It was the end of the mark period. Andrew sat in his easy chair with his lap-desk while Sylvia sat on the couch with a TV tray. They watched some inane show while he corrected essays and she corrected the multiple-choice sections.
When they were both done, she turned off the TV. He read numbers to her which she entered into a database.
He came to sit next to her and looked over her shoulder to check the results and maybe adjust the curve, but there were other curves distracting his attention. His eyes fought to stay on the laptop screen, but they drifted to the ample display of cleavage revealed by his wife's low-necked tank-top.
Her breasts were up and firm, yet there were no bra lines visible. He considered that there might be some kind of built-in bra.
He was supposed to be concentrating on the grades, but there were other thoughts gnawing at him - thoughts even more distracting than his wife's cleavage - so he didn't try to shut out the more pleasant distractions.
She focused her attention on the screen, pretending not to notice his wandering eyes and wandering thoughts. She crossed her legs toward him, inviting his eyes to be distracted even further. She could handle this part on her own and didn't mind if his thoughts turned to pleasure - as long as it kept him from those other thoughts for a few more minutes.
When the numbers were done, they reviewed the names and the letter grades, in case there were some unlikely results (an A student getting a C or vice-versa). The odd cases got double-checked just to make sure.
He gets to know his students pretty well. He remembers their parents too, especially the ones who are kind of strict or who have certain "characteristics" about them.
They were done.
She turned to him, his eyes weren't meeting hers, but it wasn't because he was staring at her boobs. His eyes were closed, and there was a tear traveling down his cheek.
"How many?" she asked.
"Two that I know of," he answered. "Probably others."
She reached down and took the bottom hem of her tank up over her head. She had to lift the elastic of the inner bra to get it over her boobs, but it came off easily. She adjusted her necklace.
Her sneakers had been discarded hours before, so all she had on at that point were her shorts, panties and jewelry. She swung around and straddled him, topless, facing him, with her knees on either side of his legs.
She rose up, so that her breasts were even with his face, and wrapped her arms gently around him. His muffled cries had free reign.
She said nothing. Anything she might say would be patronizing. They both knew.
She kissed the top of his head and encouraged him to enjoy the maternal healing properties of her body.
After a while, she shifted a little and sat back down so her face was even with his.
His eyes looked into hers. They kissed.