The Mysterious Voice, Part One

"It really is so nice to finally meet you! Isabelle has always been skittish about bringing her friends over; she must think her kooky parents are going to embarrass her."

You quickly shake your head. "No no, it's not like that, Dr. Vargas!"

The woman gives a wave of her hand, a good-natured smirk crossing her face. "Oh, don't worry, dear. She's probably right."

The two of you share a laugh as you surreptitiously take another glance at Isabelle's mom. It's not why you're here, but you simply can't resist the potential peek into what your friend's future holds. And you do not mind what you see one fucking bit. Dr. Vargas is still a very attractive woman well into her forties, long-legged and lissome just like her daughter. Her long pinned-back hair is still a vibrant chestnut, her skin a deeper brown but nearly untouched by the ravages of age. And you absolutely don't mind the way she presents herself in what strikes you an almost performative example of 'professor clothes', with a perfectly fitted tweed jacket over a snug sweater vest, loosely knotted tie and trousers that her deliciously ample butt does crazy things with. You suspect it's meant to be sort of a 'Look at me, I'm subverting gender norms' type thing? But first and foremost it looks sexy as all hell. You **** want her to tell you that you've been naughty or something.

Maybe let's not get too caught up fantasizing about Isabelle's mother. That whole situation is awkward enough already without adding some Stacy's Mom vibes into the mix. Lord knows you should be more considerate when it comes to the topic of Hot Moms.

Dr. Vargas doesn't seem to notice your furtive appraisal of her, at least, as she leads you down the hallways of the campus offices of her college. "Speaking of which, and don't tell Isabelle, but I just have to say what a fan I am of your mother's."

You perk up at that. "Oh yeah?"

She nods enthusiastically, eyes gleaming behind her trendy glasses. "Oh, absolutely. The way she manages to overturn biases and upend the usual power dynamics of sex and gender in her movies is fascinating. She subverts so many sexist overtones in the horror genre, and without having to relinquish a drop of her sexuality in the process! The woman is a genius."

"Wow, I guess she does do all that, doesn't she?"

"Also George and I love Can't Hardly Wait. She was so good in that. "--Jesus, what did Jennifer Love Hewitt ever do to your mother?--"I teach a course on the portrayal of sex in film? I always do a whole segment on Pact of the Unhallowed. So brave, so visionary."

"Oh, I was actually conceived during that movie!"

Dr. Vargas actually stops in her tracks at that, mouth agape as she stares at you. "I, wait, 'during'? As in, during during?" You nod, and the woman can only shake her head in awed disbelief, raising her hands to her temples as she tries to process that particular fun fact. "Oh my God. That...that makes it so much better. Sacred and profane, holy and unholy, unblemished womanly power and dark masculine lust all coming together to produce new, innocent life? Oh my God, I have to change my whole lesson plan; this is the best thing ever."

"It, um, worked out pretty well for me, too?"

Isabelle's mother is in another world at this point, clearly mentally rewriting and reordering her course as she distractedly motions you towards the door at the end of the hallway. "Ash, this has been such a pleasure, but I really must get back to my office; can I leave you here?" You nod again, and she gives you a smile that sends a little shiver into your core. "Good luck, dear!"

With that, you're alone, without any scholarly MILFs to distract you from the weighty task at hand. You can only swallow, steel yourself, and crack open the door. "Hello?"

The voice rings through your ears and directly into your heart before you can focus on anything inside the office. "Ah, Miss Price, yes?" You could never forget that voice, because for several of the longest moments of your life you were incapable of doing anything besides listening to that voice. That is the Mysterious Voice, and that must be the owner of the Mysterious Voice. You'd gotten the general idea from the grainy first pass of the Bad Starbucks footage, so the straight blonde hair and chic gray pant suit don't surprise you. The Dean of Admissions is a handsome woman rather than a pretty one, with her proud nose and feline smile. Sort of a Glenn Close type. She could be anything from a very sophisticated thirty to a remarkably well-preserved sixty, the kind of woman who simply exudes ageless maturity. She straightens up from where she'd been leaning against her secretary's desk, the dusky woman in the high-necked blouse filing her nails and utterly ignoring everything going on around her. "You're very punctual! I like that."

You smile back as best you can, doing your level best to keep your hands from shaking. "Well, first impressions are very important, right?"

The Dean nods with a chuckle, then notices what you're carrying. "Oh my, is that...?"

"Ah, yes!" You take a few steps forward, extending the drink carrier you've been holding. "You like the Peppermint Mocha, right?"

"Goodness, you have done your homework." She plucks the offered Starbucks cup out of its slot with a grateful look. "Dr. Vargas must be telling tales out of school." You can only airly shrug in response, hoping that the Dean will take that as confirmation as she pops the lid off her drink and gives a pleased hum. "With chocolate curls, even! Now I really am impressed."

You cross your arms behind your back, doing your best to look sheepish. "Thank you, ma'am..."

She takes a deep sniff of her mocha, eyelids fluttering as she makes an appreciative noise deep in her throat. "Ohhh yes, this is exactly what I needed today." She brings the cup up to her lips as you curl your toes in anticipation, hoping to God you can contain your excitement long enough to avoid giving away the game...and then she sets the cup down on the desk, replacing it with a manila folder. "So, I looked over your transcript. And honestly, I'm a little surprised at how eager you are to enroll here. Most students with your record would be dreaming Ivy League, not considering community college."

You try to keep your eyes off the cup as it sits on the Dean's secretary's desk, mocking you. "Oh, well, um, my mom wants me to explore all my options? And I've heard that students who start out at a two-year college and then transfer have better success rates than ones who go straight to a four-year university? It seemed worth considering, right?"

"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree." The Dean picks the cup up again as she scans your file. She furrows her brow in thought as she reads, your heart leaping into your throat when she brings the coffee up to her mouth and then sinking down into your feet when she simply blows on it, then sets it back down. "Do you have any idea what you intend to study?"

God, this is unbearable. "Uh, maybe something with film?"

The Dean chuckles. "Don't worry, my girl. I've always thought it was silly how we ask eighteen-year-olds to already know what they want to do with their whole lives. Why we expect children to have such grand plans, and why we expect them to succeed no less, strikes me as very silly." Your breath catches at that, was there something in her eyes just then? The Dean's smile certainly seems a little wider as she catches your eyes, a single elegant eyebrow slightly cocked. Then she glances down at the Peppermint Mocha with a thoughtful frown. "Hrm. Do you think that's cooled down enough, Miss Price?"

"Yes. I mean, um, probably? Why don't you try it out?"

The Dean gives you a smile at that, picking up the coffee again. "I suppose a sip wouldn't hurt, either way." She blows on her cup again, then carefully brings it to her lips and takes a small sip. Immediately her face flashes in shock. "Oh my God, this is..." She cuts herself off as she quickly tilts the cup back and begins taking big gulps of the mocha, eyes squeezed shut and a throaty groan rumbling in her chest. It's all you can do to keep your thrilled cheers internal as you clench your fists, urging her to drink deeper and give in to the insidious bimbo coo of the milk.

Only...this feels wrong. That drink was, like, a whole bottle of milk with a splash of coffee and a pump of peppermint syrupt; there's no way she could be passing the test, is there?! But no, you're starting to suspect that isn't what's happening at all. And she isn't failing either. The Dean is swigging down the Peppermint Mocha, yes, but it's with the measured pacing of someone simply enjoying themselves, not the **** guzzling that you've seen before and experienced yourself. Your internal cheers dissolve into forlorn whimpers as the woman cracks one eye open, transfixing you with her gaze as her Cheshire Cat grin spreads wider and wider. When she finishes the final drop with a satisfied smack of her lips, carelessly dropping the empty cup to the ground, you realize that the milk simply had no effect whatsoever on her.

The Dean licks a stray drop of mocha from her lip as she folds her arms across her chest, leaning back against her still unfazed secretary's desk once again. "Whatever in the world you put in that, girl, I'll say this: it is absolutely delicious. Was that a potion? Some sort of poison?" She gives a 'pssh', rolling her eyes at herself. "Why am I asking you? Here." You jump as she raises a hand and is suddenly holding the empty crystal bottle that should be in your bag right now, uncorking the glass as she gives you an indulgent look. "Very gracious of you, Miss Price." She tilts the bottle back, letting the last droplet of milk drip to her tongue. "Oooo! Jesus I like that." She shivers in delight as the bottle explodes into stardust in her hand. "I look forward to you telling me exactly what this is. All in good time, of course."

You squeak as the door to the office slams shut behind you, audibly locking itself.

"Now. How about we start over, hm?"