Susan was a student in my Psychology of Learning class. She was an excellent student, never absent and always full of questions and curiosity. Susan was also an athlete, captain of the field hockey team. On game days, she would sit in the front row of class in her plaid skirt with her travel bag and her hockey sticks next to her seat. I confess that her strong tan legs under her skirt were sometimes a distraction. Even worse were the days she wore one of her mini skirts to class. Year after year the year the skirts just keep getting shorter. It is both a blessing and a curse. A front row full of young legs is surely a treat but I have more than once lost my place in a lecture as a result of an uncontrollable urge to peek at sleek thighs.
Susan had taken a course with me the previous semester, so we knew each other and were friendly. She would drop by my office and chat on occasion. We had what could be called a cordial relationship. I began to notice subtle changes in Susan during this semester, changes that puzzled me. She began to dress a bit more provocatively, not in a garish way, but noticeable. I'm pretty sure she came to class with no bra on a couple of occasions and her skirts were as short as I had seen them. I really didn't think all that much about it until a Wednesday about midway through the semester.
On that day, I had given the class a child behavior problem to analyze using the conditioning principles we had learned in class. I told them that they would not be graded on the first draft but that it would serve as measure of how well they were able to apply principles of learning. Susan was wearing a pleated skirt and white blouse. I sat at the desk in front of the room reading while they worked. Once when I looked up to see if anyone was finished, I noticed that Susan's skirt was lifted off of her thighs. She was working away and I was sure that the skirt has just inadvertently caught on one of the hinges of the desk. Just for a moment I was riveted to the sight of very pale yellow panties. I know that I looked for just the briefest moment, but when I raised my head I found myself looking into the warm pools of Susan's eyes. I flushed and went back to my reading, but not before seeing what I thought was a small smile creep into the corners of Susan's mouth.
I was feeling a little bit embarrassed the next day, embarrassed that the thought of those yellow panties had followed me throughout the previous day and had filled my morning as I shaved and showered. My soapy fingers had stroked my cock so slowly as my mind raced with images of warm thighs and delicate soft panties. The next class period was a straightforward lecture on the procedures used by Pavlov in his classic experiments. When Susan arrived for class, I was relieved that she was dressed "down" in running shorts, a t-shirt and cross trainers. As I finished diagramming the basic Pavlov experiment on the board and turned to allow the students to copy the diagram, my heart jumped to my throat. Susan had her left foot propped on the side railing of her chair and her left arm was resting on her knee. She wore no panties.
The looseness of the shorts allowed a clear glimpse of a fringe of soft brown curls between her legs. Being no longer a teenager, I was both surprised and horrified to feel myself grow inside my slacks. I turned to the board and began to explain the diagrams, engulfing myself in the discussion until my erection subsided. Blessedly, nothing happened again for 6 weeks and I was feeling relieved and, honestly, a little disappointed. Three weeks before the end of the semester, Susan was again wearing her running shorts, odd, as it was chilly outside. They knew they were to have another writing assignment in class and I was happy to not have to lecture. I sat at my desk at the front of the room grading papers and helping students individually. As a student left my desk, I looked at the room and there was Susan with her leg propped up and, again, wearing no panties. Susan and the other students were working, heads down, so I lingered on the sight of the smooth firm thigh leading to a hint of soft hair. As I looked, a small hand entered my view and quickly tugged the shorts to one side. My heart pounded and my breath stopped as moist folds of flesh came into view. This was the architecture of desire; delicate lips that parted slightly, framed by neatly trimmed fur. It was an achingly beautiful picture, the proof of which was the slow ooze of fluid that flowed from my cock, telling me (as if I needed proof) that I was aroused almost to the point of cuming in my pants if I didn't distract myself.
The semester was coming to a close and I was both happy and sad that I would see Susan no more, be tormented no more, be so excited no more. The day the final projects were due, Susan left her paper in my mailbox with a note saying she had to miss class to go to the conference semifinal game. I took the papers home and began grading that night. When I came to Susan's paper, its cover was technically perfect and the title was intriguing. "Conditioning of the Orienting Response Without Awareness." As I read the paper, my face colored and breath caught in my throat. I was her subject! She had conditioned me to orient to her in class by periodic reinforcement with a "visual cue." She had graphs of the number of times I had looked at her and even a classic control in which the stimulus had been withheld for a period. My behavior was as predictable as that of a rat or pigeon. She stopped exposing herself, I had briefly looked more often and then had slowly declined in my rate of orienting. I felt humiliated and foolish. Her conclusion was reassuring in its description of my behavior as uncontrollable and not indicative of any cognitive decision processes or volitional control. It was primitive and natural, accomplished, after all, without my awareness.
The next day, feeling sober, I sat in my office recording my grades when Susan appeared at my door. I am sure I flushed but she seemed not to notice as she breezed in, wearing her field hockey uniform. She closed the door and sat in the overstuffed chair across from me.
"Hi Susan," I said. "Congratulations on winning the semifinal. I am going to come to see the finals as soon as I record these grades."
