The Stripper
Ron Ehrs
A co-ed student becomes the teacher for her professor
* * * * *
[Author's note: this is my 8th story for Literotica. Only one of them has run under 10K words - this is over 13K. I write long because to me the story and the people matter. I also try to build in some humor, though I'm not sure who notices. And, yes, I did teach college English in the past, but sadly, this is not autobiographical.]
* * * * *
When all this happened, I was in my first year as a contract instructor at a local college in West Texas. It wasn't a community college, it was one of those branch four-year colleges they set up to make it convenient for local students to attend. My job was second-tier, no chance of tenure. But I liked teaching, and teaching jobs of any kind were hard to find. So I had settled myself into a second-class future.
I was engaged to Trixie. We had been dating for a couple of months. She felt that was plenty of time for us to know what we wanted and to go ahead and take the next step -- which was, of course, to get married. I'm not sure I was totally convinced, but she had enough conviction for both of us.
We weren't actually living together. Trixie wasn't going to live with me until we were official, but we would spend two or three nights a week together (mostly Friday and Saturday nights, plus the occasional weeknight). And yes, we were having sex. It was good, I guess, except that Trixie told me blowjobs (she never used that word, of course) were strictly for marriage. Which I take it was to be my reward for going ahead and getting married? And given my limited experience, I wouldn't have had any way of knowing what else I might be missing.
I was 25. I had what was called an ABD -- All But Dissertation -- from Texas State University in San Marcos. I had taken the necessary courses for the PhD, but I hadn't done my dissertation yet. I told myself I was going to get around to it, but these days my teaching load made it difficult to focus on a major project like that. My ABD, however, had been enough to get me a contract teaching position here at an outback college in the state system. Adjunct faculty like me taught on a three-year, renewable contract -- lower pay, a higher class load, and no opportunity for tenure or the security it provided. Still, given the truly awful teaching market on the college level, it was a find to jump on.
Mostly I taught freshman writing, which none of the real professors wanted to have anything to do with. Someday I might get to teach an intro lit class, which was what I really wanted, but I couldn't count on it.
Trixie was 22, and about to graduate. She hadn't been in any of my classes, we had just met at a frat party. I had been in a frat in college and was welcome at parties at the local chapter here. Those parties were my best shot at meeting women who weren't my students.
Trixie had a dual major in Business and Home Ec. She was not an outstanding student in Business, but she did pretty well in her Home Ec classes. She wasn't bad looking, I guess, blonde hair, blue eyes, nice face, fairly decent body (a few extra pounds, but not a problem yet), but she wasn't the kind of hot that would give her the pick of the football team or have a gaggle of fraternity brothers clustered around her.
I was too new at the school to have any friends whom I had known for very long. I did have a few guys I used to talk to and sometimes have a beer with. I had even introduced Trixie to them one time. When I got together with them alone the next time after that, I asked them how they liked her. I could tell they were trying to be positive, but it was definitely lukewarm. One of them suggested it might be better to live together for at least a year before jumping into anything -- i.e., marriage.
Still, it wasn't like I had girls flocking around me. I wasn't bad-looking, and I was reasonably smart, but girls could see the life I had settled for, and they were much more interested in guys with some real sense of hope and ambition for the future.
So there I was, and Trixie had pretty well decided for us. She had a solid picture of our future laid out, even if it wasn't going anywhere special. But marriage was definitely part of the picture for her, and, given that she hadn't distinguished herself in her business courses, it wasn't likely she would end up after college in a situation that would be better for finding eligible males than where she was right now. Whatever my limitations, I was her best shot.
I don't mean to say I was unhappy, but part of me realized I wasn't feeling that kind of poetic passion you see in movies and on TV. Still, mine was not a very poetic life, aside from occasionally teaching a few poems to a class of freshmen. And, I supposed, it seemed like time to start becoming a grown-up. What else was there to look forward to?
* * *
Trixie had decided on an early summer wedding despite the Texas heat. She wanted all her girlfriends from high school to be able to attend as well as her girlfriends from college. I wasn't quite sure who I wanted to have attend. High school was a long time ago, and most of my college buddies had followed very different paths in their lives so there wasn't much connection. Even the people I had known in grad school, who I should have been closest to, either had real teaching jobs -- in which case they would look down on me -- or they hadn't gotten any offers at all -- in which case they would resent me.
I hadn't told my parents about the wedding yet. They knew I was dating someone, but telling them about the wedding was different. That would make it "family official." My mother would want to know all about the plans, and would start wanting to know more about the girl. She would also be making lists of relatives to invite.
Weddings are a funny thing. There's a lot of weird shit going on in everybody's head. For one thing, there's the question of whose idea it is. Sometimes a guy will be desperate to marry his girlfriend as a way to hang onto her. But I suspect that more often it's her idea -- or at least the idea that's been handed down to her since childhood. These days, of course, there are lots of professional women who are wary of marriage, or at least insist their prospective husband be even more high-powered than they are. But for girls like Trixie, the real value of college is the MRS degree. And this being her final year of school, this was a matter of some urgency, particularly if she wanted to keep up with her sorority sisters and her friends from high school.
For me, the idea initially was somewhat neutral. It seemed natural enough, after all, I was getting older and perhaps it was time to move into adulthood. All the same, however, as Trixie began making actual plans, my doubts began to step up, front and center.
Did I really love Trixie? I had sort of assumed I did, it was a kind of an inevitability, right? I mean I was supposed to be in love with her by now, wasn't that the way it worked? Maybe the idea of actually getting married was giving my doubts too much space. Still, did I really want to end up living with and banging Trixie -- and only Trixie -- for the rest of my life? I had never been much of a ladies' man, so the idea that breaking up with Trixie would land me in some kind of Playboy paradise didn't really mesh with my reality. But, on the other hand, the rest of your life is a long fucking time -- especially fucking Trixie.
* * *
Trixie was in her element these days. She had all these plans to focus on, and to discuss endlessly with her girlfriends and her mother. Occasionally she would ask me what I thought of this or that idea, but it was mostly a pro forma gesture. She didn't really care about my answer, and I didn't either.
She wanted to hold the wedding in her hometown, which was about 70 miles from the school, so she began to spend a lot of weekends going to see her mother and check out local venues and caterers and the like. Sometimes she was so busy she wouldn't even have time to call me over the entire weekend.
Trixie's departure left me with not all that much to do on weekends, but at least I didn't have to listen to her talk about wedding plans.
* * *
I was living in an older single-level house a couple of blocks from campus. It wasn't anything special, but it was pretty convenient.
Anyhow, it was a Trixie-less Friday night. Trixie had headed out a few hours earlier after her last class ended. I was trying to figure out what to do with myself. I had eaten a sandwich, which might pass for dinner. I wasn't really in the mood for TV. I thought I might head over to one of the local student bars and have some beers, but even that idea didn't seem too exciting.
That's when my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, a girl was standing there, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and carrying an oversized purse. "Hi, Professor. Can I come in?"
I remembered her. Her name was Stacy, and she had been in one of my first-semester writing classes. She had curly black hair, was slightly zaftig but in a voluptuous sort of way, and had a cute face that also exuded a kind of sensuality -- looking at her, you got the idea that even just making out with her would be a memorable experience. She was also smart, probably the best writer in the class, or in fact, in any of my classes.
It wasn't just that, however, she seemed to be very enthusiastic about my class. She always sat in the front row, beaming happily. I couldn't help but notice her. When she came to class one day wearing a shirt with a large, spangled "PIZZAZZ" emblazoned diagonally across her ample chest, it was hard for me to stay focused on my lesson for the day. So yes, I noticed her, but I had just started dating Trixie shortly before that, so I reminded myself that I was spoken for. But still...
