Edinburgh Ebony
"Medical student Amara finds Dr. Oyelaran's anatomy lectures distracting—not because of the content, but because of the thick Nigerian professor herself. When she offers private tutoring, Amara learns subjects not in any textbook."
Dr. Funke Oyelaran was the best anatomy professor at Edinburgh Medical School. She was also the most distracting.
Amara watched her move through the lecture hall, that thick body somehow elegant in her white coat. Wide hips that swayed as she pointed to diagrams. Full breasts that strained against her blouse. A voice like warm honey that made even the driest material interesting.
"Miss Thompson? The question, please?"
Amara startled. She'd been staring again.
"Could you repeat it, Professor?"
Dr. Oyelaran's lips curved. "See me after class."
The lecture hall emptied. Amara approached the desk where Dr. Oyelaran was gathering her materials.
"You've been distracted lately, Miss Thompson. Your marks are slipping."
"I'm sorry, Professor. I'll do better."
"What's distracting you?" Those dark eyes pinned her. "A boy? A girl?"
Amara's face heated. "I'd rather not say."
"Hmm." Dr. Oyelaran leaned against her desk, those thick thighs crossed at the ankle. "I've noticed you watching me. During lectures. When you think I'm not looking."
"Professor, I—"
"It's alright." Her voice dropped. "I've been watching you too."
"I don't understand."
"Don't you?" The professor stepped closer. "You're beautiful, Amara. Smart. And unless I'm very mistaken, interested in women."
Amara couldn't deny it. "Yes."
"Good. Then we understand each other." Dr. Oyelaran handed her a card. "My flat. Tonight at eight. We can discuss... anatomy."
"Is this appropriate?"
"Probably not." That slow smile again. "But I've been teaching for fifteen years, and I've never met a student who made me want to break the rules. Until you."
The flat in New Town was elegant, like its owner. Dr. Oyelaran—"Call me Funke"—opened the door in a silk robe that did nothing to hide her curves.
"You came."
"I couldn't stay away."
"Good girl."
She led Amara inside, poured wine, and watched her with those knowing eyes.
"I should tell you—I've never done this before," Amara admitted. "With a woman."
"I suspected." Funke set down her glass and approached. "Shall I teach you?"
"Please."
Funke kissed her softly at first, then deeper. Her hands untied Amara's hair, unbuttoned her blouse. Every touch was confident, practiced.
"You're trembling," Funke observed.
"Nervous."
"Don't be." She parted her robe, revealing her magnificent body—heavy breasts with dark nipples, soft belly, thick thighs. "I want this as much as you do."
She led Amara to the bedroom and laid her down on silk sheets.
"Let me show you what your body can do."
Funke was a masterful teacher. She used her mouth, her fingers, showing Amara pleasures she'd only imagined. When Amara came the first time, she cried out so loud she embarrassed herself.
"Don't hold back," Funke murmured. "I want to hear every sound."
Then it was Amara's turn to learn. Funke guided her head between those thick thighs, teaching her rhythm and pressure and patience.
"Yes, like that. Good girl. Just like that!"
When Funke came, she gripped Amara's hair and shook, murmuring praises in Yoruba.
They spent the night exploring. Amara discovered things about herself she'd never known—that she loved the weight of another woman on top of her, loved the sounds Funke made when she found the right spot, loved the taste and smell and feel of her professor's magnificent body.
"What happens now?" Amara asked as dawn approached.
"Now you come to my office hours. Regularly." Funke pulled her close. "We'll call it supplementary education."
"And my grades?"
"Your grades will depend entirely on your actual work, Miss Thompson. I'm many things, but I'm not corrupt." She kissed Amara's forehead. "Though I might be slightly biased in my affections."
Amara graduated top of her class. No favoritism—she'd earned every mark. But she'd also earned something else: a lover who knew her body better than she knew herself.
They came out to colleagues after Amara passed her final exams. Nobody was particularly surprised.
"We could see it in how you looked at each other," her classmates admitted.
Now Dr. Amara Thompson worked at the same hospital as Professor Oyelaran. Colleagues, lovers, partners.
"Best anatomy lesson I ever took," Amara would say.
"Best student I ever had," Funke would reply.
Edinburgh had given them both something unexpected. And neither would change a thing.