in accordance with him, momentarily capturing his tongue between her teeth. This elicited a feral response from David, and he shoved her roughly against a wall, causing her purse to fall from her hand and land gracelessly on the floor.

But Charlotte didn't care. She was putty in his hands. With his lovely, vicious mouth on hers, one hand resting on her back and the other cupping her bum, she could not have been more content.

And then his lips moved to her pulse point right below her jaw and Charlotte began to realize that there were levels of contentment she couldn't even begin to fathom. The pure bliss that was his mouth on her overly sensitized skin was incomparable to any other sensation she could remember feeling. She moved one hand from his back to twine through his hair because he couldn't, oh he just couldn't move from that spot.

He resisted the desire to grind against her, the urge to relieve just a little of the pressure, and instead pulled her fiercely against his body, achieving some minimal sense of satisfaction through their closeness. Charlotte pulled back, and for a split second, David feared it was due to his forwardness.

Her eyes were glinting darkly and there was a look in them unlike any David had ever seen from her before. Her olive skinned was deeply flushed and her lips were parted and slightly swollen and he had to suppress a groan from imagining what they might feel like wrapped around his…

No he couldn't think such thoughts, at least not yet.

Not when a simple kiss seemed to have scared her off.

She looked directly into his eyes when she spoke, "There are going to be students in here any minute,"

"Yes," He spoke in short, clipped tones.

She looked nervous, and removed a hand from his side to run it through her hair, "I think… I should like very much to continue this,"

David exhaled sharply through his nose, "Yesss," He placed all of his emphasis on the sibilant consonant, his mouth directly beside her ear. She rolled her hips unconsciously as his breath on her neck overwhelmed her senses. The pressure of his erection against her stomach was like a jolt of electricity.

He was a man. Her professor was a man with very male desires and feelings and very male parts.

Oh, God.

"Teach me," She spoke suddenly, and without thinking.

He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, "Teach you, Miss Clark?"

She rolled her hips again, wanting to feel proof of his desire for her, "Oh, God, please, teach me about sex, and fucking, and making love. Teach me how to fucking make this aching go away. And for fuck's sake, show my why you're the only man I've ever wanted to touch me," Charlotte finished with her mouth flush against David's, her pelvis straining up to reach his, and her hands fisting his shirt.

It was desperately hard not to bring one hand to touch herself, not to make him touch her. She thought she might pass out from the sheer force of her arousal.

"Oh, yes, Miss Clark, I can certainly think of several demonstrative exercises that would serve these purposes well," He squeezed her left cheek appreciatively.

A slight moan, "You know, I've always learned best hands-on,"

They both heard the door in the back of the classroom begin to open and jumped apart as if the object of a lightning strike. Her professor was out of the room before the regrettably early student even entered. Momentarily dazed, she picked up her purse and followed suit. By the time she exited the building, David was gone. Charlotte didn't know whether to be angry that he left her, excited by the way she excited him, or grateful that they hadn't been caught, and was forced to settle for an awkward combination of the three conflicting emotions. The resulting feeling left her almost too terrified to go back into her office, a mere three doors away from David's own.

God, that kiss. It was so far removed from anything Charlotte had previously experienced that she felt like a blushing virgin upon coming face to face with her first erection. That kiss had left her wanting things she couldn't even explain, most prominently the overwhelming need to be filled.

Upon her arrival to her office, Charlotte immediately turned on her computer and opened up her email. She was pleased (and none too surprised, if she was being honest with herself) to see an email from David at the top of her inbox.

Miss Clark,

I find myself rather curious about your self-proclaimed proclivity towards hands on learning.

Would you be so kind as to partake in a small demonstration with me this evening? Perhaps at my place?



(And for God's sake, girl, delete this email if you know what's good for you.)

Charlotte let out a short bark of laughter at the postscript. She had no intention of keeping any email she may have received from David (Middle initial 'W') Cartwright. She keyed a quick reply.


It seems that I am otherwise unoccupied tonight after five o'clock. I should think I would make quite a good test subject in this regard.

Shall you send me your address or must I throttle the information from one of your obsessed students? I know of at least two in my afternoon discussion section who would be able to oblige me.


C. Clark

(I make a habit of keeping all love letters in my scrapbook, hope you don't mind terribly.)

Charlotte knew how difficult it was going to be to focus all of her attentions on teaching a class that afternoon, much less getting any research done for her dissertation. She was experiencing the feeling one might describe as 'giddy' for the first time in her short life and had no clue what to make of it.

On the one hand, David was eighteen years older than she. That was bad enough form, even withholding the fact that he was her department head! She didn't imagine that sleeping with one of your teaching assistants was looked upon highly by the university.

On the other hand, his voice alone made Charlotte wet. His clear, deep British accent and absolutely flair for proper vocabulary and grammar was more of a turn on that Charlotte could even explain to someone who didn't study English intensely. The more Charlotte had looked at him, the more attractive he had become. She was never one of those girls who went for attractive men, but his masterful command over the way he presented himself was intoxicating. He cut quite an impressive figure, seemingly effortlessly.

It was the confidence Charlotte found herself drawn to; the talent, and the power. She felt that she was so lacking in any of these that she just fed off of anyone who wasn't. And David certainly wasn't. She heard a pinging noise and glanced over at her computer to find an unread message from the man who had lately been in her thoughts.

Miss Clark,

You will find my address listed below. Come over around half seven, if you would, and I will make us dinner. I hope you aren't one of those insipid vegetarians; if you are, my offer has been revoked, but I thank you for your time.

Do you drink red wine, or white?



(I certainly hope I have properly filed that last sentence away as a less than amusing joke.)

Charlotte smiled softly to herself and ruminated over his note before realizing how little time she had to get to her last class of the day.


I definitely eat meat (for sustenance and otherwise) and prefer white wine. I will see you at half seven.


C. Clark

She had no doubt that the double entendre would not go unnoticed by her clever professor and quickly wrote his address on a spare post it note, marveling at the day's events and their utter unexpectedness.


A.N. Again, I hope every enjoyed this! Reviews of any type are always hugely appreciated but I honestly it's good enough having someone to read my ramblings for once.