This college I go to is so cool. I mean, what other school has a classroom painted this color of violet purple, with lights that seem to glow with infrared warmth? The artwork on the walls is so personal, the teacher's own choices, I'm pretty sure. Prints of abstract paintings, it's not too difficult to imagine them being nudes and sexual couples, angular, almost appearing to move, with paint-splashed bursts of color, all of them framed in a fancier way than you'd expect to see in a classroom.
Maybe classroom is the wrong way to describe it. It's a small theater, really, a lecture theater, and as I look around I see students arriving and sitting, getting relaxed on the overstuffed upholstered comfort of the seats, each row a step higher than the one in front of it. There's room for a hundred of us, maybe, to look downward toward the stage, and this class, Heterosexuality For Beginners, looks like it might be full-up. I'm not surprised, because, if I'm being honest, it was one of the very first classes I signed up for. I mean, for us freshmen here, starting a brand new four years, living away from home for the first time, maybe I can only speak for myself but I'm a pretty inexperienced guy when it comes to sex, so a class like this seemed like a no-brainer. Judging from the way the seats are filing up all around me with somewhat nervous looking kids, I guess I'm not the only one.
A hush comes over the room as the teacher walks in, appearing from the left wing of the small stage as if she's an actor ready to recite Shakespeare.
"Welcome," she says, her voice carrying as vividly as the violet purple. "Welcome, everyone. How exiting to have a new group. I love these new beginnings. I see some familiar faces, I've met some of you ahead of time, but to all the rest of you I'll introduce myself. I'm Professor Arlotta Silky, my PHD is in Human Heterosexuality with an emphasis on the way we, as human males and females, fit together. It's nature's most beautiful and wonderful puzzle, with the main pieces being hands, hard cocks, wet vaginas, and mouths, mouths, and more mouths. Breasts, testicles, clitorises, anuses, all these things come into play, some often, some rarely or just once in a while."
I watched as Professor Silky emerged from behind her lectern, walking so casually out to the front of the small stage. "Shall we jump right into it?" she asked, her eyes surprising me when they landed on mine, holding there for an almost terrifying moment before drifting off to another student, then another.
"The class contract that you all signed detailed the way of things, the nudity that will be on display here all semester, and the 'live demonstration' aspect of this form of teaching. So who will be the first young man and the first young woman to get the ball rolling? These firsts are always exciting. Which of you feels it? Which of you wishes to climb up onto this nice clean bed?"
Professor Silky stood beside the king-sized bed that loomed center-stage, its medium-gray colored fitted sheet stretched smoothly tight, two gray pillows at-the-ready to lay two heads on.
My head swiveled when I saw a girl stand up, the other students all looking her way now. Petite, with long dirty-blonde dreadlock hair, I saw tattoos on her nearest arm, her other arm raising into the air. "I'll do it," she said, her eyes glistening, her sexy mouth curling into an interesting smile.
"Yes, good," said the professor. "Your name is Spirit, right?"
"Yes, Spirit Manful."
The professor's gaze scanned the rest of us. "Which of you young men wishes to join with Spirit?"
From the corner of my eye I saw him stand. "I will," he said.
Professor Silky's smirking smile made me wonder. "Yes, fine," she said, retaking her place behind the lectern, glancing at her notes. "Mr. Hardy, is it? Braze Hardy?"
"That's me," he said, as my skin crawled with memories of cocky bullies just like him at home.
"Come on down, you two," said Professor Silky. "I'll let you undress each other."
My eyes went to Spirit again, party because of her sexiness and partly because she was making her way across my row now, the rest of us moving our legs to let her through, the scent of incense -- maybe mixed with weed -- hitting my nose as she passed by me toward the aisle-way steps that lead down to the stage. As magical as her eyes and smile had been, it was her ass that truly captivated, its petite shape not unlike a vision of perfection as she made her way down toward the stage. My thoughts began to get fuzzy as I watched her, myself and no doubt every other boy now thinking about this 'undressing' that was about to happen.
Braze made his way much quicker, catching up just a few steps behind her, his casual trot looking similar to impatience. Tall and lanky, with a prominent chin and a sweep of brown hair, I and the others saw the moment when he and Spirit reached the stage, their eyes meeting, her smile cute and sparkling, his suddenly strange, maybe shy if that's possible from such a boy.
"Let's talk about undressing," said the professor, as I noticed the way her pantsuit perfectly fit her. "There are no rules, of course. The way it happens is all about the moment, the excitement, the anticipation and the thrill. If it's not at least a little bit of a thrill getting undressed with your partner, I suggest you think about why. Braze? Spirit? Do you feel a thrill as you stand here knowing that you'll soon be stripped bare for each other's touch?"
My eyes, hard on Spirit and hardly seeing Braze, saw her glistening eyes sparkle as she sweetly said "Yes."
Professor Silky walked over to the lectern again, flipping through her notes, the shuffling paper the only sound in the eerily silent room. "I see here you've both given full consent to full participation. Oh, and you've both waved-off condoms for these demonstrations. That's excellent. Let's begin with your undressing of each other."
This time I did see Braze, his nod, his eyes not nearly as confident looking as they'd been. Professor Silky began talking about the history of clothing, centuries of undressing, a somewhat dry and boring lecture that left me and my other classmates in a dreamlike haze as we watched two of our peers stripping each other, one piece of clothing at a time. The eerie silence was silent no more, myself and the others breathing louder, shifting restlessly in our seats. The girl next to me let out a huff through her nose when Spirit lifted Braze's t-shirt off over his head, his flowing brown hair tousling. I think I made the same noise, or maybe a quiet whimper, when Spirit's shirt was tossed aside, her petite body looking vulnerable and opalescent wearing just her small day-to-day bra and snug, faded jeans.
Braze showed his impertinent impatience when he embraced her in order to reach her bra clasp, Spirit's eyes wide on his when he took the bra off of her, her small breasts looking even smaller without the bra's modest padding.
With a smirking look of payback in her shining eyes, Spirit knelt before him, unfastened his pants and pulled them down, underwear and all, quiet gasps of surprise rising up in the class as Braze's cock hardened more than halfway stiff. The professor's lecture had stopped, she now standing casually at the lectern, watching with the rest of us as Braze and Spirit made each other fully nude.