"Getting no reaction beyond a blank stare, she added, "On the telephone." Go away, and tell them to ring after four o'clock but before half after," wa... the response."But ... but..." The secretary seemed on the point of bursting into tears."But what?" snapped the thoroughly exasperated Professor."It's ... it's the President who wants to speak with you," she finally managed to say."The President? Of the University?" The disbelief was evident in Sharon's voice, for the President never concerned. " He pressed the needle into my arm and the plunger slid down, automatically matching my pulse. I felt myself drift off in a matter of moments.This time I woke back on my steel framed bed, but I was in considerable discomfort. On my back, my head hung over the side of my bed, my legs hanging off the other side. My face was covered in my own drool, a clasp hung from over my teeth and pulled my head down, another on my lower jaw pulled my mouth opened and immobilizing my head. My legs were. And all the time, they watched each other with a mixture of affection and desire. “That, my dear sweetie, is making love. Now what’s the difference between it and fucking?” Betsy pondered this at length, all the while running her hand slowly up and down my cock. Then she said, “Fucking’s like a sport. Making love is showing how you love somebody.” Betsy was one bright 13 year old. I nodded at her, smiling broadly. She smiled back. “And we love each other, don’t we?” TOO smart, too. I stood in the living room trying to assess my feelings. Was I really that prudish? Really that uptight? She came back out with my panties in her outstretched palm and handed then to me. I could immediately smell an aroma and I felt a wet spot in my hand, along with a kind of tingle down below."There's yours," she looked me in the eye the whole time, "time to give me mine back." I started to walk towards the bathroom but Marge grabbed my shoulders tightly. "No," she had a crazy look in her.
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