In Lecture.

A Switch. Hit or Miss. An Exercise in Insinuation.

Oh my poor sweet twist.

That’s the label. Her Twist.

Which I’d contest except the bill fits. Little else abbreviates the act of driving oneself up a wall with the teasing words of another in the middle of lecture quite so well. Twisted really. To torture through text. Cruel even, considering how she’s got my mind spinning, spurring, surging. Typing off tales tantalizing. Anchoring attention, rapt, entranced. Ever demanding sultry, seductive-

You pretend that you’d be able to resist.

An endeavour I’ve long given up. My neighbour two seats from my right is judging me. Eyes like iron, cold. Congealed disgust holds her tongue, she shifts her chair with little care to conceal contempt-

And who can blame her? She just saw me whimper, whisper, curse ragged profanities, muffled only by the sound of slumping, forehead smacking surface. A marvelous display of keeping composure.

I can see how you hunger. If only you sat closer.

Appearance, exposure, these are matters that matter little when you’re keening.

You’d be able to see. I can almost taste your need in the air. Vaguely like sweet cream.

Tease. The only thing available to savour is frustration. Twisted delight in denial-

Dear neighbour, I am acutely aware of my pants. I thank you for your attentiveness and concern, but my eyes are up here.

Drenched.

Noun describing a mutual situation. The bell rings. Determined is a fitting description of how my body flings itself down the lecture hall steps.

Steady. Slow and steady please.

Lust, Caution. Love in a Fallen City. Fifteen steps more before I reach the lectern. A body of work is forgotten for just a taste. But my steps recede in speed. In need I am enthralled.

See, that wasn’t so hard was it?

Assuredly convinced that otherwise I’d be insane. For a nectar that is heady as it is mildly sweet and savoury, sultry and filled with urgency. Craving satisfaction that comes with savouring frustration freed with fury unleashed. Leg-locked expression. Ecstasy-

I see how she smiles, hand hidden behind lectern, shifting as she touch texts seduction, answering questions without compunction.

Consider the switch flipped. Call me a twist, who could say. Searing desire overrides face. Demanding satiation.

I find myself standing in front of her, face to face, trembling with anticipation.

Alone together.

She places a hand on my head, fingers running through my hair in a manner almost maternal.

“Olivier.”

“Yes, professor.”

She hands me my want. My need. My release.

A sheaf of paper. On it, the words, “Grant Approved.”

“Congratulations, Twist. Well done.”

An exercise in expectations. Written for an assignment.