Manchester Mahogany
"Professor Angela Okonkwo is the strictest lecturer at the university. When student Darren needs extra credit to pass her course, she offers private tutoring that covers subjects not in any textbook."
Professor Okonkwo's office hours were notoriously difficult to book. The Nigerian literature professor had a reputation for excellence and an even bigger reputation for failing students who didn't meet her standards.
Darren was failing.
"Mr. Thompson." She looked up from her papers as he entered, peering over her glasses. "I assume you've seen your midterm results."
"Yes, Professor. That's why I'm here."
She leaned back in her chair, and despite his panic about grades, Darren couldn't help but notice her. Angela Okonkwo was forty-eight, with smooth dark skin, curves that her professional dresses couldn't quite conceal, and an authority that made even senior faculty nervous. She was also, objectively, the finest professor on campus.
"Your analysis of Achebe was, frankly, lazy," she continued. "And your Adichie essay was superficial at best."
"I know. I've been struggling, Professor. Working two jobs to pay tuition, and—"
"Everyone has struggles, Mr. Thompson. Not everyone makes excuses."
Darren's heart sank. "Is there any way I can make this up? Extra credit, additional assignments—anything?"
She studied him for a long moment, those dark eyes unreadable. Then she stood and walked to close her office door. The click of the lock was loud in the silence.
"There might be... one option."
"I've been watching you, Darren. Not just your academic performance." She perched on the edge of her desk, close to where he sat. "You're quite handsome. The girls in your cohort certainly think so."
"Professor, I—"
"Angela. When the door is closed, you can call me Angela." She removed her glasses, and suddenly she looked younger, softer. "I've been at this university fifteen years. My husband is back in Lagos with his second wife. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Darren's mouth went dry. "I think so."
"I'm not proud of it." Her hand reached out to touch his chin, turning his face toward her. "But I'm also not young anymore, and opportunities for... companionship have become limited."
"What exactly are you proposing?"
"Private tutoring sessions. At my home. Once a week until the end of term." Her thumb traced his lower lip. "Your grades will improve. I guarantee it."
"And in return?"
Her smile was slow and knowing. "In return, you help an older woman remember what it feels like to be desired. Is that something you'd be interested in?"
Looking at her—the fullness of her figure, the intelligence in her eyes, the promise in her touch—Darren could only nod.
"Good. Tonight. Eight o'clock. I'll text you the address."
Her townhouse in Didsbury was elegant, like her. She answered the door in a silk wrapper that clung to every curve.
"You came."
"You invited me."
"That I did." She stepped aside to let him in. "Drink?"
They barely made it through one glass of wine before she was in his lap, kissing him with an intensity that surprised him. Her wrapper fell open, revealing full breasts in a lace bra, soft belly, thick thighs.
"God, you're beautiful," he breathed.
"Flatterer." But she smiled. "Bedroom. Now."
Angela might have been older, but her body was temple. She moved with confidence, knew exactly what she wanted, and demanded he provide it.
"There. Right there. Don't you dare stop."
She was loud, unashamed, crying out in a mix of English and Igbo as he explored her body. When he finally entered her, she wrapped those thick thighs around him and pulled him as deep as he could go.
"Yes! That's it. Give me everything."
He did. Again and again, until they were both spent and sweating in her expensive sheets.
"Same time next week," she said as he dressed. "And Darren? Study the Soyinka chapters. I might actually quiz you."
"Yes, Professor."
"Angela," she corrected, pulling him down for one more kiss. "In this house, always Angela."
The tutoring sessions continued through the semester. His grades improved dramatically—Angela was actually an excellent teacher when she wanted to be. But the real education happened after the books were closed.
He graduated with honors in Nigerian literature. More importantly, he graduated with skills that no university could officially teach.
"I'll miss our sessions," Angela said at his graduation party.
"Who says they have to end?" Darren replied.
She smiled that knowing smile. "My office. Monday. Same time as always."
Some lessons, he discovered, were worth continuing indefinitely.