The Professor

The Professor

The Professor

He sat in his usual chair, nursing his pint of ale and intermittently watching the other patrons in the bar as he re-read the article in his magazine. When he had been a lecturer at the University, his subject had been History, with his own specialized area being that of the Greeks and the Romans, but his passion was ornithology, and he was planning a trip to the Caledonian Pine Forest to try to see some of the more exotic birds that nest there.

He took another sip of his pint and then the tinkle of the bell above the door drew his attention; he glanced towards it, expecting to see one of the regulars enter; his heart skipped a beat when he saw her face - it was her wasn't it? - surely his imagination wasn't playing tricks on him again. He looked closer, studying the features of the young woman who had just entered the bar; she was stood just inside the doorway, searching the faces of the crowd for someone, which gave him plenty of time to study her. The hairstyle was different but you expect that, maybe, after a couple of years but he was sure; same pretty eyes, same cute, button nose and those lips, shaped like cupid's bow - it had to be her!

His mind was in turmoil - what should he do? Would she remember him? He took a large gulp of his pint to calm himself and then stood up, calling out her name - "God, let it be her, so I don't look like an old fool" - he thought to himself, as the word "Jacqui" escaped his lips. Her attention had been caught and she peered in his direction, he gestured with his hand, indicating for her to come over to him. She took another look around the sea of faces and then, after a moment's hesitation, she slowly snaked her way through the throng of bodies and, after what seemed to him an eternity, arrived at his table.

He was still standing as she arrived, her face mirrored his, an awkward smile, a glint in the eyes as recognition dawned on her.

"Professor!" she exclaimed, "What...How....how are you? " she took his proffered hand and shook it, her hand feeling small, encased in his old fingers.

"Please, Jacqui, sit - join me - until your friend or friends arrive," he gestured to an empty chair and watched as she sat down, reminiscing about the countless times he had watched her enter and sit in the lecture hall. In those early lectures she hardly seemed to take any notice of the old man at the front of class spouting forth about Caesar, Cicero and the rest. It was a few weeks in, when he noticed that she had started to sit closer to the front of the class and gave him a shy smile whenever he looked in her direction, which became more and more often as the weeks progressed.

He sat down beside her, taking in her appearance, dressed for a night out, her clothes were far more interesting - no, exciting - than those she had worn in the lecture hall. Whereas some students had dressed quite like sluts, in his opinion, she, his Jacqui - as he had come to think of her - had always dressed demurely, not much leg on show and breasts completely covered. He had sometimes wondered what it was about her that drew his attention - he had offers of blowjobs and even full-on sex from some of the other girls to get higher grades - none of which he ever took up, he prided himself on, but it was always Jacqui he would look for in class and it would brighten his day when she arrived and gave him that smile.

Bringing his mind into focus as she looked at him quizzically, he tried to remember what it was she had said.

He looked into those beautiful eyes and finally responded, "I'm fine - retired now, don't know if you heard - they got some new Don in freshly qualified from Cambridge - out with the old, in with the new." He sipped his drink, hoping he didn't sound like a bitter old man, "Oh, sorry - can I get you something - something to drink while you wait for your friends?"

She looked at her watch, "I am a bit early I guess - maybe a small glass of wine, if you don't mind?" Her eyes looked up at him rather sheepishly and a shy smile formed on her face, "White - Sauvignon Blanc - a New Zealand one if they have it."

He smiled, looking at her as if the sun radiated from her, "I'm sure they have - they keep a very good range of wines here." He rose from his chair and went to the bar, ordering her drink. As he stood waiting for the barman to return, he couldn't stop from looking around at the young lady who was now at his table - feeling like an old fool when he looked right into her eyes, realising she was watching him. He smiled and returned his attention to the barman, paying for the drink and returning to the table.

"Here you go Jacqui, New Zealand Sauv, just as you wanted," he placed the glass in front of her, letting his hand linger for a moment so that when she went to lift the glass, there was a brief moment of contact. He felt elated at the fleeting touch, nothing in the grand scheme of things but the feel of her hand on his made his heart flutter.

He sat, "So, what are you doing with yourself now? I hope your interest in history and all things ancient hasn't wavered. I had always hoped you'd stay on to do your PhD, but I guess that wasn't to be."

She sipped her wine and studied him - his face showed signs of aging but there was still that spark in his "come to bed" blue eyes; he still had the same grace and manner about him which had first attracted her. She knew he was old enough to be her grandad but that didn't bother her in the slightest - she was a believer in age being just a number and other things were more important. To her, attraction wasn't just a physical thing but a meeting of minds as well as hearts, and she loved this man's mind - the way it worked, the keenness with which he bestowed upon his students the knowledge and passion he had of, and for, his subject.

"I think I'll always like older things, they have a certain purity to them, something the modern world can't replicate," she took another sip, wondering if he would interpret her words in the way she hoped, "As for me, well - at the moment I work a call-line - stupid isn't it - a first-class degree and I spend my days telling people how to sort out their computer problems. It's temporary - or at least I hope it is - I'm looking around for something better - maybe a research assistant or something but at least it gets the bills paid."

The bell above the door clanged and she looked around. "Oh, it's my friends," she raised her hand and waved to them, "I have to go - are you here every Friday?"

He looked at the group of three people who had just entered the bar, two guys and a girl - one of the guys being her boyfriend, he assumed. "Every Friday, Saturday, Sunday etc, etc," he said, "What's a retired old man to do - it's nicer here than sitting alone in my house."

She got to her feet and smiled at him, "Thanks for the drink, hopefully I'll get to buy you one next time." She bent down and kissed his cheek, "Thanks for keeping me company - it was so nice to see you again." At that, she turned on her heels and walked towards her friends.

He watched, faces looking at him, questions being asked - he felt unsettled, not being used to being the centre of attention - well, not since his lecturing days had finished anyway. Eventually, they disappeared to a different area of the bar, with a final wave from Jacqui, and he was left to his own devices.

He turned his attention back to his magazine but found it difficult to concentrate, his mind elsewhere. He tossed the magazine into the briefcase he still carried around with him and stared into space, sipping on his beer from time to time. Occasionally he would glance around the bar to see if he could catch sight of her but only once did he catch sight of one of her companions at the bar. Eventually, he finished his pint, picked up his bag and made his way to the exit, casting a surreptitious glance towards the other end of the bar, before making his way out of the door.

x - x -x- x - x - x - x - x - x- x

x - x -x- x - x - x - x - x - x- x

The next week seemed to crawl past; all he could think about was Friday - she had asked whether he was there every week - did that, could that possibly mean that she intended to seek him out again? He put his suit into the cleaners - an expense he usually resented but suddenly a pristine appearance seemed important to him. He polished his best shoes not once, but twice in the course of the week - not because he had scuffed them or even worn them, but he decided the shine was not good enough. He went to the hairdressers and had a trim even though he was not due one for another month.

On Thursday night he struggled to sleep, tossing and turning in his bed as he thought about the next evening. He must have slept eventually and didn't actually rise from bed until 9:30 am - a full two hours beyond his regular time to start the day. He looked at himself in the mirror, calling himself an old fool for his infatuation as he got dressed for the day. Following breakfast, he went for his regular morning walk, feeding the ducks in the park and passing the time of day with several of the other park regulars. He bought a newspaper - old fashioned, he knew, but he preferred to garner his news from something in black and white - anyway, he found the crossword easier to do in print rather than on a screen.

He sat on his regular bench and finished the crossword in twenty minutes; pleased with himself, he folded the paper in half and deposited it in the nearby bin. He strolled back to the High Street and entered the café, sat in his usual seat and ordered his usual for lunch and a tea. He ate slowly, thinking about the approaching evening, re-considering what he should wear, how he should approach things with Jacqui, whether he should just reveal his feelings for her straight away - no, he ruled that out instantly - don't make a fool of yourself - see how the land lies, see how she is with you. He remembered the kiss on the cheek fondly, reaching up and touching where her lips had made contact. He slurped the last of his tea, paid his bill and left, almost marching home.

He spent the rest of the afternoon trying to take his mind off the forthcoming evening, flicking through his many bird magazines. Finding them not distracting enough, he switched on the tv - something he never usually does in the afternoon; he changed channels frequently before settling on a quiz programme, but soon got bored with the inanity of the questions and the inability of the contestants to answer them. He went out to his garage and toyed with his motor bike, going through the maintenance checklist that the garage had provided him with when he bought it.

He got so engrossed in tinkering with the bike that he lost track of time - it was only when a reminder went off on his phone that he realised he should be getting ready for the bar. He quickly finished what he was doing and went indoors, washing his hands thoroughly before going up to his bedroom. Hr stripped down to his underwear and looked again in the mirror, wondering what Jacqui would think of his "old-man" body - a slight paunch but nothing too bad - he'd seen younger men in worse shape!

He slipped on a silk shirt and his suit, choosing his old university tie to complete the outfit. He looked again in the mirror and removed the tie - too formal - he decided. He went downstairs, put his highly polished shoes on and left the house, walking down the road at a brisk pace, his heart beating faster and louder than he had ever noticed it before.

He entered the bar and was pleased to see "his table" was empty; most of the regulars knew it as his table and they all respected his unwritten reservation of that spot. He went to the bar and bought a bottle of the New Zealand Sauvignon and asked for two glasses. Sitting at his table, he poured himself a glass and watched the door keenly. As time passed, he kept checking his watch, getting more and more disappointed. His train of thought was broken when a young woman, maybe in her early twenties, sat in Jacqui's chair and placed her hand on his. He looked across at her.

"You waiting for company, sweetheart," she purred, her lipstick a bright red, the same colour as her fingernails, he noted, "I'm available at a very reasonable rate."

He turned a bright red, never having been approached by a prostitute before, he could hardly get his words out.

"N..n...no....no I'm....well, I am but for a fri.....a friend," he finally blurted out.

"Looks like she may have let you down, sweetheart," her hand moved under the table and brushed his thigh, "But I'm here and I promise you will never forget your time with me. Pour me a glass of wine, we can chat for a while, tell me what you like and then take me back to your place and I'll fulfil all your wishes."

He swallowed hard, trying to get control of the situation, "I'm sorry.....I'm sure you're a..a very nice person but I really am not in the market for company tonight, I'm not in the mood to....well, you know."

She smiled at him as she rose from the table, "Your loss mister, I doubt whoever she is, she can do the things I am practised in." She picked the wine bottle up, poured herself a large glass and held it up, "Cheers - this is payment for wasting my time."

He watched her depart and then turned his attention back to the door and, intermittently, to his watch. When nine-thirty came and went, he realised Jacqui was not going to show. He poured himself another glass of wine and mused over what a fool he had been, even pondering whether he should seek out the prostitute and take her up on her offer.

He took the bottle and its remaining contents back to the bar and asked if they could look after it for him and he would finish it the next night. With that, he left the bar and made his way home, going straight to his room and undressing before going to bed.

Lying in bed, he had a second consecutive night when he struggled to sleep. His mind filled with thoughts of Jacqui - at one time he transposed the prostitute's lipstick onto the image of Jacqui in his mind as he kissed her. His imagination took over and he stroked his cock as he thought about Jacqui being in bed with him, doing things he had thought about all those years before when she had sat in on his lectures.

The next week flew by, he continued his research into his ornithology trip, planning his route on the bike, checking out possible guest houses for stopovers. He completed his application for a research grant for the University; he was planning a thesis on the evolution of birds from pterosaurs, not quite an "Origin of Species" he told himself but along those lines, expanding on Darwin's work. Satisfied that his weeks "chores" were completed on Thursday, he took his bike out for a spin on Friday.

He "roared" down the High Street in his leathers, likening himself, in his mind, to an old Hells Angel - though he made sure to keep to the speed limit and laughed at himself as he doubted any Hells Angel had ever bothered with the numbers in the round circles. Once out in the country, he breathed more freely - here he felt he belonged, out in nature with no, or little, sign of human existence around. He stopped frequently and dismounted, getting his binoculars out and zooming in on any birds that were in flight or any he could discern nesting in the trees. He spent a good few hours in this pursuit before deciding to return home and prepare for his evening.

Dressing in his suit and a good shirt again, James prepared for the bar. He was preparing more in hope than expectation this time, knowing deep down that if she had intended to return it would have been last week.

Upon entering the bar, he couldn't stop himself from searching the faces - she wasn't there and he hadn't really expected her to be. He went to the bar, ordered a pint and sat at "his" table. He pulled his monthly magazine from his briefcase and was delighted to see that his article had been published. He read it avidly, as if reading it for the first time and smiled for the most part, although he was disappointed with a typo that appeared in the script. One of the other regulars, another birdwatcher that he knew from their mutual interest, came and sat with him for a few minutes, complimenting him on the article. They chatted for a short while until the other man's wife came and pulled him away to meet some friends.

It was then that his loneliness returned; he had devoted his life to his work and becoming one of the foremost experts in the ancient civilisations. Now, as he watched Frank walk away, arm around his wife, he felt the hole in the pit of his stomach, that part of him that was empty from the lack of human companionship. He read other articles in the magazine, getting his pen out to correct what he considered were errors, factually or theoretically and making a mental note to email the publishers with his thoughts.

He didn't stare at the door as much this week, though he did still look occasionally and check his watch - he cursed himself for his stupidity and tried to forget that chance meeting two weeks before. The night came to an end, and he finished his pint and returned to his empty house. He knew he'd have difficulty sleeping again and went to his drink's cupboard, pulling out his bottle of malt whisky and pouring himself two-fingers.

He woke in the morning, wondering where he was. He looked around and realised he had spent the night in his favourite armchair; his whisky glass was on the shag pile carpet with a small stain where the last of his whisky had spilt. He got up and went upstairs, stripping naked and going into the shower.

As the hot water sprayed over his body, he stood still letting the jets of water wake him up. His first thoughts when he woke up, every day for two weeks, had been of Jacqui - his last thoughts before he managed to get to sleep at night were of her. He had to do something about it and he pondered the options available to him. He toyed with the idea of tracking her down - the Uni could possibly help there; he still had contacts in the student records office. He put this idea aside as he decided this was tantamount to stalking. What then? What could he do?

He started to wash, realising the hot water wouldn't last forever and he recalled the prostitute who had approached him in the bar. He smiled to himself as he considered a future spent in the arms of a series of prostitutes but that wasn't what he was looking for, that was only a short-term solution. Someone, somewhere, back in his distant memory had suggested a dating agency to him and he decided, maybe, that was the way forward - if such a thing existed for a man of his age. He washed himself more briskly and turned the shower off, drying himself off and getting dressed.

After breakfast, he opened his laptop and researched dating agencies, finding that there were some that catered for the more senior members of society. He checked out the reviews of them and picked one, satisfied that the fees were reasonable and within his budget, he completed the on-line application form, uploading a photo he took on the laptop of himself.

A couple of days passed during which he checked the website four or five times every day. On the third day he opened the app, expecting to see nothing as usual - his eyes lit up when he had two "interested" woman. He clicked on the first one - a woman a similar age to himself who was also a birdwatcher, or twitcher, as she referred to herself. He looked at her photo, she looked attractive for her age, and he made a note of his thoughts about her on his pad next to the laptop. Then he moved to the second woman - she was eleven years his junior and he immediately felt more interest, suddenly realising that he was attracted to younger women. He read about her background, her likes and dislikes - they had little in common except that she also had a motor bike - not what he considered a good basis on which to form a relationship, but she looked so attractive, and he couldn't turn down the chance to meet her.