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Still, for the rest of the semester, it was much more complicated and time-consuming to get through several main building’s doors. Think TSA on orange-alert, with body scanners, metal detectors, x-ray machines showing every single butterfly knife (nail file) you are trying to smuggle into that one boring lecture to make things more interesting – the whole nine yards. One day, I was walking from the student building over to the library, to get a paper done. There was a double line in front of the library foyer. I sighed and got into the girl line because at the end of the girl line, there was a woman waiting inside the little privacy screen cubicle – one of those you would see at a hospital. At the end of the boy line, there was a man, because this was the 18th century and proprieties had to be observed, you see? Personally, I had never cared if I was patted down by a woman or a man at the airport – unconstitutional groping is unconstitutional whether the person doing it has man bits. "It's all right, my dear," she said softly, "You don't have to do anything. Just relax and let me be good to you. You will let me be good to you, won't you?" "Oh, yes!" I breathed, and she cupped my face between her hands and kissed me again, more urgently now. Her tongue flickered against my lips and I parted them to allow its entry, and then yielded into her embrace as she thrust it deep into my mouth. She released me, still kissing, and fumbled with my belt, unfastening the buckle, and then undid the buttons on my tunic one by one. Slipping the tunic over my shoulders, she passed it down my arms, then cast it aside as one arm went around my waist and the other caressed my breast, gently feeling its contours and the hardness of the nipple as it protruded under my shirt. Breathing heavily now, she untied my tie, unfastened my shirt buttons, pulled the shirt free from the waistband of my skirt and dropped it to accompany my discarded tunic. She was almost panting now, but kept.
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