On the day I had my wisdom teeth removed at age 19, I returned to University slightly groggy and with a frozen mouth.   This was a mistake as I passed out while discussing a work assignment with my buxom French professor.  I ended up stretched out on Professor Finch’s sofa with a cold towel on my forehead.  She abandoned her usual formal style. “You poor dear,” she sympathized. “you’re as weak as an infant.”  She told me it was raining so she would drive me home. 
 

We got to my parents’ bungalow in pouring rain.  I leaned on my teacher as we made it up the stairs and into the house.  No one was home and we turned on the lights as we entered.  Mrs. Finch removed her shoes and raincoat and left her umbrella open in the hallway.  Still leaning on her, I staggered to my room and lay down on the bed.
 

“You poor baby,” she cooed.  “You should really get out of those wet clothes.  Oh for heaven’s sake don’t be embarrassed.  I am a mother you know.”  This latter she said as she undid my belt, unzipped my pants and pulled them off me.  Socks soon followed.
 

I felt as if I had been drugged.  I looked over at her beaming face as she removed first her glasses then her sweater.  “It’s quite warm in here,” she observed.  I noticed now that her blouse was unbuttoned to create a V shape under her neck, which looked even whiter than usual.
 

I could not tell if I was in a delirium or not.   Mrs. Finch knelt on the floor beside my bed and cradling my head, fixed my pillow.  My eyes and her bosom were staring at each other.  It was only at this moment that I started to feel my mouth completely dry and my face flush.
 

“Oh my, you seem to be having an attack of fever,” she commented as I felt my limbs shake and my teeth chatter.  Still kneeling, she bent solicitously over me and asked, “is there anything I can do for you?  Is there anything you need? ”
 

I tried to speak and could only whisper, “MMMM” .
 

“What’s that you say?” she bent her ear closer to my lips.  In a complete haze, I could only gurgle, “Mmmmilk.”
 

“What was that?”  Again, she pressed closer.  “Warm milk,” I croaked.  My head lolled to one side.  All the strength seemed to flow out of my body entirely.  I could not move.
 

Just then, I heard my mother’s voice from the front door, unnaturally loud. “Are you home?  Is there anyone there?”
 

Mrs. Finch stood up quickly.  My mother entered the room, looking down at the floor, almost as it were, averting her eyes.
 

“Oh I am so glad you are here,” said Mrs. Finch.  “I am your son’s professor.  I brought him home because he was feeling ill.  I was just going to give him some warm milk.”
 

“Why thank you so much. You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
 

“No trouble at all, I am a mother too, after all.”
 

By this time Mrs. Finch had slipped into her sweater and buttoned it up   “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.  Your son is a fine student”
 

“Do you want some tea?”
 

“No, I really must be going”
 

Mrs. Finch was in her raincoat and carrying her umbrella at the front entrance that I could see down the hall.   “We’ll see you in class.  Be well,” she smiled.
 

My mother came into the room and said, almost as if confessing, “you know, I thought the worst when I saw those women’s shoes at the front door.  I was afraid to look up when I came in, afraid to look up and afraid of what I would see.”
 

“Don’t be silly,” I mumbled.  “After all, she’s a mother too.  Can I have some warm breasts, uh warm milk now?” I stuttered and passed out.