Academic Advisor

It wasn't easy being a young professor at a southern university in the US. When I say young, I mean young. I was always an overachiever, and got my Ph.D at 22 and began teaching immediately. This meant that I was barely older than my students at best.

This had the potential for becoming an outright, unmitigated disaster, and everyone knew it. The Director of my program never came out and said anything to me directly, but it was clear he was keeping a close eye on me. The sheer fact that I was unusually young as a faculty member meant that I was extremely high-profile. The last thing I wanted to do was run the risk of gossip mongers ruining my career with accusations of sleeping with my students.

I became obsessed with my reputation. The half-joking comments by the secretaries in the office didn't help, however.

"Oh, Doctor Mike," they would say in a sing-song manner. "Such-and-Such a student was here to see you and make an 'Office Appointment.'"

This was, of course, completely unnecessary and untrue. Every one of my students had copies of my office hours on their syllabi. There was no need to bother the main office about such trivialities. The secretaries were obviously aware of my discomfort and were having a blast teasing me.

Try as I might, I couldn't shake the paranoia that someone would believe them and that it might come back to haunt me when it came time for a performance review. I became colder, less personable than I normally am, and brutally professional. Office hours were held with the door open, always.

At the time I thought I was dissuading any unwanted attention, but in reality it only presented something of a challenge to some students. It became a contest of wills; I would master the art of non-reaction and they would frequently try to push the envelope of propriety.

In Florida, springtime starts in late January. As the temperature rises, the necklines plummet. Within weeks of a semester start the battle of the hormones was well underway.

Unfortunately for me, I had a remarkably high libido. Despite my cool exterior, I mentally recorded every breast, every bare thigh, every full pout that entered my classroom. Office hours provided rich fodder for my fantasies as I played over the typical, clichéd scenario of the poor young coed trying to 'improve her grade' by offering a sweet temptation.

In real life, however, I was forced to suppress these perverted thoughts in the stark reality of possibly losing my job and never finding work in any university ever again.

Moreover, the truth was that in fact, ignoring some of the most over-the-top suggestions was easy. As soon as some of these big-titted, cute girls thrust their money-makers in my direction they lost any hope by merely opening their mouths.

Yes, stupid turned me off. And there's a lot of stupid in the world.

"Dr. Mike," one coed said to me once, rocking back and forth pushing her breasts together. "Do I have to do this assignment? Can't I just get credit for it instead?"

Um, no. And you don't get credit for your tits, either. Put them away.

It was a difficult tightrope act, and I didn't always get it right. "Mike," came a voice at my office door one day, along with an authoritarian knock. It was the Director of the program. "Gotta sec?"

The Director came in before waiting for a reply, as we both knew he would. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to the door and crossed his legs in a phony attempt at appear collegial.

"How's it going?" he asked, trying to be sly and nonchalant.

I knew he was going to order me to do something, he knew he was going to do it, all I wanted was for him to get to the point.

Instead, I bit my tongue. "Not too bad," I said.

"Good, good! Look, Mike," he said, clasping his hands in front of him, trying to appear as if this was a true dialogue. "I know it's difficult for you, being so young and all -"

I couldn't hide the cringe. There was never a meeting that went by when my age didn't come up. I was the youngest professor in the entire department of 50 faculty by fifteen years, and no one was going to let me forget it.

" - and you need to keep a distance from your students. But I'm concerned that you're not fulfilling your teaching and service obligations and that - " he paused, breaking out into a plastic smile " - is something I don't think we want to come up in your review."

So it's "we" now, is it? Professors are evaluated for tenure based on three specific criteria: Research, Teaching, and Service. Different positions (and schools) have different weighting as to which is the most important, but generally it's understood that research was the most important, followed by teaching, and service was a distant, distant third. Knowing this, I had placed my emphasis on the first two, as was generally expected.

It was no secret that the Director didn't like me. He thought I was too young, but I had over a dozen published articles before I graduated from my doctoral program from a top-tier program, and getting me had been a coup for his program. He hadn't published anything in 30 years.

He enjoyed the prestige of hiring me, and was looking forward to the prestige of firing me. Sadly I only came to understand this after I accepted the position, as faculty politics was an ugly business.

"What kind of obligations am I not fulfilling?" I asked, with genuine curiosity.

"Well," he drawled, eager to begin the laundry list of my shortcomings. "The students have said that you're not, well, approachable., and that perhaps you may be favoring the men over the women."

Wow. I thought. Maybe I had taken this whole "asexual" demeanor a bit too far.

"Also, you haven't done much service with respect to student organizations. As you know, part of the responsibility of being a tenure-earning professor is to offer support and guidance to our students in related activity."

This was, of course, bullshit. It was a trap, and we both knew it. He was trying to screw me.

He would verbally order me to spend time on being a faculty advisor to some student group and then turn around and slam me on the review for spending time on an activity that wasn't truly valuable. Moreover, he'd criticize me for not having the maturity to understand how to prioritize my responsibilities.

However, if I ignored his "suggestion," he would go to the tenure committee and remark that he had specifically warned me to take a larger role in the service portion of my responsibilities, and I had deliberately and willfully ignored an order from the Director of the program.

"Obviously we all want you to succeed," he said, his voice staying just a hair's breadth away from being patronizing. "So I thought I'd just come and have this friendly, unofficial little chat with you."

That meant there wasn't going to be anything in writing. Nothing to prove he ever told me to focus on unimportant matters.

"I'll make sure I balance out my responsibilities," I said. Somehow I managed to say it even without gritting my teeth.

"Good!" he said, and stood up. As he exited through the doorway he took a quick glance back at me over his shoulder. "Oh, and Mike, try and be a little more approachable and give the girls some equal time, okay?"

I nodded. As I sat there and thought about my predicament, I had one comforting thought. At least the gossip was that I was something of a eunuch, rather than a lascivious sex fiend who preyed on my students.

I heard a cry from the doorway. "Oh, excuse me Dr. Morton!" The Director had apparently not watched where he was going and bumped into two of my students.

"Oh, not a problem, uh..." he said, searching for her name.

"Jeri," she said, looking up at the much taller man with big brown innocent eyes.

"Jeri, yes, don't worry about it," he said, and walked around her and her companion, another student named Monica.

As the Director left Jeri and Monica came into my office, and sat down. "Dr. Mike," Jeri began, "We were wondering if we could ask a favor."

"Sure," I said, the Director's words echoing in my mind. "What can I do to help?"

Jeri and Monica exchanged glances. The two of them were a picture of contrasts. Monica was a shy, quiet, introverted, skinny girl who dressed plainly and never ever volunteered to talk in class. In fact, Monica was the classic definition of "mousey," from her long thin hair to her meek temperament.

Jeri, on the other hand, was Monica's complement in every way. She had curves in all the right places, was tiny (I would have bet a month of my meager academic salary that she barely reached above 5 feet tall), short dark brown hair, and gregarious as hell. There was no telling what was going to come out of her mouth at any given point in time.

One time in class the conversation turned to some of the more extreme feminist views, the ones that go so far as to say that "all sex is rape." Jeri had slammed her hands on the desk and cried out, "What do they think the clitoris is for!?" Yeah, that little comment gave me visuals for weeks.

On top of it all, Jeri was cute. Somehow she managed to avoid dressing provocatively, but it was always feminine and with the coy knowledge that her hourglass figure could attract attention, both wanted and unwanted.

Her proudest assets by far were that she had a set of the most magnificent breasts I'd ever seen. She always placed them on display with V-cut blouses that were tight across her torso. It took every fiber of my being to continue looking her in the eye whenever she was addressing me.

Of all the students that I had up to that point, Jeri was the source of the richest fantasies. It's also probably the reason why I was the most professional with her above all. There's no way I could afford to let it even remotely know how much I found her attractive, and how often I fantasized about slipping my cock between her incredible breasts.

Together, Jeri and Monica made a truly incongruous pair, but somehow their friendship worked for them. They often did projects together, so it wasn't unusual for them to come to run ideas by me.

"Well," Jeri said, always the spokeswoman, "We've got this club started and in order to get recognized we have to have a faculty advisor. We were wondering if you would mind being our advisor."

The words of the Director hung in the air and I realized that if I was going to need to work on promoting my service responsibilities, working with these two would work well. Besides, they were both straight-A students, hard workers, and had never given me any reason to believe that there was a reason I shouldn't help them out.

"Sure," I said, smiling. "I'd be happy to help you out."

Jeri looked shocked. "Really?" she said, then caught herself. "I mean, great! We weren't sure if you'd be willing to do it."

Monica tapped her on the arm, and they both stood up. "We're meeting tomorrow night at 7," Jeri said. "I'll email you the location."

"Okay," I said, "I'll be there."

As they left I started thinking about the position I was in with respect to the Director. Morton was obviously gunning for me, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I was never a good person for politics, and I was rapidly finding myself at a no-win situation.

It was a full ten minutes before I began to realize that I had no idea what student group Jeri and Monica wanted me to be an advisor for.

The following day I was slammed. Four courses, office hours, and two committee meetings. My day started in the office at 7 a.m. and went non-stop. I barely had enough time to eat, and during the faculty meetings I watched the Director sit and smirk.

By the time my last class rolled around, I had forgotten about being an advisor. When I saw Jeri and Monica sitting in class, I had a vague recollection that there was something that I needed to do, but it took them to remind me after class to become clued in again.

"Don't forget!" Jeri said. "It's really important!"

Checking my email, I saw the address was at an off-campus fraternity house. "Oh great," I thought. "I really don't want to get involved with the Greek system. That's the last thing I need with Morton on my case."

I arrived at the frat house, completely unprepared. Believe it or not, I had never been in a frat house. I had graduated high school at 15, college at 19, and finished my doctorate barely old enough to legally drink. I had never had time for the college fraternity parties, and as a result I was woefully unprepared for what awaited me.

The house was a-rockin', the kegs were flowing, and the music pounding. There were so many people it was difficult to move.

Some huge guy came up and demanded to know who I was and why I was there.

I had to lean in and shout to be heard. "I'm looking for Jeri and Monica. Do you know who they are?"

He roared with laughter, drunk. "A threesome? Awesome dude!" He clapped me on the shoulder with the hand that held a red plastic cup of beer, sloshing it over my back. "Keg's in the other room, dude!"

If I wasn't sure I should have been there, I certainly wasn't comfortable now. The last thing I needed was some of these students to recognize me and give Morton any excuse to make my life a living hell.

I found myself wandering through the house, which was enormous. It was almost wall-to-wall people in various stages of intoxication. At this point all I wanted to do was find these two girls and find out what the hell was going on. It was obvious there wasn't any kind of student group meeting here, and I was beginning to wonder if I was getting set up.

I turned the corner and found myself in a large living room. The throngs of people jumping up and down to the pounding music, holding cups of beer over their heads while dancing looked like a tribal ritual from some surrealistic National Geographic special.

Suddenly I saw Jeri and Monica through an open door on the other side of the room, each holding a red cup but looking away from me. I started to make my way across the room by excusing myself around drunk dancing bodies, trying to avoid getting more beer spilled on me.

I made it about halfway.

A roar went up all around me. Suddenly there were guys jumping up and down, and pointing at me. At that point I knew I had been set up, and felt genuinely scared.

The crowd rushed me, and I instinctively brought my arms up to protect myself, but they went past me to the couple that was right beside me. I turned around to find, to my shock, a beautiful blond on her knees sucking some frat boy's cock. Right. Next. To. Me.

The noise of the crowd was tremendous, with a stampede of noise surrounding me as more and more people crammed into the room to see what was going on. I was pinned against the arm of the guy getting blown, and I couldn't move. The shouting was ferocious, and the girl was sucking him like it would stop global warming.

I looked around trying to figure out a way to escape the crushing pressure of the crowd who had come over to gape at this public display of a free sex show, and felt a hand on my zipper, pulling it down. I quickly looked back down and saw that the girl had no idea who I was, nor had she even looked at me. She was on a roll and was going to suck any dick in front of her.

Then the cameras came out. Phones, cameras, anything that had a lens. I panicked. I couldn't think of anything worse than a young professor getting caught in some sort of fraternity sex video that would inevitably wind up on the Internet and, ultimately, my permanent file.

I was so screwed.

I pushed her hand away, and tried to get the hell out of there before the cameras had a way of capturing me. I put my arms over my head and tried to move around people, but wound up feeling like a bull in a china shop.

The crowd was yelling at me, calling me all kinds of names. "What are you doing?" "Where is he going?" "Dude! You chicken?" "Must be a fag!"

By the time I made it out of the room I was practically drenched in spilled alcohol. The crowd turned back to the show as two other guys had taken my place. I was also thoroughly livid at being put in that position.

At that point all I could think about was getting the hell out of there, and hoping that no actual footage was taken of me that would ruin my career. I hoped that the worst that would happen would be that I would look just like every other student there, and no one would recognize me if they happened to see me on the video.

But I knew I was screwed.

I looked around and found out that I had somehow managed to walk out of a side or back door into some sort of overgrown garden. I needed to get out and found a path leading away from the house. It looked like it would have led to a road nearby, at which point I could circle back and find my car.

"Dr. Mike! Dr. Mike!" I heard behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see Jeri and Monica running towards me.

I was in no mood. I continued walking around the path away from the house until they were out of sight, but found myself in a small clearing with no clear way to go.

My hesitation gave them enough time to catch up with me.

"Dr. Mike!" Jeri said, coming up to me.

"What!" I snarled. She recoiled as if she had been physically slapped, as if my words had reached across the space between us and struck her on the cheek.

"I... we..." she stuttered, and looked at Monica.

I cut her off. "What the fuck?" I shouted, losing any sense of teacher-student propriety. "There was no student group, was there?"

Monica shook her head slowly even before Jeri confirmed it with a small, "No."

"Do you have any idea what you have just done?!" I was trying very hard not to raise my voice. The last thing I needed was more attention.

"I - " Jeri started, but I cut her off.

"I could get fired - or worse! - just by being at this party, Jeri!" I hissed. "is that what you were trying to do?"

"No," she stammered, "We just -"

"Here I am, covered in beer, and all those camer- hey!"

I had been so focused on Jeri that I didn't even notice that Monica had gotten down on her knees and taken my semi-erect cock in her mouth.

What the... how the hell did she do that!?

I doubled over, folding almost in half. I was embarrassed, modesty forcing a physical intuitive reaction to hide myself.

"Monica!" I hissed. "What are you..."

However, the skinny little bitch was good. Within seconds my half-hard cock was fully erect, and lodged inside her throat. She was holding onto me as my cock reached down her mouth and I couldn't pull away from her far enough to release myself completely.

I looked up at Jeri and saw that she was just about as shocked as I was. I found it very, very difficult to talk as Monica's tongue - which never seemed to work in class - was working just fine as it danced across my shaft.

My heart had still been racing from the paranoia of being fired, and now the added adrenaline from Monica's blowjob made it impossible for me to think straight. I was thoroughly confused.

I looked at Jeri, pleading with my eyes for her to explain what the fuck was going on. She, however, was busy trying to look at what Monica was doing. I was still doubled over so she could see nothing. She placed her hand on my shoulder and started to fix my posture so that she could watch.

"I want to see," she said.

I wanted to push Monica off, and I could have. She was a skinny girl and probably weighed about half of what I did. I wanted to try to preserve whatever tatters of my career I had left. I wanted to do all that. And I also wanted to let her suck me dry.

I slowly started to stand up straight, and as I did Jeri got to see my cock, soaked with Monica's saliva, glistening in the moonlight. She gasped a little, fascinated.