I was walking to my last class of the day. It was breezy and perfect outside. I entered the classroom and was suddenly quite excited. Poetry has long been one of my favorite subjects, and Professor Cormac is exceptionally brilliant. Today, we were discussing Poe.
"The thing often forgotten about Poe is that his work was written with a clear intent to be read aloud. Consider, for example, 'The Bells'. It is one of his better-known pieces, but what many people don't realize is that not only is each stanza is meant to elicit a different emotion, but Poe selects words that force your face to take on the expression the emotion evokes, for example..." Professor Cormac had a clear passion for his subject, and he walked around while gesturing with his hands. They were nice hands too, I noted. He was wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches today. It sat well on his broad, strong shoulders. He had a collared, white shirt under it as well. At 36, he took good care of himself, and one could tell he had a muscular build from the way he carried his body. He had short, black hair and a slight beard that were both peppered with white. His eyes were emerald, and had a dizzying intensity when he spoke about his subject. I pressed my legs together and tried to focus once more.
"So what I want to do," he resumed, "because this is everyone's least favorite thing, of course, is to take turns and read a stanza out loud. Everyone look at that person´s expressions as they do."
I skimmed ahead to the section that would be mine and rehearsed silently in my head, as all of us did when assigned to read something aloud (though we´d never admit it). When it was my turn I cleared my throat and began, "Hear the loud alarum bells, Brazen bells..." I was already self-conscious, and now I was all too acutely aware of my classmates staring at my mouth's movements. I glanced up briefly and saw Professor Cormac. He seemed tense as he leaned on his desk, his fierce eyes locked on my lips, as he bit his lower one. My heart rate rose as I glanced back down to my reading. My cheeks felt hot. Focus, I thought.
At the end of class, Professor Cormac announced, "Remember, I still need to meet with some of you regarding a topic for your mid-semester papers. Danielle," he said, and my breath hitched, "and Joseph, today I meet with you two, I believe. Class dismissed."
I waited for everyone to leave and tried to calm down. Why was I so nervous? I´d been in this class a couple of months now. Professor Cormac beckoned for me to enter his office, and I followed.
"So," He said, sitting and propping his legs on his desk, "what have you selected for your paper?" I cleared my throat and tucked my hair behind my ear.
"Well, I was thinking about taking the poem 'Howl' and applying it to the current political climate. Analyzing how well the message has held up to the frustrations of our time." I explained.
"Well, what are the frustrations of our time? " He had a deep voice.
"Politically charged tension for one; that one's obvious. Also, I think many would argue that the U.S. is rather prudish in its sensibilities. You can show violence on television while nudity and sex are harshly censored. I believe the need to hide the natural body has not changed. Homosexuality is becoming less taboo, but sexuality is still, I would argue, leashed."
"It´s an interesting perspective. Do you have your computer with you? There's an article you may want to use for reference." I nodded and pulled my laptop out. Professor Cormac stood and walked around so he was standing behind me. I was anxiously aware of his proximity. He reached his hands out on either side of me and typed into the browser. The sleeves of his shirt were pulled up, and I could see his toned arms flex slightly as he typed. I've always had a thing for forearms, and he wasn't helping. I pressed my thighs together again.
"There," He said, snapping my attention back to the screen. The article was pulled up. He was still behind me and leaned over my body.
"You smell nice, Danielle." He half-whispered before straightening up. His hands pulled away from the computer. His right hand went to my left shoulder, before giving it a firm, second long squeeze. He pulled it away slowly, as he walked away, and I could feel the fringe tingles from it in my toes. He walked back to his desk and I exhaled a long breath as he sat back down.
"Thank you," I managed.
"You´re welcome. But one thing: the idea that censorship is gratuitous is hardly a new one on a liberal arts campus. You need a unique angle to this. Come back here in a week and let me know what that is."
I gathered my things and clumsily exited his office. My face was completely flushed, and I more than a little aroused. I went back to my room, took off my jeans, and sat on my bed before plopping my head down on the pillow. I pulled the covers up to my waist and replayed being in his office, the scent of cedarwood and sage, his eyes that honed in like hounds, and his sexy, rumbling voice. I started to slide my hand into my panties, slowly.
I imagined him kissing me on the couch in his office, laying me down slowly. I reached my mound and began to stroke it. His mouth was at my breast, his hair by my nose. He smelled of smoky cedarwood like his office. He pulled my legs apart and my underwear off, leaving the dress on. I stroked harder and harder, as his emerald eyes bore into mine. I was getting close now, thinking of his erect penis reaching for my opening. Yes, I thought, take me right here and now. Suddenly my door opened and my roommate Abigail came in. I pulled my hand out and tried to sit innocently.
"Hiya," Abigail greeted. I exhaled with relief. She hadn't noticed, thank god. I slept fitfully that night, my dreams haunted with thoughts of the Professor.
***
One week later, I awaited my second meeting with Professor Cormac. My mouth was dry, and all the moisture had transferred to my palms. I´d tried to look more presentable that morning, but I wasn't sure I´d accomplished much. I had taken a long, hard look in the mirror. At 19, I was finally free from puberty's awkwardness, but was not yet fully in command of my womanly body. My breasts were finally c-cups, though I didn't much show them off. I have long, straight black hair that was usually braided for class. My eyes are gray, and I didn't accentuate them with much but mascara most days. However, I let my hair down, applied a thin strip of eyeliner, and put a rosy color on my lips. I picked out my favorite class-appropriate summer dress, which closed in at my waist and made my breasts look particularly full.
But now that I was sitting in class the confidence was long worn off. I licked my lips, tasting lipstick and salt. Was I really trying to look good for my professor? To what end? He probably had his pick of women, judging from his appearance. Was an inexperienced 19-year-old going to make him swoon?
