*Everyone in this story is over 18.*
Last fall, I started my sophomore year of college. I was 20 and had just gotten back to campus after spending the summer at my family's home a few hours away. I'm on the rowing team here and attending on a partial scholarship, so I spent most of the summer training. When I wasn't training, I was in the bars and clubs of nearby cities hoping to find a girl to fuck. Luckily it wasn't too hard, the rowing and training kept me fit and I like to think I'm at least decently attractive. Good build, brown hair that I kept pretty short, and blue eyes.
I was glad to be back on campus, though. My family and I don't always get along and it's a lot easier to find pretty girls on a college campus. I packed my backpack for my first day of classes. I'm a business major (I know, big surprise), so my bag was mostly just accounting textbooks and a few notebooks.
I had my first class--Principles of Accounting--at 9am. I had already done my workout and showered that morning, and my hair was still damp as I walked across campus to Detalente Hall where most of the business classes were held. I wasn't really looking forward to this class because our teacher, Professor Avery, had already emailed all of us the list of this semester's assignments and there were one or two due every week. I scanned the room upon entering and took an aisle seat toward the back near my buddy Tucker from the previous year. We exchanged greetings and talked about our summers a bit before the door shut near the front of the room.
Whatever I expected Professor Avery to look like, this wasn't it. He seemed younger than I expected, perhaps in his early-to-mid 30s, and he was an absolute beast of a man. He was wearing a tight-fitting blue polo t-shirt that stretched around his chest and strained around his enormous biceps. The shirt was tucked into a pair of khaki pants that showed off his tree trunk thighs and hugged his butt. Not that I was looking like that, but it was hard to miss. If it wasn't for his face sporting some day-old stubble, the buzzcut on his head would suggest he was in the military.
"Damn," Tucker commented softly.
"No shit," I shot back quietly. "That guy's huge!"
I wasn't small, by any means. I stood at 6'1 and had big arms from rowing, but looking at this guy made me feel like a scrawny teenager. He was just jacked, and if I was being honest, it made me a little jealous. Looking around the room I could see pretty much everyone reacting the same way; the guys had that look of reluctant admiration and some of the girls were biting their bottom lip.
"Good morning, everyone," Professor Avery began, setting his bag down at his desk and flipping open his laptop. "My name is Dawson Avery. I'm the head of the department of accountancy here. Normally I teach the senior-level courses, but Professor Jackson had to take some personal time this semester so I'll be filling in. Let's start today by going over the syllabus."
Professor Avery began walking along the aisle, handing stacks of syllabuses to the person nearest him for them to pass down the row. For some reason, I couldn't stop watching him. It was hard to tell when he was standing behind the desk, but out in the open I could tell he had to be at least 6'4 or 6'5. Every time he flexed and extended his arm, I became mesmerized by the sheer size of the muscles that moved. As he got closer to my row, I could see that one of the buttons on his polo was undone, showing the faintest hint of chest hair. I also happened to notice the bulge in the front of his khakis. It was hard not to, I was basically at eye level with it. And damn, I'll just say it wasn't just his arms and legs that were thick.
When he approached me, I hurriedly looked down at my desk and I could feel my face getting warm. What the fuck was going on? This guy was huge, sure, but why was he making me nervous? And why did I have the urge to hide, yet also kinda want him to notice me? I chalked it up to being both impressed by and jealous of his physique. I mean, I trained hard and worked out every day, why didn't I look like that?
Out of my periphery I could see his left arm hold out a stack of syllabi to me. I muttered "thanks" and took them. Briefly I looked up and we made eye contact. His gaze seemed intense, like he was trying to figure something out about me, which was odd since we had never met or spoke. He gave me one quick nod and moved on.
In the twenty or so minutes that followed, Professor Avery stood at the front of the room and went through the details of the syllabus, occasionally pausing to ask if their were any questions. More hands shot up than I had ever seen, mostly from girls, and I had a feeling it was less about the class and more about them wanting him to talk to them. One girl even brazenly asked if "after hours" tutoring would be available, to which he promptly responded that she could see him during his assigned office hours. Ouch.
I'll admit, I barely heard a word he said. I was captivated by him, by the confidence with which he moved, the self-assurance in the way he spoke. This was a man that earned what he had and knew it, and I found it strangely...enticing? The feeling was very foreign to me, and I couldn't quite place where it was coming from.
