Maybe he was a fan.The man, like his voice on the telephone, contradicted his Germanic-sounding name that induced visions of a Freud-like older man. N..., the good doctor was thirty-something and looked more like the neighborhood Little League coach than a psychiatrist.We shook hands and Dr. Mendelssohn mouthed the usual clichés about at last putting a face with the name, etc. etc.I wondered if I looked more like a left fielder than he looked like a psychiatrist. Probably."I think I am going to. He’s kind of cute,” She said to herself, biting her plump lip.Their eyes met in the classroom one day as he collected quizzes. She sat by me at the end of the row. I was second to the end. His eyes moved down her body. Something told her he was checking her out. She smirked again. “This is new…” She thought. That day she was wearing a skirt, showing off her flawless ebony legs. She wasn’t doing very good in the class.“This shit might work…” Sharmell thought, as she licked her lips seductively. More

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