“Really?” she asks me with a curious smile. “That’s what some psychological studies have suggested”, I reply. A psychoanalytical suggestion that men are attracted to the female’s butt because it stands for the breasts seems to intrigue Allyson, my 19 years old Australian student. She is one of the most lively and vivacious girls amongst the 31 odds students from Italy, France, Chile, Argentina, US, India, Iran, Japan, Korea and Australia who are in the international graduate exchange programme of the university where I work. And curious and inquisitive as she is, Allyson continues, “I thought it’s a straight forward fact that men are interested in butt because it reminds them of the sexual act.”“Reminds of the sexual act, what do you mean by that? I ask. Tossing her blonde hair backward, and adjusting the stray hairs that fall over her eyes with her slender fingers, she continues as a matter of fact, “I mean, it is something that reminds men of the female genital.” “What you are saying is an obvious truth; but beneath that obvious, we must try to explore the dynamics that drive the interest. As psychoanalytical theories have suggested, the initial erotic investment is not on the genital but on the mouth. Remember, the first erogenous stimulation comes with the sucking activity of the child, and the original pleasure is therefore associated with the breasts. The latter erotic interest in the butt implicates a re-investment of this early libidinal energy associated with the breasts to the butt”. She listens to my explication and seems to ponder over it for a while. Then she continues, “But irrespective of their interest in the butt, most men are still obsessed with the female breasts, the first thing they normally see in a girl is her breasts; studies have confirmed this fact.”“Does that contradict what I have said? I pose her. “Well, I don’t know. But most men continue to be obsessed with the breasts, yet they are also drawn to the female’s butt; doesn’t this make their interest in female’s butt relatively independent of their interest in the breasts”, she continues.“I don’t say that men cannot or do not have an interest in the butt per se. Or that their interest in the butt will make their interest in the breasts anything less. All that I am saying is that the interest in the female’s butt amongst men involves a re-investment of the libidinal energy that was once associated with the breasts; in a sense, the butt reminds them of the breasts and…”Before I complete the sentence, Allyson interrupts, “Butt reminds of the breasts, because the breasts and the butt have structural similarities?” “Structural similarities, as in?” I asks. “You know, what I mean, the cheeks of the butt, the breasts and the cleavage…?”, shaking her head and lifting and moving her two hands in front of her chest, the palms mimicking the shapes, she says, and then suddenly noticing the way her hands mimic the shapes, she laughs. “Oh that way!” Nodding my head with a teasing smile, I say. And she continues to laugh.There is something about the way Allyson laughs; it exudes a mixture of feminine charm, sensuality and innocence, something that often stirs a strange feeling in me whenever she does that. “Well, it does in some sense but for the butt to have the erotic value, it must be invested Beylikdüzü escort with the affective memory of the breasts”, I say with an air of academic seriousness; perhaps the tenor of this remark suggests a subconscious attempt to counter something that is brewing up inside me, something that has been stirred by her act of mimicking and laughter… But that word “memory” seems to have taken me deeper into the inner recess of my mind, disrupting the smoothness of the informal discussion, albeit marked by technical vocabulary on human sexuality, between me and Allyson.*********** Images of her perky tits (she later on said, 34C) with those pink areola and puffy nipples flash in my mind in quick succession; her initial expression of surprise that turned into a naughty and flirtatious look, the sparkling eyes, the freshness of the body of a young woman with her free flowing blonde hair that synchronized with the soothing breeze of the Indian Ocean— all come one after another. The memory of that evening, while we were in Bali (Indonesia), seems as fresh and real here in Melbourne as well. That evening in Bali, Allyson along with Sneha (an Indian student) and Kana (a Japanese student) had gone to the beach near the hotel where we had been put up for a week. That they would drink and enjoy was understandable. But that I would encounter a topless Allyson as I took a stroll along the beach, enjoying the breeze of the Indian Ocean on the Balinese coast, was something that I had never thought of, even in my wildest fantasy. But as it happened, it was a moment that had initiated a tussle in me, a struggle between the desire of a man and conscience of a professor that was to trouble me for a long time to come…*********** “Hello Sir, hello…Prof. Brandon?” I heard her voice, and I say, “Yeh, it’s ok, you don’t have to feel bad about this. I am ok with it.” “Hello Sir!” I not only hear the voice but also feel that someone is touching me. Of course, it is Allyson! For a while, I have wandered into a moment of the recent past. And as I return to my present, I find Allyson standing next to me, literally trying to bring me back to the present. She has been with me since 9:00 in the evening; she has come to my room after her dinner to discuss the presentation that she has to give tomorrow. Since then, enjoying the red wine, we have been having this informal discussion on the cultural variation in erotic investment on anatomical parts. This is not the first time that we have had such informal discussions over a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. In fact, I share a good rapport with all the students, and beyond the formal class or seminars or lectures, I and my students are more like friends. May be this is because I am still young at heart; as such I happen to be the youngest amongst the four faculty members who are travelling with the students. For the girl students, they relate with me with a certain sense of ease perhaps because I also happen to be the only one amongst the faculty who is single! (Of course, there is Dr. Rita who is also “single” in the sense that she is separated, but not legally divorced, from her husband). Over the last two months that we have been travelling together as a part of the six-month long field trip to explore the Beyoğlu escort bayan cultural moorings of human sexuality and relationship in the Americas, Asia and Australasia regions, my relationship with the students has grown in depth and maturity. However, one boy and three girls, including Allyson, particularly have become quite close to me. They would often spend time with me, sharing drinks and chatting with me on many issues that are not necessarily confined to their study or academic matters. This evening has been one of those moments too, except for the fact that all these while I have been transported back to the memories of the sensual stirrings of the Balinese beach so overwhelmingly while talking to Allyson… “What do you mean by you don’t have to feel bad about this?” she asks. “Sorry?” I say, trying to bring back myself to the present. “You said, I don’t have to feel bad about it and that you are ok with it. What is it about? I don’t understand?” Allyson persists. “Oh did I say that? Now?” I ask in disbelief. “Ya, you said that”, she says and again continues, “In fact, you were talking about the affective memory of breasts. Then suddenly you went quiet and just as I tried to draw your attention, calling out hello sir, hello Prof. Brandon, hello sir, suddenly you said I don’t have to feel bad about, God knows what?” (It seems that I have actually re-enacted the conversation that I had with her then in Bali right here in my hotel room in Melbourne, a city which serves as our third field site. More particularly, I seem to have said the same sentence that I had said to her then as I tried to make things less awkward for both us when she, only in her thong, toppled over me at the beach that evening in Bali) “Oh! Sorry Allyson, I was thinking about something.” Saying this, I manage a smile that conveys my sense of embarrassment. And as she walks across and sits on the opposite sofa again, she says with a mischievous smile, “Oh I see! Some memories!?” I look at her but say no words; I just smile back. And I notice in her mischievous expression, a naughtiness of a feminine seduction. Just as I sense this strange vibe, I begin to notice how fresh and beautiful she looks, even in her casual denim shorts and white top. She takes a sip of the red wine from her glass, and looks at me and says, “So you mean, the earlier experience determines the present even in this case?” “Even in this case!? Eerr…ya, that’s what the theory says.” I respond while simultaneously I wonder as to what she means by “even in this case”. This thought gets further intrigued by what follows. “Memory from the past comes back to the present; I mean…the re-investment of the breasts on the butt.” She says as she gets up and walks towards the mini-bar. By this time, I have become more driven by what I see rather than what I hear. I can’t help but notice the tight and rounded butt that is accentuated by her denim shorts, her well-form thighs, and the smoothness of her soft skin. She bends to take the wine bottle, and in the process the lower portion of her top pulls up a little, exposing her white feminine flesh around the waist. As if the rounded butt and skin show is not enough, as she kneels down further, and I see the red lines of her thong and Escort Bomonti the lurking view of the upper part of the cleavage of her butt! With the displays of the feminine forms, playing hide and seek in front of me, I couldn’t help but feel the lusty storm that has been gradually building up inside me. She turns around and asks, “Would you like to have more? “Yes, I would, if you are willing! …err…I mean…err… if you are willing to give me company to finish the bottle.” I nearly stammer as I reply. Obviously, I was getting hornier with every passing moment, and rather than the wine, I am thinking of taking her from behind like a dog in rutting season. ‘Dirty’ sexual thoughts are gradually getting the better of my sense of morality and responsibility as a teacher. Hell! Am I losing my sense? Just as this thought strikes me, Allyson answers, “Sure sir! If you can spare and empty all the intoxicating juices of yours all on me!”, shaking the bottle, she says, and then she looks at me over her shoulder, a look that only a woman can give to a man to make his sense of control over his life precarious! That Australian accent which still asserts itself despite her stay in the US for the last 5/6 years, and the words “intoxicating juices”, “empty on me”, though seemingly addressing the wine in the bottle, un-unnervingly and invitingly knock at my lusty heart and fertile mind. “You can have it, if you want to”, I say without clearly sensing what I mean by what I say. “Are you sure, you don’t need it?” she asks. “No…ya…I need it…no,” I stammer just as my hardness throbs underneath my shorts. What am I saying? I seem to ask as I struggle to take charge of a situation which is gradually turning into something more than a student and teacher sharing an evening, informally discussing something that pertains to academic issues. And in that losing struggle, I didn’t even notice that Allyson has already returned to the sofa. Neither am I aware of the fact that my hardness can barely be hidden underneath my shorts by now. “You need it or not? Should I pour some for you? She asserts and looks at the wine-glass in my hand. As I follow the direction of her eyes and trace it to the glass in my hand, which rests on my right thigh as I sit on the sofa, I notice the awkwardly bulging hardness underneath my shorts. Then, I look up straight into her eyes. She looks at me. God! Did she notice it? Is she looking at it! I immediately change my sitting posture, and then look straight into her eyes again. This time our eyes meet. She takes a sip and shakes her head to put her sparkling blonde hair in order, her slender fingers take care of those remaining unruly hair. Her movement accentuates the bust-line, seductively caged by the white top that she is wearing. She quietly sits and looks at me again, a look that seems to suggest a struggle inside her, a sort of what next or to be or not to be… Or am I reading too much? The silence gets broken as she says, “Sir, let me pour some wine for you.”I instinctively give her the glass; she bends to get the glass from across the centre table. I can almost smell her womanhood, the freshness of a young, desirable woman. Beneath the top, my fertile mind can see her tits as she bends and then gets up. As she pours the wine, she asks me, “Sir, may I ask you a personal question?” “Sure Allyson” “Do you get attracted to women’s breasts or butt?” I smile and say, “Well both”. We both laugh. “Tell me seriously”, flashing her eyelids and with a seductive smile, she insists. “I am serious, I love both”, I say in a tone that is perceptively flirtatious.