Confession Ch. 04: The Professor by suddenlysara
Once again I’m going to fast forward through time a bit for this one. There are other things I want to go back to but this one just felt like the next one I wanted to get off my chest. As long as you all are reading these in order, I’ll stop prefacing each one with an excuse!
So, the last chapter took place the summer following my junior year of college. Just a few short months later it was nearing the end of my first semester of senior year. I was wrapping up courses in my major and was trying my best to survive those final sprints. Arriving back to campus after Thanksgiving break I was focusing all of my efforts on the quickly approaching final exams and research papers.
By your senior year, you’ve become well acquainted with the faculty in your department. In one of my courses I had a professor for the second time and really enjoyed his classes. He was much, much older than me, of course, in what I assumed were his early 60’s. We became friendly over time, exchanging emails and after class discussions, in a completely professional context. I admired his experience in our field and his quiet but thoughtful persona.
I had gotten the creepy vibe from professors before but he wasn’t like that, at all. In fact, he didn’t even seem to do the nonchalant physical appraisal that most all men do when around a woman. If I could sum up this professor, who we’ll call Dr. Bob, it would be an academic, almost nerdy, fatherly, perhaps grandfatherly, type figure to me.
With the semester drawing to a close, I was ultimately very stressed about all the work I had to accomplish. I had five courses, all critical to my major, and each had its own set of challenges that seemed overwhelming. In an email exchange with Dr. Bob, I had voiced these anxieties and he offered to look over any papers or exam topics I thought he could help with. Seeing this as an opportunity to get an edge on finals, I quickly accepted his offer.
The problem was, there wasn’t a lot of time left in the year. I could wait until Monday, a mere two days before a major paper was due, or I could join him on a Friday evening. Thinking nothing of that situation, and only of my grades, I immediately booked a study session with Dr. Bob. I quickly texted my boyfriend of my plans and told him that we would join up after I was finished. He didn’t seem to mind at all and we set tentative dinner plans for 8 PM.
At 6 PM I arrived at Dr. Bob’s house. He lived about 10 minutes from campus in a small, old style home. Lots of wood paneling, wood cabinets, furniture with patterns, that sort of thing. Oh, and a distinctive smell, sort of a musty warmth, like firewood and mothballs.
Dr. Bob gave me a quick tour of the small home and ushered me to a room off of the dining room. A small sitting area with a roll-top desk, shelves filled with books, and papers scattered literally everywhere. It was exactly how you imagine a professor kept his office. Sitting down on a leather sofa, he politely offered a glass of red wine, which I did not decline.
The wine had some history that I’ve long forgotten but it sounded important. We then began discussing my first paper, getting lost down rabbit holes here and there. It was so fun to quiz him on this theory or that, to have him validate or challenge my ideas. We discussed one paper, then another, then another class and its final exam topics. In what seemed like fifteen minutes, nearly an hour and a half had flown by. Like an hour glass, the wine too had disappeared. Realizing the time, I told Dr. Bob of my plans with my boyfriend and that I should probably leave soon.
“If you want to slightly push your plans, we can discuss that last final of yours and enjoy one last glass of wine,” he suggested. I was really in the flow of things and the wine had been amazing so far. I agreed to stay a bit longer and grabbed my cell phone. Taking longer than expected, let’s push dinner 30 minutes, I texted.
Bringing back a newly opened bottle of wine, with its own story of origin, Dr. Bob sat down next to me on the couch. As the clock approached 8, the last exam and glass of wine were nearly finished. However, without thinking twice about it, I realized that my dear professor had come very close to me.
I recall wearing a brown wool sweater with a classy v-neck type design. With my bust size, it made a small but obvious amount of cleavage. Cleavage that it seemed Dr. Bob was looking at directly. Making a note on my papers I felt that obvious feeling of eyes on me. It was at that moment that I made another realization. I don’t know how long it had been, but a certain older man had his hand on my thigh.
It is moments like these that there are decisions to make. Do you politely excuse yourself and leave the room? Do you acknowledge it but move on like nothing happened? Are you disgusted? Are you indifferent? Are you aroused?
I started to feel guilty almost immediately when I recognized my thoughts. Not only was I not upset at this advance, but I was oddly ok with the moment. When your mind races, it seems you can process a million thoughts in just a few seconds. I went from taking notes, to feeling a hand on my thigh, to being turned on, in the amount of time it took me to put my pen down on the table.
I knew I shouldn’t though. I knew I wasn’t that kind of girl and this wasn’t even the time to be that kind of girl. This wasn’t some super hot fantasy and I had an incredible boyfriend just minutes away ready for dinner with me. Dinner and amazing sex, if I wanted it. But here I was, my mind considering making a really bad decision.
I was startled from my inner thoughts by the squeezing of his right hand on my thigh. I suppose he had realized that I wasn’t brushing him away and he slowly made the next move. Massaging my thigh he moved his hand several inches, from my knee to deep inside my thigh, and back again, repeatedly. My arousal becoming more intense.
My head finally turned to make eye contact and speak. I had to say something.
“We can’t,” is what muttered with what I’m sure was zero believability.
“It’s ok princess,” he responded with the tone of a man speaking to a young girl. I suppose I felt his authority at that moment. “Now show daddy that incredible body,” he continued while shifting his hands to either side of my sweater.
It slowly came up and over my head revealing my breasts fully filling out a black lace bra.
“Wow, I always knew you were busty Sara, but those are beautiful,” he said matter of factly as the back of his hand traced around my upper body. His hands moved from my neck, to my cleavage, and everywhere in between. My breasts responded to his touch and my eyes closed hoping to avoid watching my awkward situation. This was happening I suppose.
“Now stand up,” he motioned and pulled my arm up from his seated position. “Don’t be shy darling,” he said, directing me just like he had all night. Except now instead of educational matters he was casting his perverted thoughts onto me.