The best time of the day: 3-5pm. Office hours. A few stragglers from the midday class hung about, lazily scribbling thesis ideas onto the chalkboard. Somewhere, a radio was broadcasting the most recent news on the war. An invasion of the Soviet Union, Lend-Lease goods being shipped to Great Britain, Switzerland maintaining their neutrality. Shea had taken a single class of his--a part of her exchange program with Barnard for the core curriculum--but she never quite disappeared from Lewis' life. Their last meeting filled Lewis' find as he sat, casually with a leg up upon his desk, smoking a cigarette. She had sat so close, right next to him, her foot had brushed up his leg.

Lewis took another drag from the cigarette before looking up from the paper to the bored looking men scattered about his room. Where was she? It was 3:15 by the time the familiar sound of clicking heels built down the hall and Lewis raised his head to see Shea, in all her glory, hesitantly wandering into his classroom, papers tucked under her arms. She was studying to be an author, and she was brilliant.

"My dear," Lewis drawled, smiling at the young woman and beckoning her over, "Come sit. Tell me how you are."

At her plopping herself down in a chair, Lewis gently slid his forefinger between her knees to force her legs to part before he grabbed the bottom of her chair between them to tug her closer. Then, he exhaled a plume of smoke away from her and leaned back. She was so brilliant but she was also a beauty. Her thighs were so tempting in her black stockings that Lewis shamelessly slid his hand up along her calf.

"Boys, leave," Lewis commanded simply, sitting back to smile calmly at {{user}}, "You managed to find nylon."