See my advisor.

I climb the marble steps to Stevenson Hall, and take the stairs to the second floor to see my advisor Ms. Tyler. She's serious about her job and really wants me to do well. It doesn't hurt that she's a nice piece of eye candy as well.

As I approach her office door, I look at the name painted on the door. "Allison Tyler". I knock twice, and from behind the door her lilting voice says, "Come."

When I walk in, she's at the edge of her desk facing me. She is about 30 years old. Her dark black hair is pulled back in a bun, and pinned on top of her head. She smiles, and her cheeks nudge the bottom of her glasses: they're too big, and framed in black plastic. Her lips are freshly coated with red lip stick. All this contrasts with her pale skin. As does the black turtleneck top that hugs her body and the gray wool skirt that does so as well. Her long legs are covered in black nylons, and she wears black three inch spike heels on her feet, which complete the ensemble.

She crosses her sexy legs, and waves one foot in the air.

"What can I do for you Dwayne?" she asks.