It was at the moment of deepest penetration inside a sweaty, gently sobbing, five foot nothing, bony teenage barista named McKenna that I realized my approach to teaching had been wrong all along.
The epiphany came when my hips were completely cocked, when her assmeat was fully flush and squashed against my pelvis when her little cunt was throbbing like a heartbeat around the base of my cock. My dick was tickling her cervix and she looked back pleading, letting out a little muffled cry of submission at the apex of the thrust, her sunburnt face flushed with sweat and a line or two of tears.
Why wasn't I fucking them all along?
McKenna was one of my innumerable vaguely mindless, insouciant, poorly performing students who had grated my nerves for months. Something about seeing her that night had made me snap...and here we were, an hour or so later in the dark of the campus coffee shop where she worked, the blinds closed and the lights out and her palms down on the little table I'd bent her over, a streetlamp illuminating a strip of pain and lust on the side of her face, my dick soaked and buried in the nineteen-year-old body.
She muttered something incomprehensible, some lunatic jargon of the deep-dicked, and it brought to mind for some reason her inane outbursts in class, which in turn made me ball up her sweaty and frizzy dirty blonde mane in my fist and yank on it.
"Oh, teach", she groaned.
Yes, I thought to myself. You've stumbled upon something.
***
Now you might be thinking, no shit, just fuck your students if you're frustrated by them.
But it wasn't that simple.
See, the thing was, I had sworn to myself to never do what I found myself doing to McKenna's vagina that fateful evening in that fateful, sweaty, foggy glassed, sweet cuntjuice aroma'd coffee shop. I swore to myself I would never touch one of my students.
And for the ten years I worked at the state university - I was thirty nine - I was faithful to that code.
Of course, I had tasted a luscious late twentysomething grad student or two, I'd even diddled a desperate double-d'd divorcee professor in her late thirties, but I kept my students off limits. To protect my job, yes, but also my honor.
All this despite my classes being almost entirely girls (literature is a female-dominated subject), despite the hordes of eighteen or nineteen-year-old doe-eyed and sloe-eyed specimens of hyper-sexual youth employing every tactic for a better grade or a less taxing day in class. They wanted to avoid work at all costs; ideally, they would be on phones or tablets, gossping, scrolling, snapping, glossing. To this end they wore hiked up skirts, they displayed outrageous expanses of white flushed breast or golden thigh, depending on the girl, they perfumed themselves with every manner of pheromone known to mankind, and all that mingled with the natural musk of girls at the peak of their sexuality would have intoxicated me to madness if I hadn't been regularly relieving myself inside a woman my age.
Of course the last bit is not a little important. Just a week before that night with McKenna I broke up with my longtime girlfriend, a PhD student in the biology department. Our relationship had been going nowhere, and the sex had all but stopped. I was feeling pent up for months before the break up, and there was no breakup sex, and I walked those days leading up to the incident with a loaded cockgun and eyes that found increasing trouble avoiding the stares of cleavages and bouncy soft flesh and twitching hips all across campus.
But the biologist breakup also coincided with the midterm exams. The whole day before I went to McKenna's coffee shop I'd spent grading the most miserable array of student papers I'd ever read. Most of the girls had very clearly not read much if any of the required syllabus. McKenna's was not the worst, but it was among the very bad. And it was in that mood, defeated, embarrassed my students were learning so little, annoyingly horny, and wanting to quit my job that I sauntered into the campus cafe where I had no idea she worked
***
McKenna was just closing up. The cafe was empty and half dark. I started to make an excuse to leave when I saw her but she lit up.
"Oh, hey teach!" she said. "Stay, I'll hook you up!"
She was bouncing around over-caffeinated and was all hey prof this, sup doc that, her long and unkempt dirty blonde mane hanging about her white tube top, bullshitting and cleaning and turning the remaining lights off and making a big sexual show of it, lordosis bends to the ground to pick up some phantom piece of trash, any excuse to throw her little butt up in the air for attention.
I knew it, and for the first time in ten years as a professor, I allowed myself to fall for it. I found myself staring at the outline of her nipples through her top, staring at the white flash of flesh above a sunburnt thigh when she bent over and her jean shorts strained. I remembered one of the worst lines from her essay I'd read that morning, something that criminally misrepresented Whitman, and somehow that gave me permission in my mind to sexualize her.
It was an instant relief. I felt my hardest boner in months rise almost instantly, the sort of erotic thrill the biology woman had been wholly incapable of providing. McKenna wasn't the hottest of my students, though she was plenty fuckable; she wasn't the most annoying, though she was certainly a brat. She was not classically beautiful but nor was she unlovely. She had big brown eyes. She had a strange, if sweet, dazed sort of look about her. Like she'd just been slapped and knew she deserved it, and was resigned to it. To her peers she might've seemed emo, or overly melancholic, or naive, or perhaps all three. But as a professor twice her age, I found her and the croak in her ditzy voice deeply sexually stimulating.
All the pent up years of self denial exploded. I'd been weakened by annoyance with her and her copies, a thousand slightly less annoying McKenna, for weeks, for years. Something about her lewd display, all of it as coquettishly calculated as the maneuvers of a rutting cat, combined with her failures as a student, broke me.
