I first saw her standing at the kiosk, and the breath caught in my throat. Her hair cascaded in a shimmering fall, obscuring half her face. But I could see the mouth curved in a carelessly sensuous smile, the curve of her cheek and the elegant shape of her nose. And the soft curves of her breasts under the too large sweater, and the swell of her hips filling out her jeans. And then my train pulled from the station, and I lost her from my sight. And all the way to work I daydreamed of the dark haired goddess descended to earth to give us mortals sleepless nights.

I saw her next at the movies in line ahead of me. That night she wore a red dress that rode high above her knees displaying her legs. Her jacket was thrown over her shoulders, and there was mischief in her eye. I stood transfixed and wondered if I dared approach. The sound of her laughter floated back to me, and I strained to hear her voice. And then I noticed the man beside her. As he reached and touched her cheek, I sighed for what could not be.

That night she filled my dreams. We were at the beach and the moon was full; the wet sand limed in silver. I approached her, and she smiled at me. I opened my mouth to speak, but she touched my lips. There was no need for words on a magic filled night like this. I took her hand and led her to the water's edge where we played tag with the waves. After a time we turned to watched our footprints fill with the encroaching tide. She shivered in the breeze, and I put my arm around her to warm her, and we strolled by the waters edge.

The smell of her hair, and warmth of her flesh made me tense with desire. She leaned toward me, and I felt her breast pressed against me. And when I stroked her arm, she sighed with content. And so I took both her hands in mine and drew her towards me, and gently kissed her lips.

Her eyes opened wide with comprehension and horror, and she pulled her hands from my grasp. She took two steps backwards, and then turned and fled.

I ran after her, calling her.. Ah but I did not know her name. I ran, and where my feet fell, I left black scars in the sand. I topped a dune and saw her below me running along the water line. So I renewed my speed and stumbled and fell down the long slope of the dune. When I reached the bottom, I saw her disappearing over the next raise, where before the beach had been flat. I called in dismay, and jumped up to pursue her again. And as I struggled up the dune, it rose steeper and steeper, and the loose sand shifted under my feet until I was half crawling on my knees. When at last I reached the summit, the beach below me was deserted but for her footprints along the water's edge. Drawn by compulsion, I followed her trail, but without hope.

The beach curved on around the bay, and I ran till my limbs burned. Then I walked until my breath was sobbing in my throat as the wet sand dragged at my feet and became a viscous mud full of diamond hard shards. But still I followed her trail. Until at last the sea itself rose up and swallowed me cooling my desire in bitter brine and the thunder of waves.

When I woke in the morning, my heart was still pounding, and I had a bitter taste in my mouth. And I resolved not to yearn so hard after things that cannot be.

Weeks passed, and I did not see her again. My friend "fixed me up" with the cousin of her lover, and we dated casually for a few weeks. But the attraction wasn't really there, and we both knew it. So when she told me that she had met someone else. I wished her well and told her I'd see her around.

My job kept me busy. Exam time approached, and my students finally decided that they should do some work. I graded papers, and gave lectures, and prepared for the end of the term. And on the train I daydreamed of the dark haired goddess, and at night my dreams were disturbed by the thunder of waves.

The holidays approached, and I dutifully bought gifts for my nieces and sister. And each item I packed in my suitcase was like a link in the chain that kept me prisoner to the family who could not accept what I was. Maybe this time it will be different; maybe they have learned to accept, and I won't have to endure the questions about marriage or the oh so embarrassing moments when my mother or aunt tries to set me up with a "nice young man". I wonder sometimes if rejection wouldn't be easier to deal with then the quicksand of denial. I told my parents that I was a lesbian when I was sixteen. I'm thirty-six now, and they are still waiting for me to grow out of it.

I watched the undulating hills fly past the window; snow covered, they remind me of her breasts as I first saw them smothered in the too large white sweater. I thought about melting the snow away and wonder what sight of soft sweet flesh would be revealed. I allowed myself to think of her as I haven't since my dream. I imagined her legs as they were revealed by the red dress and think of caressing her thighs with my fingers, my tongue. Of kneeling and kissing her high up under the skirt, of slipping my fingers into the crotch of her panties. At some point, I fell asleep.

The winter landscape is white and gray; the tree branches covered with mounds of snow defying gravity, softening the stark angles making them kind to the eye. It is quite. The sky is uniform and it is impossible tell whether it is morning or afternoon. The only color is the red of her robe floating softly around her ankles caressing the snow. I approach cautiously remembering her flight. But she takes my hand and warms it with her breath kissing each finger.

I want to ask her her name, but again she silences me with a finger to my lips. Then she turns and draws me after her between the snow clad hills. I walk with her, content to feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric of her robe where her arm touches mine. The silence is complete but for the softness of her breath and the rhythm of my heart. We step lightly on the snow, leaving the lightest of indents behind us. And I think, I could walk like this forever and be content.

When we come to the cave, I am surprised. A cave should be dark, but this one is filled with light rendering it invisible against the white shrouded hills. She leads me in, and I marvel at the sight of the ice crystal sculptures adorning the walls; at the soft white carpet of warm snow caressing the soles of my feet. I sit obediently where she points and watch as she allows the robe to fall sliding from her shoulders in caress I long to emulate. It is only then that I realize that I am naked, and I find myself shy and self conscious: what can a goddess think of the body of thirty-six year old scholar who finds her exercise in turning pages and who is all too found of her meals?

She laughs softly at my blush, and reaches to brush the hair from my forehead. And I touch her. She kneels before me running her hands over my shoulders, down my arms, along my thighs. And I kiss her. She parts her mouth and runs her tongue along the outside of my lips. I pull her closer, and feel her smile against me. Her tongue enters my mouth gently, forcefully. She pushes my head back extending my neck, and flicks her tongue along it's length until she comes to the cleft of my cleavage. I am on fire now, and I pull her tight against me seeking her lips, but she pulls away and dances around me out of my reach.

I start to turn, but she is their behind me pinioning my arms with hers, weighing my breasts in her hands, stroking my nipples with her thumbs. I feel her breath on my ear, and shiver when her tongue traces it's curve. Then she begins to bite my shoulders squeezing my breasts rhythmically, matching the pulse of my throbbing clit until I break the silence with my groans, and she is gone.

When I wake, I am covered with sweat and am embarrassed by the rawness of my need. I look around me, but the other passengers seem oblivious to me. And I wish fervently that I was in the privacy of my own bedroom so that I could do something about the throbbing need deep in my groin.

The spring semester brought a new torture thought up by the administration to plague academics: adult education. I have learned how to deal with a vagaries of college students, their apathy and enthusiasms. But what do you do with a bunch of housewives and retirees who suddenly decide they have a dying need to know about Pre-Columbian culture? Oh well, at least they would not ask if "this" was on the test since there were no grades.

I am not usually the "absent minded" professor, but that day I was preoccupied with all of the details of "adds" and "drops" and the chaos of the first day of classes, so I didn't see her until I looked up from the attendance list to face the assembled class. I opened my mouth to welcome the students, but nothing came out. And when she looked in my eyes, I flushed with the surety that she could read my memories and know my dreams. But ten years of experience allowed me to finish the class on remote; I hope that I was coherent.

I thought of asking a colleague to take over the class, but what could I give as an excuse? I obsessed with a student and don't want to make a fool of myself in front of the whole class? A besides, I found the anticipation of seeing her each week excited me incredibly. The sight of her, the sound of her voice. I haven't heard her voice yet. Fool I called myself, but went to bed thinking of her anyway.

This time we met in the city. The streets were narrow surrounded by tall gray buildings tiled with blind windows and empty doors. The people were gray as well and walked passed us quickly with bent heads. Again, the only color was her dress; this time a deep turquoise. There were a hundred questions that I wanted to ask her, but I was afraid that if I spoke, she would disappear. She started to walk, and I followed. I was soon lost in the intricate maze of narrow streets that crossed at odd angles. But eventually we came to a park dressed in early spring. There was just a haze of green blurring the outline if the branches. The tulips weren't open yet, but there were stalks of yellow and purple crocus dotting the fresh green of the lawns.

She turned and looked in my eyes, and I could see the awareness of her power there. She gestured for me to take off my clothes, and when I hesitated, she shrugged and started to turn away. So I hastily complied every moment fearing discovery by the gray people of the city. When I was naked, I stood before her with my head bowed, my breath short. For once I wasn't aroused by her presence and my heart was hammering for reasons other than lust. She let me stand for a while, and then walked around me touching me here and there with one finger. When she was behind me, she reached around and cupped my breasts, stoking the nipples with infinite softness. Her tongue traced my shoulders, and I could feel the warmth of her. As my humiliation turned to arousal, I bit back a moan, and I felt rather than heard her laugh. Now her hands moved lower, and her fingers began to trace circles around my stomach, circling my navel, dipping down to brush my triangle of hair with the lightest touch. I closed my eyes and stood for her, afraid to move, to speak, to make any sound.

She started biting my shoulders again, and I came close to loosing control. She reached both hands around between my thighs and spread them slightly. Then she parted my labia and slid both hands along my slit. I was biting my lips now to keep from calling out, trembling uncontrollably. When I opened my eyes, I saw we had gather an audience, and I was instantly dipped scarlet by my embarrassment. But none of this cooled my heat, and I clenched my fists to keep from reaching for her full body, her breasts pressed close against my back.

When her hands were well wetted, she brought them back up and used my own essence to lubricate my ariolas and nipples, rubbing faster and faster in circles until the friction was unbearable and my knees started to buckle. She pushed me then, until I was on all fours in front of her. She mounted me like a bitch, and leaned around to squeeze my breasts harder and harder, pulling them out to the sides. Then she pinch my nipples hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I could not keep quite now, and she laughed at my cries. At my first cry, the crowd had started milling where before they had been completely still. I could sense their growing excitement, smell the rank smell of there lust.

She brought her hands back and raked her nails long my back unit she reached my ass. She circle each cheek, and then, with a suddenness, plunged her fingers inside me with a force that brought screams of pain and waves of pleasure. The crowed was moaning in time to her thrusts, pushing closer and closer. But I was beyond caring about my humiliation or disgust as I soared to orgasm and crested again and again.

I wanted to clasp her then, but she wrapped her fingers in my hair and pulled me back into position so that she could mount me like a stallion and take her own pleasure. And as she bucked against me, her screams of passion galvanized the crowd so that they began to tear at there own cloths. And when she came, it was with a shout of triumph the blotted out all sound and stole my sight. When I woke, my cum was cooling on my legs, the blankets and sheets a tangled mass binding my arms to my torso. I spent the rest of the night wrapped in a robe, sitting in the window staring at the blank night. I was afraid to sleep again. What scared me most about the dream was not how she had treated me, how she had humiliated me, but how much I had enjoyed it.

I began to enjoy teaching the class. The students were not necessarily brighter then my college kids, but they had a real interest in learning; they were there because they wanted to be. Normally, you only get a handful of really attentive students in each class, so it was a heady experience to have a whole class full. And, if they asked some dumb questions, they all asked a lot of good ones. And, Ellen, I had finally learned her name, Ellen asked the best ones. After the second class, some of the students asked me out for coffee, and we began to make a habit of it after every class. Ellen always came with us, but I made sure never to sit next to her, never to talk to her more than I did to any of the others. My favorite students were a husband and wife pair who had once worked for the World Health Organization. They had fascinating stories from all over the world. While I am an archeologist, I have always loved cultural anthropology as well, and they had been to many parts of Africa and the Mid-East that tourists never see and where the old culture is still more or less intact. They told me that, after they retired, they decided that they wanted to learn about the past, the historic trends that brought the world to the point on which it balances now.

I always sat where I could watch Ellen, and I always left feeling aroused. But I tried not think of her when I went to bed at night: I did not want another dream like the last. She always wore her hair pulled forward to cover the left side of her face, but one evening, when she unconsciously pushed the hair back from her face, I noticed the fine scars the ran from the corner of her eye to her jaw. It looked as though she had been cut very badly, but had had plastic surgery to reduce the scaring. I had become afraid of her, of my reaction to her after that last dream, but seeing those flaws reduced her from goddess to a person, and I began to consider her not as a sexual icon, but as a real person.

She had a lovely, deep voice, and a sense of humor and mischief that often had us laughing the whole evening. It was obvious that she liked attention, but she was also shy. In class she would ask questions, but when were sitting talking, she would defer to others and listen more than speak. She was older then I had originally thought. And for some reason, that comforted me; twenty-nine is not so different from thirty-six. She had been a model from the time she was sixteen, and I think part of her shyness came from the fact that she had never completed high school and felt somehow inferior in the presence of people who had college degrees. I was still attracted to her, but I had also begun to like her as person, and I stopped engaging in sexual fantasies about her. Somehow the thought of doing so deminished me more than it did her. I guess at some point I realized that I was falling in love with her, but I didn't forget that I had seen her with a man. You'd think that at my age I would know better than to moon after straight women.

I faced the end of the semester with a growing sense of sadness. I probably wouldn't see her again. I had signed up to teach another adult education class in the fall, and I was flattered when many of my students told me they would be taking it, but she was among them. My real specialty is early Native America culture, and I would be heading for a dig in New Mexico at the beginning of June. Normally. I couldn't wait to get into the field, but this time I felt reluctant to leave town; I didn't want to be that far away from her.

It was about three weeks from the end of the semester that my relationship with her changed. I had excused myself to go to the toilet, and when I returned, everyone had left except Ellen. I started to say good night, but she asked me if she could talk to me. Mine was the third course she had taken in the adult education program, and she had been thinking about becoming a full time student. She wanted my opinion about whether I thought that she had the ability to succeed in college. I was a little startled at how little she appreciated her own intelligence, and spent some time telling her that I thought she was one of the brightest students in the class. Somehow, I found myself holding her hand, stoking my thumb over her knuckles. It was the first time I had ever touched her, and I wanted to kiss her, to tell her how much she attracted me. But I was afraid.

We talked for sometime, and after a while I realized that she was flirting with me. By then, I wasn't sure of what I was saying, so rather than trust myself to talk, I asked her to tell me about herself. She had been a model, but never had been ambitious enough to try for the top jobs. When she had first started, she had enjoyed the attention, but after a while she had tired of being thought of as body, a pretty statue to pose. She was attractive to men, and had dated and slept with many, even though, she admitted to me, she was not attracted to them. They had wanted her, and she had given. She said that it gave her a sense of power, of being in control of her own life for a change. It had taken her a long time to realize that her power was strictly illusionary, that they had only wanted to show her as a prize, and that in reality, she had no control at all. And then, two years ago she had been on a swimsuit shoot, and a technician had been spraying her with water and had hit the hot lights instead. The bulbs had exploded spraying her with shards of glass, slicing deep into her eye. It had taken her a long time to put her life back together. They had saved her eye, but she only had limited vision. It took many bouts of surgery to fade the scars. And for a long time she had felt she had no identity because she was no longer attractive to men, no longer the center of attention. She showed me her scars then, and shivered when I traced them lightly. "Have you ever been with a woman?" I asked. "A few times, before I started modeling." she admitted. "I do like women, I find you very attractive. But after I was hurt, I didn't think I could be attractive to anyone. The scars were awful." "But you are very beautiful."

"I.. do you find me attractive?"

"When I first saw you, thought you were a goddess; you are so beautiful. But as I've gotten to know you, I've stopped thinking of you that way."

"Oh..."

"I like your sense of humor, how you always know how to cap of some one's phrase to show the funny side of a situation. I admire your mind, the way you question things and don't let me get away with easy answers. I have found you very attractive from the first time I saw you."

"You've never said anything, never tried to be near me."

"I didn't think that you would want me."

"Oh... Would you... would you like to have dinner tomorrow?"

"Yes."

I dreamt of Ellen again that night. We were on the beach again, holding hands, walking along the shoreline. This time, I wasn't embarrassed when she looked at my naked body, and the sight of hers didn't inspire instant arousal. Instead, as we walked, a slow fire began to build, and what I felt most was tenderness. After a while, we sat and watched the waves leaving their foam trails on the beach. The moon had risen, and the silver light was reflected and refracted by each tiny swell of the sea. The colors were shades of silver blue and green, and they seemed to spread slowly from the point where the first crescent peaked over the horizon all long the bay to the shore until our whole world was like the inside of a crystal orb. Then I took her in my arms and kissed her.