Finding the Professor

Meeting the Professor

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It was a miserably snowy day, the kind when a car refuses to start the first time and takes ages to warm up, the kind that makes breathing burn and turn to mist, the kind of winter morning where the snow crunches underfoot.

It took Walt ages before he left his dorm room. He kept glancing at the clock and at the door. What if he left and everyone stared at him? His impressive height drew more eyes than he was comfortable with. One set of eyes was enough to send him running. Only Johnny could have convinced him to go to college. His light-hearted brother could convince a fish to breathe air.

Outside of his dorm room may have well been filled with nightmares. Nightmares that haun him. Nightmares that prevent him from living a normal life.

With a twist of door handle, he was out of his dorm with his laptop bag, which had everything he would need.

He barely arrived at his class in time, and when he did, he was confused about if he were in the right class as it had already started and the Professor was talking about

Beowulf

.

That was very on point for Medieval Lit, so he walked towards the front, curious to learn more about the fictional hero. Though he was terrified that the students would make fun of him, he kept his eyes on the curvy woman by the whiteboard. Her voice was honey and led him all the way to the front row before he realized what he was doing.

The lecture hall appeared large enough to hold fifty students. It was a tiered room with folding seats and individual desks facing a raised platform with a table. The wall behind was lined with whiteboards. Half of the boards already had bright calligraphic writing in blues, reds, and black as if Walt had missed half the lecture already.

By his watch, he was only two minutes late. There were perhaps fifteen students who had felt it worth traversing snowy roads and icy sidewalks. He calmed his breathing before the overwhelming amount of people made him run out of class.

New semesters led to increased stress for the ginger boy, and the idea that somehow he entered the wrong class weighed heavy on his mind.

"Who knows

Beowulf

?" the instructor asked the classroom.

"Movies and TV shows count," she added, momentarily biting on her whiteboard marker. A handful of arms raise into the air. "Good. I actually knew him personally. You could say he was a man of great size."

The Professor said the last two sentences quietly enough Walt thought only the first two rows could hear her.

Wasn't Beowulf a fictional hero?

Walt wondered.

She wore a modern blue dress with patches of random colors sewn across it. If she kept adding onto the dress, blue wouldn't be the dominant color anymore. Walt smiled at that thought. Under the blue dress, she wore a white ruffled button-up that clung to her chest. The dress also had two lines of buttons, for what purpose he didn't know. It was ankle length, and he was disappointed by how little leg the dress showed; however, feet and shoes were just as arousing to him.

She was wearing boots, they were brown and had brass buckles, they had two-inch heels. Enough heel to walk in reasonably comfortably for a short period of time, but not reasonable to run in, nor to teach a class while walking and standing for an hour and a half.

"Does anyone know what date

Beowulf

was written?" the Professor asked the classroom. No one raised their hand, nor did they blurt out an answer. "Ha. That's a trick question," she chuckled and started to scrawl on the board.

Setting was in 500s

Written When?

"It was written anywhere between the seventh to tenth century," she said while writing the second line. "That's a very large gap, if any of you can do maths." Walt hadn't fully realized she had a very cute British until that moment. He couldn't tell which area of the UK she was from--he didn't know enough to tell, but the accent was music to his ears.

Her hair was a voluptuous shoulder-length cascade of white, which he thought was odd because he would have sworn she was too young to have white hair.

Dyed or weird genetics

, he thought. Walt was no man to judge with his bright orange hair. Growing up in Wyoming, other kids had relentlessly made fun of it.

Small town kids are savage,

Walt thought errantly before bringing his attention back to the lecture.

The woman's chest was full and curved, creating two spherical mounds in her white ruffled blouse. Walt chuckled quietly, watching the tight blouse struggle to contain her breasts. Did he see sewn patches where they might've popped out?

"You there, young sir," she asked while staring directly at him, "can you tell me how Beowulf's story was created? Also, tell me your name."

"Um... Walt." There seemed to be a giant disconnect between his brain and his mouth. Everyone was staring at him, but all Walt could think about was feeling those orbs in her blue dress. Walt wanted to grab them, squeeze them, and glide his hard cock between her breasts. He also wanted to suckle on them. "Uh... I.. I.. believe it was word of m-mouth," Walt said shyly.

Walt wasn't an expert on medieval literature. He wasn't an expert on any field of literature. Walt's specialty lay in creative writing, but this class was required for getting his bachelor's and moving towards the goal of being a world famous author.

Please be right! Please don't call me again!

Walt inwardly shouted in his mind.

I want to run. I want out of here.

He dared not look at the door. Could everyone sense his fear? He felt their eyes on the back of his head.

"You're pretty spot on. A story began to form as bards told the tale. It evolved and was changed with every year it was told by mouth until one day somebody finally took the time to write it down," she lectured. "I should know because I'm the one who gave that poor bastard the idea. Lot of help it gave him," she continued and trailing off to a mumble at the end as if lost in thought.

Multiple people chuckled awkwardly at the last statement.

"If you ever write a story, remember to include your name. I know he wanted the story to feel real and unwritten, but Jesus, that was foolish. If you take that long chipping it into a slab, the least you can do is flip it over and do your name on the back."

Walt had never seen a more impassioned speech from a professor. She paced with vigor in front of her students and talked so quickly with such accuracy, according to Walt, that the students, him in particular, were enraptured by her words. He couldn't wait to see those legs.

The Professor continued her lecture on Beowulf, but shifted it towards talking about language and how Old English evolved into Middle English, which evolved into Modern English. The lecture left Walt confused, and he wasn't sure what he was supposed to take notes on.

First day shenanigans,

Walt thought. Walt was hopeful that, as the semester went on, she would be more specific, or perhaps there would be easy assignments that didn't include a giant variety of topics.

I'm strong. I can do this. I'm not a coward.

💻💻💻

The semester continued like that for the next month or two. Walt typed furious notes. He hoped what he took notes on were the important bits and that those bits would appear on a final exam, if there was one.

Fifteen students turned to ten, and ten turned into seven. Seven eyes on him felt less than fifteen, but it still scared him. How often were they watching him?

He found the view from the back was still as good as the front. The Professor's body often distracted him from both other students and some of the lecture contents. Her tight-fitting blouses were often very revealing, even if they did have ruffles.

Some of the tales the Professor seemed ludicrous and completely fabricated. She spoke on and on about how Chaucer liked his tea. Chaucer liked his tea black with no sweeteners under his favorite tree by some church on a comfy bench. It was absurd when the Professor talked about some of these figures like she knew them personally.

How could you know the monk that monk was based on? Why would you know them?

Walt couldn't fathom how or why.

Many people asked her name.

"Just 'the Professor,'" she told the class. "I'm mysterious and private, and that's all you get to know," the Professor said in a playful manner.

Walt was so enraptured by the Professor one day that he almost slipped up and started jacking off in the classroom. He was young and dumb (and full of cum), but he had the decency to not pull out his cock. Walt still did something many might call a crime.

He sat at a desk against the back wall, away from any other students' eyes, which wasn't hard as there were only maybe seven that day in the classroom built for fifty. Cold season had hit the university hard, but Walt was glad there were fewer people to make him nervous. Seven was certainly better than fifty. Fifty students made him want to run, run fast, and run as far away as possible, preferably back in the safety of his dorm room.

Seven made him shiver.

He was in the perfect spot to rub his cock through his pants though. Walt could easily see if any of the students were looking his way, and if they did, he knew he'd either run or hide under his desk. They might still see him, but Walt had practiced the fetal position more than enough. None were staring, and they were ensnared by the honey-sweet words of the Professor, so stroke he did through the fabric of his jeans.

His imagination took root. Walt's mind started a scene.

The Professor walked over to his desk and grabbed him by the collar. She dragged him to the front of the classroom. Walt stood up there in front of his peers. It made him scared and horny. Several of the girls had migrated to the front to get a better view. Their eyes tore into him.

The Professor started stripping him for the class and started a lecture on sex.

Which might have been a bit much when the only thing she talked about was medieval liturature.

"Today we're talking about giant cocks, and Walt here has the biggest in the classroom."

Most, if not all, the class in his mind were now hot female versions of their current selves. Walt kept his eye on the real class to make sure no one was watching him as he silently jerked off in his jeans. The scene was really turning him on, and his cock was squished between the flesh of his thighs and two layers of fabric. His cock's head reached the hem of his boxers halfway down his upper leg.

The Professor had removed his pants and shirt, and all that was left were his boxers. "A boxer guy?" she asked as she slowly moved her hand around his cock through his underwear. Her soft touch brought a slight moan to his lips and a spurt of precum stained the fabric above the head of his cock.

He wasn't sure if he had actually made any sounds in his physical classroom, so he bit his tongue.

The Professor had started talking about

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Her interest in the topic was evident, and she may have lingered on the description of Sir Gawain a bit too much. Yes, the knight was the classic, perfect knight who did everything right except on the third night, but Walt wasn't sure he was into guys.

She leaned over her desk at the front of the class. Walt could see straight down her cleavage as if she was standing that way on purpose. Instead of one of her normal ruffled button-up blouses under the patchwork blue dress, she wore low and revealing lantern-sleeved u-neck blouse. Her breasts were practically spilling out.

Another moan might have escaped the shy boy's mouth. Somehow, his tongue biting wasn't working, so he covered his lips with his right hand.

Walt could swear she was staring at him more as well. He hoped she couldn't see what he was doing under the desk. If she did, he would be mortified.

She removed his boxers next, and suddenly they both were naked.

Walt chucked at the way his imagination was rushing things and figured it was because he was close to staining his pants.

The busty professor then leaned and angled her breasts so the classroom had the perfect view. All the girls were in the front row and were pleasuring themselves; a few had their hands on their neighbor's pussy.

That mental image was driving Walt insane. One hand was vigorously rubbing his jeans, and the other was covering his mouth to prevent any possible noise erupting from it. His eyes were glued on the Professor's cleavage.

His professor then used her breasts to give him a good titty fuck. Walt's eyes couldn't decide what to glue themselves to: her dark blue eyes or her freckled breasts and pink nipples.

Walt was close, and he pinched her nipples. "That feels good, Walt," she said. A moan escaped her lips, and he erupted onto her chest and face.

The young man kept his right hand over his mouth and blasted his left pant leg with cum. Consequences be damned, he felt good. He felt his jizz make wet spots on his jeans. His eyes drooped a bit, and he could swear he saw the Professor wink at him, but it probably was his post-nut brain.

🖊️🖊️🖊️

Teaching had been a unique opportunity for the alien woman. Teaching humans had always been a challenging experience and teaching college students was even worse.

College students think they know everything. They thought they had it all figured out, but their education, according to the woman from a different planet, was barely beginning. Their adolescent years should mean nothing to them compared to learning about literature, mathematics, astronomy, and thousands of other fields.

Ew maths.

Growing up and learning what others of her species were learning was always a challenge, especially maths. She struggled calculating the exact radius of the damn Medusa Cascade, but could easily pinpoint it on the map.

Knowing where you are should be the battle, not figuring out how big it is.

The Professor did not intend to create a dick joke.

She wrote on the board in her usual penmanship. Today, she gave a lecture on something she knew well. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. If the Professor had to choose a place to be stuck for a year or two, it would be some mythical high fantasy England. The idea of Sir Gawain of King Arthur's round table being a gallant, buff-bearded knight made her wet. Or was that because of the cute redhead in her class masturbating at her? She had to convince him to grow some facial hair. Maybe a goatee would look good with his short, scruffy red hair.

Wait!

she thought,

is he really doing that in class?

Sir Gawain wasn't said to have facial hair, but when she imagined him, he always had a well-kempt dusty gray or brown set.

No!

The Professor thought in disbelief, unable to comprehend the situation in front of her.

I thought I knew that shy boy better than that.

She stared at his tall, lanky figure in the back of the class. He was leaning back in his chair as confident as the meek young man could be, which wasn't very confident. She was drawn to his lack of confidence as something for her to fix. She could guide him into being more confident.

She felt lust. She felt the human's lust. A lust directed at her. Their eyes met as he covertly masturbated while looking right at her. She arched her brow at his bravery.

The Professor knew he had been eyeing her with a horny look all semester, but she never thought this would happen in her classroom.

Walt's meek eyes watched her. She found his innocent green eyes attractive.

Her eyes scanned the room as she spoke, trying to keep her line of thinking on track. More than a few times, her eyes lingered on the student in the far back.

The woman knew every face and name in her class. Her memory was impressive. And, from the beginning, her eyes lingered on Walt Green more than the rest. It wasn't because the rest were unattractive-- it was because she felt a mutual attraction with young and meek Mr. Green. His height, his orange hair, his innocent green eyes, and the freckles on his cheeks all drew her to him. She also admired the young man's writing.

Could she drive Mr. Green even more wild?

If she leaned on the desk, what effect would it have? She was wearing her normal blue dress. However, today, the blouse she had chosen, by complete chance, had a slightly larger view of her breasts. A smile crept over her face as she paused in her speaking and leaned over her desk at the front of the room.

His view was perfect, and the effect was instant. A slight whimper escaped his lips. The Professor couldn't help herself and grinned. She quickly said something to stop other students from glancing up to the shy student blatantly masturbating. If she could hear it, they could, too.

Another slight whimper escaped his lips, and she relished the feeling. Whether the rest of the classroom heard his immodesty, she couldn't know for sure. She hoped none of the other students minded her sexual lean.

Wonder swept her thoughts. All she could think about was what he was imagining.

She had briefly put lecturing on the back burner, so she took a deep and long breath. Left with none of the fun he was having, all she could was lecture.

That's not true,

the Professor thought.

I can easily have two thoughts at once. After all I'm a Kepleyan.

If men in anime can have harems then so could I.

This was the last reasonable thought she had before, the part of her mind thinking that, thought descended into debauchery.

Her mind divided into two lanes. One part of her was sour that it wouldn't take part in the wild imagination the rest of her was having, but it still managed to give a lecture to the students.

Part of her mind, however, switched on the vivid colors of fantasy.

There was a lecture on Gawain happening outside of the mind of the Professor, but inside there was an epic fantasy landscape. The kind little men leisurely strolled through, and elves spent time reading books under giant green oaks.

The trees were alive and could grab busty adventurers as they foolishly climbed through their branches, and out came several thicker branches ready to probe holes.

This is where the Professor found herself. Not under a giant handsy tree, but on a road next to a hill with one of those giant handsy trees.

A knight came galloping down the street. Gallops were sending the wet mud flying from the road. The knight came her way. Their armor was silver and reflected the sun, creating an aura of light around their body.

The helmet of the knight was accented with gold, and a giant feather plume on the back caught the wind. Feathers of dark blue and bright white billowed in the air.

A horse neighed and stepped on mud, which landed with unfortunate accuracy onto the Professor's peasant skirt. She had been trying to keep the long thing out of the mud as the knight trotted over. Alas, it had all been for naught. A splatter coated half of the gray skirt, probably staining the thing, but it was only in her mind, after all.

Why is my mind fabricating a stained peasant skirt?

the Professor thought. A hand held the stained skirt for a better look, and she smiled. She softly bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, my lady," the knight said through the silver helmet. His voice distorted through the metal grate near his mouth. "I had been trotting down this trail haphazardly and have fouled your fine dress."

There was definitely a British lilt in his accent, yet the voice seemed familiar.

"After this dastardly deed, all I can do is but offer a ride to this fair lady," he said, almost talking to himself.