The Student.
Her name was Megan and she always sat in the front row. Her hair was auburn in color and usually pulled back with some kind of tie. It fell to her shoulders and she had bangs cut in the front that made her look younger than 20. She just turned 20. I knew that because I used my access to the University's online enrollment and student records service to look up her date of birth. Her skin was pale, but not sickly. It was smooth and looked incredibly silky and soft to the touch, especially on her legs. That was the first thing that attracted me to her, her legs. She wore short shorts and she always sat in the very front row. It was summer time and hot outside, but despite the heat her skin never seemed to darken or tan. Her creamy white legs were usually visible up to the bottom of her ass. She would cross them and uncross them as I lectured, shift herself in her seat so that I could see more of them or less of them. I wasn't sure if she was aware and flirting, or unaware and just accidentally giving me a show. Sometimes she would wear low-cut shirts and occasionally she would lean forward, but it was never enough for me to see anything up top without oggling - I couldn't risk that in front of the class. So, I resigned myself to checking out her legs. Sexy, creamy legs.
I decided to try to seduce Megan during the second week of class. She was showing off her legs and talking a lot during lecture, so I was making eye contact but spying the occasional glance down at her legs. After class I went back to my office and masturbated trying to imagine how I would plan it out. I decided to take advantage of the course topic and see if I could worm my way in that way.
The course was called "Drugs and the Brain" and the topic was focused on addiction and drugs of abuse. I am a Sociologist by training, but I knew enough of the topic to teach it as a 6-week summer course. During the course I often alluded to my own experiences, but I never would say outright whether I had smoked pot in the past. This being the midwest, pot being illegal, and me being an employee at a reasonably prestigious school - I decided it was better to leave those things unsaid.
However, that was going to be my in with Megan. The 3rd week of class we had a long discussion on Marijuana and the merits and drawbacks of legalization. Megan had a lip ring and she was very pro-pot. I think she was dissapointed that, as the professor, I espoused a view favoring tightly regulated medicinal use, but not legalization or decriminalization for recreational use. That was my 'in' because I gave nothing away - there was enough ambiguity in my personal views that I was certain no one could say for sure whether I was a smoker myself or not.
The truth was, I had smoked pot in the past. A lot of it. Breaking this to Megan was going to be my way of building her trust. Breaking this to Megan was going to be my excuse for seeing her in a non-professional capacity, and, I hoped, in a more intimate setting. I planned to ask her to get me some pot, and I hoped that would lead to something more.
I settled on a Wednesday to ask her. She was the first one there, as usual, 45 min before class and the only one in the classroom that early.
"Hey, can I talk to you about something after class?" I asked.
"Sure, is everything alright?"
"Yeah, nothing bad or anything. I just need to ask you a question, something I'd rather not discuss here." I motioned to the empty room. She understood my meaning and nodded her assent. Lecture was agonizing that day. I kept stealing glances at her legs and when I would make eye contact she smiled a little bit more than usual. I couldn't help wondering if she knew what I wanted to ask her.
After class, three of the other students had questions or issues they wanted to discuss, so she waited as if she were the last in line.
"Hey, thanks for waiting." I told her as the last student was leaving.
"No problem, what did you want to ask me?"
"Not here." I reiterated. "Do you have a few minutes to walk? I'm going to my car and I'd rather discuss this outside the building."
"Sure, I'm leaving campus anyway. Where are you parked?"
"Off campus, across Ames Ave." This was a small residential neighborhood across the street from campus.
"Oh, cool, I park there too."
"Great." We left the building and I made some small-talk. As the teacher in these awkward situations outside the classroom with students I try to set their minds at ease by talking about stupid things. I could tell she was nervous because she didn't really respond. Once we got outside I made a show of looking around and making sure no one was within earshot. When she noticed this behavior I turned my head forward, averting eye contact with her and started in on the monologue I had rehearsed.
"So, I totally understand if you don't want to answer this, and, I really don't want to put you under any pressure to answer or anything, but basically, I, for a few reasons, was kind of wondering, um...do you smoke weed?"
She didn't respond, but I could feel her looking at me. Without returning her look I blurted out some more.
"Like I said, please, don't respond or just tell me if that question makes you uncumfortable. I am totally not supposed to ask you questions like that and I am only really asking for my own selfish reasons. So just tell me to go to hell if that's how you really feel."
"No, it's not that. I just didn't expect the question. Sorry, I do smoke and I don't care that you asked. I mean, I am kind of wondering why you asked, but it doesn't bother me that you did."
"Sweet" I thought, I am in. From here, I had very little but a vague notion of how I wanted this to go. I finished my spiel.
"Well, I am asking you because I was hoping you might be able to help me score." I told her. "Do you guys still call it 'scoring'? I mean, I haven't got high in like a really long time. I am on my own this weekend. My wife is heading to Kansas to visit her parents. All I have to do this weekend is mow my lawn and I was hoping to spend that time, plus the rest of the weekend, stoned out of my gourd. Sorry, I'm babbling. I was wondering if there was any way that you could hook me up with some weed is all. Your professor is asking you for a pot hook-up, that's all."
I was acting nervous but I wasn't really embellishing that much. I was more nervous about the direction that the conversation would eventually go, but I used those nerves to feign nervousness about the weed.
"That is too funny!" She laghued. "Me and a couple of the other students were wondering if you smoked or not. That's pretty funny, I should have bet them. I thought that you definitely did, they disagreed."
"Well Megan, I don't know if you can really collect on that bet. I have in the past, but I haven't recently - in fact, it's probably been almost 10 years." I caught a doubtful look from her.
"Seriously. And there's actually another thing I need to mention to you, it's part of the reason I asked you and no one else. You seem like you're a lot more mature than the other students and you seem to care more about the course. This would kill my career if it got out - even if it got out that I asked for this. I'm talking about an A-Bomb on my life. So the reason I asked you was because out of any of my students, I thought you'd be the most discrete. The most able to keep it to yourself. No one can no, absolutely no one."
This was true and untrue. Out of any of my students, I thought she was one who liked me enough to not sell me out as a cool story to tell her friends. I liked my other students and I was reasonably sure that they liked me. But, if one of my profs had asked me to hook them up when I was in college - no way I don't tell at least someone just for the story. Megan was safe, that was part of the attraction. She seemed like a bit of a loner, like she enjoyed being an outsider. I was reasonably sure she'd keep my secret, at least that she wouldn't tell her friends just to garner respect. If nothing else came of this, I'd have some weed to smoke and be reasonably sure that no one knew about me asking a student for a pot hook-up.
"Sure, I get it." She said. "It's illegal, and if I told anyone, you could get in trouble." I looked over at her for only the second time since we left the building. She looked troubled, she stopped walking. We were nearing an intersection and there were some people waiting at the light. "Look, I'm not sure what you think of me, but I'm not some big pot hook-up or anything. I only have a personal stash."
