Prologue (Professor Confessions)

Background (Who's writing this Drivel?)

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To set the foundation for this collection of inappropriate adventures, it seems like a little background might be in order. The background story here covers the ages of eighteen through twenty-five, and sets up some stories of my late twenties that will follow as separate stories. I was a college professor during that time and I managed to get myself into trouble, but came out of it all clean and with many amazing memories. For about five years, I was the Slutty Professor.

On that note, I want to say that these tales are rooted in truth, modified by poor memory, spiced up with a few 'creative memories' of how I wish it would have gone instead of how it went, and in some instances feedback from the woman with whom I shared the adventure. They are anywhere from sixty percent true to nine-nine percent true. Names have been changed, birthmarks have been moved, participants have been made a little prettier, and locations have been blurred to avoid any chance to connect the dots to reality. Except for the one story, where I actually left the locations in and hope no one figures it out from a map.

The part that was unbelievably fun here is that in talking with a woman who's encounter with me will not appear here, the idea of a "He said, She said" version of each story was proposed. She happens to know some of the people in these stories personally (i. e., I made the mistake of fucking around in a small circle), so it put her in a position to interview them after the fact. I also interviewed some of her one-night stands and gave her the transcripts, which she may or may not have done anything with.

In some cases, her interview was a few years after the fact, and it was funny to hear what the woman had to say. Our recollections didn't always match. Their feedback taught me a few things: (1) my dick was not as big as I thought, (2) I was a bigger giver in bed than I recalled, and (3) they were in it for the sex as much as I was. The gambit of emotions these revelations caused was notable, but what it did more than anything is allow me to see the beauty, comedy, adventure, and growth associated with my years as a male, teacher slut.

What my friend learned from all of her interviews, and she insists I share wherever I publish them, is that (1) women from cultures that put a high value on a college education are more apt to give blowjobs to teachers, (2) women who sleep with a TA generally do it with multiple TAs by the time they graduate, and (3) no one sleeps with a teacher for a better grade. They all seem like reasonable observations, even the third one, when I think about my encounters with students. The observations could likely be the foundation of a PhD dissertation in psychology or sociology. For me, it actually was a "holy crap, she's so right" idea I had never considered before. So on that note, I will post six of the roughly fifty hook ups that I had with students over the years.

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Prologue (My Coming of Age as a Slut)

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My social life, and that is really just a more socially acceptable way to say 'sex life', didn't begin until college. And it wasn't pretty... as in, kind of pathetic. I was a delayed, late bloomer who watched teammates in high school getting girlfriends and according to their stories, getting laid often. But, I didn't date. Although I can blame some of that on being extremely poor and attending a rich high school using a fake address, it was my lack of self-confidence. College gave me a new start, and although my shyness was debilitating at times, I started to get attention from women.

During my sophomore year in the winter quarter, I was selected to serve as a teaching assistant (TA) for a two-unit freshman lab class, which meant I would be assigning a grade to sixteen freshman or transfer students. It was a coup to get to TA a lab class, and to be chosen so young was a huge resume stamp. It was also my first time ever in a position of power, and I was intent on respecting that. It is inevitable that students get crushes on their teachers, and I was steadfast in my ideology that I would not let anything happen.

Three weeks into our ten-week class, I found myself in office hours with the one straggler student, who I knew to be very smart. It was obvious Sharon was dragging her feet until everyone else left and we could be alone. I relished the thought of putting my morality to the test. I deflected her random quirky comments about my working out and invitations to get coffee like a seasoned vet. She was quite attractive and alluring, but I would not cave. I was a professional and knew better than to engage in inappropriate behavior with a student. As it were, she happened to attend to a party that a few of my teammates on the volleyball team were throwing, so I ran into her in a social setting. She was a little tipsy when she spotted me, and her filter was clearly soluble in ethanol. She was wearing a short black skirt and a pink crop top, despite it being a chili February evening. The outfit made her olive skin stunning, especially the contrast again her pink top. It was probably in the low sixties or high fifties outside, so she was cold. I offered my sweat jacket for her, and she took this as a sign we were on our way to getting undressed. She was linked to me for the night, and I regretted it as soon as she said yes.

Her friend Vicky started making comments about shoe size and wrist diameter, which at the time meant nothing to me. Again, I was late to the party when it came to this sort of stuff. But it was oddly enjoyable when they physically inspected me. I knew it was wrong, but I liked their hands on me. Sharon was particularly generous with her touch, and it felt enticing. She was about five-four and very tan. Her dark brown hair was styled with a few machine-assisted curls, and it would probably be lighter in a few months, when she would be outside more. She had a cute face built around these amazing lips. She had the build of a tennis player and the way she would look at you was captivating. Vicky was about four inches taller than Sharon and looked like a typical blonde for our school in that Ms. Clairol and her got together a few times a month. She had long, straight hair that went to the middle of her back and she looked like the average 'surfer chick'. She was cute, but not beautiful.

As we stood around chatting, our setter, Rich Davies, came up and joined the circus. He was not quite inebriated yet, but he was a committed and dedicated drinker who trained relentlessly and would get there soon. He stumbled into Sharon a few times in what I would learn in time to be his mating ritual. She was skilled at the art of bob-and-weave, and adept at positioning her wingman for the direct attacks. Poor Vicky got the brunt of the off balance stumble-and-grabs. I watched as Sharon balanced avoiding him with hitting on me in a more aggressive fashion. The light chest touches and always making hand contact when talking was having its effect on me. She was getting sexier and prettier the more we stood there. About the time I was staring to look for the loopholes in my morality, two more teammates arrived, both seniors. Vicky was mesmerized and Sharon was distracted. In a matter of five minutes, I went from contemplating if morality was all it was cracked up to be, to watching Sharon disappear into one of the bedrooms with my senior teammate.

The next Tuesday, Sharon arrived early to lab so as to return my jacket. She spoke in short sentences and made little to no eye contact. It was awkward for the rest of the labs that quarter, and we hadn't even slept together. I'm sure some of the other students noticed and assumed Sharon and I had engaged in an extralabital affair. It was an odd lesson at the time that I did not enjoy learning. Right before the end of that school year, Sharon found me on campus and invited me to get coffee. We sat and talked, as she spent a good amount of time trying to explain that she really isn't that type of girl, and that she was worried I thought poorly of her. Right about the time I was feeling a little sympathy for her plight, I found out that she was sleeping with her math TA, a twenty-four year old graduate student.

I went home and did the math in my head: 1 hot girl + 1 party where she was ripe + 1 ounce of shyness on my part + 1 pinch of morality = 1 not getting laid by a hot girl + 1 missing out on dating a girl I was attracted to.

While I was not a math major, or math graduate student, I knew that I had gotten the problem wrong. I proceeded to reconfigure my moral perspective and quit the volleyball team, not out of that incident but because I just wasn't good enough to play at the D1 level. It was just part of my self-evaluation and reinvention process that led me to be such a sellout that Madonna would be jealous. Starting that day, I was a different person who exuded more confidence, and I ended up getting a very pretty girlfriend early in my junior year. So, the come-ons I got in classes I TAed that year went unanswered for a different reason: loyalty. I think students can smell the difference between a single TA and a taken TA.

It wasn't until graduation day that I ran into Sharon again. She sought me out before the processional. I guess it hit her that that day might be the last chance she'd have to talk to me. She asked me point blank why I didn't fuck her at that party and why I didn't pursue her after the class ended. With all the thoughts in my head that day, which mostly had to do with where I would be partying after this tassel parade was done, missing my chance with Sharon was not one of them... at least until she found me.

I ended up fucking Sharon's brains out that night and well into morning. It was my first fling ever, something I had been eager to do since recently becoming single. My girlfriend and I had broken up a few weeks before graduation, but were still on good terms. Well, we were on good terms until that morning when she arrived to find a naked Sharon in my apartment. Sharon was not too happy that my ex had a key and had interrupted a euphoric aftersex shower we happened to ne sharing at the time my ex came into the bathroom to deliver my graduation present. An hour later, as I sat in my empty apartment wondering how everything had gone wrong so fast, it was once again time to do a little math. It was simple math this time. Sharon + x = 0.

So I headed to graduate school a few weeks later, at the end of June, opting to join a lab for the summer. It was a godsend to get away from the mess I had created. It was once again a chance to reinvent myself. During the first few months of graduate school, classmates began pairing up into committed relationships. I was actually a hot commodity as one of the more attractive graduate students, which is kind of like saying I was the hottest guy in the 'Men of Dungeons and Dragons' calendar. But nevertheless, I took it as a good sign and enjoyed the ego boost. I also decided I was too good to be dating in this pool, and set out for the open ocean. I was twenty-two, and ready to stop being a minnow.

While the water was still calm, I set out for a swim and found an eighteen-year-old freshman away from her oppressive home and eager to spread her wings... and lips. I was there to help to this blonde trinket from a 98% Anglo suburb find her way in this crazy college setting. One blow-job in her dorm room later, and I was starting to think I kind of liked this new me, and that I had clearly been created to be a playboy. A week later in study hall, where TAs hold office hours, I was at a table alone waiting for any student in my class who needed help. It ended up that a senior lit major I had never seen before strolled up, because she had no clue who her TA was and no idea of what was going on in her science class that she was inserted into in order to graduate. As a newly anointed playboy, I felt that it was my duty to help this absolutely stunning Eurasian young lady get on track in her GE class. It was obvious that a night out clubbing was exactly what she needed, and when we woke up in bed together the next morning, my genius level understanding of her needs was validated.

It was my third adventure as 'the guy' when the water became a little turbulent. I had accepted an invitation to hit up a local bar where a roommate of one of my students was playing. That's a not-so-fancy way of saying that the hot girl in my discussion/lab section gave everyone a flyer for an upstart band with limited talent playing in a setting where people would be too drunk to notice that the music sucked. The place had about two hundred people standing around waiting for a crappy band to come on stage thirty minutes after they were scheduled to. My student found me and holy fuck was she on fire. She had short cut-off jeans, this top that could only be described as a checkered, black and red, cloth napkin tied in some way that it barely covered her tits. She had short cowgirl boots, which I learned after asking her about them were not cowboy boots for girls. I'm still not sure what the difference is.

The thing that makes this picture so memorable (and double take-worthy) is that it was a grunge metal band, and she was this white-washed Chinese-American girl trying hard to distance herself from the stereotypes she had the joy of experiencing. Apparently her strategy was to dress like a cowgirl and detach from all Asians. I sat at a round table with two of her friends and in order to save room for any other friends who might show up, she was generous enough to sit on my lap so there would be room for others. As she sat there pressed against my awoken cock, I asked if any students in our class would be showing up. She took a sadistic joy in telling me "Yes, there will be a few." After basking in her schadenfreude-induced joy for about a minute, she came clean and said they were all underage and wouldn't be making it, and that it was a safe space for me to engage in foreplay with her, which I did.

I was utterly grateful when she suggested we leave during the second song, under some premise that she may have not fed her goldfish and we needed to get to her place fast. We got back just in the nick of time to sprinkle some nasty-smelling paper machete from an oversized saltshaker into the tank. At that moment, overcome with gratitude for my assistance during this crisis, Nancy felt the burning need to express her appreciation with kinky intercourse. This woman had learned a thing or two in her twenty-one years on the planet, which ended up being only nineteen according to her actual ID. I woke up the next morning a new man, having placed my tongue and dick into places I was unaware it could go during sex. I was growing up fast.

As it were, I was her TA for both discussion and lab, so were guaranteed to spend two days a week together.. The week following the concert, she looked like a typical nerdy kid with her horn-rimmed safety glasses and white lab coat that hid the amazing curves I knew she had below. It was a challenge to remain professional but I did. It was sensual foreplay to ignore how much I wanted her, and thankfully lab was only three hours, so I could be inside of her within three and a half hours. In discussion section, she would wear a short skirt and sit in the front row, and we'd play a game of "where are her panties?" One time, late at night, I had her bent over the teacher's desk in the front of that classroom as I lifted her skirt up and penetrated her from behind. At that instant, I had evolved from playboy into cliché smut novel character. Thankfully she had a fully developed sense of humor, as we laughed at the porn scene we had just lived out. But what I saw as comedy, she saw as inspiration.

The next week in lab, our last lab of the semester, she showed up in pigtails with her horn-rimmed glasses and lab coat, which was fine. During the lab she kept making gestures for me to head to the tiny glassware storeroom, attached to the lab itself. I finally did and she followed me in. She flashed me in the room, and underneath that lab coat was crotchless lingerie that accentuated her sexy breasts, gorgeous tight abs, and welcoming pussy. I lost it mentally, and somehow made it though to finish checking people out of lab. It was insane; it was also witnessed by a girl in the class who felt the need to tell people in charge. The ocean was now a storm with 100-mph winds and thirty-foot waves, not ideal for my tiny rowboat.

The following week I found myself light-headed, sitting in a wooden chair, left over from when Noah was building his arc, sitting in front of a panel of real-life versions of Farside cartoon characters. The woman on the left had not let go of the fifties, and her bouffant hair was comical to the point I couldn't take her seriously. The man on the right was clearly some new professor stuck on a committee who didn't want to be there. And my man in the middle, heading the whole show, was a senior professor who should have retired years ago but wouldn't, so they put him out to pasture as a dean. These three would be deciding my fate.

I started my defense by stating that I had first met Nancy her in a concert venue in town where we both showed up to watch this amazing up-and-coming local band. I did not believe she could have been my student, because it was 21 and over, not a place freshman could get into. I won the woman over with my sound age-based logic and the old dude believed the all Asians look the same so how could I possibly know it was the same person or not, but the young guy saw through my bullshit. I stated that I did not see her again for a few weeks, and it was off campus, so again I did not recognize her out of context and still believed it was two different people. I still had a 2-1 vote leaning in my favor and I should have stopped there. But I wanted 3-0 damn it, and marched on. I said the lab incident was not what it appeared, and that she was showing me a birthmark on her abdomen, to prove she was the same person. I won over the young guy who I think just wanted to end this charade, but what I never saw coning was that the woman would be so appalled that I had laid eyes on this woman's uncovered abdomen out of wedlock and the old racist guy I had been counting on, started to consider that people could be identified by more than eye-shape and hair color.

I was stunned by the verdict, which came out a week later for some archaic reason. I was found to have a violated a school policy, but of all the crazy things, it was for allowing a student to go past the designated safety line in the lab by one step. I was in trouble not because this hot girl who had been fucking me like a toy for eight weeks was flashing her twat in the storeroom, but that she had literally stepped over a line on the floor to do it. I got to stay in school, but I would be on a short leash. Nancy and I laughed each time we read the verdict. She had gone with the ignorance angle in her interrogation, and thankfully thought quickly on her feet when the old lady asked about her being underage in a bar. She explained that she worked there in the summers stocking supplies and that she happened to stop in that day to learn more about the band. She also suspected the young guy wanted to fuck her, because he kept asking about the birthmark and exactly how low it was on her abdomen, and if it was actually a tattoo.

Nancy's punishment was harsher, as her parents made her transfer to a small, Christian liberal arts school in the hopes of taming her. While she was not my girlfriend, as I repeatedly told the interrogation team, I had grown close with her. I genuinely missed her. She had been my best sex education teacher ever, and I hoped I had helped her path too while actually being her teacher. So as my first year of grad school came to an end, I did an assessment of the two times I opted to insert my dick into a student. One had lost me contact with an ex-girlfriend I really liked for the rest of my life and the other landed me before a disciplinary board. It would seem that the whole morality thing might have been a good option. But I am a slow learner, and life marched on with more bad decisions on the horizon.

My second and third years of graduate school entailed no TA requirement, so I was unable to make bad decisions involving behavior with students who's grade I controlled. But I found other ways to make questionable choices.

To be continued... (with detailed accounts of some of those bad decisions)