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Ah, the beauty of graduate classes... however, the thought often forefront in my mind was that Liz would be leaving Hopkins at the end of January, and only coming for classes and special events. College had taught me the painful lesson that taking classes with someone rarely brings you closer. So, gritting my teeth, I selected the class I would have normally selected had a certain Elizabeth Carstairs not come into my life. When I came back from vacation (with a few less teeth to grit--the joys of getting one's wisdom teeth pulled), I found out that she had decided to take the same class. That's the way it goes, sometimes.By then, I knew that I wanted to see Liz on a regular basis after she leaves Hopkins. Granted, it wasn't likely to happen, but I had to at least try. So I won't be able to drop by her lab anymore; I knew that. However, I wanted more than a few minutes before and after class once a week. I'm not sure when the idea of dinner came up, but it persisted in sticking. I sit there, out in the open, in front of the camera, my face gripped by rapture, my body shifting as the rabbit drives me onwards towards the inevitable climax. Off to one side, my secret lover watches. I stare at the camera, knowing that my husband will be watching soon, and perhaps one or two others.Anonymous men. I see them before my eyes. Well, not them, just their hands working their cocks. I gasp and moan, biting my lip and hardly able to control my body. The rotations drive me onwards, the vibrations drive me upwards. The cocks and hands before my eyes multiply, becoming the crowd that might be watching at any given moment were John to upload this video to the internet.“Aaaaaaaaaaah!” I’m crying out. “Aaaaaaaaaaah!” I’d thought to remain silent, but I can’t. The climax is impending, is right on top of me when I realise that there is a car somewhere behind me, the rumble of the engine extinguished as I give a strangled cry, trying to stifle my cries, but unable to. My body.
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