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“Maybe you could be a little later?” he suggested, raising his eyebrows. I almost agreed. I almost went with him. Maybe I could be a little later. Maybe I could just let him take me on the couch that I just seconds ago ripped apart in quest of my panties. I was ready for him, after all. My panties were off and the minute he’d walked in the door my vagina had practically sung. But then he said, “Professor Khan isn’t that great anyway.”
That brought me back to reality. I had a professor. I had school. I had worked damn hard to achieve all of that. He had piqued my curiosity, though.
“You know Professor Khan?”
Mr. No Name shrugged, “I’ve seen him around campus.”
I wanted to know more. I was about to ask if he went to my school, but thought better of it. His appearance and home suggested otherwise. He looked a little bit older than your average college student and his house was much nicer than the average college dude-bro. Maybe he taught there? That was a can of worms I did not want to open up.
I used the lull in our conversation to my advantage and snatched the panties out of his hand before his reflexes kicked in. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment I felt like he was the predator and I was the prey. He licked his lips, as if about to charge, but then a horn sounded from outside. Rachael was here. Without looking back, I dashed out of the house.
Rachael and I couldn’t arrive on campus fast enough. The car ride there was basically an interrogation.
“Was he good?”
“Rachael!”
“Well?”
“Yes he was amazing. It was the best sex ever.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.” Rachael eyed me inquisitively before making a sharp turn in to campus parking. Truthfully, though I’d said it sarcastically, I’d meant every word. It had been the best sex of my life. It was passionate, emotional, and fucking rough. Still, I was only eighteen. There would be more of that, right?
Right?
Rachael pulled into student parking and our conversation was cut off. Our classes were on opposite sides of campus so we had to say goodbye. I gave her a hug, said thanks, and took off in a sprint. I was not going to be late.
The great thing about college is that you don’t look like an idiot sprinting. Back in high school you would be made fun of for running to class. No one wanted to admit that they cared about learning. Here? Everyone was sprinting or had their nose in a book. It was cool to care.
I arrived just in time to get a seat. I might have nudged a few other students who were making their way inside, just to be safe. I chose a seat right in front, because I wanted to make sure that I got every ounce of knowledge out of this.
Checking my phone, I saw that I had actually made it to class with five minutes to spare. Go me! I pulled my laptop out of my case, organized my pens and notebook, and got ready for my first official day as a college student.
Time ticked on, people got situated, whispers turned in to full blown conversations, but the professor still hadn’t shown. It was now ten past seven and he was officially late. I started to get butterflies in my stomach. Was I in the right class? I double-checked the door number and my online schedule; yes, I was in the right class.
After another five minutes passed I pulled up the textbook for the class—may as well use the time to get ahead on reading. Just as I was getting into the formulas (not really…) the door opened.
A man walked in carrying a briefcase and dressed business casual. My throat dried up. My brain short-circuited. He could not be the professor. I watched horrorstruck as the man went to the white board and wrote the name of the class on the board, as well as his name, Professor Khan.
Who was my professor?
None other than my one-night stand.
2
Hitting The Books... Hard
Class was a blur, a dreadful, this-can’t-be-happening-to-me blur. Good thing it was the first day and all we did was discuss the syllabus, because I couldn’t comprehend a single thing. I vaguely remembered passing a handout to the person next to me, but mostly I stared. I stared as my one-night stand lectured the hall—and me—like it was any other day.
Well, to him it was any other day.
When 10 a.m. came around, the class filed out but I remained seated, staring at the back of his head. My eye twitched in anger as he shuffled his papers back into his briefcase.
I was a woman possessed as I followed him out of the room, up a flight of stairs, and down a dimly lit hallway. He opened a door and entered an office—his office. Because he was a professor. My professor. When he shut the door, complete silence engulfed us for, oh, about 2.5 seconds. I broke it with my indignant voice.
“You’ve seen him around campus?” I yelled, repeating what he’d said to me that very morning, just a few hours before.
“I suppose we’re a little bit closer than that,” he remarked, a smirk on his lips.
