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Two-thirty, next day I’m sitting in her office.

In her office, her fucking office.

Her incredible ass sat in that chair right across from me, the impression still deep and warm.

I made sure I looked good. Why? I didn’t know. Not like I was gonna marry her or anything. Then again, she wasn’t that old at all, she was very young. Her age was a mystery. She must have been fresh out of college. Maybe the playful girl in her was yet still inside, assuming she had that personae.

She came in. She said some things to me about my grades and my college opportunities in which I don’t remember because all I could look at in that moment was her stomach.

It practically bulged from her skirt, begging to be free. Tight and taut. I imagined it with gas. A ticking time-bomb wanting to explode but not ready yet.

“I see you’ve applied yourself to Princeton, how do you feel about that?”

I was still gazing in space imaging the possibilities of her gaseousness. She seemed to press on me with a waiting look.

“Huh? Sorry. Heh, um, heh . . . Princeton. Yeah, I knew you were going to find that weird. It’s just that my father is obsessed with wishing me there. I know I’m not going to have a chance so I’m not obsessed over it, but I did it anyway for him.”

“I see, well you know the academy doesn’t have a real tight relationship with Princeton, unlike these other schools.”

Tight.

Like her stomach. Like her ass. Like the blouse that she wore, buttons practically twitching. Like the black business jacket she had over it, probably unable to be buttoned at the center, probably why she had it open.

“Rutgers University I think you feel is a typical choice. Isn’t? It’s pretty renown although—urp—although—“

I held my breath that very moment.

That slight guttural noise she produced just then – was it really what I thought it was? A strained effort to keep that beast inside? A painful, gaseous little burp, the ones everyday people dismiss during conversation with a quick grunt and placing of the hand over the mouth, and then it’s over and back to the conversation as if nothing happened.

She had continued talking but I had not listened to a single word. I found myself dumbfounded when she left a question open.

“Sorry?”

She gave a face of concern, “Are you alright? I’ve noticed you haven’t said much since we started.”

“Sorry, I’m just—long day.”

“Ah, really, classes hard? How’s-uh—oh, right,--how’s Calculus going for you? I know you’ve had some problems in the past with math but—“

“Yeah—no, it’s fine. Just this week has been feeling uh. . pretty, pretty slow, you know?”

She smiled angelically. “Of course, especially now in the winter, weather gets people down and slow and—urp—excuse me—you know what’s also been really slow? This lunch. Sometimes the lunchroom here can be really horrid.”

My heart absolutely, irrevocably, stopped beating.

“Don’t you agree?”

“Yes!” I half-barked.

She was taken aback somewhat.

I laughed awkwardly, very awkwardly. I wanted to slap myself. “Yes, the food is terrible, real terrible. Especially the stuffed shells. Yeah. They’re not stuffed—well enough. Stuffed. Ahem. They—they have them really watery and it’s horrible. Absolutely horrible. Worst meal I can ever have here.”

Ms. Johnson chuckled. “Well then, Jason, I didn’t know you felt so strongly about it.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, taking a deep breath, staring at her own stuffed stomach, “very strongly indeed.”

She went on about things I hardly could pay attention, and only agreed where it fit best. Alas, the meeting itself was winding down; there was not much else left to talk about. I awkwardly tried to think of something else to drag on.

It came to the point where I was seconds away from lifting myself up from that chair, when she said, “Thank God the day is over. I can finally do this. I hope you didn’t mind while we were talking but I wasn’t sure if it was rude or anything, but at least I held it in until now.”

The button popped.

And the zipper came down.

“Haha, that’s better. “

I sat staring again, that belly suddenly almost reached the size of a balloon now that it was free to roam.

She looked at me innocently. “Unless. . . is there something else you’d want to talk about?”
“Uh. . .”

“Like my gas?”

I widened my eyes. Immediately I shot up to my feet and backed away a bit.
She still looked at me innocently. It creeped me the fuck out. But if what was going on was really what was going on, I couldn’t believe a second of it.

“Ms. . . Johnson?”

“Yes?”

“I. .. you . . .” I couldn’t find the right words at all. I started to spazz out, gesturing with my hands to help me but with no avail.

She finally dropped that innocent look and smiled briefly. “Jason, you’re a very interesting person. As a psychologist, I’ve always wanted to test and experiment up hand the mysteries of sexual desires with fetishes. Of course, Mr. Gary has no idea about this. Nor does anyone in the staff. For all Mr. Gary knows, he is still your counselor. “

“Holy . . .”

“Now I’m willing to secretly be open to you about these things. I believe you need a good, harmless outlet to express your fetish. I’m completely available to you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of to talk about or experience, so long as you keep telling me how you feel and why you feel it. I know it’s late and you should be getting home, but is there anything you wish to share with me quickly?”

I couldn’t find the strength to stand, so I sat back down, still flabbergasted. She only responded with a warm smile. I finally said, “I’d uh. . . like to stay a while then. At least. . . until three-thirty?”

Ms. Johnson just sat there looking at me. Something was wrong.

“Ms. Johnson?—“

“Sshh, wait,” she snapped. She seemed to wait for something. Then when the time was right she leaned gently to one side, exposing that delicious rump of hers, and let one go.

By God, she truly let out bassy farts as I had predicted, and the force she let out with them too! She squinted and grunted, ripping a good, five-second blast.

She laughed out loud, and soon I did too.

“So, Jason,” she began, taking out a pen and pad, “how did this interest begin?”