I am a Professor of Mathematics at a state school in the lower Midwest, I am tenured and have an excellent reputation among my peers and students alike, I am highly rated on the on-line professor rating sites and every now and then one of my students will rate me with a chili-pepper, a real ego boost since I am now over fifty. I didn't date much, my wife of thirty years died of cancer 28 months ago and I just never found anyone who begins to compare. So most of my time and energy was put into my students, I have never dated a student nor ever suggested anything inappropriate in any way, and I certainly would never jeopardize my career for a piece of ass.
Last fall Lyncee (yes, I know "creative" spelling) came into my classroom and into my life in ways I would have never imagined. She missed the first three class meetings and my first contact was after I had emailed a warning of withdraw for non-attendance to her personal email address. I sent it to her personal address because she had not responded to any previous notes sent to her school email.
"Mr. Thompson, I have been very busy and unable to work your class into my schedule I will attempt to be there next week and will catch up then have I missed anything important? I look forward to having you as my teacher. Lyncee" was her first correspondence.
I paid little attention to it as there are always students who are slow to get started. She didn't make it to the next weeks classes, and when she finally did show up, in the fourth week of the semester she was 20 minutes late and made a grand entry. The door to the classroom opened and remained open, from my position at the lectern I could not see outside the door. Then very loudly we all hear "PSSSTT, PSSST, Hey, hey guy, is this math 115?"
The male student closest to the door turned toward her and replied that it was.
"Good, I've been looking for this class for an hour," she spoke as she entered, carrying a coach purse that was almost as big as she, and nothing else, no text, no note paper, pencils, pens or anything that would remotely suggest she was a student.
"You Thompson?" she asked now addressing me.
"I am, and who are you?" I replied
Walking directly to the front of the room with her hand extended, "Hi, I'm Lyncee, we spoke in email, sorry I missed last week, I had car problems."
"Please take a seat Lyncee, I trust you have read the syllabus?"
"No, was I sposed (sic) too? Like I said I missed last week. What did we talk about?" she rambled.
It took another ten minutes and my promise to catch her up after class to get her to sit down so that I could resume the lecture.
Before I continue let me try and describe Lyncee's appearance. She was dressed completely in shades of baby-blue. Ribbons with large blue flowers divided her hair into pony-tails behind each ear. A lace transparent blouse in powder blue with a very high collard but no visible buttons was covered by a blue velour bustier. A blue and white miniskirt with lace resembling a ballet tutu rested on her hips but ended a good four inches above the lace tops of her white thigh high stockings. On her feet she wore open toed stiletto heels that were at least five inches tall.
She was thin, maybe 120 pounds, and tall, with the heels she was taller than my 6'2", legs that went on forever, and looked very nice in those thigh high stockings. She had a very thin waist and an exaggerated bust, either the product of a lot of extra padding or a boob job. Her hair was a very light blond with golden highlights. She was cute, even attractive, but not beautiful, at twenty-two she struck me as having lived a life of privilege. She was somebody's princess. Her make-up was flawless, and her nails looked like she had received a manicure that very morning.
She caught the eye of every male in the class, I thought to myself, that if I was a student, I would probably date her, if I could afford her, obviously very high maintenance. When she finally sat down and shuffled her legs under the table, one at a time the shortness of her skirt, and action of moving one leg at a time, caused her to expose the gusset, or lack thereof of her panties to me. I could not help but notice the large tuft of blonde pubic hair obscuring her slit.
"A true blonde," I thought.
About midway through that first class her phone buzzed and she engaged in a lengthy texting session.
"Lyncee, I do not allow cell phones in class, please put it away" I explained.
"But this is important," she pleaded.
"Not to anyone else here, to the rest of us, it is merely an unwelcome distraction, please turn, it off."
"I need to finish this text."
"Then do it outside."
"Fine," she replied as she grabbed her bag, flashed me again and exited the class, mumbling about me being an asshole.
I didn't see her for another week, and when she did show up she was late again, and again went out of her way to disrupt the class on her entrance, talking loudly on her cell as she entered. This time she was dressed in club wear, a skin tight lycra one piece halter top miniskirt with no visible undergarment lines, and hooker heels. The question of padding was resolved, those were definitely implants.
She sat in the same chair and flashed her pantiless pussy at me again, before telling whoever she was talking to that she was in class and had to go. I thanked her for joining us. Again she sat there without opening a book or taking a note, looking bored. When she picked up her phone, I dropped my chin and looked at her over my glasses, so she put the phone back rather quickly.
Toward the end of the lecture I reminded the class of the test coming up next class, which room we would be using for testing, reminded the students to bring their login-id's and that they could use their calculator on this exam.
Lyncee interrupted, "We are having our first test Wednesday?"
"No we are having our second test Wednesday." I replied.
"When was the first?"
"Three weeks ago."
"When can I make it up?
"Stay after class and we will discuss it"
After the class was over Lyncee stood one arm wrapped across below her breasts causing them to push up straining the halter top, her nipples like two frozen peas beneath the stretchy material, the other bent with her hand resting on her hip causing the short dress to pull up on that side, nearly exposing the naked bush beneath. She had a great figure and she knew it. I waited for her to speak, enjoying the view of her. When she did, she started with a very aggressive tone, then restarted somewhat less confrontive, before taking on an apologetic tone.
"Mr. Thompson, I have had a terrible time this semester, my fiancée and I lost our apartment, then they kicked us out of the hotel we were living in, just because we complained about the dogs, and the new hotel wouldn't let us keep our dogs there. We finally got a place, and have been trying to get all our stuff back. Financial aid hasn't paid me anything yet, those ass-holes are just jerking me around. I didn't have the money to buy the software so I am way behind, I didn't know about the first test, you didn't tell me. And I am not at all ready to take the test on Wednesday." She ranted, sounding like she was beginning to cry. She held her hand to her face as if to wipe away tears, although none were present.
Call me an old softy, I let her off the hook. "When can you get the software?" I asked.
"I was going to buy it this Thursday," she replied.
"Okay I will reset all the homework dates so you are not penalized , tell me when you are ready to take the tests, and I will set you up to take them in the proctor center, but Lyncee, you have to get caught up, We are almost halfway through the semester."
"I will Mr. Thompson, I promise I will, I knew you was a good guy."
She didn't show up for the test, didn't show up for another week, when she did I asked her why she hadn't completed any of the assignments, she told another sob story of a "son-of-a-motherfucking-bitch, asshole cop" who gave her a ticket, even though she wasn't speeding and she had to spend her software money to get her car out of the impound. But she was getting the software from a friend this weekend.
It went on all semester, one excuse after another, always someone else's fault, I emailed her to warn her the last day to drop, then emailed her again of the nearing close of the semester and that all work had to be in before the last day of class. She was present at the last day of instruction, and waited until after class to tell me that I had promised to let her make things up without penalty. I assured her that I had done as promised but that I could not extend the semester; she had to get what she was going to get done before the end of next week.
