Babysitting?!

My business line rings; when I answer it, I hear a woman say, “Andrea?” My thoughts freeze for a moment, until she identifies herself as Siobhan Czajka. I haven’t had her, but I recognize her name—Dr. Czajka is a young prof in the biology department. She continues, “I need a babysitter for Friday night, and I’m wondering if you’re available.” What the heck? There must be some kind of mix-up, I think. I start to say so, but she interrupts me. “Ione Griffith mentioned some of the girls talking about your services.” Ione? What’s going on here? “You come highly recommended. I believe they particularly appreciated how well you treated their girls.” Double entendre? Maybe Dr. Czajka’s trying to hire me without letting her husband know what she’s doing. Campus rumor has it that he’s cheating on her, but people are being careful not to mention it when she’s anywhere around. Maybe she already knows . . . “I understand you’re also very good with cats,” she continues, “which is important because I have one, and my kitty is always hungry.” OK, she’s kind of clumsy about it, but she’s definitely trying to speak in code. Time to let her know I’m with her.

“Siobhan?” I ask. (It’s hard to overcome the instinct to call her “Dr. Czajka,” but I know I need to speak to her as an equal, not a student, and address her as a woman, not a professor.) “Let me make sure I understand the situation. You want to schedule an appointment Friday night for me to eat your pussy, but you can’t say so openly because your husband is around and he might overhear you. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she says, sounding relieved.

“Good. Do you actually have a babysitter set for this Friday?”

“Not yet—I wanted to ask you first.”

“Good to know. Siobhan, I need to know when you want to meet with me. Please name a time half an hour before you want to meet,” I tell her.

“Oh, that’s smart,” she says in surprise. I roll my eyes, since she can’t see me. “Can you be here at 6:30?” she asks.

As it happens, I have no one on the schedule this Friday night—Kimberly Daniels had been, but she called this morning to cancel. “7 pm will work fine, Siobhan,” I tell her. “I’ll put you on the calendar. Now, I presume you won’t want to meet me on campus, and you really shouldn’t be seen with me at all, right?”

“Right,” she answers, clearly relieved that she won’t have to explain this to me.

Her relief nettles me a little, so I reply, “Yes, Siobhan, I know what I’m doing. Relax, I’ll make this work.” She makes a little sound of surprise, and I continue, “What if we—no, that won’t work either. Tell you what, you take a couple minutes to talk about your kids, just as if I were going to babysit them, and I’ll put the phone down and think this through.”

“OK,” she says, clearly pleased. I set my phone on my desk and consider the situation. I quickly rule out any public places like hotels—the risk is too high. Sarcastically, I tell myself, It’s a pity I can’t just call a friend and say, “I need to kick you out of your apartment so I can eat a woman’s pussy without you or anyone else knowing who she is”—and then it hits me: I can do exactly that, and I’d bet my bottom dollar she’ll go for it.

I pick the phone back up, and when Siobhan pauses, I interrupt. “Siobhan, I think I have this figured out, but I’m going to have to confirm it with someone. I’m confident she’ll agree, but I still need to ask. The only problem is how to let you know where to go.

“Let me give you a suggestion. I have your campus e-mail address in the directory. I will e-mail you a Dropbox link to a file with directions. When you open the file, either save it or print it, then delete the e-mail; I’d suggest memorizing the directions, then destroying your copy of the file as well. I will leave the file on Dropbox for 24 hours after sending the e-mail, then delete it. If this will work, please say, ‘Well, perhaps another time, then.’ If not, please say, ‘Are you sure Friday won’t work?’”

“Well, perhaps another time, then,” Siobhan responds, sounding a little disappointed. Nicely done, I think, admiringly. “Good night.”

“Good night, sweet lady,” I respond gallantly. “I’ll eat you soon.” I can hear her struggling to hold back a giggle as she hangs up.