Extra Credit

Pork dumplings are Elizabeth's favorite food. Dr. Charles Waxman, her Algebra professor, knows this because Lizzy brought a warm dish of potstickers from Hunan Palace to class on Thursday.

"They're my favorite," she whispered to the Russian exchange student in the adjacent row.

Dr. Waxman lectured for an hour and a half and turned toward the class to watch her sneak morsel after morsel between her young and pouty mouth. He pretended not to see, ignoring the memorandum sent to all faculty members, instructing that eating and drinking be prohibited from lecture halls and computer labs.

"Finally," Dr. Waxman announced to conclude his lecture on quadratic equations, "for those of you who wish to attend the release dinner and reception for Dr. Brownmiller's documentary on Chaos Theory, please see me after class."

Students slapped computers shut, tore paper, and zipped their bags in a flurry.

"Extra credit will be awarded for attendance."

A line began to form in front of Dr. Waxman's desk, and despite her next class, Elizabeth waited for ten minutes to sign up and ask how many points will be given for attending.

"A full letter grade."

"Really? For one event?"

"For attending the complete viewing during dinner and a two page essay on what you learned," he explained, "no coming late or leaving early, and I will be checking."

Elizabeth nodded and ran across the lawn to her next class. She stopped only momentarily to pop three breathmints and re-apply her lipstick.

Elizabeth wore a black kimono dress she bought at Saks Fifth Avenue when her roommate, Kristen, insisted they shop early this year for swimsuits. Lizzy tried on only one halter maillot that gave her a bad case of muffin top before settling for a new sarong and a trip to the dress department. Kristen said that it was too short to wear to a formal event, but everything else was too low cut.

Dr. Waxman arrived late with his wife in tow. They sat themselves quietly next to Elizabeth as Dr. Brownmiller introduced her film and thanked her production staff. A buffet of Indian cuisine was available, but barely touched by the majority of staff members. Elizabeth excused herself as the film began, and Dr. Waxman quickly followed. He found her standing next to a serving dish of fresh chipati.

"And where do you think you're sneaking off to?" Dr. Waxman interrogated Elizabeth with a melting tone of warning. "I'm just kidding. What are they serving?"

"Indian. I don't really like it, but I figured that I might stay awake longer if I eat something."

Dr. Waxman laughed and leaned in with a low voice.

"I agree. The only reason the department makes such a big deal about his movies is because Brownmiller's brother in law is on the board of trustees."

"Is that true?" Elizabeth smiled.

"Yes," he continued, "plus we have to use the funding to make sure they don't reduce our budget next year."

"Dr. Waxman—," Lizzy was interrupted with a shush from a near-by table. "I didn't know you were such a gossip," she whispered.

"Call me Charles," he said, and walked back his seat.

The film was two and a half hours long. As credits rolled, a number of attendees were seen stretching and yawning. Several had excused themselves to smoke or "stretch their legs." Elizabeth closed her notepad and slipped it back into her bag.

"Let's go get some coffee, Charlotte." Dr. Waxman got up but stopped mid-stride.

"I'm just going home, Chuck. I'm tired, and the baby probably needs to be put to bed."

"Let Clarice do it."

His wife shook her head and kissed him on the cheek. Someone turned on the overhead lighting and Dr. Brownmiller thanked the guests for coming. Everyone was invited to enjoy coffee and dessert or purchase signed copies of the DVD, complete with commentary, in the lobby.

"Fuck that," Dr. Waxman muttered softly with a grin.

"I know, right?" Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief. "I hope you know that I only came for the grade. I don't have the least bit of interest in chaos mathematics. My major is Anthropology."

"I know, you said that on the first day of class." Dr. Waxman stuck his hand in his pockets. "Want any dessert?"

A selection of miniature cheesecakes and warm cookies were offered on the refreshments table.

"These are so fucking adorable, I can't stand it." Elizabeth sucked a lump of cream cheese from her index finger.

"They only serve the little ones because they think guests will consume more conservatively if the hors d'oeuvres are small."

"No way. I just want more. I've only had like three, and they are so small," Lizzy explained.

"Do you smoke?" Dr. Waxman asked.

"No, my mom keeps trying to quit, so..." Lizzy shrugged.

"No, I mean, like—"

"Oh." Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and set down her coffee.

"Yes."

"Come back to my office," he said, walking towards the elevator.

Elizabeth rested on the sofa while Dr. Waxman rolled a ball of sticky, purple Kush into the bowl of his box pipe. He took the first hit, and lit the pipe when Lizzy leaned into take hers.

"Wow," she coughed, "that's really good."

Charles laughed, allowing a plume of smoke to exit between his lips between each stifled chortle.

"You never struck me as that kind of girl," he replied.

"What do you mean?" Lizzy turned and made an injured face.

"No, I mean, you don't look like the stoner girls in the back of the class. Not that anything is wrong with those girls. Those girls were my friends when I was your age. Not that I'm that much older than you, you know."

Charles paused and lit another bowl for Lizzy.

"I'm saying that you look so put together. You do your homework. You wear lipstick to class."

"A little goes a long way," Lizzy replied.

"I'm sorry, Lizzy, I didn't mean to offend you."

"Its fine, Dr. Waxman, you're right. I don't normally do this kind of thing. I came here for extra credit, but I'm not above it. I'll get high in your office. After all, it will probably legal soon anyways."

"Please, just call me Charles. Dr. Waxman is my father and Professor Waxman is the head of the English department."

"Are you related?" Lizzy wondered.

"Elizabeth, Professor Waxman is black."

Lizzy cracked up laughing and doubled over the arm of the sofa.

"I'm so sorry," she pleaded, "I don't know what I was thinking."

"It's okay," he comforted her shaking and convulsing body. Lizzy wheezed and spoke in broken apologies as she supported herself against a support cushion.

"I'm sorry," she sighed and wiped tears from beneath her eyelashes.

Lizzy stood up and pushed away the pipe as Charles offered another hit.

"Shotgun."

"What?"

"Do it, give me a shotgun."

Charles pulled the pipe to his mouth and sucked back a long hit. He approached her, holding the smoke just long enough to suspend judgment, and grasped the back of her neck as he blew hot smoke between the contact of their lips that threatened a kiss, wanted to become a kiss, and did transform into an impassioned and supple, French kiss.

Elizabeth exhaled smoke and stared at her professor directly in such a way that her face became almost unfamiliar. Many years ago, he read an article in Psychology Today that described the personas that we wear to live our lives in a functionally detached society. On Tuesday and Thursday, he was an associate professor of mathematics at Central Connecticut State University. On Wednesday nights, he was Chucky at Lou Kravinsky's poker parties. On Saturday and Sunday, he was Chuck, or Charles if he made Charlotte angry. Now, he was Daddy. Dr. Waxman took off his glasses.

"What was that?" He tested the sound barrier for reality.

Lizzy approached him again and tried to reach for his belt.

"I can't do this," his conscience intervened. "I'm married, and we just had a baby. This is my fault, but I need to ask you to leave."

"Dr. Waxman, I'm twenty-three years old, and my underwear are incredibly small. I know what I'm doing, and no one has to know. You want this. Hit me again."

Dr. Waxman did not correct her about his name as he lit the bowl for a final hit. He inhaled as much as he could and desperately grasped onto her mouth for air. Elizabeth's hands yanked and pulled on Dr. Waxman's belt and fly in as he stumbled to press her bottom against his desk. Her ass pushed over a cup of pens on to his day calendar and a series of staplers, tape dispensers, and business cards were forced onto the floor in a panic.

Lizzy's dress was already hiked up to her waist and one red pump lingered on her right foot, separated from its companion, left tipped under the sofa. Lizzy pulled the sash and opened her wrap dress to reveal her young, but large breasts. As Dr. Waxman pulled off his blue dress shirt, Lizzy snatched his tie and fixed it around her neck, letting the silk drape down her neck and chest, stopping just at her belly button.

Charles froze and stepped back from his desk. Lizzy followed, sinking onto the floor and perching in front of his pelvis. Elizabeth yanked down Dr. Waxman's boxer briefs and slid the end of his erect member into her mouth. Charles stepped back in hesitation, but Lizzy followed, steadying herself against his thighs as her fingers ran down his back, his buttocks, and down his hamstrings and calves. The mathematical symbol for an imaginary number was tattooed above the crest of his pelvic bone. Lizzy stifled through several gags before Dr. Waxman bent over to grab her pony tail. Lizzy moved in a rhythm guided by Charles' grip for several minutes before quickly standing up, fumbling to push down her tangled panties. Dr. Waxman held her hips against his own as Elizabeth slid back to rest her naked torso on his desk.

"Wait, get my purse." Lizzy pointed towards the sofa. Charles stepped away and picked up her opened clutch.

"I know there is one in there. Next to the iPhone."

Dr. Waxman pulled a purple, blueberry flavored and scented condom from the same pouch that contained Elizabeth's lipstick and parking pass.

Elizabeth sat up and ripped the condom out of its wrapper. Using spit to lubricate the latex, Lizzy slid down the synthetic covering as Dr. Waxman held his erection against her exposed labia. Charles held her upright by the small of her back as he moved his pelvis against her clitoris. Elizabeth's breathing became shallow as she looked up into Dr. Waxman's gaze.

"Let's do this." Elizabeth pushed her ass forward and wrapped her legs around Charles' back. Her tender sheath was soft and warm. Dr. Waxman thrusted himself against Lizzy in a rhythmless frenzy, stopping only to catch his breath or hoist her legs against his arms. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around his neck and began grinding her body against his own.

"Wait," he paused. Her steady and calculated movements calmed his own and bred a new confidence in his posture and attitude. For too long, Charles thought, he had been having sex on a Queen sized bed.

"Lay back."

Lizzy did as she was told and gracefully lowered herself back onto the desk. Dr. Waxman slid his hands up and down her arms before pinning his palms against the dewy white skin under her wrists.

"There's a stack of sticky notes digging into my back," she protested.

"Good." Charles grinned and forced his weight on to her body.

Her ass dangled precariously over the edge of his desk and she struggled to balance her calves against the ridge of his biceps. A loud clapping noise reverberated through the walls and off the ceiling as his muscular thighs pounded against her bottom. Lizzy tightened her back and stomach as her pleasure heightened, and Charles moved a hand over her mouth to stifle a series of moans and grunts that escaped her lips.

Elizabeth turned to her left to find the picture frame containing the sweet, smiling face of Charlotte Waxman pressed against her cheek. Earlier that year, Kristen had divulged that her ultimate fantasy was to be someone's "mid-life crisis." That is to say, Kristen dreamed of becoming one sordid mistake, the folly of aging masculinity, the other woman, a comfort in the face of broken dreams, regret—any port in the storm as death sailed in to the bay. Lizzy told Kristen that she was gross and they both laughed, but in this moment, Charlotte Waxman was at home with Dr. Waxman's crying baby boy and Elizabeth Hiller was in his office, digging her nails into his arm, grinding her eager body against his, and shaking as coitus erupted from her stomach, down her thighs, and exited through her spine.

Charles finished soon after, collapsing next to her on a stack of ungraded papers. For several moments, she did not look at him, but stared blankly into the assortment of family photos that decorated his computer monitor and book shelf. As they got up to dress, Lizzy stopped and pulled a red Sharpie marker from the carpet. Elizabeth wrote her name across the glass of Charlotte's picture frame and paired it with her phone number.

Dr. Waxman continued to see Elizabeth in class, but refrained from using her number. He kept it locked up under a false bottom in his filing cabinet, along with a bottle of Maker's Mark and his pipe. He never received her extra credit essay, but found that her final exam grade was so high that she earned an A- without the assistance of a bonus.