Nerves were a new phenomenon.

Harry was a relatively confident guy. Generally, if he wanted something or someone, he formulated a plan and went after it without hesitation. During his graduate internship, he felt inspired by the way Murphy and Becca operated their business and he knew he had the skills and inspiration to expand with them; he put his money where his mouth was. When he met a girl he was interested in, he pursued. Although, in all honesty, he was often the one being pursued.

Harry wasn't vain in the least, but he was well aware of the fact that he had won the genetics lottery and some people would forgive poor behavior for a pretty face. Still, his mother had drilled into him the fact that women were to be accorded every equality and treated with respect. Being attractive and male did not give him the right to arrogance. Harry had enjoyed several relationships over the years, including one that lasted long enough to share the rent for six months. Thankfully most of them had ended on reasonable terms, and with the exception of his first love, at 15, none had resulted in a truly broken heart.

When Madelyn agreed to go on a date with him, she had stipulations, some of which Harry agreed to. Her preference was something traditional, dinner and a movie, beer and pizza, nothing wild and nothing that would put them near a university event; also, she wanted to pay her own way. It was the last precondition that he balked at. This was, after all, a date. He had asked her out and regardless of the other lessons about women that his mother had taught him; she also schooled him in chivalry. He was paying, end of story.

Regardless of the fact that his mother had always spoken openly to her children about relationships, Harry rarely asked her directly for dating advice. Actually, the last time he had approached his mother for guidance in romance had been when he was attempting to save his 15-year-old heart from being flushed down the toilet. Sadly, nothing was going to stop that train wreck.

"Honey, this is a first date, why are you so worked up?" his mother was genuinely curious as to her youngest child's overreaction to what ought to be a simple evening out. They had regular communication, however, his phone call caught her off guard as it included none of the usual conversations about classes, the restaurant, and friends. Instead, he leapt directly into a monologue about some woman he had taken a fierce liking to and vehemently wanted to impress. He explained that he wanted the date to be traditional, classy, elegant, and unique, but not over-the-top. Clearly, she thought, he was invested.

"Mom, she isn't just some girl from campus. I mean technically she is on campus, but... it's different. She needs more than dinner and a movie." Harry had been wracking his brain for two days trying to concoct a plan of action. He decided he needed a woman's input on the situation.

"Does this girl have a name, son?"

"Of course she has a name," he sighed. "It's Madelyn, but she's not really a girl."

"Well, Madelyn doesn't sound like a boy's name, is she a giraffe?" Anne's children knew that their sexuality did not matter one whit to her, so it was an easy joke.

"Jesus, Mom!" He was stressed out and his mother was cracking wise. "She's older than I am, okay?"

"I thought you said she was on campus." Anne's curiosity was definitely piqued. She was a woman-not-a-girl, and she had her son wrapped in a knot of nerves.

"She is on campus. She's a professor in the business department."

"You're dating your professor?" Well, this just went zero to 60 in his mother's mind.

"No, she isn't my professor, I mean, she was my professor. But that was two or three years ago. She isn't in the grad department, she teaches undergrads. I know her from uh, off-campus though. Madelyn's a customer." Wow, that did not sound right!

He could hear his mother take a deep breath. "This woman, not a girl, is a professor. And you are courting her. Exactly how old is she? Fifty?"

"Shit, no! Mom! And don't say 'courting' this isn't the 1800's." Harry was regretting this phone call with every fiber of his being. "I don't know how old she is exactly, young. She's the youngest professor on campus, maybe 30, 33?" There was an audible sigh of relief from the other end of the line.

"Harry, you know I trust you. You have excellent judgment, and if you are so taken with her, I'm certain she is a lovely person. All I'm asking is that you exercise caution. And don't swear at your mother." With that, the matter was tabled and Anne proceeded to offer suggestions and encouragement in Harry's effort to plan an evening that would demonstrate to Madelyn that he was serious about pursuing a relationship with her.

Friday had taken its sweet time to arrive. Harry had finalized all of his plans for the evening with Madelyn. They had exchanged text messages throughout the week and he phoned Wednesday to confirm that he intended to pick her up for dinner at 6:00 pm. It was probably silly to call. He had earnestly only wanted to hear her voice. Harry felt as if he was constantly half hard and the night before he called, he had finally taken matters into hand looking for relief. At least he was able to walk without a limp afterward.

Ultimately, Friday did make it's way around and as the chill of a late winter afternoon settled, Harry found himself in the shower trying to relieve some of the bottled sexual frustration that continued to plague him. He wasn't going to assume that Madelyn would sleep with him again. Should she choose to, however, he planned to avoid going off 'half-cocked,' shall we say.

Earlier in the day he had deflected the advances of a classmate who had come round Etta's. She claimed to be after a slice and a soda for lunch. It became eminently clear that what she was truly after, was a hook-up for later that evening. Harry easily sent her on her way with the promise of nothing, telling her that he was 'involved.'

Was he involved? No. Not by any socially acceptable definition. Still, his mind wandered to the way she had allowed him to handle her, to lay her over that lounge and spread her legs, to see her pussy, wet and peeking at him from between her thighs. He remembered the way she had given over to him repeatedly that night and the following morning. Leaning against the wall of his shower, erection in his palm, he knew. He was involved. With every stroke and pull, he knew. Skin stretched tight with engorgement, thumb sliding over the slit at the head of his cock, he knew. As he imagined himself hard, balls loaded, pushing himself over her tongue and into her throat, sinking between her legs as her ankles crossed at his ass and her tits bounced, he knew. And when he came in streams onto his hand and stomach, and his breath hitched and heaved, he knew. He was involved.

For Harry, there was no turning back. The nerves were coiled in his belly, snaking through his bloodstream, pounding in his brain like an infection. Trepidation, however, would not end his quest for her. His physical need for Madelyn was nearly as overwhelming as the need to know her mind and envelop her essence. Whatever made her the woman she was, he craved it as though his hunger was insatiate. This wasn't a game or a dalliance for Harry. He was all in, feet first. Now he had to convince Madelyn to throw caution to the wind and jump with him.