He saw in me more than anyone ever could. I was a freshman in college. I wasn't sure what or who I wanted to be so I left my major undeclared. I took the slew of bullshit courses required by almost every major. There was the math, lab science, and token English course. Throw in a few electives and you have your basic first semester for the average over-achiever. The odd thing was, I had no desire to hang out with anyone in my age group. I didn't want to join a sorority. I didn't want to try out for cheerleading. And the drinking parties that everyone flocked to on the weekends only annoyed me with the noise and random vomiting. My name is Tiffany and this is how the story of how my life began to be scribed.
Professor Gates was a young man I suppose. He was about twenty-eight with a master's degree at the time. That's the reason he got stuck with the one and two hundred level English courses. The problem with these courses is that everyone must take them so most the work turned in was somewhat less then inspired. Anyway, let's just say that Gates seemed to be rather tense the first day of class. I sat in the front row simply because it looked like those in the front row could string together a simple declarative sentence. I was doodling in my notebook when Gates walked passed me. I felt his arm brush against me as I lifted my head to look at him. He was just shy of six foot. His hair was dark and his eyes were blue. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a suit that somehow looked half undone. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The sleeves were pushed up a bit with traces of chalk dust on the bottoms. He was the typical hot professor. Well, typical for me anyway. I found out later in class that many jocks and sorostitutes found his class to be a bore. But then again, their essays usually started out like "My essay is about..." Needless to say, my taste in men was not dependent upon their opinion.
He had assigned a story from a modern book that first week.
Kissing in Manhattan
was a collection of short stories by David Shickler. I had never heard of it before so I was excited to read anything that came with the stamp of approval from an expert in English Literature. The story assigned was "The Smoker". It's a story of an over achieving student who invites her English teacher over to dine with her family. He is surprised to learn that she has plans to marry him. But what is more surprising is he finally agrees.
I walked into class thinking about this assignment. I mean, what the hell was he thinking? Don't get me wrong; it's a fantastic story. It's a fantastic book. I couldn't help but buy the whole damn thing after reading that. I couldn't wait for this class discussion. I even made sure that my shirt was unbuttoned enough to give him a nice view.
Just as I was opening my notebook, I caught the scent of his aftershave as he walked by me. "I trust you have all read the assignment." I looked around to find that I was probably one of five that read it. To my left was Vicky who was busy catching up on Brad and Angelina. On the other side was Steve who was more concerned with my thighs than the assignment. His attention was quickly diverted when Gates began, "Steve, what was Nicole doing during the quiz."
Startled, Steve answered, "Quiz? What quiz? It's only the first week of school."
"If you paid more attention to class instead of her legs, you might know what we were discussing." He turned to me. "Maybe the legs could answer that question?" He began to walk away assuming I had not read the assignment either.
"She was writing a passage of from The Tale of Two Cities." I answered and then said below my breath, "You pompous ass."
"What was that, legs?" Apparently I didn't say it low enough.
"The name is Tiffany. Perhaps you would know that if you were not so busy staring at my legs." His mouth dropped a little.
"I assure, Miss Tiffany, that I was not." He adjusted his sleeves as he walked back to the head of the class to shuffle some papers. "I see that you have read enough to answer the first question. But have you read it enough to answer the rest of them?"
"Oh, I've read it enough to answer anything you would want to ask. But what I want to know is, can you answer my questions?" I leaned forward to give him a glance at my breasts. He took the bait.
"And what questions do you have?"
"Well, Mr. Gates, I've always been under the impression that what one chooses to read says as much about him as it does the author. So I'm wondering, why this story? When there are literary icons like Poe, F. Scot Fitzgerald, and Hawthorne from which to choose, why choose a relatively new author? Why would an English Professor assign a story of a student who falls in love with her English teacher and then seduces him into matrimony?"
He stammered, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"I mean this. Did you assign it because you admire the writing? Or maybe you assigned it subconsciously. So, do you want to be seduced or married?" I could hear the snickers around the classroom.
Professor Gates just stared straight at me. I couldn't tell if he wanted to hit me or kiss me. Finally, he composed himself enough to answer. "Miss Tiffany, that will be enough. The book is a best seller and the writing is exceptional. I have no ulterior motives." He lifted his head to the class. "Since it seems that only one has read the assignment, you can all try again. Only this time, I expect an essay on the story." He looked at me. "Now, since you, Tiffany, have read it so carefully; you can write an essay on anything you like. The difference is, your essay will have to be six pages as opposed to the three pages I expect from everyone else."
He continued. But for some reason, he never stepped in front of the podium for the rest of class. When it was over, Steve came over to me as I gathered my notes. "That sucks that you have to write so much."
"Thanks for your concern, Steve. But it really doesn't bother me at all. I only hope I can keep it down to six pages."
"So what are you doing tonight?"
I looked up at him again. He was tall with sandy blonde hair. His eyes were grey. He had a beard that did little more than shadow his face. But it looked good on him. And I have to admit that he was built. It didn't necessarily have a jock kind of vibe to him. It had to be from something else. I could see his chest just barely through the unbuttoned part of his shirt. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and flip flops. He seemed to recognize that I was looking. "Hey, are you checking me out?"
"Just returning the favor." "And?"
"And I think I may be free tonight." Okay, so he was hot and I hadn't gotten any since I left home.
"All right, cool. I'll be there to pick you up at eight. What dorm are you in?" I gave him the address and he left. I looked over to see Gates getting his things together. The professor seemed to look a little pre-occupied.
That night, I was sure to put on a mini skirt and low cut top. My hair was swept off my neck. I put on my fuck-me heels. By the time Steve showed up, I looked really good. "Where are we going?" I asked as we walked out the door to my building.
"Well, I know this guy who is having a party." "All right." I wasn't thrilled. But I wanted to have some fun.
When we got there, the party had already begun. People were doing keg stands in the kitchen. A couple was practically screwing on the couch. And someone ran to the bathroom to throw up. Yup, looked like a fun night. Steve went over to say hello to his friends and grab a couple beers. I usually don't drink, but I made an exception on that night.
Steve and I stood just outside where we could actually hear each other. "So what do you think of Gates' class?" He asked.
"I like it."
"I bet you do." "What is that suppose to mean?" "It's obvious you have the hots for hm."
"I do not. But he is fun to torment." Just then, Dave walked up to us. He was an asshole jock and I couldn't stand the sight of him. I've told him this. He just doesn't listen. But I had probably a bit too many so I wasn't really all that argumentative that night.
"Hey Steve!" Dave slurred. "Oh, what do we have here? Aren't you looking hot tonight, Tiffany?"
"Thanks Dave. Now move along."
