Job Satisfaction

"And that's why you should think carefully about a future in the U.S. Air Force," the speaker finished, sweeping the room with a steely glare that dared us not to. "Thank you for your time."

I stared at him. Oh, I was thinking long and hard about it. I wasn't qualified in any way, but so what? Jesus. Thirty minutes of sitting in the lecture room, cock throbbing in time with every breath I took, a file folder strategically placed in my lap to hide the evidence… believe me, I'd given it thorough, deep consideration.

The room emptied around me, students scurrying away to class, or an early lunch. I sat watching Colonel Sullivan pack away his notes into a battered black briefcase, willing my arousal to subside just enough to let me go over and thank him for coming to talk to the graduating class.

It wasn't going to happen. He picked up his peaked cap and tucked it under his arm, the clear blue of his perfectly pressed dress uniform creasing at the crook of his elbow and I swallowed a whimper.

How could I be discovering a kink for men in uniforms at the ripe old age of thirty-three?

He walked briskly off the stage, heading down the center aisle, past my chair. I cleared my throat and got a sidelong glance of indifference, mingled with boredom, sprinkled with ennui.

I got it. He was a Colonel. I was a civilian with drool on my chin. Hopefully, that was just speaking metaphorically.

"You had a question?" he inquired, coming to a reluctant halt.

This close, the husky, gravelly voice I'd been listening to without taking in a single word rasped over my skin like calloused fingers. I tried to keep the shudder of lust from showing and gave him a bright smile.

"No, none at all. I just wanted to thank you for coming." Oh, bad choice of words. "I'm the head of the English Department and when the career advisor rang in sick they asked me to come along--" I really had to stop using that word, "--and make sure you had everything you needed."