It's the first day of the new semester, and the room is packed with students--I managed to slip in undetected amidst a noisy gaggle of what appears to be sophomores. I've secured myself a seat in a more secluded section to the far side in the back, and have positioned myself so that I'm visible mostly only to the professor (and not the "other" students) when he stands near his desk. I keep my head angled down, so that the flat brim of my hat covers my face, and pretend to look at some stupid social media shit on my phone, just like everybody else.
He clears his throat, and my ears perk up. Target has appeared on radar.
He gets the attention of the students and begins his first-day-of-class announcements. I wonder how bored the professors must get, having to say the same boring script over and over.
I did miss the sound of his voice.
I remember my first day in his class, years ago (no, I will *not* say how many!) I was young(er), and sadly, very repressed and insecure in my sexuality. When I first laid my anxious eyes upon that gorgeous man, I swooned. He was in his mid-thirties then--strong, eloquent, broad-shouldered, and handsome, with a P.h.D. to boot--mmm-mmm! Unfortunately, back then, I was a completely caged version of the now insatiable sexual beast that I am today, and the presence of a man that inspired such strong sexual feelings in me was frightening, to say the least.
Each day in his class I had horrible attention problems, as my focus was being heavily diverted to battle against the flood of sexual fantasies that were mercilessly laying siege to my supposed-to-be-studious mind. Like an awkward cartoon character, the closer he physically was to me in the classroom, the more scarlet and flushed my face became, and I would squirm and squeeze my knees together in frustrated agony; I both hated it and secretly, shamefully enjoyed the stimulation. He caused an arousal in me that I couldn't control or stop, in what was supposed to be my responsible, sex(and fantasy!)-free grind time at school, in front of all the other students, and I found that powerlessness over my own desire to be absolutely terrifying. I wondered then whether he ever knew he had such a profound control over me.
Well, I've grown up a little since then.
Sitting, waiting, in as close to the shadows as one can get in a room with hideous overhead fluorescent lighting, is a completely different creature--a phoenix reborn. And she is biding her time.
He moves to the side of the front row and passes a large stack of syllabi to the student there.
Time for the first move.
I've worn an oversized zip-up hoodie, and as I sit up in my seat to ready myself for the incoming (waste of) paper, I "accidentally" allow my movements to push it open and down, revealing my low-cut tank-top, bare shoulders, and pale bust (nipples ready to pop out at any moment.) My eyes lock on his, but his gaze never seems to pass close enough by me before he's crossed back to other side of the room.
Drat. That avoidance almost seemed purposeful--did he notice me already?
I am not deterred.
He continues going over the technical details of class and grading policies, and soon returns to pass out the assignment/exam schedule for the semester. I've been keeping my face turned towards his.
This time, he looks down the rows of students to make a quick estimate of the headcount, and I've already stretched out my legs from beneath the confines of my mini-skirt to the side of the seat, so that they are fully visible to him. I slowly slide one across the other in a slow, sultry, stripper-like motion, showing off my shiny, hot-pink stiletto heels.
His eyes stop when they reach my lovely gams, and for a fraction of a second he pauses and almost forgets his next word, before hastily clearing his throat and returning to his usual eloquence.
Excellent.
For the next hour, I play a game: how much can I catch his eye? He is a stoic man, and so it is not easy. Every rare moment when I do manage to see my charms having an effect upon him, I am filled with a rushing excitement, which builds up continually.
Do my eyes deceive me, or does he seem to be heating up a bit under that lovely aubergine-colored collar? His skin looks a bit more scarlet in hue, and his forehead is starting to get moist, and all I can see in my mind is visions of him, skin flush, sweat dripping down from his hot, panting body onto mine.
The intensity of the spike in arousal that I feel surging through me in response to this unexpected mental image catches me completely off guard, and it takes everything I have to remain still and silent--the only thing that gives me away is the sudden, sharp inhalation of breath and the widening of my eyes. Come on, remember to use the hat for cover.
For some reason, I'm not able to inwardly wrangle hold of myself that easily to keep my composure from breaking. Perhaps it's the association with my days long past, when the exact same thing would happen to me in class, and I didn't know how to process it, and I'd lose my cool.
I concentrate on slowing my breathing and clearing my mind of all thoughts. As everything quiets, I hear the words of his lecture come though the haze again.
He's explaining what the subject of chemistry is--the study of matter--and I remember the first time I heard him tell it. His was my first chemistry class, and I was heavily intimidated by what I'd heard about Chem from other students. I'd never taken a hardcore science before, but, I had dreams of becoming a mad scientist one day, and, back then, I believed my old dreams could come true.
Fresh-faced(ish), repressed, confused, self-caged, in denial, and very traumatized, in those days I was not the dark, evil beauty that I am now. I entered his class when I was at a major turning point in my life, shortly before I disappeared down a sinister rabbit-hole for many dark years. Returned now is the prodigal slut, here to slay you with the fat of her calves.
His face turns at a certain angle and catches the light, illuminating his features in an almost angelic way. He was always at his most handsome when his passion for what he was teaching burned brightly--it was like seeing his very essence light up.
Just like back then, my growing desire is becoming physically uncomfortable. I notice I've been rubbing my thighs together with a great restlessness, for how long I do not know. It alarms me slightly.
I look at him and am overcome again with images in my mind I can't control. I see him, large arms encircling me, making me feel safe, and I'm kissing him deeply, passionately, melting into his embrace. The feeling is heavenly.
No! Damn it! Not again.
Ugh.
That vision was a tough one, and now there's an uncomfortable swelling, aching feeling running through my diaphragm and heart, tightening up within me. I'm gritting my teeth and my breathing is deep and ragged--anyone looking would be able to see my chest heaving with discomfort. I squeeze my eyes shut to try to chase the feelings that accompanied the image away, and I feel the corners of them become wet.
Fuck.
Okay, I'm alright. Shake it off (figuratively--you're still surrounded by a hundred students.)
Breathe.
Now he's getting to the part of the lecture that changed my life. This is getting to be too much.
When he explained what chemistry itself was, he did it in a way that was both deeply scientific and poetic, and it sort of opened up a pathway of seeing and understanding the Universe for me that straddled the border between spiritual and quantum--if that makes sense to you "modern day" readers (likely, it may not.)
From that day forward, my entire way of thinking began to evolve. The more I learned about the way the Universe worked through science and mathematics, the more beautiful, poetic, and transcendent my entire experience of life itself became. Something deep inside me was activated, and his words were the holy catalyst needed to set the reaction into motion.
This flood of strange feelings coursing through my chest with tempestuous fury is depleting me--what are they?
