The last sound that I expected to hear in the middle of my American Economic History class was my cell phone ringtone. I fumbled desperately inside of my backpack, trying to locate my pink Razr, as the first few lines of Nickelback's "Rockstar" played jarringly loudly. After what seemed like an eternity, I found my phone and shut it off, my face hot and, I'm sure, correspondingly red. I looked up to see Dr. Dalton staring pointedly at me, his eyebrow raised slightly. I blushed even redder and looked down at my notebook.
Forty minutes later, after he dismissed the class, I walked to the front of the room and stood before his desk, waiting to speak with him. There were three other people in front of me; the first two were the typical tiny blond sorority girl types, you know the ones...big hair, fake boobs, and American Eagle miniskirts. I felt slightly irritated as I watched the first one, whose name I think is Stacey or Tracey or Ashley, toss her hair to the side and smile up at the professor. Girls like that inspired annoyance and not a little jealousy; I think that it's safe to say that while I'm not heinously ugly, I've got nothing on the air-headed Cameron Diaz types. I'm about 5'4", extremely curvy with a teeny bit of a belly, and have shoulder-length brownish-red hair and green eyes. As I waited for Stacey and Tabby or whatever their names were to finish flirting with Dr. Dalton, I absently considered him. This is the second straight semester I've had him for class, and that didn't happen accidentally. As soon as I found out that he was teaching another, non-intro-level American history course, I signed up for it, even though I really didn't care at all about the topic.
Dr. Adam Dalton was not really your typical "hot" college professor...and even though he was attractive, that wasn't why I had developed a monster crush on him. He's one of the very few people that I've ever met who's truly, deeply, and passionately in love with his topic; the intensity with which he presents his lectures and leads class discussions is incredibly sexy. He's about 6' tall, average weight, probably around 200 pounds, I would guess, and has brown, close-cropped hair and blue eyes. He has a really sexy professor-y way of dressing; although he only just earned his PhD last fall, he wears corduroy pants and sweater vests and jackets with patched elbows to class. I think it's really, really cute in a dorky way.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the two girls left and I was standing in front of Dr. Dalton. He looked up at me and smiled. "What can I do for you?"
I smiled back at him and said, "I just wanted to apologize for my cell phone going off in class; I can't believe I forgot to turn it off today." Dr. Dalton had finished gathering his things and gestured for me to follow him out into the hallway. "I'm actually on my way to my next class; would you mind talking as we walk?" I nodded my assent and followed him out the door.
He continued as we walked, "Your phone's not a big deal; don't worry about it. I know that it's never happened before and it happens to everyone. By the way, I read your discussion question responses; they're very good." I beamed at the praise, because I worked extremely hard at submitting high-quality work in this class, particularly. "I'm glad you liked it; I wasn't sure if the point that I made about the dichotomy presented by agrarian republicanism and industrial capitalist democracy was what you were looking for or not." The conversation continued in the same vein as we walked across campus to the library and the supplemental classrooms it contained. As we reached the doors of the library, he said goodbye and continued inside, while I made my way next door to the student union building to meet some of my sorority sisters for lunch.
As I set my backpack down on the table and sat down, one of my sisters looked up at me and asked, "why are you so happy?" I winked at her and told her about the conversation I'd had. "He's just so sexy! I love how intense he gets during class. The other day, when he handed back our first paper, I looked through it to the last page and saw that, below the A, he'd written a section about how much he'd liked my way of synthesizing historiography with an elegant writing style. I seriously just wanted to take him upstairs to his office and fuck him on his desk."
She laughed out loud at my last statement: "Isn't he married, though?"
"Yeah...you know what, though, marriage is overrated...ideally, I'd love to help him forget all about it."
"Would you really actually have sex with him if you had the opportunity?"
I smiled thoughtfully and said, "Absolutely. There's no doubt in my mind; I've never been turned on by anyone ever before. And the thing that makes it sexier is that it's a mental attraction...god just thinking about him makes me wet. But I guess it's kind of a non-issue, since I'm positive that he's never flirted back when I've tested things out. I think, unfortunately, that the only place I'll ever be fucking Dr. Dalton will be in my dreams."
I sat down and had lunch with them, heading back to the sorority house where must of us lived with everyone else when we were finished. Since that day was a Friday, I wore a really sexy, really revealing outfit that night: tight dark blue low-rise jeans with the lacy red top of my thong sticking out, a low-cut baby-doll black top that accentuated my D-cup breasts really well, and a sexy red lacy bra that peeked out of the top. Friday nights I went out with my sisters to the one (and ONLY) dance club in our college town. The club is best described as a 21-and-over frat party. There are frequently about 300-400 people crammed into a space that can only comfortably accommodate about half that number. That night, I did 4 shots of Jagermeister in quick succession, and had another two mixed drinks on top of that when we got to the bar; needless to say, I was pretty messed up. I took a frat boy home later that night and fucked him, imagining all the time that he was Dr. Dalton. I think I actually might have said Adam's name as I came; I don't imagine that the boy (I think his name was Ryan) noticed.
On Monday morning, I got up early to get dressed and look a little bit extra cute, as I did every Monday before Dr. Dalton's class. I chose a long flowing black skirt, a long bright-blue camisole, and a really low-cut black shirt to layer over top of it. I also wore my demi-cup black lace see-through bra and a pair of black and pink boyshorts that were my current favorite. When I got to class that morning, Dr. Dalton hadn't arrived yet, so I settled into the front desk in the second row and waited. He walked into the room about 2 minutes before class was scheduled to begin, looking a bit lost and very disorganized, which was strange for him. He delivered that day's lecture on the relationship between the American countryside and the American city before and during the process of industrialization only half-heartedly; that was also very unlike him, as he always gave every lecture with a sexy, single-minded intensity. He dismissed the class ten minutes early, which was further unlike him; usually we only left his class with five minutes (instead of the normal fifteen) left to get to our next class.
After class, as everyone else filed out, I made my way up to his desk. He looked up at me after I'd been standing there for a bit; I could tell that I'd interrupted some sort of deep thought process that he'd been engaged in. I said, "I just wanted to ask you about the paper that's due next week; I have some questions as to the style and content requirements." He sighed and said, "If you'd like, you can follow me to my office; my next class isn't until 3:30 this afternoon and I have a lot of catching-up to do on grading for my introductory world history course."
I followed him back to his office yet again; it was located rather haphazardly in one of the older campus buildings; the classroom building that our history department was usually located in was undergoing a complete renovation, and all of the history faculty offices were scattered across campus. His office was on the third floor of Herring Hall, mixed in among English and Chemistry department offices. I'd noticed that every time I'd ventured to his office for a meeting, I'd never once seen anyone else on the floor. I asked him about it as we walked inside. He said, "You know, you're right...I've only ever seen anyone other than my students up here maybe a few times. I suppose that either we just have diametrically opposite schedules, or that they don't really follow their scheduled office hours."
As we walked into the office, he absently closed the door behind us. This was strange because every other time that I'd been in his office, he'd been careful to prop the door open a few inches with a book; I guess maybe it was a professionalism thing. I sat in one of the wooden chairs adjacent to his desk as he settled himself behind it. He stared off into space as I watched, and it was only a few minutes later that he shook himself and said, "I'm so sorry! I have a lot on my mind today, and I know that I'm wasting your time. Now what is it exactly that you needed to talk about?"
I knew that this opportunity, to catch him emotionally off-guard and to possibly establish a different sort of relationship, was too good to be true, and not to be wasted. I made a snap decision as I leaned forward.
"Are you okay, Dr. Dalton? You seem really distracted and upset about something."
He sighed and folded his long fingers together as he said, "Yes, I am distracted today; a lot of things happened at home all at once and I'm having a difficult time coming to terms with them all. But I'm sure that you have better things to do than to listen to me rambling on about my personal problems."
