Professor with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  The deep timbre of his voice strikes me.

  “Are we supposed to be writing something?”

  He smiles broadly and tilts his head.

  Why does it feel like he’s looking through me? He narrows his eyes like he can see what all the boys who walked past me in the classroom didn’t. His expression is merciless, but his face is perfection. When he examines me, goosebumps grow all over my body. It’s like he has x-ray vision and can see right through my plan.

  It’s then that I realize I’ve left my journal open next to my class notebook, and he can read the pages I’ve written.

  My dumb experiment.

  He smirks. “Interesting,” is all he says before walking away.

  I watch his ass with interest as he slowly meanders down the aisle.

  I scribble something down in my notebook.

  Possible to lose my virginity to a professor?

  Class ends shortly after that incident. Thankfully, the rest of my classes are without fanfare. Add in the fact that I can’t think about much aside from “Professor McHottie,” as Liz has already dubbed him, and I have a gargantuan case of ADHD on my hands for the rest of the week.

  I’m doodling in my journal, trying to come up with ways to accomplish my latest experiment.

  I’ve got to lose my virginity this year and I’ve got to lose it to someone who knows what they’re doing, but won’t make it into this outrageous ordeal that I’m a twenty-two year old woman who still hasn’t had sex.

  Professor Hanks is the perfect specimen. With his serious demeanor, hot body, and apparent equipment (though I’m still convinced I’m somehow being deceived), he’d make the perfect man to teach me how to run therapy on a client.

  Chapter Three - Rose

  Next Friday arrives, and I’ve come up with a crazy plan.

  It’s something so wild I can’t tell even Liz. Before class starts I’m sitting on my bed, staring at the question I jotted down in my journal the night before.

  How does a girl like me seduce a professor?

  I can’t find the words to explain how he’s taken over my mind the past few days. Professor Hanks has infiltrated my conscious thoughts, not to mention my dreams. He has become an obsession that I can’t shake loose. I jotted down my thoughts late into the night last night.

  I must lose my virginity this year. I need to lose it to a dominant man. Professor Hanks is a dominant man, therefore I want it to be Professor Hanks who I give it to.

  Standing there naked, I glance between my body and the full length mirror. I’ve always been a curvier girl, but it seems like only just this year that my boobs caught up to the rest of my body. I’ve gone up two cup sizes in the last four months.

  I stare at my wardrobe, contemplating the most devious idea my mind has ever conceived. Blackwell is much warmer today than it was on Monday when I did my “hoodie experiment” which is perfect, because today my mind has led me down another path of experimentation entirely. I pull out a pair of short denim cutoffs. I slide a thong on first, then squeeze into the tiny shorts. I slip a Blackwell Gamecocks shirt on after I carefully maneuver my tits into a black satin push-up bra. The shirt is from my junior year, so it might be a size too small for my ample chest, making it perfect for its intended use. I file in early to Professor Hanks’ class, making sure to get a seat in the first row.

  Today he’s presenting via powerpoint about the history of sexuality.

  Rachel, the girl sitting to my left, has stars in her eyes and at one point during the presentation I literally catch her drooling while staring at Professor Hanks. He’s wearing an especially tight pair of jeans today, and when he turns to write on the whiteboard, she stares shamelessly at his ass. Hell, we all do. Rachel, Liz, me, and Francisco the gay guy sitting on my right.

  I nudge Francisco. “Hey, I didn’t see you in class on the first day,” I whisper. “How’d I miss you?”

  He smiles. “Oh hello there honey. I just transferred into the class today. I’m auditing.”

  “You’re...just auditing?”

  “Oh yeah. Did you see his Professor.com rating? He’s literally the hottest professor nationally. I thought I better audit Professor McHottie and make sure the ratings are legitimate.” Francisco winks.

  “Perve,” I push him gently. Nothing like your gay friend to be a shameless flirt.

  “What? You’d have to be lacking a pulse to not be attracted to that man. Oh my God! Do you think he might be gay?”

  I scrunched up my face. “What? Him? No. He doesn’t activate the gaydar at all.”

  “Can you find out!?” he whispers excitedly.

  “How exactly would I go about doing that?”

  “Oh please girl. You look hot as fuck today. Just drop into his office after class and see how he reacts. Play it up.”

  “Play it up?! What does that even mean?”

  “C’mon Rose,” he shakes his head. “Don’t play dumb. Push your tits out a little. Tempt him with those tight ass shorts, wiggle your ass in front of him.”

  If anyone else was saying this to me, even Liz, it would be more than slightly creepy. Coming from Francisco, it's doesn’t come off as creepy though. And I'm actually considering it.

  Professor McHottie talks us through the lecture, but I'm not thinking about the sexual history of humanity. No, I'm thinking about my own sexual bucket list instead. The list is long, considering I've never even sucked on a hard cock. That one time with Brandon? He was very drunk; and even though I tried like hell, I couldn't get him hard. The plan that’s been developing in my head is crazier than anything I've ever done, but I'm going to go through with it.

  I call on the words of my favorite movie, Shawshank Redemption. “Get busy living or get busy dying.” Today, I choose to get busy living.

  After class wraps up I head to the Psychology wing of the building and wait outside Professor Hanks’ office. His door is shut, and the secretary outside of his office tells me to have a seat and wait until he finishes his current meeting. It’s while I’m sitting there that I realize I have the perfect ‘in’ to chat with him.

  Since my senior advisor, Professor Yeager, is gone on sabbatical this summer, that would make him my temporary advisor, right? It stands to reason I should get to know him. What if I have an important question about senior year classes in the fall term next year?

  As I’m sitting there daydreaming up ways to convince this man to take my virginity, his office door opens. I shouldn’t be surprised to see that it’s one of the waify blondes from class standing there, finishing up her meeting.

  “Thanks so much, Professor Hanks,” she says, her green eyes glimmering in the man's presence. She shakes his hand, making sure to linger a little longer than necessary.

  I should abandon my plan. I'm not his type. I've got short shorts and a t shirt on, the extent of my ability to dress sexy. Blonde Waif has a tight white skirt on, like she’s about to head to her shift as a cocktail waitress. I stand up and take two steps toward the door. I’m running out of here. This plan is dumb, I’m borderline insane, and he loves waify blondes, not curvy brunettes.

  “Where’s Jordyn?” his voice booms throughout the room, stopping me in my tracks. No one has called me that in years, everyone knows I go by Rose. He turns toward his secretary. “Didn’t you say he was waiting?”

  I stop in my tracks, then pivot around to face him. “That’s me,” I blush.

  “Jordyn. You’re not a guy.” He smiles, feigning confusion.

  “No. Definitely not,” I smile nervously. “I go by Rose.”

  He gives me an up and down, and I want to shrink into myself. It’s too late to turn back. My heart thumps, but I won’t let him see how he affects me. I toss my hair, hold my head high, and I walk into his office.

  “Sit, Jordyn Rose.” he points to the easy chair in his office. The room is rather large, for a Professor’s office, and the bookshelves on two of the four walls are filled to the brim with thick academic textbooks. I wonder if he's r
ead all of them.

  I obey, setting my book bag down, before taking a seat. I push my chest out as far as I can, though he doesn't seem to notice.

  “Looks like I'm going to be your advisor this summer, helping you pick out your last round of classes for the fall. Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself.”

  He looks down at some papers and shifts them around his deck. Is he even paying any attention to me? Nervousness creeps in, and my throat involuntarily tenses. My voice comes out shaky as I croak, “I'm a sexuality studies major.”

  He nods. “How did you decide on that?”

  I lick my lips. I want to learn how to seduce guys like you. “I’ve just always been curious about sex. What can two people do to both be totally satisfied together in the bedroom? I have a journal, and I write a lot of ridiculous questions in it like that. I want to be a sex therapist someday.”

  Now I’ve finally got his full attention, I think. “Really? You want to be a sex therapist.”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to get your doctorate after Blackwell?”

  “I haven’t thought about it to be completely honest with you, Professor Hanks.”

  “Jor--I mean, Rose. You know you need a doctorate to be an official therapist, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, of course. I just figured I would take a year off before I applied to schools. Maybe waitress, or travel abroad. I’m not sure yet. I need a bit more experience before I start practicing. Like real life experience.”

  He eases back in his chair and folds his hands. “I can understand that. You don’t want to be just another therapist giving advice about something you only know academically. It makes total sense. How can I help?”

  He cocks his head slightly, squints at me, and I feel a wave of heat surge through me. Be brave.

  “Actually, I do have a question. You’re a younger professor, so I thought maybe you could give me a different perspective on it.”

  I don’t think he’s doing it intentionally, but I see his pecs flex in the blue button down he’s wearing today.

  “Of course. Anything I can do to help.”

  “It’s kind of a personal question. Is that okay?”

  “Of course. Anything, Rose.”

  I swallow and pause. “I want to lose my virginity this year, and I’ve been thinking of ways to do it.”

  “Uh, okay… What’s your question?”

  Get busy living, or get busy dying.

  I stand up and summon every ounce of courage I have. My palms sweat. I look down at the ground as I walk around to his side of the desk. He half spins in his chair so he’s facing me. My eyes glide across his tight, faded jeans. He looks more like a cowboy than a professor.

  Finally my eyes meet his. “I like you, Professor Hanks. I’ve thought a lot about this.” I pause. “This is going to sound crazy, but I was thinking how I want a guy like you to take my virginity. I don’t want one of these college guys who pump and dump girls like it’s a sport. I want someone who knows what he’s doing, and I want him to be smart. Gentle but rough. Masculine. Dominant. I kept thinking how I want a guy like you, and then I thought, no. I want you. Just you.”

  His jaw falls open. Before he can speak, I complete my thought so that it’s crystal clear. “Professor Hanks, will you take my virginity?”

  He stands up and adrenaline pours through me. What will he do? Bend me over the desk? Kiss me softly? A combination of the two?

  “Get the fuck out of my office,” he growls. “Now.”

  I put my tail between my legs and get out.

  Chapter Four - Cole

  I thought the Dean asking me to get a drink with her two minutes after getting done with her sexual harassment seminar was the weirdest thing that would happen to me in Blackwell.

  It hasn’t even been a week, and Jordyn Rose proves that thought to be absolutely, one hundred and ten percent wrong.

  Is there something in the campus water supply that made everyone extra fucking horny and crazy around here?

  I kick back in my office chair and look out the window for a moment. The trees outside my window are green, lush, and in full bloom.

  I sigh. In another life, Rose could have been mine, sure. But not in this one. It’s too risky, and though I’ve taken a fuck load of chances in my life, I can’t risk this.

  I pick up the only picture frame on my desk. It’s from the nineties, and not in perfect focus, but it’s my favorite photo of all time. I stare at the woman, my reason for coming back to Blackwell.

  I look at the picture of my mom, she’s wearing overalls and a white t-shirt, and the smile on her face is so broad while she holds me in her arms, you’d think she just won the lottery by having me.

  In reality, she was an eighteen year old woman who had a baby before she wanted to; but in my childhood, not a single day went by that I didn’t feel her love.

  As a Harvard Psychology professor, I had no shortage of options of places to teach across the U.S. But I need to be back in Blackwell for her. She told me I couldn’t make my life decisions based on her, but when she’d been diagnosed with skin cancer a year ago I decided eight years of college and grad school was plenty of time away. So I came back to take care of her. I rented a cheap place on the outskirts of town because it’s close to the hospital.

  As good as my professor salary is, I have to toss every extra dime I can at her medical bills. She’d sacrificed eighteen years of her life for me, and I damn well am not about to toss my life out the window just because the hottest twenty-two year old brunette bombshell I’ve ever met walks into my office and asks me--like it’s a business transaction--to take her virginity.

  Fuck no. I’ve got more self control than that.

  But holy hell, she is hot. My cock is still hard against my jeans thinking about her.

  I close my eyes and think of everything non sexual. Old socks. Cactuses. Trees.

  After a few minutes and some deep breaths, I’m calm, impressing myself with how impervious I am to temptation.

  I pick up the phone and dial my most frequently called number.

  “Hey Mom.”

  “Hi Coley!” I can hear her smiling through the phone.

  “Get your going out pants on. I’m taking you to dinner tonight, and karaoke. Be ready at eight sharp.”

  She giggles and agrees.

  A night with my mom is just what I need this Friday, anyway. Romance? Who needs it? Not this guy.

  “I had a great time tonight, Coley,” my mom says as I walk her to the door of her house.

  “You sure you don’t want me to stay over tonight? We can watch eighties movies tonight, then watch some cartoons tomorrow morning like we used to.”

  “Oh please, Coley. I’m worried about you.” She turns and faces me before we get to the door. “It’s Friday night. You’re a twenty-eight year old single guy. You need to be out there doing what single guys do, not watching old eighties movies with your mother.”

  “I love The Breakfast Club though. John Hughes is a genius.”

  “Who is John Hughes?”

  “The writer of The Breakfast Club.”

  “Oh. Ohhh. I didn’t know that. I’ll have to look him up. Well, no you can’t stay here. Besides, I’m writing my book tomorrow.”

  My ears perk up. “You’re writing a book?”

  “Yes,” she says. “It’s about all the crazy things that happen in Blackwell. This is a small town, but I tell you, the gossip here. It’s book-worthy. And I’m working on it all day tomorrow. I need to finish it before, you know. Before I--”

  A wave of emotion runs through me. “Mom, don’t you dare even mention that. You’re going to get better. You’re going to be around for a long, long time.”

  Her eyes well up when she sees how serious I am. “How do you know?”

  “Because I know, Mom. Trust me. I’m smart. I didn’t get all those fancy Harvard degrees for nothing. I talked with the doctor, your cancer is definitely curable.”

 
She smiles up at me through teary eyes, then falls into me for a hug. I wrap her up in my arms, holding her tightly against my chest.

  “Get a good night’s sleep.”

  She nods, heads inside, and the screen door slams shut.

  She’s right about one thing: Blackwell has enough stories to fill a trilogy as big as Lord of the Rings, probably even bigger.

  I get back in my pickup truck and start the drive back to my place. The temperature outside is so perfect right now. What a shame to go to bed before ten on a night like this.

  Fuck it. The wheels screech as I make a U-turn, heading back in the direction of Cherry Street, the “downtown” of Blackwell, if you want to call it that. Downtown Blackwell includes three bars just off Cherry Street: Blue’s Music Bar, The Big Bar, and The Watering Hole.

  Yeah, I know. We are ultra creative in our bar names.

  Almost as creative as the name Blackwell. The town used to be a stop on the Oregon Trail, and it had--you guessed it--a black well.

  I digress. Five minutes later I’m parked directly in front of The Watering Hole, my old favorite spot when I was in high school. I haven’t been inside here but one or two times in the last eight years when I was home for winter break or Thanksgiving.

  Inside, The Watering Hole is exactly how I remember it: a sampling of the people of Blackwell itself. The booths on the side of the bar are nearly full, as is the space around the U-shaped bar. Blackwell is a cross section of middle America. A little bit southern, also rural. A little midwestern. A hint of University town. A little bit urban, add in some Spanish speaking. And a touch of prosperous factory town.

  At least it was, until ten or so years ago when the local Maytag plant moved south of the border, taking 10,000 union jobs. This town, once glorious, won’t likely ever return to it’s boomtown days of the past.

  But the bar sure stays in business, that’s for sure.

  I grab a seat on a barstool and watch as the bartender serves up a few Bud Lights to some patrons on the far side of the bar away from me. All I want is a couple of solo drinks so I can be alone with my thoughts, and then I’ll be on my merry fucking way tonight.