College Professor Blossoms Pt. 01

First, let me say I'm not a professional writer I just thought I'd post this to share how my mind works. If you don't like my writing style or anything else, go ahead and comment, it's always nice to get CONSTRUCTIVE criticism.

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My name is Anson Franklin Anderson, I have a Ph. D in electrical engineering and a master's degree in mechanical engineering. I'm 6'8" tall and weigh about 220 pounds. I usually swim for about four hours a day, two in the morning and two in the evening, or until I reach ten miles. As such, I have what's referred to as a swimmer's body, wide shoulders, thin waist with very long arms, large shoulder muscles and triceps. I guess I should also mention that I have a little over a 7 1/2 inch cock that is the same diameter as an original Red Bull can, and gets hard at practically the word breast or from a light breeze.

I married my high school sweetheart right after high school, and just before Christmas of that year, I found out through a friend that she'd been sleeping with another guy since midway through our senior year of high school. When I confronted her, she never even tried to deny it, even going so far to say she hoped we could get divorced ASAP so she could marry the other guy.

I asked her why she bothered to marry me in the first place, and she said that she couldn't hurt my feelings when I proposed and from then on, everything just snowballed and before she knew it, we were married, and she felt trapped. I remember asking her, "What, you thought it would hurt less if you married me and I found out you were cheating and just wanted out of it?"

Of course, she didn't have an answer to that.

Fortunately, we really hadn't accumulated much of anything so the divorce was over about as quickly as one could be.

Before the ink was even dry on my divorce papers, I met Sarah in one of my classes and we fell head over heels in love. Within four months we were in Las Vegas getting married in a cheesy chapel, not even by an Elvis impersonator but a Wayne Newton impersonator.

I don't know what either of us was thinking about getting married. We both had radically different majors, hers was history, so except for one prerequisite class, the one we met in, we had nothing else in common except being hurt by a previous partner.

Her high school boyfriend also followed her to college but halfway through the first semester, she got home to find a one sentence note saying he couldn't do it anymore, and he was gone. He dropped out of school, just disappeared. She never heard hide nor hair from him ever again.

One thing that we talked about was fidelity in a marriage. Obviously with the history of my first wife fresh in my mind, one thing I was adamant about was that sexual cheating was game over for me. Sarah agreed with me and said that her parents had a lousy marriage because her dad had cheated on her mom and her mom didn't do anything about it and after letting it eat her away, one day when Sarah got home, she found her mom dead from a drug over dose. Her suicide note specifically said that's what happened and Sarah was adamant that for her also, infidelity was a reason for divorce.

Sarah and I were in love with each other when we got married and as time went on our love deepened. However, we hardly saw each other even during summer break. We both had to work full time jobs and study at the same time, and during summer break I interned at a tech company.

During school, I was lucky to get four hours of sleep per night and often that was shortened by making love to Sarah. Once we finished our undergrad degrees, we were both accepted into graduate school, albeit at different colleges. Fortunately, they were close enough, so we got a new apartment closer to Sarah's college, but my commute was only about an hour away while hers was 15 minutes.

Usually, we'd either put something in the crock pot and when we'd get home dinner would be ready or have leftovers from a previous meal. Although we both usually got home late, most of the time Sarah would get home before me and when I'd get home we'd have a few bites of dinner before crawling into bed.

One night after we'd been married for a little over four years and were in our second year of grad school, I got home and when I entered the kitchen it was dark. I was usually exhausted when I got home so I barely took notice that things were different. I stripped off my clothes and threw them in the laundry and headed upstairs to put on something more comfortable. I figured Sarah must be somewhere studying or asleep because there were no lights on in the whole house.

I put on a pair of pajama bottoms I'd worn the night before and pulled a hoodie over my head and when I sat down on the bed to put some slippers on, I heard a yelp and felt a lump. I turned around and through the dim light I saw Sarah, and as I turned on the light, I not only saw that she was naked but one of our neighbors was also naked in bed with her.

After much yelling, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, she admitted that they'd had sex and then fallen asleep.

I couldn't believe this was happening to me again. This time at least Sarah said she was sorry, made all kinds of excuses, and adamantly stated that she wanted to work things out. In the meantime, our smarmy neighbor was trying to figure out how to extricate himself from our bedroom. I don't get mad often but when I do, I've been told I can be very intimidating.

Finally, I told Marvin that if he didn't get out of my sight and our house within 10 seconds, I'd kill him. In retrospect, it was almost comical. He threw the covers back and ran out of the bedroom and out of the house. If it had been a cartoon, he would have had streak marks behind him.

He lived three houses down and during his naked dash out of our house and into his, he passed another neighbor's house while the mother and two of her little daughters were outside to witness his flight.

Needless to say, Marvin's wife was none too pleased when she opened their front door to find her naked husband pounding on it, and even more displeased when the police showed up on their door after having been called by the mother with the two girls.

The net result of the whole debacle was two divorces, mine and the neighbors, and me becoming very commitment phobic.

I've always been a camera buff and just after completing my MS in engineering I patented several inventions relating to image stabilization in cameras and as such, they've provided me with an income that I couldn't possibly spend in two lifetimes. You see, I grew up with very poor parents and often went without food at mealtime and that gave me a real sense of the value of money and while many people call me cheap, it's just that I don't feel the need to waste money on extravagances.

By the time I was 26 I decided I didn't need the stress and competitiveness of a 9-5 job, got my teaching credential and started teaching at a local private college. I teach four classes per term, usually starting between 8 & 9 am so by noon each day I'm "free," although in engineering it's not unusual for students to need some individual help and often professional guidance along with the usual expectation of research.

I usually get into my office by 7 am and don't leave until 5 or 6 pm, giving students plenty of opportunity to be able to reach out to me if need be. As such, in a very short order I got to know the other professors whose offices were close to mine, since I'm usually there before they get in and still there when they leave.

One thing I like about teaching in a smaller college is different disciplines are more co-mingled than in larger universities. For instance, if I was working at one of my alma maters, Northwestern University, my office would be in the McCormick School of Engineering along with all the other professors of engineering.

Where I am now, there is an adjunct professor who only teaches statics (no, that's not a typo) near me but also a history professor and so on. I had become quite friendly with an older professor of Linguistics who had the office right next to mine, but last term of the previous year he'd retired so I was looking forward to seeing who would be assigned his old office.

The first day back of my third year there I was puttering around in my office when I heard a rather pleasant voice say, "Good morning." I turned around to see an obviously young women, I later found out she was 23, who seemed to strive to look 50. She was about 5'4" had heavy transitional glasses, her indeterminately dark blonde hair in a bun, dressed in rather frumpy old-fashioned clothes and very sensible shoes. I stepped forward to shake her hand and introduced myself as Anson Franklin. (Later on, it will become apparent why I don't use my last name, Anderson, at the college.) She said her name was Rylen Lee and mentioned that she was going to be in the now vacant office next to me, and we shared the usual chit chat between two newly acquainted people. She said she would be teaching English and linguistics, which led to a segue for me to say how much I enjoyed the company of her office predecessor, and at one point she mentioned that she was newly married.

We talked for maybe five minutes before she excused herself, saying she had an office that needed a lot of attention. As the term went on, we would talk occasionally but our interactions were very limited. I got the distinct impression that she was quite conservative, quite religious, and quite shy around men in general. That first five-minute conversation was the longest we had for probably her first year or more.

When the next year rolled around, I noticed that Ms. Lee was becoming a bit more friendly and a few times at school functions, I noticed her with a man that I assumed to be her husband. Right away I didn't care for him. She was a completely different person when he was around, she seldom said more than a couple of words, I could tell from both of their body languages that he was very much the controlling alpha male, and he often mocked or belittled her.

It was during her third year at the college, my fifth, that I started to notice that occasionally she'd be limping or walking very stiff, like she was in pain. We didn't have any kind of relationship other than our offices being next to each other but a few times I asked if she was okay, and she'd always come up with some excuse or another. It didn't seem like she interacted with any other professors, male or female, just the occasional student that would come by her office for counseling or help with classwork.

I made a point of trying to befriend her and sometime in her fourth year there, we'd occasionally sit in one or the other's office and have brief chats. It just seemed to me like she needed a friend. One day I was leaning against her doorjamb talking to her when I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me out of the doorway and a very aggressive angry voice saying, "Who the fuck are you, talking to my wife."

"John," Ms. Lee said in a squeaking voice, "there's no need for that kind of language. John, this is Mr. Franklin, his office is right next door," she said, trying to introduce us.

"I don't care who the fuck you are, keep away from my wife."

Turning to his wife, still with the same venom in his voice, he said, "I knew this was a bad idea having you working here, acting like a slut in front of the likes of him."

I was about to put him in his place when I looked at Ms. Lee and she quickly shook her head from side to side and mouthed, "no, no, no."

I stood up to my full height and I could momentarily see fear in his eyes, but it was soon replaced with his bully's bravado. "Just because you're a tall fuck, don't even think of giving me shit or I'll beat the shit out of you."

"Whatever pal," I said as I headed for my office.

As I entered my office, I heard her door slam thunderously and I could hear him yelling at her with no response whatsoever back, and at one point I heard a loud "smack" which was obviously someone slapping someone else very hard, probably across the face.

That was it for me, I untangled myself from my desk and as I was walking out my door, hers was flung open and he was pulling Ms. Lee out of her office with what looked like a death grip on her arm, and she was obviously in pain from his grasp. As I looked closer at her face, I saw that one cheek was very red, certainly Ms. Lee had been the recipient of the slap.

I was always taught that in no circumstances should a man hit a woman and seeing the red of Ms. Lee's face and the pain on her face from his grip, I saw red myself. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I reached out with my right arm, wrapped my hand around the front of his neck, picked him up and slammed him against the wall and held him there with his feet about a foot off the ground so we were eye to eye.

"I don't know where you learned your manners, but a man never hits or hurts a woman, much less his wife. If I ever hear of you hitting or slapping or in any other way hurting this woman, I will cut your balls off, fry them and watch you eat them with a smile on your face. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"

I could see the bullies' fear in his eyes, and he managed to nod his head slightly. I continued to hold him pinned against the wall and just stared into his eyes to let him know I was serious.

"Mr. Franklin, Mr. Franklin, please let him go, he didn't mean anything," Ms. Lee pleaded while lightly tugging at my arm.

His face was getting very red, and I finally let go and he slid down the wall and collapsed to the floor before standing up, trying desperately to get oxygen back into his deprived body. When he was finally able to catch his breath, he pushed away from the wall and started backing away.

"Hey, if you want the bitch so bad, you can have her, I'm done with that cheating slut."

Ms. Lee rushed after him and telling him how sorry she was and saying that she'd never even looked at another man and he kept pushing her away until they disappeared out the door at the end of the hallway.

That was a Tuesday and Ms. Lee didn't return to classes until the following Monday. I was talking to a student outside my office when Ms. Lee rounded the corner. She stopped as soon as she saw us standing outside my office and it was obvious that she was trying to figure out a way to either back up around the corner or continue to her office. Finally, she decided to walk past us and as she did, she had her head down, very intentionally not looking at either of us. She had huge dark glasses on, and I thought it looked like her left arm was in a very odd position, underneath a shawl she was wearing. As she unlocked her door, I got a better look at her arm, and it appeared to me that it was in a cast as she quickly closed the door behind her.

I finished my conversation with the student and walked over to her door and knocked lightly. There was no answer and I waited for probably 20 or 30 seconds before knocking again and inquired, "Ms. Lee, are you okay."

There was no response, but I thought I could hear her sniffling, but I didn't want to impose so I withdrew to my office.

That was the last I saw of her that week. I knew she was in her office at times because I saw students in there occasionally, so I figured she was taking the long way to her office, most likely to avoid me I guessed.

The next week, one evening as I was getting ready to leave, I heard a meek, "Hi," behind me and I turned around to see Ms. Lee standing there looking frightened and vulnerable.

"Are you okay, is there anything I can do?" I asked her.

"No, I just wanted to say hello and thank you for what you did that day."

"I'm afraid to ask, but did I cause that," pointing to her arm and the now very colorful bruise and stitches around her eye.

"No, you didn't."

I knew that wasn't the case, but I figured if she ever wanted to talk about it, I'd let her do it in her own time.

"I have a favor to ask," she said, "would you mind calling me Rylen instead of Ms. Lee? I think at this point we're probably past the point of formality and using last names."

"Hi Rylen, and I'm Anson. I really hope you're okay. I was very worried when you didn't come in the rest of that week."

"As you can see, when we got home that day, John was furious, and he just kept hitting me and hitting me until the police arrived. I guess one of the neighbors called them, and when John tried hitting one of them also, they shot him with a taser gun and arrested him. Once he was gone, I called my sister and she took me to the hospital and the next day when they released me, she took me home and helped me pack everything of mine and I followed her to her house. My sister is making me get a divorce, this isn't the only time he's hit me, but this was the worst."

"I don't know if it's any of my business, but what all did he do to you?"

"He gave me a concussion, broke seven of my ribs, broke my right clavicle, broke my arm, and crushed my eye socket."

"Are you going to press charges and follow through with the divorce?"

"Yes, at this point I think I have to. If I don't, I'm afraid of what he'll do next time."

"If there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

"At this point, I just think I'd like someone I can talk to. All my sister does is talk at me, all the rest of my family blames me for my marriage failing, and I don't feel there is anyone on my side."

"You know you didn't deserve this or cause it, don't you?" I asked.

She looked down and said yes, and right away I could tell she didn't believe it.

The rest of the school year was uneventful, and by the end of the year Rylen and I would talk in one of our offices almost daily. It was occasionally about students or faculty members, but often more personal. I found out that she was a Jehovah's Witness and they'd expelled her from the church, and except for her sister, her family shunned her when she divorced her husband. I was astounded that they would basically condone what he'd done to her. She was very surprised when I told her I'm an atheist.

She knew that on weekends I usually volunteered at a local food bank and or helped Habitat for Humanity and she couldn't wrap her head around the fact that I didn't appear to be this horrible, immoral person that religions want to paint atheists as.

One day just before summer break, a woman that I date occasionally came by my office, and as she was leaving Rylen popped her head in to say hi and she seemed very flustered when I introduced her to Jasmine. Jasmine was wearing a button up shirt that was completely unbuttoned and tied right up under her breasts, showing a lot of cleavage and side boob, leaving her midriff bare until her skintight low-rise jeans and then black over the knee boots. I could see that Rylen was looking at Jasmine up and down and she quickly turned and went back in the direction of her office, and then we heard Rylen's door slam.

"That was weird," I said, and Jasmine replied, "You know she has a crush on you, right?"

"What? Where did you get that, you just met her?"

"Oh my God, men can be so blind sometimes. The way she looked at you then me, she was crushed."

"You're on crack, here, let me walk you to your car."

When I got back, I knocked on Rylen's door and when she said, "Come in," I popped my head in and said, "Hi, can I come in?"

She said, "I guess," and I sat down in one of her chairs and she seemed unusually quiet so after a bit I asked her if she was okay, but she didn't elaborate much. Finally, after about five minutes, completely out of the blue, she said, "I wouldn't have thought that you were the type to use a prostitute."

I started laughing and it took a while to stop laughing enough to ask her if she meant Jasmine, all the while I could tell she was getting more and more angry.