What the hell was I doing here? I had asked myself the same question over and over, on the long drive into the city. As I tried to find a park for my Suburban, I couldn’t help but notice the youth and vitality on the faces of the hundreds of students all milling around aimlessly. Christ, here I was at 38 joining the student body of a small but well respected University for a late shot at a new start to life. I felt like a dinosaur. 38 isn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, but here I was, as nervous as a virgin on her wedding night, terrified by the prospect of spending the next 5 years of my life surrounded by these freshly scrubbed munchkins. What the hell was I doing here?
Finding a park for something as big as the Suburban took a while. I noticed the crowd thinning out as I circled looking for that elusive gap. Damn, I was going to be late for my first lecture. Not a good start to my academic career. Spotting a gap, I wheeled the truck into it and switched off the engine. I sat there for a few moments watching the scurrying students as they frantically wended their way to the doors of the multistorey buildings where for the next 5 years I would try to become a man of letters. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my beaten up old rucksack and moved to join them.
Two minutes later I was standing outside the doors of the building which housed my first lecture hall. I knew this was the building, but had no idea where in the building I was supposed to be. My recon of the day before had been cursory to say the least, and now I was cursing myself for not having done a more thorough examination of the field of battle.
“What the hell am I doing here?” I muttered as I shifted the weight of my pack to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder.
“I ask myself the same thing every semester,” came an amused voice from behind me. “I have yet to come up with a good answer.”
The first thing that struck me about her was her height. Standing 6’3” myself, I like tall women, and this lady certainly fit the bill. She would have been about 5’11” in what looked like 3-inch heels. Working from the heels up, my eyes encountered a slim but well formed pair of ankles leading into athletic, strong, nicely curved calves, and shapely knees. I could only guess at the shape of her thighs, but from what I could see of their outline beneath the black skirt she was wearing, they would be pretty impressive. Slim hips curve into a narrow waist. Everything between her waist and her wide shoulders was guesswork due to the pile of books and papers she held clasped to her chest. A slim graceful neck led me to her face, framed by a long mane of golden blonde hair. She had a firm jawline, a small pert nose, and full lush pouting lips, enhanced with just a touch of coral lipstick. Her high cheekbones caught and led my fascinated gaze to her eyes. That is where I got stuck.
Ice blue is the only description I can come up with for this woman's eyes. They were the colour of glacier ice in the morning, when the sun first hits it. But for all that they held infinite warmth and humour. They were smiling at me as our gaze locked. The world shrank to the space around us, the air grew hotter and more humid, and I felt like a 15 year old boy facing the object of his desire for the first time.
“You look lost.” She said.
“Umm…er… God this is stupid. I’m sorry, I’m looking for lecture hall B32. Could you please point me in the right direction?” I finally managed to spit out.
Her laugh was musical and matched her voice. Low and throaty. “Okay, come on, I’ll show you the way. I’m heading that way myself.” With that she turned and pushed through the doors into the lecture halls.
I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop what was after all, a perfectly natural male reaction on my part. I checked out her ass.
I have been an ass man all my life, and as such have very high standards. This beauty surpassed my wildest dreams. Her butt was perfection. High, firm and well rounded, her butt swayed hypnotically. I was so busy looking that I walked into the door as it swung shut. Once again cursing my juvenile antics, I yanked open the door and followed her in. She was standing just inside the door, looking back at me with a wry grin on her lovely face.
“You’ve got to keep an eye on those doors”, she said, very tongue in cheek. “They tend to close on you without warning. C’mon Cowboy, let’s get you to B32. I’m Carol Ferguson. I teach English Lit.”
Oh God… one of my courses was to be English Lit. “Glenn Barrett, and thanks for the help.”
“No problem, I was going this way anyway. Here you go.” She stopped outside a set of double doors marked B32. “Okay I’ve got to get going. Have fun and maybe I’ll see you in the faculty lounge sometime.”
“Thank you again.” I managed to blurt out before she turned and walked off down the hall. Again I took advantage of her turned head to watch her magnificent ass as she moved off. Just before she turned the corner at the end of the hall she turned and caught me staring. I was ready. I flipped her what I thought would pass for a cool salute accompanied by a rakish grin. Carol laughed, spun on her heel and disappeared around the corner. I turned and walked through the door to start my academic career.
I walked into chaos. Apparently I wasn’t the only one that was late. There was no sign of a lecturer, and the kiddies were making the best of it. Welcome Back Kotter sprang to mind immediately. Everywhere I looked in the 200 seat auditorium, there were kids milling about, singing, dancing, and generally raising hell. Crumpled balls of paper flew every which way. Music blared from a portable CD player with a small speaker set up. What the hell was I doing here?
The dress of the day seemed to be ¾ length cargo pants, hung precariously from hipbones of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Boxer shorts seemed to be the underwear of choice on both sexes as evidenced by the waistbands slung above the waistbands of the cargoes. Tank tops, and t-shirts, all with some clever, bright logo seemed to complete the dress code. Sneakers and hats appeared to be mandatory. Standing there in my faded blue jeans, denim shirt, and cowboy boots, with an old army backpack on my shoulder, I felt as old as Methuselah. Shit this was supposed to be 20th Century Literature. It looked like Rioting and Pillage 101.
And then it all stopped. Kiddies scrambled for seats, missiles stopped flying and a general hush descended on the hall. I slipped into a seat at the back and awaited further developments. It took me a few moments and a couple of puzzled looks from a few of the nearer students to realise that they had me tagged as a lecturer, more specifically their lecturer. Then it hit me. So had Carol. God I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when I rolled up to her class… as a student.
Ten minutes later the lecturer had arrived and I was neck deep in 20th Century Literature. Thoughts of Carol Ferguson were pushed to the back of my mind for the next two hours, as I knuckled down to the business of learning. As I walked out of the building into the sunlight, I thought back on my first lecture with a sense of pride and relief. Pride that I had managed to understand the lecture, and relief that I had done a years preparation before enrolling.