I take my profession as an educator seriously. I feel that I owe my students more than the mere contents of a History course. I feel I owe it to some of them to impart some knowledge of life, as it really is outside of the classroom. Because of this avocation, I have feasted on the firm, taut, nubile flesh of freshman coeds for years. At 45, still fit, with salt and pepper hair, I've been a college professor for nearly 20 years, and in that time, I have sampled the hungry mouths, the milky breasts and arousal-hardened nipples, the firm, ivory thighs, the slick, slippery cunts, and even sometimes, the tight, resisting asses of more young coeds than I can count - and I've loved every minute of it. I have perfected my search and selection techniques into a science, and I can predict, almost infallibly on the first day of class, which sweet, innocent young girl will be mine before the end of the semester.
The search begins late in the summer. I am seeking a special girl and willingly invest the time to find her. Eighteen, and probably away from home for the first time in her life, the freshman coed can make the most wonderful little lover a man can ask for. As Dean of the Department, I always choose to teach two of the first-year survey courses that are mandatory for incoming freshmen. My colleagues revere me for being so democratic and taking two of the least wanted courses, but I have my reasons. I carefully examine the student folders for the girls enrolled in those two courses. Because the courses are survey in nature, the enrollment is high and I have numerous candidates. I eliminate the commuters - I want a girl living on campus, away from nosey parents. I also reject those with an erratic academic record in high school - I want the young scholar who has never failed a course. Being on Financial Aid or a scholarship is a plus in my selection, because of the added pressure to perform well in college. I often eliminate the obviously wealthy student, because she has grown up learning that a short phone call to Daddy can usually resolve a problem in her favor, and I don't want my little selectee to feel she has any easy solutions. I prefer an oldest child, or even better - an only child, so that their older siblings haven't "shown them the ropes" about college.
By the first day of class, I have a pool of six to ten "possible" girls in each of the two classes, and I am ready for the first face-to-face meeting. I carefully and slowly call roll, associating faces with the names. This process is tricky, for I am searching for an intangible, a feeling. I want the girl to be attractive, of course, but in a quiet, natural way. I shy away from the flashy and the "slutty" looks. I tend to concentrate on the "sweet and innocent" look. The girl who has dated one boy seriously in high school, and now finds herself away from him, and is feeling insecure about how they can stay a couple. She's aware of her sexuality, but not experienced. She's known the "romantic" love of a high school sweetheart, and the passion of that love, but is yet to discover lust.
Last year began as typical, but didn't stay that way, for long. It was also the year of my "Irish Lasses." At the end of the first day of class, I returned to my office enthusiastic with the number of "candidates" I had selected. There were four lovely girls in "Ancient History" and three in "American History." Now, after close inspection of their student folders, and meeting them in person, it was time to enter "Phase Three." My reputation on campus is impeccable. Dean of the Department, published, and a favorite of the students, my elective courses are always filled quickly. Of course, the freshmen don't know this, but word of mouth spreads fast, and they soon feel lucky to have me for a required course. I'm known as fair (and fairly easy when it comes to grades), and an interesting lecturer. My assignments are reasonable, my classroom is relaxed and my office door is always open. I'm almost another "Mr. Chips!" The only thing my freshman students have to complain about is the weekly written assignment - an essay on the major points of the week's lectures and reading material. I have a very good reason for assigning this essay - it is "Phase Three." By the end of the third week, five of the seven "candidates" asked for appointments to see me to discuss their failing grades. I had failed all seven, all three weeks. Grading at the University is "blind." That is, the students place only their last five digits of their student ID number on all written assignments and tests. All grading is done by number, without a student's name ever becoming associated with the product, unless the student permits it. However, as department head, I had already copied down the ID numbers of all my "possibles" during my initial selection process. Now, I was about to meet them "up close and personal."
Debbie was the first, and I immediately scratched her off the list. She was irate and aggressive about her "F's" and demanded I review each point and discuss the deficiencies. After teaching the material for so many years, it's easy to refute any freshman's arguments, but it still pissed me off to have to do it with Debbie. I assured her that her grades would undoubtedly improve as the semester went on. Colleen was second, and was a definite possibility. Blonde, blue-eyed, she was pretty and fresh and had a dazzling smile. She was timid and nervous about her grades; hanging on every word of advice I gave her. I was charming and she was appreciative, and I could see the possible beginnings of that special something some students feel for some professors. She was thrilled with the time and attention I was giving her. Susan was next and I took her off the list, too. Maybe she just didn't compare well with Colleen, but I felt no electricity, no excitement with her.
The fourth appointment was with Heather, and she made me wonder if I made too quick a choice with Colleen. The classic Irish lass, Heather had beautiful, heavy, glossy reddish-auburn hair framing her milk-and-honey complexion from which her luminous green-green eyes virtually shone. She was breathtaking and I wanted her. I wanted to part her red pussy hairs with my cock.
The last girl only made my life more difficult. Bridget was not as beautiful as Heather, but it was her full, lush body that I craved. I wanted to fill my mouth and hands with her full breasts, to crawl between her perfect legs to taste her sweet pussy. Colleen, Bridget and Heather - my choice had never been so difficult! Over the years, I had had two girls going during the same semester, but it was always a possibility that one would discover the other, and the results would be disastrous, so I didn't risk it very often. Now, here were three girls I wanted - all young, beautiful, shapely, and possessing the "right" personalities to make taking them a real possibility, and they were only freshmen for a year! Not knowing which to concentrate on, I continued to fail Heather and Bridget, and tutor Colleen twice a week, in the hopes that they would help me sort it all out. By the end of mid-term exams (all essay questions, of course), all three of the girls had a failing grade, without a prayer of receiving any higher than a "D" for the course.
Bridget cracked first. She appeared in my office just as I was about to leave for the evening. She was dressed in a sweater and short denim skirt, white socks and sneakers, and I could taste my mouth watering as I ravaged her body with my eyes.
"Professor, can you please spare me a few minutes?"
"Of course. Come in, er...now let me guess...Bonnie...no...Bridget, isn't it?"
She beamed at my recognizing her. "Yes, Professor. I came to see you, before, but I'm in even bigger trouble, this time."
By the time she had finished telling me about her 3.75 GPA (if she didn't count my course) and how she just didn't understand how she could be doing so poorly, she was in tears. I wanted to put my arms around her and pull her warm body close, but I fought the temptation. My years of experience at this game would carry me through. I asked her permission to examine her grades, and took several moments (and several "Hmm..."'s) studying the book.
"Bridget, I can understand your concern. I don't know what steps you can take to achieve a respectable grade. To assign extra-credit work, I would have to be fair about it, and give the entire class the option, and this wouldn't help you, at all."
She nodded and looked at me, wide-eyed and sincere, "I'd do anything for a respectable grade, Professor."
"Bridget, I think you should be careful how you phrase offers like that. You don't mean 'anything.'"
"Yes, I do, Professor."
I gave a small chuckle, "With an offer like that, you better watch out. I'll have you raking my leaves and cleaning my windows. Please don't make offers like that, Dear. After all, I'm only human."
She locked her eyes on mine, "Professor, you must understand. I am prepared and willing to do ANYthing."
"Do you know where I live, Bridget?"
