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Reverend Emma was not free to muse on the erotic and ethical possibilities ahead of her until well after lights-out in the dormitory, at which point she was relieved to be able to lock her RA suite door and turn her energy to discharging some of the pent up longing that her time with Sophia had inspired. She turned off the lights, lit a candle, took a Dos Equis out of the back of the tiny fridge, a contraband treasure, and sat naked, except for fresh panties, for a time in front of the open windows sipping the cold beer.

Finally cooled off a bit, she arose and from the very back of her small closet, she extracted a Ferragamo box, one of dozens that her mom had sent her over the years in an effort to counteract her tendency to wear flip flops or cowboy boots with everything. This one was empty except for a slender object wrapped in an old slip, and a box of batteries. She unwrapped it, and shook her head. It was not what she longed for, but it was better than nothing.

The object was a "personal massager", a souvenir of a basement shop called The Pleasure Chest, located off a historic square, not far from the convention center in another city. While pinch-hitting for a senior faculty member at a less than riveting book exhibition, she had slipped away long before lunchtime. She welcomed the opportunity to eat local ethnic street food and visit oddball stores behind dingy fronts without worrying about being recognized. She felt she had come away with a real find. ...

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