THE G-STRING GENTLEMAN by Ruth D. Kerce (Copyright © 1999, all rights reserved)       "I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Celia shouted over the blaring music.       Kelly reached across the small table and grabbed her hand. "Admit it. You're having a great time."       "You're the one having a great time." A male strip joint wasn't exactly what Celia thought of as fun. Sure the guys were sexy as sin to look at, but it was embarrassing, especially when they went out into the audience more than half naked. She should be home studying. Her college finals were in a few days. "Can we go?"       "You're such a stick in the mud. You need to get wild every once in a while."       Celia opened her mouth to protest, but the MC announced the next act, The G-String Gentleman, and she never got the chance. Fine. One more, then she was out of here, no matter what Kelly said.       The slow, throbbing sound of new music filled the dark room, and a spotlight hit the stage. Celia studied her hands as she had most of the evening, hoping this one would stay where he belonged, on stage. She sunk down in her chair each time one of the dancers made his way into the audience, hoping not to draw attention to herself. If one of the guys targeted her to dance for, she'd just die. Of course, Kelly would probably love it.       "OhMyOhMyOhMy!" Kelly sputtered.       Celia didn't even glance up. That had been Kelly's reaction to every male who'd taken the stage tonight.       "Celia, isn't that your psychology professor?"       Yeah, right, her psychology professor. Kelly had the wildest imagination. "Forget it, Kel. I'm not buying it."       "I'm serious, Celia. Would you look!"       Through lowered lashes, Celia glanced on stage. Her head snapped up and her eyes widened. It was! Professor Morrow. Except ... he looked so different, but it was definitely him.       Gone were the glasses he wore during his lectures. His suit looked similiar to those he wore on a daily basis. The jacket lay discarded on the stage. His shirt had been pulled out of his pants and hung loose. His usually neat hair was tossled, and one thick curl hung over his forehead.       He danced slowly, erotically to the hard beat of the music as he unbuttoned his white shirt.       Celia couldn't look away. She'd always had a mega crush on him. Now seeing him like this just intensified her feelings. He turned slightly toward her, and she slunk down in the chair. She'd die if he saw her here. Why was he here?       With deliberate moves, he unbuckled his belt. The female audience went wild, clapping and cheering him on. He moved toward the steps at the side of the stage, pulling his belt off as he made his way. When he leaned over to lay the belt on the stage, his eyes locked with Celia's.       Her heart stopped, tumbled, then picked up triple-time. She saw him hesitate, like he too was shocked at seeing her. Then a slow smile spread across his face. He straightened and undid the top button of his pants.       Never taking his eyes off her, he made his way down the steps, slowly lowering his zipper as he got closer and closer to Celia. She couldn't breathe and was certain she'd die right there. Yep, she could see the headlines now. Co-ed dies of heart failure when professor exposes himself in sleezy strip joint.       He stopped in front of her, so close she'd have to crane her neck to look up at him, which she had no intentions of doing. Unfortunately, that left her gaze entirely too close to his crotch.       A gasp escaped her lips when he bent over and curled his fingers around her wrist, bringing her hand to his partially-open zipper. She tried to pull back, but his grip was too strong. Then he leaned low over her, and she heard his voice in her ear, felt his breath against her skin.       "Do it, Celia. I know you want to."       Sudden outrage filled her, but before she could voice a protest, he was gone, back up on the stage, pulling his pants off.       Celia sat in psychology, keeping her head down, staring at her notes as Professor Morrow spoke. She hadn't even wanted to come today. How could she face him? But her final was too close. She couldn't afford to skip. If she met his gaze, she wondered what he'd do. She didn't have the guts to find out.       Thankfully the bell buzzed, dismissing the class. She grabbed her books, holding them like a shield in front of her and hurried toward the door. Almost there ... almost there.       "Celia, could you stay after, please?" Professor Morrow asked as she passed his desk.       Darn! Darn! Darn! She'd almost made it. Students pushed past her. She momentarily thought about just running out with the crowd, but decided against it. She'd be mature about this, show him it didn't affect her in the least. He'd never know different.       She stood just inside the door. From the silence in the room she knew they were alone now. She still hadn't looked at him. She just needed another moment to gather her courage. He passed by her and she jumped. Calm down, Celia, she chided herself.       He shut the door, then turned to face her. "Are you going to look at me?"       To her surprise, his tone held a tinge of humor. She raised her head. "Is there something you wanted, Professor Morrow?"       Cocking an eyebrow, he chuckled. "You could say that. Under the circumstances, why don't you call me Peter."       Celia felt her face flush, but she couldn't do anything to stop it. Well, she figured the best defense in a case like this was a strong offense, so she blurted, "What were you doing on stage at Hot Bullets?"       His eyes widened slightly, then he laughed loud and deep. He slipped off his glasses and wiped his eyes. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Celia?"       What was she supposed to say to that? She shrugged.       Propping a hip on his desk and setting his glasses down, he studied her through narrowed eyes. Finally, when she started to shift nervously, he answered her question. "I'm conducting a psychology experiment. Actually, I'm glad you showed up the other night. It'll make things a lot easier for me if you'd be willing to answer a few questions."       This didn't make sense -- a psychology experiment? "What kind of experiment?"       "I'm writing a paper on the differences between male and female exotic dancers and the responses they elicit from their audiences."       "And you wanted first-hand knowledge?" she queried, not quite sure whether to believe him or not.       He smiled. "Of course. Will you answer some questions?"       "Will this have any bearing on my grade?"       A dark scowl crossed his features. "Of course not." He sighed. "It would really help me out, Celia. I'm on a deadline."       The little smile that tugged at his lips undid her. "Uh ... well, all right."       "Great!" He rubbed his hands together. "Here, let me take those." He took the books from her arms and set them down on his desk.       Without her shield, Celia suddenly felt naked and vulnerable. This wasn't such a good idea after all. She stepped over to the desk to retrieve the books. "I think maybe--" Her words stuck in her throat when she felt him behind her, the length of him brushing lightly against her.       "Were you turned on, Celia, when you saw me dance?" he whispered in her ear. "When I pressed your hand to my zipper?"       Celia cleared her throat. She wished her heart would quit pounding so hard. If it was from fear or disgust, she could handle that, but is wasn't. It was pounding from desire ... she recognized it, no matter how hard she tried to ignore the feeling, it was there.       "Are those part of the questions, Professor Morrow? Are you really doing a paper and need my help?" Her voice sounded raspy, and she cleared her throat again.       "Peter ...," he whispered against her temple. "Yes, I'm really doing a paper. Yes, those are part of the questions. But, no, I don't really need your help. I think, since we know each other, it would skew the results."       "Then .. what ... I don't understand." Celia swallowed past the lump in her throat.       "You understand," he countered. His hands slipped around her waist and under her loose top. "Tell me to stop, Celia, and I will." He glided his fingers up her bare skin until he reached the fabric of her strapless bra.       "I--I don't want you to stop ... Peter," she responded, barely above a whisper. His touch felt too good.       "Mmm. Wonderful." He cupped her breasts through the bra, massaging her softly. His fingers brushed against the front clasp. "Ah ... nice." He expertly unhooked the closure, freeing her of the restraining material. "I've had my eye on you all semester, though I tried hard to fight my feelings."       When his hands closed over her bare breasts, Celia gasped and leaned back against him. "Someone might come in and see us."       He pressed a wet kiss to her neck, just below the ear. "I know." His fingers pulled at her taut nipples until she trembled with need.       "Please ..." At her desperate plea, his hands left her breasts. She felt empty without him touching her, and disappointment filled her. Was he stopping after all?       Then she felt his hands sliding down her nearly knee-length skirt, caressing her thighs. His mouth nibbled at the skin exposed by her off-the-shoulder top, causing her to shudder as erotic sensations exploded inside her body.       Peter's hands moved back up her legs, dragging the skirt up along with them. "Lean your hands on my desk, Celia."       Her legs trembled so badly she was sure she'd collapse at any moment, but she did as he instructed. Cool air brushed her exposed thighs, when he settled her skirt atop the small of her back.       She sensed him kneeling behind her, felt his fingers slip inside the waistband of her conservative cotton underwear. She wished she'd worn something sexier. This morning, she'd felt decadent just by wearing the off-the-shoulder top.       With his help, the panties slid down her legs, and she stepped out of the soft material.       "Beautiful." He pressed a gentle kiss to one cheek, then the other, then stood up behind her. "Spread your legs."       The absurdity of her position almost made her flip down her skirt, but then his fingers glided between her thighs from behind, deepening her desire, and all thoughts of leaving disappeared. She spread her legs.       Every little sound reverberated inside her. His hand left her, and she heard the slight clink of his belt buckle, the snap opening at the top of his pants, the grating of his zipper.       Peter held her hips, positioning himself.       The door rattled.       Celia gasped and snapped upright.       A hand clamped over her mouth, and Peter whispered in her ear. "It's all right. I locked it."       Her wildly beating heart slowed, but then sped up again when Peter raised the back of her skirt with his free hand. "Bend over," he whispered.       The door forgotten, she bent over. He entered her, hard and deep. The sensation sent her into an immediate climax. Celia moaned into his hand, still clasped over her mouth.       The door rattled again. "Peter? Are you in there? It's Dean Everret."       Peter buried his mouth against her neck, muffling his own moans, as he pushed inside her over and over. When she climaxed again, his body stiffened, and his teeth latched onto her skin.       Celia smiled in satisfaction, feeling his pleasure, along with her own, course through her. She collapsed on the desk.       "Wow ..." After a moment, Peter pulled back and helped her up. He pushed the hair from her face and kissed her gently. "Celia ... I have this cabin up in the mountains ..."       At his hesitant manner, she cocked her head. "Are you asking something?"       "I want you to come."       A smile played on her lips. "I just did ... twice."       Peter laughed. "After the semester is over. I want to go up there with you, get to know you better." He took her hand in his. "This wasn't just ... casual for me."       Before she could answer, a key grated in the door. Peter released her hand and zipped his pants, as Celia frantically tried to put herself in order.       Dean Everret pushed open the door. "Why was this locked? Why didn't you answer me?" His gaze flickered from Peter to Celia, then back to Peter again.       "I didn't realize it was locked," Peter explained. "We were ... coming ... from the back."       Celia stifled a giggle.       The dean glanced toward the back of the room.       "Celia," Peter said, drawing her attention. "You can go. Be sure to study. My finals are hard."       "Yes," she purred. "I'm aware of how hard you can be." She grinned when she saw him stuff her underwear deeper inside his jacket pocket. Thank goodness the dean stood on the other side and couldn't see it. "Thank you, Professor Morrow."       "It was my pleasure." THE END