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gravitate there unconsciously.
    Like now.
    “But,” I continued, “by injecting steam into the injection well, the petroleum is heated to become more fluid. Then it expands, causing pressure that pushes the heated fluid to the surface, and, if you’re not careful, it will erupt and make a big mess.”
    Why did this suddenly sound so dirty to my own ears? It was the same lecture I’d given for a few years now, but it quickly brought other images of steam and heated fluids building pressure and erupting.
    Concentrate, fucker, I told myself.
    I noticed, though, that the words I used could easily take on a dirty meaning. I also noticed Rain shifting in her seat when those words appeared.
    Steam.
    Pressure.
    Heat.
    Erupt.
    She squirmed, not looking at me the same way I wasn’t looking at her. Sidelong glances, like it couldn’t be helped. I once again found myself front and center. Close enough to hear her almost gasp, then release a shaky breath that I only heard because I stood so close to her.
    Fuck .
    I don’t fuck students…
     

     
    By the time I was done with class, and therefore done for the day, I was just… done . My balls were itching for release, like I hadn’t totally wacked off in the shower before work today. I’d done it every morning before I had her in class for the past couple weeks, actually. Memories of her wide brown eyes coaxed the cum up out of me like magic, giving me the false sense of hope that I might make it through the day without the aching need that hit me whenever she waltzed that luscious ass into my classroom.
    It drove me crazy that it was all so fucking difficult. She was a student. I’d had hundreds of students over the years. I have never once lost my shit with any of them.
    But, I had touched her. I knew what she felt like. I knew how she moaned. As she sat there in class toying with her notebook, I could feel her fingertips on my skin. When she talked, I could hear her whisper “ oh fuck ” in my ear. When she looked directly at me in class, I could see her brown eyes staring up at me while she swirled her tongue around the head of my cock.
    And every day, I left Pressure Transient Analysis throbbing and made a beeline for the Copperline in hopes that someone there could extricate her from my mind.
    I didn’t see any of the usual suspects tonight. Laura wasn’t even working. I got a beer from Doug, the owner who was tending bar, and sucked it down quick, self-medicating in hopes that it could make the thoughts of Rain fade into nothing.
    Rain, Rain, go away…
    Who knew that little nursery rhyme would come to have such a desperate meaning someday.
    I’d just finished my fourth beer, knowing I had better head out before long. It was only a Tuesday. There was still a fair bit of week left, and being hungover in front of my students was probably not going to make me notice her any less.
    But a man’s hand tapped the bar beside where I sat.
    “One more?” I heard Cole ask.
    Even knowing I shouldn’t, I still nodded.
    One more turned into two. Then three as Cole scoped the bar for some tail, not that there were many chicks in the bar, even for a Tuesday. I’d already be taking it to them if there were.
    “What about that one chick?” He asked, scanning the sparse crowd. “Does she ever come here?”
    “What chick?” I asked.
    “From that party at Dave’s in August.”
    My gut lurched a little. “Rain?”
    Cole shrugged. “Was that her name? Curvy little brunette. Big tits?”
    “Big brown eyes?”
    “I was in back, dude,” he laughed. “I only saw one brown eye.”
    I shook my head with a roll of my eyes at his crass joke. Not that I never made crass jokes, but somehow this one sorta grated on my nerves.
    “Yeah, her name was Rain,” I finally said, then solemnly shook my head. “And I’ve never seen her here, but I can’t with her anyway, man. Turns out she’s my student.”
    “Hmmm, student-teacher sex… she could dress up.”
    Fuck, yeah, she could