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Old 01-27-2010
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Default Professor Kander, part 1 of 2

As promised, here is a new story I've written. I will have to put it up in two postings, because of the length. I was so heartened by the response to my earlier stories, posted quite a while ago, and I hope this one pleases just as much. -- smc

Professor Kander

It was the second semester of my second year of college. Home was a thousand miles away. I arrived back at school after the winter break to my small room off campus, just a couple of blocks from my classrooms.

I had a reputation on campus for being a little bit too committed to school. Study always came first. In fact, it came second and third. You would be hard-pressed to find me at a party or sporting event. I stayed at home doing schoolwork or you’d find me in the library. I had few friends. My penchant for correcting the wrong answers of other students in my classes was notorious, and usually not appreciated.

In short, I was kind of a loner … but I didn’t much mind. After all, wasn’t I there to learn, not socialize?

My new schedule included a philosophy class with Professor Kander. She was notoriously tough as a teacher, with little patience for students who didn’t take her assignments seriously and even less for those who didn’t participate fully in her classroom. To me, she sounded perfect! I had seen her on campus once or twice, only for a fleeting moment, but had never spoken with her. I was looking forward to a serious exploration of pre-Socratic Greek thought.

The next day, Prof. Kander’s was my last class, in the afternoon. I was a bit tired from my trip back to school and two other classes in the morning, but I walked with real purpose across the quad to her classroom. It wasn’t large -- the class had only about a dozen students -- and I found a seat at a small table in the front of the room.

As the other students, most of whom I knew, filled the room, in walked a stunningly beautiful woman. By my estimation, she was in her late 30s. She had red hair, piercing green eyes, and a face like the “girl next door” gone bad. In other words, she was hot.

Her skirt and jacket suit covered a silken white blouse. As she bent at the desk in the front of the room to put down her bag, I caught a glimpse of two beautiful orbs, creamy white with an small, enticing space between them, pressing against that blouse. I wasn’t one to notice such things, at least not typically, so I think I was as much surprised by that fact as I was by the fact that this woman was going to teach me philosophy!

She stood up straight, smiled broadly, and spoke for the first time.

“Good afternoon and welcome to pre-Socratic Greek philosophy. I am Professor Kander. In this class, I prefer a modicum of respect, so I expect you to call me that and I will, in turn, call you mister and ms.”

At least those are the words I think she said. There was something alluring in her voice and I was finding it difficult to concentrate.

She continued: “I don’t believe I know any of you, so let’s begin by going around the room. Please introduce yourself and tell the class why you are taking this class.”

Fortunately, she pointed far from me to begin. I listened to all the other students go through the usual responses to such a request. “I’m really excited to learn about Anaximander,” said one, and I thought he was sucking up. I knew that guy; he probably had the name of a relevant philosopher written on his hand. Another said, “Everyone tells me your classes are so great, Professor Kander, and so I just had to take one.” Jeez!

When it was my turn, Professor Kander came right up to me -- I was in the front of the class, after all -- and addressed me directly. Her eyes were mesmerizing. There was an intoxicating scent to her, but it didn’t seem like perfume. My tongue felt like it was swelling in my mouth. I was usually pretty articulate, but I think what came out of my mouth was blather.

Professor Kander smiled warmly, put her hand on my shoulder -- I swear, I felt a shot of electricity run through me -- and spoke softly. “Would you like to start again?” I felt immediately calmed and easily stated my name, a brief explanation of the importance of this class for my intended major, and a promise to work hard and be open to learning anything new -- none of which came across like the other students.

For the rest of the class time, Professor Kander gave us an overview of the syllabus and some insights into some of the authors we would be reading. As the clock ticked away the time, I found myself falling into her voice in a way I could not explain. When it was time to leave, she again came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. “Stay just a moment, would you?”

I did. She simply wanted to tell me that she appreciated what I said in my introduction, and that she was certainly aware -- as she suspected I was -- of which students were trying to make a good impression for the wrong reasons. That surprised me. Then she asked me what had happened with my first try at speaking. I shrugged my shoulders.

“Well, it seemed as if you somehow had gotten your panties in a twist,” she said. And then she laughed gently. I thought it was an odd choice of words, but smiled. And then I left.

A few weeks passed. The class was great: superb readings, great insights -- never in the form of lecture -- from the professor, and pretty good discussion among the students. I looked forward to the class more than any other. Not only did I prepare as thoroughly as possible, I found myself worrying about my appearance. I wanted Professor Kander to notice me as a young man. This was something new. I had had a couple of short relationships with girls, but she was an older woman … and I found myself increasingly aroused in her presence.

I found myself beginning to entertain thoughts about a relationship with Professor Kander. I fantasized about her. I began to call her Orla -- her first name -- when I would masturbate, looking at her picture in the college catalogue. This made going to class increasingly difficult. I was distracted. It was obvious. She noticed.

One Friday afternoon, I left her class and was walking out of the building when I felt that familiar electric hand on my shoulder. I turned to face Professor Kander -- Orla -- inches away from me. “Do you have a few moments?” she asked. “Let’s go sit in the coffee shop and talk.”

We walked the short distance to the campus coffee shop, side by side. I was distinctly aware of everything, to the point of hypersensitivity. Her aroma was overwhelming. The feeling in my pants was burning hot. I was terrified that I would blurt something out that I shouldn’t say. I began to feel as if my entire college career hinged on this moment. Surely, she was going to give me an earful about how distracted I had been in class. Nothing like this had ever happened. I wondered if what felt like nervous shaking was visible to her.

We got to the coffee shop and sat down. I offered to get us each a cup and nervously went to the counter. I could barely carry the cups back to the table.

“So, I’ve been thinking about your class participation,” she began. Here it comes, I thought. I’m about to be put on probation.

She continued: “It’s changed lately. In the first few weeks of class, you were a source of information, someone who had clearly read more and studied more than any of the other students. But lately, something new has been added to the mix.”

All I could think was that I was busted.

“I think I know what it is,” she whispered.

Oh, shit, nothing could be worse. It’s one thing if she criticizes my classroom demeanor, but another if she knows why I’m distracted.

“You’ve found passion.”

Aaaaaaaaaah! I screamed silently in my brain.

“Passion in the work of these philosophers.”

What??!! That’s what she thought??!!

“And so, I’d like to offer you a chance to explore that passion even more. I am working on a book of readings, and I could use some editorial assistance. Your papers are so well written, I thought you would be a good candidate.”

I wasn’t really sure I was hearing these exact words. My heart was racing. I thought that she was toying with me, for sure.

“This would mean work outside of the classroom. I’m on a tight schedule, so I’d need you to work with me, so there’s no time lost to querying back and forth. Do you think you could give me a couple of days over the next few weekends?”

For the second time in front of this woman, I began to blather. But somehow, I must have conveyed that I would be honored to help her. It seems I agreed to be at her house the next day, just after Noon.
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