Part One:
Professor Gregory Stimson noticed that every year there were a more Asians on campus, not only the foreign students, but the sons and daughters of recent immigrants. At one time there had been much fewer. They were good students, but drudges, automatons; all they did was study. They only lived to study and study more. Stimson imagined their little brown fingers diddling their privates in a feeble effort to release sexual tensions between their tests and term papers.
Anahita Nara was on her way to her favorite class, taught by a talented instructor, Professor Stimson. She liked him and smiled at him whenever she could, and sometimes he smiled back. That made her feel good inside. She was born in America and wanted to be just like the other students, even if it meant arguments with her traditional parents. They informed her very firmly that boyfriends were not permitted. Her job was to study. Then, after she graduated, they would arrange a suitable marriage for her. There was no room in her life for romance. They even directed her to major in Psychology, and this was America! Failure was a disgrace; it was unthinkable. Her parents would simply not accept failure. Students had no other lives but their books and schoolwork, the true road to success.
Professor Stimson did not recall how it began, but he now disliked Indians. They ate strange food, and most were vegetarians. They were standoffish and did not mix in well. Indo-British accents grated his ears, and the female version was even worse; it sounded like a hysterical whine. They even smelled funny. The Indians had picked up every bad aspect of their former masters, the British, and converted them into annoying vices. Their native land was a constant thorn in the side of the United States. Finally, relentless drudgery earned them the top grades, depriving real Americans their proper reward in the college.
Anahita Nara liked Professor Stimson because he epitomized what she liked about her country: the informality, the individuality, the freedom. Maybe she and her teacher could meet socially in a more informal setting. He would discover what a cute and charming girl she was and maybe even... Her heart fluttered with secret romantic yearnings. She wanted no arranged marriage; she wanted no marriage at all to another Indian. She wanted an American husband!
Gregory Stimson smiled evilly. He had caught an Indian student turning in a plagiarized paper. He would do her in! He would have her expelled from the college in disgrace and send her packing back to her little brown family so that they could punish her too. The little wog had thought that she was clever. She had paraphrased a classic paper on Indo-British relations, but she had made a big mistake. Every idea and its development were in the exact same order as the original paper. It had popped out at him as soon as he had read the little drudge's first two paragraphs. Too bad for her that he knew the original document almost by heart. He should; it had been at the core of his PhD dissertation.
Ms. Nara was an excellent student and seemed very bright; Stimson could not fathom why she had copied the paper. Her test scores had guaranteed her an A. Even a mediocre paper, balanced against her excellent class participation would not have changed that. Fair was fair; they often annoyed him, but he gave the Indians what they had earned in his courses. He would give her what she earned: expulsion! The rules of Chapawquaque College were very clear about that.
Professor Stimson walked into the recitation hall. The class, Modern World Political Systems, was due to begin, and he arranged his notes on his desk. It was a small room, and he enjoyed close proximity to the nineteen undergrads still in the course. That is, he enjoyed being near those that weren't Indians. Also there were a few cute coeds, young females at the age of ripe perfection. The little blonde with the big tits was his favorite. Now that the weather was warm, her flimsy, almost slutty, outfits gave him stimulating ideas for his idle hours.
Anahita had a shy smile on her face as she glanced at her teacher. He was so ruggedly handsome, so amusing, so charming, and so knowledgeable. She would love to know him better. She saw him smile at her and smiled back. Maybe he actually liked her! She needed to meet him sometime. She wished that she dared be as brazen as the blonde girl with big breasts, boldly displaying her body to the world.
Ms. Nara was seated in her usual place. A slight smile moved across his face as he anticipated holding her after class to arrange an appointment at his office. She smiled back at him, possibly thinking that he held nice thoughts about her. If she only knew, but she would know at the end of the day when her world came crashing down on her. A brightly colored scarf covered her hair and a small dot of color gleamed on her forehead. Her round face had a very light tan complexion. It would become pale later today when he sprang his little surprise on her. Maybe Ms. Nara could pass for a white woman then.
The last few students ambled in and dropped into their regular places. Ms. Nara was patiently seated with her notebook open, her text in the corner of her desk, and a pen poised and ready in her hand. As silence grew, Stimson stood and made the introductory remarks of a short lecture. When he finished talking, he opened the floor for discussion. Anahita participated well again. She seemed to understand every point he had made; too bad she had to go. The little blonde asked such an inane question that the class was in stitches, and even he had to smile. Her face flushed in embarrassment. She was a poly-sci major too. He would love to be her faculty advisor. He would straighten her out; she needed a big dick in her. Oddly, only Anahita did not laugh at the blonde's shame.
The recitation slowly wound down. Stimson's eyes flicked across Ms. Nara's pleasant, but all too brown, face at times. The shuffling of papers signaled that the students knew that time was up. Professor Stimson stood and rocked back and forth on his heels. He made a gesture with his hand, and the Indian girl moved toward him obediently, her books gathered against her full chest.
"I need to see you today, Ms. Nara, about something important," he said.
"I can see you after four; is that is all right?" she replied with a faint smile on her face. She probably though she was to be commended. He watched her as she followed the other students out the door. She modestly wore long skirts, but her clothing did not conceal completely the full, feminine hips, shapely legs, and round, full boobs. Anahita was both sexily well proportioned and sweetly innocent; it was too bad she was an Indian.
Anahita walked slowly to her next class. She supposed that she might be receiving a compliment about her paper at the upcoming private meeting. Maybe she could announce her intention to switch her major. She liked Professor Stimson so much and wanted to have him as her advisor. She was becoming tired of Psychology, but combining Political Science and Economics would be just right for her own future plans. Her parents would be annoyed, but this was America.
She had found just the right paper in the old bound journals in the library basement. The article contained the same ideas that she wanted to say about India and Great Britain, so she made a copy and used its format to phrase her own ideas. It said everything that she had already thought of; She just filled in her thoughts and verbiage over what was there already. It was a snap, and she was done in no time. The most work came when she put in her references and bibliography.
After lunch Anahita returned to her dorm room, showered, and changed into a new, fresh dress. She wanted to look her best for her appointment. She put on new underwear, a sexy set that she had bought and concealed from her mother. Her next class ended thirty minutes before her meeting with Professor Stimson, giving her time to stroll slowly to the Higgins Social Science Building.
Part Two:
