Professor Pritchard walked down the corridor with its old parquet flooring and depressing institutional green walls. In some places the paint was peeling away revealing past generations of equally morbid colours. Around the metal window frames sat darker patches of green where the rain had seeped in over the years.

Mike, senior lecturer in Psychology, strolled towards the year’s new batch of intakes with the nonchalant lazy air of someone who had passed through many times before and seen it all.

As he entered L26 he took his first look at their faces, some of whom he knew he would become familiar with over the next three years.

They appeared to be the usual motely bunch; the nervous ones, the over eager and the most fun for him, the overconfident. They all traipsed into the classroom behind him, for the moment motivated and enthusiastic to taste all that university life had to offer. Give it a few weeks and the numbers would start to drop as some of the students realised they had far more pressing matters than attending lectures.

“Find yourselves somewhere to sit, anywhere will do for now.”

He placed his briefcase on the desk and took a good look at his new undergraduates. Fifty-six in all according to the register, a few more mature students every year, although this was one subject that always attracted a wide spectrum and for many varied reasons.

His thoughts turned to the evening as he waited for everyone to settle down. Tania had better do as he’d told her and wear the black dress. She looked like she’d gained a few pounds over the last couple of months, despite him repeatedly telling her she was getting fat. He’d had to resort to monitoring what she ate because she couldn’t be trusted not to stuff her face as soon as his back was turned.

She could still look good when she tried, and although he hadn’t fancied her since she turned thirty he liked to watch other men checking her out.

Thinking back to their annual dinner, he laughed quietly to himself recalling how shocked she’d been when he’d screwed her from behind on the stairs just before they’d left the house. He’d only done it to gauge her reaction and had been pleasantly surprised that she’d enjoyed it. She was so much more fun back then. Even when he sometimes got carried away and took things a bit too far, she’d known better than to complain.

Turning his attention back to the class, he gave the sea of  eager faces a quick scan, there might be a few possible candidates, but it was early days. Another month down the line then he could start sorting out the wheat from the chaff. He stood up and addressed them.

“Good morning everyone. As you’re probably all aware I’m Doctor Michael Pritchard, senior psychology lecturer here at Peterfield University and your head of year. From those of you who don’t yet know, we operate an open-door policy here – meaning that if any of you need to talk to me about anything the door to my office P27 is always open. I hope you all enjoy studying and learning together, and those that manage to stay the course are in for a very interesting and challenging time.”

Tania took a last look in the mirror. The black dress which had been chosen purely to show off her best bits was one of Mike’s favourites, an off the shoulder number that plunged into a deep V neckline showing off a good portion of her boobs, a fitted waist then skimming over her hips and finishing just above the knee with a cheeky little split up both sides. At his insistence her blonde hair was piled up provocatively, wispy tendrils brushing her ears, the look was finished off with a pair of killer red stilettos.

It'd been a while since she’d dressed up like this. Tonight was the university’s Social Sciences department annual dinner, and as this was the only social event of the year she was expected to attend she forced herself to make an effort.

She walked carefully down the stairs thinking back to the first time she’d worn this outfit. Mike had bought it as a surprise present after they’d been married a few months. As she’d descended the stairs that night she’d been conscious of the effect she was having on him. Back then a cheeky smile or flick of her hair was all that was needed to get a man’s attention. These days it was hard work to get him to notice she was in the same room.

She’d smiled coyly, and on reaching the bottom step placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Well, do I look okay?”

That was ten years ago. This time there was no Mike to greet her at the end of her tottering decent. He was in his study giving tonight’s speech it’s final tweaks. He’d reminded her that morning to wear the dress as he was leaving for work, as if she was likely to forget. They rarely went out as a couple these days. He went out nearly every Friday night, but never with her.

Back when they’d first started dating he couldn’t get enough of her, making suggestions of what he thought she’d look good in, buying her clothing until it got to a point where her wardrobe was made up almost entirely of his purchases.

She didn’t always agree with his choices, but it made him happy, so she went along with it. After all how many men even noticed what their girlfriends wore most of the time let alone dared make suggestions?

But, if Tania was being totally honest with herself, she didn’t feel as confident in the dress as she once did. Yes, she could still get into it, but it did absolutely nothing for her figure and wouldn’t have been her choice. No matter how much you try and kid yourself, unless you’re permanently on a diet or at the gym your 33-year-old figure was never going to be the same as your 22-year-old one. Those perky young boobs that could manage with just a little help from a sexy plunge bra now needed a nice bit of underwiring and padding. And at what point did those lacy black thongs suddenly start to be so uncomfortable.

Front on, in the full-length mirror she didn’t look much different, but side on, especially without wearing any underwear she had the outline of an old woman. The dress’s clingy material made her feel cheap and tarty when once not so long ago it had made her feel sexy.

The skin on the top of her arms hung loose, she was skinnier than ever these days, her clavicle more prominent, accentuated by sagging boobs. The haughty arrogance of youth had disappeared and was now in the process of being replaced by an impending middle-age slouch. Middle aged, Christ! She was only thirty-three. When had she started slouching?

In the mirror Tania saw her mother. Scowling at her reflection, she picked up her wrap and clutch and went into the living room to wait for her husband.