James E. Knight was a serious academic. He had little time for frivolous pursuits and, at age 31, it was rumored he had never slept with a woman.
“If James E. Knight needs a thrill,” laughed one of his colleagues at a staff meeting one day, “he picks up a book on ancient architecture.”
“Probably thinks of the Amphitheater at Uthina looks like a vagina,” joked another, before hushing quickly as the subject of their ribaldry entered carrying a book on ancient architecture.
His tenured post at the small Midwestern university brought him in contact with many young women, so it’s not that he lacked opportunity, especially given his classically handsome good looks; it just seemed that his work came first. This intrigued a young student named Xiomara Thomas.
Xiomara was black, incredibly beautiful, smart as a whip and occasionally sassy. She asked challenging questions in his lectures and made what he considered astounding observations for a woman of her young age. He was so impressed with her that he invited her to his home to review some of the photos in his expeditions — provided, of course, she not to mention it to any of her classmates, as he didn’t want to be accused of favoritism or impropriety.
The night of the showing turned out to be a memorable one. Xiomara sat cross-legged on the rug encircled by photos while he monitored from above on the sofa. He had an excellent view of her tits. She’d worn the flowered top because she knew it showed them off to maximum affect, however, she was not sure that the serious-minded professor would even notice them.
To ensure that he paid attention to her physical attributes and not just her brain she uncrossed her long shapely legs and stretched them out in front of him. Her short skirt left very little to the imagination.
Although she did notice a slight bulge in his pants, she was getting a little a little frustrated by his apparent lack of interest.
“Where did you take this one?” she asked, indicating a picture of a Greek monastery perched precariously on a rock. He lowered himself onto the rug beside her and studied the photograph carefully.
“That’s the Holy Trinity Monastery in the Peneas Valley… in Greece.”