Being a college student, I've heard the stereotypical stories about girls who sleep with professors for a grade. But I don't actually know of anyone who's really done it, nor has the thought ever occurred to me. Well, perhaps I should amend the latter part of that statement-there's cut-throat competition at my college where almost everyone is an overachiever, and it's never occurred to me to trade a blow job for an Ivy degree. But it would be untrue to say that my mind has not wandered onto non-academic concerns during lectures once in a while...
Thursday evening found me in the library café, with what must have been the millionth cup of coffee I'd consumed that day. Since most of us upperclassmen don't have Friday classes, I would have normally been out with my friends, having a few drinks to celebrate the end of the week. But tonight, I was struggling to focus my attention on a depressingly thick stack of readings. My own damn fault for electing to write a thesis this year, I thought to myself.
At least they kept the place nicely heated, and so even as the winter winds rattled against the high-arched windows, I shed my jacket, sweater, and long-sleeved tee, leaving just a tight little tank top on as I settled cross-legged into the armchair, and pulled the first of the books over to me.
Anti-Machu sentiment...delayed troop movements...National Assembly declarations...
I must have drifted off the sleep, because the next thing that registered was a tap on my shoulder. I started, and the book slid off my lap as I looked up for the source of the disturbance. Oh no. Of all people, it had to be my seminar professor who caught me napping.
"Er, hi Professor Jameson," I offered sheepishly.
He didn't reply, but bent down to retrieve the book I had dropped. Peering at the cover, he said, "I don't find this particular interpretation of China's 1911 Revolution to be all that fascinating myself, but still I wouldn't expect you to fall asleep over it."
At a little over 6' (my estimate), he towered over my petite frame as I sat curled up in the armchair. Unsure of whether he was chastising me, I was about to mumble some excuse about being tired when he continued, "So you're here on a Thursday night, and it's just the start of semester, which means you work far too hard. I should reward you for such diligence-can I buy you a cup of coffee?"
Still disoriented from having fallen asleep only to be awakened by a professor, I was now distracted by his physical proximity, and found myself staring into his hazel eyes. "Umm-I... The only thing that would help me these days is if I had an IV drip of expresso," was the feeble joke I finally came up with.
Professor Jameson smiled, "Well I can't help you there, but I think that--" but before he could finish his statement, one of his colleagues, a visiting scholar I'd seen around the department, came up to him. "Well I must get going. See you in class Monday." Professor Jameson handed the book back to me, and turned and left.
I was left with my no less diminished stack of books, wondering whether the light brush of his fingers across my hand as he handed back the book was accidental...
* * *
As usual, the weekend passed far too quickly. I groaned as I reached to hit the snooze on the alarm clock. God, Mondays. Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on my robe and headed for the shower. With the hot water running over my body, I closed my eyes and breathed in the steam, thinking about the day ahead.
Monday meant seminar with Professor Jameson... the one class I always looked forward to. He was a good professor, energetic and passionate about his work, and quite young as tenured professors go-in his mid- or late-thirties. This was the second class I'd taken with him, and I guess he noticed that I worked especially hard in his class, because he singled me out with challenging questions in class, and always had a smile and a few words for me whenever I bumped into him on campus.
I pictured him, his tall frame with a hint of muscularity under the jacket and tie he always wore, his brown hair that looked so soft... what would it feel like, I wondered, to run my hands through it? And his touch, warm and light as he brushed my hand back in the library... Putting down the soap, I ran my fingers across my body, caressing my breasts and pinching my nipples to make them hard. I wondered what it would feel like, his hands on my body... I'm petite, at 5'5'' 110... would he like the feel of my tight young body pressed against his tall frame? Moving my hand down between my legs, I slowly slipped a finger in my pussy... I thought about his lips pressed against mine... his fingers wrapped in my dark, silky hair as he kissed me... daydreaming, I fingered myself faster and harder until I climaxed, gasping and leaning against the shower wall.
When I'd finally gotten out of the shower and dried my hair, I only had five minutes to dress and run to class. Opening my closet, my glance settled on my pleated plaid skirt, the one I only wore when I felt like being provocative, as it was a bit of the obscenely short variety... Oh well, why the hell not? I thought to myself. I put on the skirt, with just a thong underneath, and a preppy polo shirt, and slipped on my shoes, grabbed my bookbag and jacket and ran out the door.
