I could hardly believe it. Here I was, about to start teaching in one of the same lecture halls where I'd found myself as a wide-eyed undergrad about 10 years before. See, I had just finished my Ph.D. in European History the year before, and after a whirlwind job hunt and several interviews, had landed a lectureship at my alma mater. I knew I was at the bottom of the totem pole, and would therefore be stuck teaching all freshman classes - a sea of sleepy, gum-chewing, hair-twirling students each day - but I didn't care. It was my dream job, or at least a foot in the door towards my dream job, of being a college professor.
What I wasn't quite prepared for was the face I saw in the front row of my first class - a survey of Western Civ - that is, after he arrived 10 minutes late. Brock was the star senior quarterback of our school's football team. Even as little as I followed sports, I knew he was a campus hero, carrying the team to one of their best years in recent history.
And here he was, sitting in the front row, obviously paying no attention to my lecture, but instead putting all of his energy into distracting me. Whenever I made eye contact with him, he'd make some lewd gesture, like spreading his legs and grabbing his crotch, or licking his lips in an unmistakably sexual way as he looked at my chest rather than my face. The nerve! I did my best to stay focused, to give a good first lecture to my new students, but I had to admit that he got under my skin. I was irritated that he thought he could get away with treating me this way, but couldn't deny that I was also, secretly, flattered.
When I was his age, I had always been the shy, bookish type, left to fantasize about the relationship with a hot member of the football team, while some of my friends actually indulged. I guess you'd have to say that I was a bit of a late bloomer, just in the past few years gaining the confidence to wear clothes that actually flattered my shape, and occasionally ask a guy out for a drink. But even with my new-found confidence, I had to admit it was still nice to have the hot young quarterback see me as a sex object.
As the students were making their way out of the lecture hall at the end of class, he paused just long enough to whisper in my ear, "Looking forward to your next lecture, where you tell us about those tits of yours, that launched a thousand ships."
Dang, this guy was brazen. Blushing and shaking with a combination of lust and anger, I gathered up my papers and headed back to my office. Brazen, and obviously not stupid. He might not put much effort into his classes, but he had more than a few marbles rolling around upstairs. He had picked up on the fact that my name was Helen, that my next lecture would cover ancient Greece, and knew enough to come up with that witty single-entendre.
Before lecture the next day, I stopped in to see my former mentor and current boss, Dr. Anderson. He had been my favorite professor when I was an undergrad, and now, 10 years later, he was the one who had hired me. Knocking on his open door, I said, "Dr. Anderson, do you have a second?"
"Sure, Helen, please come in. And please call me John - remember, we're colleagues now!"
"Thanks, John, I appreciate it."
"So, Helen, what can I do for you - I assume your first lecture went well yesterday?"
"Well, yes, but I have a problem I'm hoping you can help me with. Brock..."
"Yes, I should have given you some advance warning that he'd be in your class. See, you must understand the pressure we're all under to make sure he keeps his eligibility."
"Well," I said, already disappointed at the direction this conversation was taking, "but he's a serious distraction in class, waltzing in late, not paying attention, am I supposed to just let him skate by with that kind of behavior?"
