My name is Professor Edward Haseman, and I am a Philosophy professor at a local community college. I have many fond memories of students throughout my teaching career, but there is one I look back on with the memory that makes me smile...and pop a hard-on.
Aislin was a lovely young woman in my sophomore Philosophy class. At first glance, she might seem to be like any other sophomore girl; she had long blonde-brown hair, porcelain skin, sparkly green eyes, hips set a bit wider than the typical definition of "beauty" society put forth would allow, and large-ish breasts. But Aislin never wore shoes to class if she didn't have to. During the cold months, she would wear ballet flats made of velvet. During the hot months she would wear flip flops to protect her feet from the blistering asphalt. But during the mild spring and fall months, she would go barefoot. Every Tuesday and Thursday at 1 pm she would flounce into my class and sit in a different seat.
Being a philosophy teacher, I like things that are unusual or odd; hell, I have dreadlocks and I wear glasses. And, being a philosophy teacher, it is hard to find women that want to have sex with me; they hear "philosophy" and turn tail, thinking I don't have a "real job". It doesn't help that I'm no Tom Cruise, either. But Aislin seemed to like the way I looked, and she seemed even more into how I thought and what those thoughts were. And I was captivated by her. Her green eyes and the placement of an ever-changing flower in her hair intrigued me; her barefooted beauty excited me. During class I would try to not look at her, to keep my composure in front of the rest of the classβbut she would always comment, always have a question or something to say. The worst part about that was I couldn't ignore her comments; they were usually profound and very relevant to the topic at hand. Her intelligence on my favorite field of study only made me admire her more. Sometimes she stayed after class to talk to me if she felt the interestβsometimes she didn't. I could never predict what she would doβwhich only entranced me further.
Soon I began to have inappropriate thoughts about her, particularly when she would wear those low-cut tops and nibble on the end of her pencil when she was deep in thought, gazing up at the ceiling. The expanse of pale skin on her neck invited me to lick and tease, to touch and tantalize. Her long, tapered fingers would tap out an unknown rhythm on the keyboard of her laptop, and I tried not to imagine all the better uses I would have for those hands, those lips always pulled into a smile.
Before long I was hurrying out of the classroom at the end of every period, rushing to my office to close and lock the door. There I would sit behind my desk and close my eyes, imagining her dancing for me, taking off more than her shoes. As I gripped my cock I imagined it was her hand, her soft, gentle fingers, sliding so delicately, even shyly over me until I spurted long ropes of cum all over myself. Soon my fantasies grew wilder. Soon I began to imagine her following me into my office under the guise of a question for me, only to sink to her knees, unzipping my pants to suck my cock. My ever-imaginative mind continued to have her do things to me, and to let me do things to her. "Oh, Aislin," I would moan quietly as my mind brought her to me in a miniskirt and no panties, finally letting me take her. And take her I did, hard, fast, and frantic, bouncing her up and down on my lap as she moaned her pleasure.