Ty Spencer Vossler




Lucia was precocious, capable of seeing mathematical possibilities overlooked by peers. She was sociable, worked well with nearly everyone, and was easy on the eye. This final factor explained her popularity at male-dominated math conferences. Yet, math researchers were only as good as their latest results. Finding other researchers to work with was difficult. Time and distance were mitigating factors. However, Lucia was rare—a woman in the field of Algebraic Topology, clever at finding other mathematicians to assist when she reached a sticking point.

While working in Oaxaca, she encountered a roadblock. Filtering through her list of colleagues, Lucia was forced to search for help. She thought of Skyping, yet the Internet connection in Mexico was frustratingly unreliable.

Lucia remembered Ryan Dempsey from a Denver math conference a few years prior. They’d exchanged Emails and agreed to work together at some juncture. She needed fresh eyes to get past a hitch in her research. She emailed Ryan, and when he responded with enthusiasm, she called him.

“It’s freezing here!” Ryan said. He was living in Chicago. “I’d love to go someplace warm.”

“Weather’s been very nice here lately,” she assured. The math society will pay if you agree to give a seminar while you’re here.”

“My pleasure.”

Lucia made his hotel arrangements, and Ryan, from Chicago, agreed to a two-week stay in Oaxaca.


Ryan welcomed the opportunity to escape the cold winds, and ice-rain—was grateful to visit a warm, beautiful city to help out a colleague. He recalled the Denver conference, and pictured her in his mind—black, short-cropped hair, diamond shaped eyes. He found her image among his iPhoto’s—full lips, stocky legs, and a nicely rounded backside. She wore black-framed lenses that made her bookishly attractive. He remembered Lucia’s passion for mathematics, and that she was very sociable after a few glasses of wine.

When Ryan arrived at the airport in Oaxaca on a late afternoon, Lucia was waiting. She spotted the tall, lanky, boyishly handsome mathematician coming out of the arrival gate. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“How was your trip?” She asked.

“There’s a blizzard warning in Chicago—glad to be here.”

“The weather in Oaxaca is usually pretty mild,” she said.

“I’m loving it already.” He spread out his arms and did a full turn.

As they walked through the airport, Ryan stopped at a glass display case. Inside were strange, brightly painted carved wooden creatures.

“What in the world?”

“They’re called, alebrijes. Chamizal is one of the towns where they’re made. We can visit if you like.”

“How do they think up such things?”

“People here are very creative.”

“Saw on you website that you have a daughter.”

“Yes, Rita, she just turned one.”

“Didn’t get to meet your husband. Is he still writing?”

“He teaches in Puebla and yes, he’s still writing. You’ll meet them next week. Wyler’s taking care of Rita this week, and they come every other weekend.”


“What about you. You had a girlfriend two years ago.”

“Yeah, we’re still together. She teaches at an elementary school.”

They chatted for the thirty-five minutes it took to reach Ryan’s lodgings by taxi. Lucia waited in the lobby while he checked in. From his hotel, it was an easy stroll to the math institute, located in the downtown zócalo, central park.

After signing in the front desk, the guard let them pass and they climbed marble steps to the second floor.

“Nice setup,” Ryan’s eyes widened as they entered an office Lucia shared with another researcher.

The office was furnished with Italian furniture, built-in bookshelves, two large desks, and new desktop computers. The stereotypes Ryan carried of Mexico were quickly fading. French doors opened to a balcony overlooking the zócalo. Lucia’s desk was littered with math books, sticky notes, and scratch paper scribbled with calculations.

She smiled shyly, “I’ll clear space, don’t worry.”

“Looks like my Chicago desk,” Ryan joked, “I call it the Bermuda Triangle.”

They walked out on the balcony and watched vendors selling wares, children chasing each other. They smelled rich Oaxaca cuisine wafting up from the restaurants below.

“I’m starved, what about you?” he said.

“Food is one of the best things about Oaxaca.” She noticed his eyes darting over her body.

“That blouse is beautiful.”

“It was handmade in Oaxaca. I’m sure your girlfriend would like one,” she said. “You’ll find all kinds of arts here—pottery, alebrijes, jewelry, mezcal…”

“I’ve heard of mezcal. Is it like tequila?”

“They’re both made from cactus, yet mescal tastes much different.”

“I’d like to try some.”

“Well, it just so happens…” She opened a drawer in her desk for the bottle she’d purchased. “This is for you.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“I want to keep you happy while you’re here. Let’s go eat.” She led him downstairs where they signed out and walked into the zócalo.

Lucia was reminded that many Mathematicians could only skim the surface of small talk. Abstract thinking had caused many to be socially dysfunctional. Recently, Lucia had traveled to Kyoto to give a talk. Many of the visitors secluded themselves in hotel rooms, venturing out only to eat. Ryan was different—wasn’t serious to the extreme. She was certain he’d enjoy visiting the mountaintop ruins of Monte Alban, walking the markets, and sampling local specialties.

They found a cozy outdoor eatery in the zócalo and ordered Tlayudas, which looked like giant tostada’s topped with frijoles, cheese, meat and spicy salsa. They ordered mescal too. Lucia enjoyed the look on Ryan’s face when he took his first sip—eyes growing wide, a satisfied smile crossing his face.

“Wow, that’s really different. Doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever tried.”

“I prefer mescal to any other strong drink,” Lucia said.

“It’s great.”

Pertinent facts emerged after the second shot. Ryan lived with his girlfriend in Chicago. She wanted the whole nine yards, yet he wasn’t ready to settle down.

“Everything changes when you get married,” she nodded, “It’s nice, yet it takes getting used to.”

After eating they walked to the outdoor market, where almost anything could be found—fruits, vegetables, clothing, and herbal remedies.  Traditional foods and clothing were also sold there. Ryan bought a necklace and a hand-embroidered blouse for his girlfriend.

“There’s some of those carved creatures,” He pointed to a table. Most of them were a mix of several animals, and others had sprung completely from the imagination. They were painted with intricate and colorful designs.

“We should visit, San Martín Tilcajete.”

“Who thought these up?”

“Like many stories in Oaxaca, it has to do with magic. Supposedly, a man named Pedro Lopez got very sick, and dreamed that he was walking in a forest. These creatures lived there. They told him to walk until he arrived at a window. When he crawled through, he wasn’t sick anymore, and he started carving the animals he’d seen in the forest.”

Ryan nodded, “Whatever works, right?” He bought something that was a cross between a jackrabbit and an antelope, painted in bright purple, orange, yellow and green.

When they returned to the institute. Lucia’s office-mate, Eugene Gonzalez, was at his desk and she introduced them. Gonzalez distractedly shook Ryan’s hand. Eugene was a night owl. Math was a bedfellow to odd working hours. Ideas can’t be ignored, no matter when they arrive to the mind, else they dry up and float away on a sleepy breeze. Lucia had pulled her share of all-nighters, yet for her, progress came in spurts, and usually when she least expected it.


That evening they worked late at the dry board and then called it a night. Lucia took a taxi to her apartment, ten minutes from downtown. She felt lonely when she saw Rita’s toys in a wicker basket and Wyler’s visiting clothes hanging in the closet. After phoning them she felt a little better. Then, before bed, she had her special tea, so bitter that she had to hold her breath to drink it. She hadn’t found the time to try it yet, yet now was as good a time as any. It was supposed to be effective with balancing many of the symptoms of menopause. Her husband, Wyler, was hoping that it would help with her libido. Lately her desire had nearly dried up.

Sometimes Lucia dreamed math, tossing and turning, sifting through mazes of imagery for bits and pieces that might fit a puzzle. Yet the puzzle was never finished, only added to. There were times when math accompanied lovemaking, little scraps floating in her head as Wyler worked back and forth. On this night, her dreams were of Ryan, fucking her with unfettered enthusiasm. An orgasm woke her up, and she dove her hand beneath her pajama bottom to bring on another.


Next morning, Ryan was already there when Lucia arrived at eight. She stood at the door for a moment observing him. Coffee was brewing, a bag of Mexican pastries lay next to the pot, and Ryan was marking formula onto the white board, stepping back, pausing to think, and stepping forward to add something. Doctor Gonzalez was at his desk, deeply immersed, pencil in hand, staring at a paper that looked as if it were filled with hieroglyphics.

“What time did you get here?”

Ryan turned, “I’m an early bird,” he explained. “I’ve an idea that might work. Coffee?”

“I have tea,” she said, showing him her mug.

So went the morning—putting ideas on the board, rethinking, referring to previous findings, using MathNet, and hashing it out. There were moments of ah-ha, followed with disappointment, and then finally, a small result emerged.

That evening they stepped onto the balcony for a breather. Dr. Gonzalez gathered his rolling backpack and bid farewell as a slight breeze drifted lazily over the zócalo. He was off to the airport to fly to Morelia. They watched a woman selling handmade ice cream, a clown striding around on crude stilts, and lovers smooching on a green park bench. They saw Dr. Gonzales leave the building to stroll across the park toward a taxi stop.

“This place really is magical,” he said.

“Yes, it’s one of my favorite cities.”

“I have to admit though, you’re the most interesting attraction.”

Lucia smiled and her face turned crimson.

Ryan gestured toward a couple kissing on the park bench, “Don’t see that much in Chicago.”

“Mexicans are very passionate.”

“What about you?” He gazed at her. 

She leaned forward and rested her hands on the balcony rail. “I’m very Mexican.”

Ryan Dempsey from Chicago took her hand to lead her off the balcony and pushed the door closed with his foot. He pulled Lucia gently into his arms. Surprise muted Lucia’s response to the first kiss. Ryan followed quickly with another, and she offered the tip of her tongue.

Lucia felt a familiar ache between her legs. The tea was working. She pushed away fro him and lifted a finger. “Wait,” She whispered, and locked the office door.

They stood kissing beside her desk, and her conscience whirled with images of Wyler, and Rita—yet Ryan’s kisses were a solvent for guilty thoughts. She thought of her belly, still swollen from childbirth, yet the feel of his lips dissolved those too. Ryan had pushed the right buttons, and there would be no return to the dry board until the problem of desire was resolved.

Ryan gathered up her skirt. Lucia slipped her panties off over her sandals and kicked them aside. She sat on the desk and lifted her legs. Ryan hastily lowered his pants and shuffled forward, cupping his hands beneath her knees and raising them. He placed his cockhead at the fleshy petals of her outer pussy lips so that they surrounded the shining helmet.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” he groaned as he pushed inside.

“Huh,” Lucia gasped, throwing her head back to let out a deep, lengthy groan. “Guh, huh…ayyy.”

Ryan stilled a sudden urge to spurt by putting his hands on her hips. Lucia leaned forward to kiss his chest and flicked her tongue on a nipple. He clenched his ass to allow a small orgasm to trickle out, yet he remained hard. Then, he pulled back and delivered slow, rhythmic thrusts. Semen from his first orgasm dripped to the desk. Lucia leaned back on her hands and rubbed calves over his ass.

Moments later she shuddered and buried her face in his shirt, “Ay-ay-ay-ayyy, huh…ayyy!” Lucia’s pussy flexed like a fist full of honey.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna again…” Ryan gritted his teeth and grunted, shoving his cock up to the balls. Then he pulled out, “Awww, Jesus…oh guh, awww,” jacking a heavy spurt over Lucia’s dark thatch.

The entire episode took less than five minutes. Their breathing was still labored as he squeezed the remaining drops from his cock and slapped it against her engorged pussy lips. Then he leaned over for a kiss, and playfully slipped back in.

“I think we have a new result,” he said.

“We’ll need more time to prove it,” she whispered, pushing up her glasses.


“You didn’t have to pull out.”

“Next time I won’t.

“Let me get you something.”  Ryan pulled out, hitched up his pants and fetched napkins by the coffee pot. Semen was dripping from her cunt onto the desktop.

Lucia placed a napkin over her seeping snatch and dabbed the semen swirled in her hair with another. A third was placed over the puddle on the desk. Ryan helped her down.

“Thanks.” Lucia stood on wobbly legs, collected her panty, and pulled them over the napkin. “Excuse me, I need the lady’s room.”

Ryan nodded, lifted his eyebrows, hastily buttoned his pants, buckled his belt, and smoothed out his shirt, “On a scale of one to ten, that was a solid E to the power of pi.”

    Lucia laughed, “Be right back.”


When Lucia returned, Ryan had written a new formula on the board: 1+1=WOW!

Lucia put hands on her hips and pursed her lips, “Hmm, we should examine this more closely.”

They left the office and walked toward his hotel, where further results awaited discovery.