My name is Professor Titts.
It's actually Belinda Iris Gladys Titts. My wonderful parents were only going for one child and thought they had to fit both of my grandmothers' name in somewhere. They also clearly didn't think about the good old Aussie make-it-as-short-as-possible nick name tradition when they put that mess of names together. As a result of their lack of forethought and cultural understanding, I spent most of my teenage years called B.I.G. Titts.
Thanks, Mum and Dad.
But, you know, I get a bit of thrill when I see my name as the author on articles - Professor B.I.G. Titts - and think it looks great on a reference list in APA 6th - Titts, B.I.G. (2014) - I'm also quite found of being quoted - "... as argued by Titts (2014)". Sometimes a few years of suffering in high school are all made up in the end.
In my experience, not many people really know what it's like to be an academic. There are lots of stereotypes about academics and professors, lots of canning of academics, and lots of sexual fantasies about that whole professor power play thing. To be honest, until I became an academic and experienced the reality of it, I had no idea either. I had no idea how much I would have to work my ass off for this job (sometimes quite literally), or how much I would love it. That's not to say that all professors are the same as me, but let's just keep an open mind about where the term procrast-urbation came from; it's not a coincidence that Professors have been "working from home" long before it became popular in the general workforce.
As all academic careers go, my entry into it was not auspicious. I did a PhD. Then I got a tenured position. I'm not some whizzy, overbrained, absent minded woman with savant-like characteristics. I didn't sleep my way to the top. I did suck a lot of cock, and other bits and pieces, but that was rarely strategic and I like to think it was something I would have done regardless. No, I simply worked hard, had a bit of luck, and pushed through the tough times.
The field I work in is education: because there is nothing more important than education in our society and we should support or teachers for the wonderful, passionate people that they are. I teach in this area and I research about this area.
So, other than having an awesome name, what am I like? To start with, people are often surprised how young I am. In a faculty with the average age of 55, I do a lot to bring the average down. And let's say that I'm a (an 18+) school boy's, and the occasional school girl's, wet dream. Imagine the sexiest female teacher you ever had, dress them up in sexy professor gear- pencil line skirts, stockings, heels, sheer blouses, glasses (just for show) and long hair pinned up- then you have me.
So, today I got myself into a spot of trouble.
My class started off well. I was teaching about the history of education, walking around the lecture room, as I always do. Most of the time I find it quite gratifying to see the occasional blank stare of some students as they pay more attention to my ass then they do my words. But today was different. It wasn't just the odd one or two students not paying attention, but nearly the whole class. The students were not responding to my lecture in their usual riveted way, scribbling down everything I said, instead, they were all staring at me. Granted, I was sporting my sexy teacher look, and my ass did look particularly spectacular. But they just weren't they writing notes- and that just wasn't normal.
I started to feel self conscious, sure that I must have some clothing faux par. Trying to be subtle, difficult, given that I was standing in front of 100 people, I checked for wardrobe malfunctions.
I ran my hands down the centre of my top, it wasn't a missing button. I cupped my breasts; my nipples were a bit erect, but not too bad and I didn't think it would be that. I smoothed my hands down over my hips and back up over my ass but I couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary. Taking the hem of my skirt, I checked to make sure it wasn't tucked into my knickers, pulling it out then dropping the material back against my legs. Still talking, I leaned over and ran my hands up one leg then the other to check for runs in my stockings.
Still having found nothing wrong with my clothes, but with more students than ever staring raptly at me, blank eyed, I realised that it must have been my hair that was out of place. Reaching my arms up above my head, which did unfortunately raise my skirt higher up my thighs and showed a little slip of my stomach at the hem of my shirt as well as push my breasts out, I unclipped my hair and let the waves of it tumble down. Shaking it out with my hand, I finished class asking,
'Any questions? Clarifications? '
The room was silent, with the exception of the three boys up the back, whispering to each other. The typical 'Naughty Boys' - every teacher has at least one in every class. I was blessed with three - oversized, overmuscled, and more interested in playing sport than listening to me.
