My geology professor was a petite, auburn haired goddess. Early thirties, nice tits, green eyes, always wore skirts that showed off her shapely legs. And I was in love. Whether it was her intimidating beauty or the fear of being called upon in class, I'll never know. But nobody ever sat in the first row—nobody, that is, except for me. I was a shy little coward, but I knew what I liked. I sat close enough to smell her. She wore Chanel No. 5 as if it were invented solely for her. She put on just enough to be fragrant, but only to someone who paid attention. I was that someone, forever giving her my rigid attention. It was her intoxicating aroma that washed over me and lit up the inside of my brain at night, every night, when I took out my cock and fantasized about being with her.
As usual, I was the lone student seated in the front row on the day of the final exam, and that suited me just fine. Only today, an important detail in my routine had changed. I passed by my usual spot at front and center and moved six chairs over to sit directly in front of the large oak desk I knew she'd be seated at when she came in to proctor the exam. The bittersweet end of the course had come at last, and I was intent on getting one last good look at her. I wanted to lock the closest details of her beauty into my memory before she vanished from my life forever.
"You moved," she said to me in her feminine voice when she entered the room, a tower of exams leaning into her torso.
"Oh yes," I blurted, thankful my voice did not crack. It was the first time she'd said anything directly to me that wasn't a question posed to the rest of the class. Feeling the desire to extend our little conversation, I added, "For final exams, I like to sit close to a clock."
Her sensuous lips parted when she smiled at me, revealing a flawless row of dazzling white teeth. A hint of rose blushed her cheeks, her eyes sparkled like Tiffany emeralds. It may well have been the brightest, most radiant smile I had ever seen.
"Whenever I proctor an exam," she told me, still smiling, "I like to sit where I can see a cock, too."
Somewhere inside my brain, a tanker truck tipped over and burst into flames. A squealing of brakes shredded the air in the moments before a wave of cars slammed into it. Did I hear that right?! I shook my head hard enough to rattle my eyes, although, I never actually moved my head. Oh, man. Get a grip. There is no way she said what I think she just said. But the youthful appendage set to stirring inside my pants had reason to think otherwise.
She sat no more than eight feet from me, close enough to give me a magnificent view of cleavage squeezed tight into a plain, white cotton blouse. Her top button was undone, and the second strained the fabric as much as my hard-on strained against the lap of my pants. Could I have stumbled and said cock first?
Her attention was divided in two. Half watched over the class while the other half studied a science journal of some sort. When I was certain she wasn't looking, I lifted my head to gaze at her. She idly played with a long, hanging strand of exotically hued hair while she read. She caressed the strand with sensual motion, her supple fingers gently twisting and teasing the tips at the climax of every tender stroke. I hitched in my chair unexpectedly. A tingling sensation licked round my tip, then shot down my shaft and electrified my balls. I gripped the sides of my chair and squeezed my buttocks tight, fearing I might lose it all right then and there.
Somewhere near the midpoint of the three-hour exam I was so damn horny I couldn't read the questions anymore, let alone answer them. I looked up at her again. Her head was down and she was leaning forward. She was deeply immersed in what she was reading, taking plenty of notes as she read. Meanwhile, the second button of her blouse had worked itself free. I could see freckled, alabaster flesh all the way down to the cups of her bra. That tingling sensation ripped through me again, but this time I was prepared. I started my clench at the very onset of sensation, bearing down harder as intensity pitched and spiked. My dick throbbed. Heat radiated from my center in all directions. My entire body was vibrant and ringing with pleasurable sensations, but I was in control.
The mind wanders. And sometimes, it gets utterly lost. I knew there was no way she could see me. Beneath the two square feet of veneered particle board that was the hinged tabletop to my chair, I slowly pulled down on my zipper and set my aching cock free. My hands, my thighs, even my toes were trembling. Her slender fingers gripped and guided her pen as my manhood covertly bobbed on a rush of cool air. As I watched her read I fingered myself with due caution, silently brushing my fingertips up and down the length of my shaft. Warmth enveloped me, and soon, my tremors subsided.
And then I grew bolder. I squeezed and twisted the head of my cock without ever taking my eyes off her breasts, without ever withdrawing the spirit of my waggling tongue from the smoldering depths of her pussy. I could smell her, I could taste her, I could plunge myself deep inside of her and never come up for air!
It didn't take long to arrive at a state of arousal where fingering my cock as I looked at her was not nearly enough. Euphoria had me wrapped in her squeezing arms, depriving brain of blood. Stealth and sensibility surrendered to the scandalous whispers of slow, full length cock stroking.
I felt so good, and yet so dirty! I couldn't believe how excited I was by the possibility of getting caught, and by the reality that this wasn't just another dorm room fantasy. I was brazenly masturbating in her very presence, right beneath her nose, with nearly a hundred students seated behind me who could see god only knows what. As long as I was mindful to stroke myself slowly, I told myself, she would never suspect a thing.
But breathes there a man in possession of solid judgment while his fully erect penis, moist with pre-cum, teeters at the rumbling brink of eruption? I dared to stroke faster.
Oh, my god! Oh, my god! my mind screamed when she shifted in her chair, enough to reveal a crescent of pink within a deep recess of her blouse that only I could see. Faster. Oh, my god! Oh, my god! Mmmm! And then, faster still. Ohhh! I closed my eyes and I saw her bent over the large oak desk while I fucked her from behind. Her skirt torn away from her body, I slammed into her sopping wet cunt, again and again. She gaped and she clenched, and she reared back to take the full fury of my every thrust. I hooked an arm around her hip to finger her swollen clit. I touched her and she moaned like a wild animal trapped betwixt the syncopated rhythms of my unrelenting passion. Reaching forward with my free hand, I grabbed a fistful of her deep red hair. I held it tight, pulling and whipping my capture across her bare shoulders and back. I dominated her, commanding an untamable mare to gallop. She bucked, she thrashed, she screamed out my name as orgasm ripped through her and devoured her whole.
My eyes flew open, but I could see nothing. I was gushing like a fire hose. White-hot jets of cum shot out of me in creamy ropes that lined and splotched the floor in front of my all-concealing chair. It took everything I had to keep myself from crying out, to conceal the lurid convulsions of my release, to remain utterly still in the midst of a raging thunderstorm at sea.
Noble though my efforts were, they must have been betrayed by the pitter-pat echo of semen falling onto the naked, tiled floor. And her hearing had to be nothing short of extraordinary. When the sparkles finally dissolved away from my eyes, I saw her penetrating gaze looking right into me. My face flushed hot. The rest of my body shivered in icy cold sweat as I watched her close her eyes and shudder with abject revulsion. I cast my eyes downward to the speckles of cum that had dotted the front of her desk. They were melting and running like tears of regret and shame. I couldn't look up to face her, at least not yet. Keeping my head down, I pulled my spent dignity back into my pants and awaited my sentencing.
To my surprise, she remained quietly seated in her chair. Pencil points scratched upon paper, exam booklets rustled as pages were turned. Time passed, but she did not utter a single word. It was a labor to lift my head. Still unable to meet her gaze, I took my rest stop and stared at her boobs. She made a motion to fasten the lower button of her blouse but then released her fingers before the button could realize its function. When I finally dared to look up at her face, she looked me straight in the eye and smiled. It was a wicked, knowing, ass-nasty fucking sort of smile. I smiled nervously back at her, unsure of what to do next. The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds like cannon fire. There is another full hour left on the clock! I looked back at her and she was still grinning at me. I could smell the semen now. It hung thick in the air between us like death. Her nostrils flared and hellfire burned in her eyes while terror frosted in mine. And then . . . she winked.
My face turned a new shade of red. Fresh beads of sweat sprang to my forehead and crawled like garden slugs down my back beneath my shirt. But the woman who knew that I knew what she knew refused to make anything of it at all. Incomprehensibly silent, she went back to reading her journal and to taking her confounded notes with a renewed sense of duty. And I returned to my exam, my attention split between heaven and earth and the clock on the wall. She did not lift her head, not even once, until the last agonizing minute of the exam was finally exhausted.
When the end came, the students all rose from their chairs to deposit their exams in boxes that sat on a table at the side of the room opposite where the professor remained seated at her desk. I got up to take my place in line, careful not to slip on my own signature. But as soon as I slunk away, she called me back to her desk.
"Please see me after you've dropped off your exam," she said to me in a hushed tone. "I need to have a word with you."
Here it comes. You are so damn busted. And I knew exactly what she was going to tell me. "Not only have you already failed this course, you are a disgrace to this school, to the university, and to your entire gender. You need not even bother to check on your final grade when it posts on Monday, nor on any of your other courses. I hope you understand."
But when I returned, she said nothing of the kind. Instead, she pulled open the center drawer of the desk and handed me the oversized envelope that was tucked inside.
"Could you please deliver these specimens to Professor Coxbury's office?" she asked me politely. "He's in the research building across the quad. His office number is written on the back of the envelope."
What?! Is she actually going to let this all go? A giddy sense of getting away with murder foolishly swept over me.
"Oh, it would be my, um—thank you, yes!"
You stupid, stupid fuck! She ought to fail you just for being a tongue-tied, blithering moron.
She looked for a moment as if she might be confused, or perhaps she was considering whether to say something more. But she didn't. She handed me the envelope without saying another word, grinning so wide at me I thought I might burst.
I was the last student to leave the classroom. As soon as I got outside I let my backpack thud to the ground. I leaned with my back against the door and breathed a huge sigh of relief. She hasn't failed me yet! As soon as the wobble went out of my legs, I donned my pack and started the long walk across the quad to make the delivery I had promised. The heat of an early summer hung moist on the air. I took a leisurely gait as I tried to pull sense from of a whirlwind of thoughts. Curious, I stopped and squeezed the envelope I held in my hands. It gave easily. I wondered for a moment what those specimens might possibly be. They certainly didn't feel like rocks.
When I entered the lobby of the Holiday Research Center, I took a moment to read what she had written on the back of the envelope.
Dr. Coxbury, HRC no. 311.
I climbed one flight of stairs and wandered down a hall. It didn't take me long to realize the Holiday Research Center did not have an office no. 311. The research center, in fact, didn't even have a third floor. What the hell? I turned the envelope over in my hands and examined it closer. That's when I noticed my name had been written on the very next line, in pencil too faint to be easily noticed. And there was another. Please do not open until you get home, the next line read.
I opened the envelope. As soon as I lifted the flap, a faint aroma wafted onto the air. But I was the last person on earth who would ever mistake it. It was the distinctive fragrance of Chanel No. 5. I thrust my arm into the envelope and pulled out a pair of lacy red panties. They were wickedly damp to the touch! Without thinking, I held them up to my face and drew in a dizzying, deep breath. I could smell more intimate aromas that made me go weak and stiff with confusion and lust.
Then I noticed the pastel colored sheet of stationery peeking out of the top of the envelope. I tucked the panties into my pants pocket and extracted the sheet. It was neatly adorned, both sides, with the graceful looping of a woman's handwriting. I read the letter where I stood.
I cannot begin to tell you what a pleasure it has been to have you in my class this semester. You're always first to arrive, you never fail to be prepared for my lectures and quizzes, and you're always there in the front row to greet me with the most pleasant of smiles. It makes my job easier to have students like you in my class. I thank you so much for your efforts and for your contagious enthusiasm. I wish you the very best of luck in all of your academic pursuits.
Professor Shelley Watson, Ph.D.
I thought that was rather nice of her to say, yet oddly impersonal. With a salutation of "Dear Student" it could easily have been a form letter. But then, who writes a form letter by hand? I turned the sheet over and the first thing that struck me was the ink did not match the color of that on the other side. And although the handwriting was the same, the words and the lines were bunched much more tightly together. I shed my backpack before I continued to read.
I was actually dreading today, because I knew it would be the last time I'd ever see you. After today's exam, I know you'll be walking out the door and out of my life forever. Even if you weren't, this is still my last day here at the university. Twenty minutes after you walk out the door, I should just about be finishing up the last of my exit interviews. Then I, too, will be walking out that door, never to be seen here again. Not by you, not by anyone else. And all of that has made me very, very sad.
When I came into the classroom and noticed you had moved from your usual spot to sit directly in front of me today, wow! I cannot begin to tell you how happy that made me feel. I would have three whole hours to take a last, long good look at you. To be honest, I have been stealing glances at you all semester long. It didn't escape my notice, either, that you often stole glances at me. And, I must say, you had the most amazing bulge down there whenever I dared to look for it.
On the days we met for class, I always dreamt about being with you as I lay in bed at night. I dreamt of having you when I showered the next morning. Silly dreams, I know, which will never be more than just dreams.
When I saw you pull down your zipper and take out your dick, I could scarcely believe my eyes. You are much bigger than I ever imagined, and you are so beautiful. I went instantly wet when I saw it. I must have looked back at you a hundred times. I don't know how I managed to keep myself in my chair. I wanted so badly to leap over my desk and jump on you. I wanted to straddle and mount that gorgeous, stiff cock, and oh, oh, oh!
You are stroking your dick and looking right at me! Oh. My. God! I want you. Oh, god help me. I want you! I have my hand up under my skirt now. I am ohhh! so wet. My clit is hot and ringing like a bell. Oh, yeah. Stroke that big fat cock for me, baby. Yes! Yesss! Mmmm!
Faster? Oh, yes! Faster! You're stroking your cock faster for me. Oooo! Give it to me baby! Give it to me baby! Mommy wants your hot hot cum, so give it to me. Give Mommy that great big load of nasty sweet cum. Fuck yes! I know you have it for me, baby. Ohhh, fuck baby yes! Give me your molten hot man juice and I'll slurp all of it down. Yes, baby, Yesss! Mmmm!
Ohhh, you're cumming! OMG, I'm cumming! Looking straight eyes yes into you, me, yes, unnngh, WE. We are, we are cuummm...
The letter went on for quite a bit more, but I never read the rest of it. It fell out of my hands when I bolted down the hall and never looked back. What became of the letter I'll never know, but I'd bet anything I was down the stairs and out the door before it ever touched the floor. The quad that took me eighteen minutes to traverse on my way over here I covered on the return trip in less than two.
That was twenty-two years ago. I tell this silly story of my awkward youth, at times when I've had a few beers and I'm unashamed to let embarrassing truths flow. Heck, with a few beers in me I'll tell it to just about anyone willing to lend me an ear. I am careful, though, never to tell the story whenever the woman I'm living with now might overhear. She's a very reserved type and I know better than to brag about my deviant adventures in exhibitionism, no matter how ancient those adventures may be. Besides, I have this fear lurking deep in the back of my mind that if she ever heard me tell this story to anyone, she just might turn the only A Plus I earned in college back into an F.
- The End -