Universal Constance - Sex Stories

Universal Constance

'Connie! Connie! Come in. You won't believe...' As the old man turned away and scuttled back into his study, his voice faded to nothing. From the bright, cold hard corridor, I stepped into a dull homely warmth, from echoes and cleaning fluid, into an anechoic cocktail of pipe smoke and coffee. The floor was tessellating redwood blocks, the furniture time-worn leather and mahogany, and the rugs deep, patterned and Persian. The ornate ceiling was high and the tall bookcases that filled both long sides of the room were bricked up with leather-bound knowledge. Heavy velvet curtains usually filled the whole of the far wall, though this evening they were partially open, revealing a huge and intricately leaded window. Beyond Professor Samuelson's cosy enclave, clouds drifted and the heavens turned. The sun's dying rays pierced the multicoloured glass, illuminating his dusty academic world with shafts of regal greens, blues, reds and ambers. Beams splashed onto stacks of ancient books and dog-eared yellowed papers that covered every raised horizontal surface, smothering each table and chair, each cupboard and shelf. The stooping figure in the tweed-suit stopped, turned and puffed his pipe. Swirling fingers of smoke grasped and choked the sun's last strangled breath. The sights and smells transported me back through time. A nicotined finger traced the words. Though only five years old, I read the complex text with ease, understood it too. I knew I was five because my shiny red shoes ...

... were a fifth birthday present that were sadly and quickly grown out of, as was the pretty flared frock I almost constantly wore. Father bounced me on his knee, squeezed my shoulder, and sucked on his pipe once more, while fervently nodding his head. 'Clever girl, Connie! Clever girl!' I screwed up my face and pouted my lips in a theatrical exaggeration of confusion. My lisp was a mere childhood affliction. 'So Isaac Newton was wrong? How can that be, Daddy? You said he was the cleverest man ever!' Father chuckled. 'He was, but he could only go so far in one lifetime. What he achieved in his was handed over to others. Over the centuries, his work has been added to by some almost equally clever people using increasingly accurate methods of measurement - measurements Newton's era was simply not capable of - and so eventually they proved that time...' 'So, Constance,' the professor knew my name was simply Connie, was not a contraction, but when the mood took him, he loved to employ its posh parent, 'please, take off your coat. Let me see you.' He became thoughtful and whispered, as though to himself. 'Yes. See you...' His use of my Sunday name allowed me an uneasy familiarity, one he had long ago bestowed upon me. 'Of course, Edmund.' I slowly unbuttoned and peeled the dark wool garment from my shoulders then let it slide down my slender arms before casting it casually over the same chair back on which I had recently hung my chic black handbag. The sun had expired. The room was ...