Professor Galloway
Dr. Galloway was a tenured professor of neurobiology at the University of Hirshsprung. He was always donned in tweed jackets and well ironed herringbone trousers. He had a salt and pepper mustache and loved to wear wire rimmed glasses. He was a fairly good looking man, passionate about teaching but he had a reputation that preluded him like a stench. Everyone, most especially girls dreaded passing through the neurobiology class. However, it was made compulsory for everyone looking to get into medical school.
Many myths surrounded Dr. Galloway. The most persistent was that he engaged in voyeurism. The girls knew that for his legend to be so wide spread, enduring year after year, seeping into the ears of freshmen as soon as they stepped into sorority houses, then there had to be a modicum of truth in it. It was said that he had a penchant for peeping at the panties of girls, often tricking them to engage in activities leading to wardrobe malfunctions. For those that were on guard against him, he could easily come up with new strategies to get them to slip up, surrendering a view of their panties or even a nipple to him. that his glasses weren't at all prescribed.
Of course there were people who doubted. It was also said that his office was like a kaleidoscope or an infinity mirror experiment; mirrors were hidden in inconspicuous locations, set up to trap and reflect the images of what girls had beneath their short skirts. Rumor had it that they were tactfully taped to the stairs leading to his office, on an area of his table where the legs of female students were most likely to face. All of these culminated in a ripple of fear that ran through the female students. It was worse because reporting to the authorities would only make them look stupid. How would they report a respectable lecturer for peeping at their panties when it was done covertly and there was no solid, incriminating proof to classify it as sexual harassment? It was psychological torture.
Dr. Galloway did not invite students over or demand for sex. He did not make vulgar or misogynistic jokes, and he was generally respectful to women and well spoken. It was hard to build a case against him, yet everyone knew that beneath that veneer of professionalism, there was a demented pervert lurking underneath. To further complicate it all, there were female students who were fully in support of it because they heard it could earn them extra mark. Unfortunately, Dr. Galloway was quite adept at sniffing out and ignoring the existence of these desperate girls. He ignored them like debris on a side walk. Instead, the set of people who aroused his interest were girls who were unsuspecting. Girls who knew his tactics but tried their best to preserve their modesty, without giving up the clothes they loved to wear. He knew when dressing skimpily came naturally to a girl, or when it was being forced on. For the latter category, there was a way those mini skirts and crop tops hung awkwardly on them, as though the clothes had made up their minds not to belong. When confronted with girls like that, he usually shook his head and chuckled with amusement. They seemed silly.
This new academic session however was proving to be a good one. He had his eyes on a couple of girls already, and everyone else in the amphitheater seemed to fade into the background whenever they were around. It pleased him to no end. He knew he had to bid his time, strategize, plan and be calculative about every action. To make matters even more convenient, his marriage was hitting the rocks. His wife who usually nagged about his lateness and frequent absence from family functions and dinners had suddenly stopped bothering. He knew a part of her had given up on the marriage, if not all. He shrugged. He felt a little bit bad but it was not entirely his fault. Sex with her had become staid. They had been together for so long and they didn't want kids, contented in their own company. The downside was that everything became so routine and open. He hated it. He wanted coyness and coquettishness from his women. He did not like the way his wife initiated sex, pouncing upon his tired bones like a tigress. Menopause was kicking in and her libido had begun skyrocketing. As for him, he was getting tired.
The only thing that intrigued him now was the struggle to sneak a peek at underwear and nipples of unsuspecting women. He relished the struggle, the fight between modesty and 'bad-bitchiness'. His wife offered none of that excitement now. He remembered when they had gotten married. In the early days, she was a shy one. He recalled how rigid she would be each time he peeled down all the layers of her clothes slowly as he initiated sex. From corduroy jackets, t-shirts, braziers, to undies with scalloped edges and lacy fringes. He loved the fright in her eyes, her initial unwillingness and finally, the way her body would yield to him, warm and soft as his hands roamed her bare skin.
He swallowed, shoved down the memory back to where it came from. That part of his wife was long gone now. She was bolder, more demanding, and she technically dressed like an Inuit nowadays. On most days, she wore pajamas all through with her hair tied in a messy bun. Ever since she begun working remotely, she had abandoned all sense of proper upkeep. She refused to dye the streaks of grey on her hair, stopped shaving her legs and the little moustache outline on her lips because she was 'embracing her individuality'.
