Yes, please

As much as he is craving a good stiff shot of **** to fortify his spirits, there are worst-sounding things at the moment than some coffee. Xabar nods his assent, and the headmistress picks up a bell from her desk and gives it a couple of smart rings.

On cue, the office door opens, and a young woman enters. She appears to be a couple of years older than Xabar, which surprises him. She seems to be too old to be a student and too young to be an instructor. The irony is lost on him that he is posing as a professor for young women who are scarcely younger than himself. The woman is wearing a plain dress that is suitable for someone of working class. It covers a fit body with small-to-medium-sized breasts. She has closely-cropped hair that gives her a boyish appearance. Her face is certainly attractive, but she carries an expression of bored annoyance. Although she is far from being the sexiest lady he has thus far seen in this institution, Xabar would still rate her as above-average. He has, in fact, already begun to imagine what kind of kinks and fetishes might drive such a woman and what it might take to have some first-hand experience with them.

“Yes, Auntie Mathilda?” she says.

“Some coffee for Professor Willowby and me, Tabatha,” says Headmistress Crütchnoober. “And perhaps a biscuit or two, as well. I’m feeling a mite peckish.”

Tabatha looks curiously at Xabar, seemingly surprised to learn that he is a professor. He returns her look with what he hopes is a friendly, unthreatening smile. He might have pulled it off more successfully if he hadn’t first been seen in the act of checking out her body.

“Shall I bring you some cream, Professor?” she asks, putting a little more emphasis on his title than seems necessary.

“Only if you allow me to return the favor,” says Xabar automatically, before cringing and clamping his mouth shut.

Tabatha’s face shows momentary surprise before changing into an expression of curious amusement. Xabar tenses for her response, but when it comes, it is the last thing he expected.

“Charming. But you’re definitely not my type.” She glances at the headmistress and says, “And it’s a good thing my aunt can’t hear worth a damn, or she’d be knitting doilies with your pubic hair.” Despite the harsh words, she gives Xabar a smile, extends a small curtesy to the two of them, and exits the room.

Headmistress Crütchnoober waits until the door is closed before speaking. “My sister’s daughter, Tabatha,” she explains, gesturing toward the closed door. “I agreed to take her in to see if I could help the poor girl. I worry, however, that it’s a lost cause. She’s a congenital trouble-maker if I ever saw one.”

“Sounds like the perfect woman for me,” Xabar responds, beginning to get a lot more comfortable with saying whatever is on his mind.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to agree,” says Crütchnoober. “You no doubt always see the best in your students, but Tabatha flatly refuses to respect authority. I had to expel her as a student because of constant infractions. I only agreed to allow her to remain here at the Academy if she would agree to work for her room and board. That, I am afraid to say, is frequently more trouble than it is worth.”

Xabar wonders if he has found a kindred spirit in Tabatha and begins to imagine all the fun he could have with a like-minded, adventurous female who is born to thumb her nose at authority. He has often wondered what a female version of himself would be and speculated that if he ever met such a girl, they would either conquer the world, be imprisoned for life, or would screw themselves to **** within a week.

“Perhaps I can help by lending a firm hand in her training,” Xabar offers. “And not only a firm hand, but a long, thick, and rigid—“

Crütchnoober continues, oblivious to Xabar’s offer. “There’s something you should know, Flaccid. I hesitate to tell you this for fear of what you might think of my family, but I believe you have a right to know… Tabatha is … how do I say this so as not to offend your sensibilities? She is … unnatural.”

Xabar blinks a few times, trying to figure out the woman’s meaning. “You mean her hair? Hell, she wouldn’t be the first woman to change her hair color. In fact, there’s this sophomore back at my old school who dyed one side of her bush blue and the other —“

“Yes, that’s right,” says Crütchnoober, dabbing a tear from her eye. “Tabatha engages in that love whose name we dare not speak!”

Again, Xabar is clueless. “You mean she daddy issues? That’s not a problem; I like doing roleplay.” He smiles as he remembers Edna Snoutmaster, who loved it when Xabar dressed up like the old men on the city council so she could use her best seduction skills.

He hears a voice from behind that cuts his fond memories short. “She means that I go for girls and not boys.” Xabar turns and sees Tabatha, standing in the doorway and holding a tray.

“Thank you Tabatha,” says the headmistress. “Just set the tray down and leave us, if you will.”

Tabatha sets the tray on the desk and gives her aunt a cup of coffee. She hands the other one to Xabar, and with her back to her aunt, she says, “So it looks like you’ll have to cream yourself, if you know what I mean.” She gives him a not-unfriendly smirk and leaves the office.

As Xabar watches her leave, he laments the missed opportunity. “Such potential,” he thinks to himself. “But then again, it makes sense. I’ve been thinking of her as a female version of me, and I guess if I was a woman, I’d almost certainly be a lesbian. Who wouldn’t be turned on by a naked woman?”

Mathilda Crütchnoober sips her coffee and then addresses Xabar. “Of course, we expected you here yesterday, and your room is all ready. I’m sorry that we weren’t able to find accommodations elsewhere, so you will be **** to reside here at the Academy. I hope that will not be too much of an inconvenience for you.”

“Not in the least,” Xabar immediately answered, with sincere truthfulness.

“Naturally, this was built as an all-female establishment, so there are no separate facilities for men.” Crütchnoober looks uncomfortable. “I must confess I had my doubts about this whole arrangement, Flaccid. That was, of course, before I met you. The idea of a man living here with all of these girls just seemed scandalous! Having met you, however, I am confident that there will be no problems.”

“Oh, I’m confident it’s all going to be quite wonderful,” Xabar agrees.

“For the first couple of days, I think we’ll have you sit in on the classes and begin to acclimate yourself to the St. Althea’s culture. Once you have a handle on things, we shall have you rotate through the classes as the instructor. Your impressive resumé suggests you will have no difficulty lecturing in each of our liberal arts classes.”

“That will be fine,” says Xabar. “I do believe in one-on-one tutoring, of course. Not to mention the occasional threesome.” He rubs his hands together, barely able to suppress his eagerness.

“Ariel Gleason?” says Crütchnoober. “I dare say I do know her. But she’s one of our youngest students, and you will be working exclusively with those who will be graduating this year.”

The clock on the wall sounds a chime. Actually, it is a deafening gong. Xabar jumps in surprise, but the headmistress merely glances at the clock and says, “Well, this has been lovely spending time with you, Flaccid. I look forward to many more — and lengthier — times in your company. The first class of the day begins in half an hour, and I’m sure you would like to go to your room and freshen up first.” She begins the laborious effort of extracting herself from her chair. “I … shall… show… you… the …. way…” she gasps with each fruitless effort to stand.