I've never been the type of girl to have a crush. Back in high school, when all of my friends were talking about the various boys of the week, I was talking about my favorite books or newest sci-fi. Sure, my friends shared some of my interests, but we never connected on that level. I guess I just never got into the wistful longing after an unobtainable target, hoping that he would, maybe this time, see my cute new skirt as we passed each other in the hall. According to my friends, they rarely did.
That was back in high school. My friends and I have all since moved on, most to universities scattered throughout the country. The one thing that changed was the fact that my friends were now able to act on their impulses. I was constantly being told about their latest hookups, boyfriends, and flings. "C'mon, Lauren, you need to get out more," they'd say to me. "You don't know what you're missing!"
I suppose all of that is true, in a sense. While I've always been called "pretty," I've been told that I don't "take advantage of it," as my friends say. I try to look neat and feminine, but I've never gone overboard with slutty outfits or heavy makeup. The "problem," however, is that I, apparently, have a beautiful body. I've never really thought of myself as sexy or gorgeous – I usually settle for "cute"- but apparently that goes against the opinion of most everyone I've ever met. From the few guys bold (and crude) enough to talk openly with me, heard that I'm best described as "thick." I thought for the longest time that this was just a polite way to say "fat," but I've been assured that, no, it's not. I'm an average height, about five feet, four inches or so. I'm not going to share my weight, but I have enough to create this idea of "thickness" without coming off as fat. I'd say I have curves in all the right places. That's the part that my friends hate me for – my curves. While I think nothing of it (in fact, it's embarrassing to even talk about), I do get a lot of attention for my breasts, as well as my hourglass shape. I've always been a bit self conscious about the attention – especially from guys- which is probably why I never dress in a way that flaunts my curves, something my friends consider a grave offense to femininity.
So, yeah, I've never been the type of girl who would usually have a crush, and that's part of the reason why I've been so flustered and confused. Not only is this my first major crush (if you could even call it that), but this crush was on someone a bit older than me, and way out of my league. As bad as it might be, I had a crush on one of my professors. Not only that, but a woman professor.
Now I know there's nothing wrong with that, per se, but for me, the feeling is entirely new. In high school, I largely ignored guys. They seemed so immature, so rough. I figured that that was only a temporary feeling, brought on by the company of guys around me. It wasn't until I met Professor Fiona Key that I considered the alternative – maybe I just never will have an interest in guys? If accepting that meant living a life filled with women like Professor Key, then I was all in.
A life full of Professor Key... these were the type of thoughts that got me daydreaming while I sat in her lecture. Lucky for me, I'm a good student; had this been any other class, I would have been doodling on the side of my notes, not paying any attention at all. I sat in my cramped seat in the corner (I was much too shy to sit front and center) watching Professor Key speak. Her voice was both melodic and powerful, soothing and commanding. It flowed into my mind and calmed me, captivated me as I watched her slowly pace in the front of the room, extolling the works of Thoreau and Emerson. She was wearing a low cut black button up shirt, with a dark red tank top underneath, unfortunately covering up what would have been a tasteful but beautiful amount of cleavage. She had a firm, tight body – she must wok out, I figured – and her dark jeans clung to her toned legs. "Turn around, please..." I thought, then immediately blushed at the idea. Then, almost as if she heard me, Professor Key turned to write something on the board, giving me a full view of her perfectly shaped behind. I inhaled, curling my lips in, then blushed again, immediately looking down to my notes – or rather, an empty page with hearts drawn in the border. I've been doing this since the very first day of class, almost a month and a half ago, and every day I tell myself that this will be the day I go up and at least introduce myself. Every day, and I always chicken out. I would say something today, I told myself. Yes, sure. I have to – I'm running out of chances!
Almost as if being toyed with by the universe, the students around me got up and started to head out. Had I lost track of time that much? I looked at my phone, confirming that it was the end of class, then looked ahead, staring at Professor Key. Do it, I thought. I slowly stood up, trying to allow as many people as possible to exit the room before approaching her. As I stood up, a few students walked up to Professor Key to ask some questions, and I allowed them to go ahead of me. I stared down at my shoes, listening to Professor Key's beautiful voice in the background, answering their questions. "Yes?" I heard her say. "Hello?"
"Oh!" I gasped, not realizing that she was talking to me, the other students having vanished. I immediately started to blush – not a good start. "Um, yeah, sorry. I just had a question."
"Sure, what is it?"
Shit. I didn't have anything prepared. I felt my face blush deeper, and Professor Key must have noticed this, since she started to smile slightly. God, I looked like such a fool! "When... when are your office hours?"
"That's all on the syllabus," she replied coolly.
"I lost mine."
"Well, I posted it online. Unless you don't have internet, too?" She said with a light laugh. Was she teasing me?
"I... no, I do. I have internet. I love the internet." Oh god, shut up now. Turn around and walk away.
Professor Key let out a giggle that almost brought me to my knees. "Tomorrow, from four to five thirty. I sometimes stay longer, since I just head home afterwards. Why?"
"Oh, I just need some help," I responded quickly.
"You?" She tilted her head slightly, as if examining me for lies. Was I that obvious? "Surprising. You're doing good in my class."
"Well."
"What's that?"
"Well. I'm doing well." Oh god, did I just correct my English professor? It's become such second nature with my friends that I just forgot who I was dealing with! Upon realizing this, I blushed a deep red, then looked down.
"That's right," Professor Key said, her voice a bit lower. "You're doing very well."
"S-sorry," I stammered as I picked up my bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess." Without even looking her in the eye, I turned to leave, and quickly left the room. I could swear that I heard her giggling behind me.
***
"God, you got it bad, huh?" Dale sat on the edge of my bed, flipping through an old magazine as I lay on my bed, my arm over my eyes, emptying my problems on him. We met in one of my composition classes, and quickly became good friends. He was outspoken, caring, and very, very gay – all of which I loved about him. He was the only one I've been honest with about Professor Key.
"I don't know what to do. It's driving me nuts!" I groaned, sitting up.
"Well, just go to see her in her office tomorrow. What's the harm in that? Just make sure you have a question or something."
"But she knows that I don't need help!"
"How does she know that?'
"She told me"
"Wait a second," he said as he turned to face me, setting the magazine down. "HOW big is your class?"
"I don't know, like, fifty people or so?" What was he asking this for?
"And she knows you're doing good?" I let that one slide.