Metamorphosis Ch. 01

I was so lost in my own dread that I jolted at the slight nudge from Zoheb. I saw my class mates staring at me. Apparently, the professor had called out my name.

"Sameer Negi?" she called out again.

"Yeah... yes ma'am," I stammered, as I stood up.

She gestured me to come to the front of the class. I could feel the eyes of my fellow class mates watching my lanky frame. I made my way to the front of the classroom and stood near the professor's desk.

My spectacles were foggy with the heat and sweat on my face. They kept sliding down my nose. I looked at the professor. She was seated gracefully in her chair and gestured me to go ahead. I turned to face the class with trepidation and pushed the spectacles up my nose. The professor's sweet perfume was intoxicating. I started speaking.

It was a disaster. I introduced myself and spoke briefly about my hobby; photography. All throughout, I could never get the words out properly. I was flushed with shame and embarrassment. My entire face and ears felt hot. I fumbled and wanted to run away.

At the end of my turn, I saw the professor write something down. She was making notes on each student.

*****

As the weeks went by, the Business Communications class proved to be a pain in my ass. I was good with all the written stuff but struggled with anything verbal. Nisha ma'am soon had us working in small teams on short assignments in each class. I failed miserably in those as well.

Half of the semester soon passed by. I was doing well in my other courses, but continued to struggle in BC. Ma'am started giving me few tips, from time to time, to help me improve. I tried working on her advice but always came up short. By the end of the semester, I did well enough in the exams but wasn't too confident about BC. I had never failed any course before in my life, but I had a bad feeling about this.

On the last day of the exams, Nisha ma'am asked me to meet her in her office. After finishing the test, I went to her office within the Department of Humanities. She was engrossed in a book as I approached her.

"Umm... ma'am...," I called out politely to draw her attention.

"Ah! Sameer," she said with a smile, "Have a seat."

I sat on the chair in front of her desk.

"How was the exam?"

"Not bad."

"What about the Business Communications test last week?"

"Umm... I am not sure, ma'am."

"I've already started checking the answer papers. As I've mentioned before, I do give a lot of weightage to the assignments and tasks from the class."

I looked at her nervously. Was she going to fail me?

"I've observed you closely during the semester. You are a good student. I spoke to your other professors. Received good feedback from them. They're quite confident that you'd do well in your exams.

"As far as BC is concerned, your written work is quite good. I know you had put in your best efforts in the class. I'll keep those in mind while handing out the final scores. But in my professional opinion, you still have a lot of improvement to do."

"I know, ma'am," I admitted.

"Now that your fifth semester is over, I want to ask you something. I hope you'll answer me freely and honestly."

I nodded, eagerly.

"What career path have you thought of, after graduation?"

"Uh... I am still unsure, ma'am. I didn't want to pursue engineering, but my parents kind of pushed me into it. I don't really like Mechanical Engineering. Now I am stuck with it. I just want to get through this with decent grades."

She nodded, sympathetically.

"In that case, you've two popular options. One, would be to get into an IT services company. That is, if you're interested in coding and software development. They usually hire from across all streams and impart all the training required to do the job.

"The other option would be to pursue an MBA degree and change your career path."

I nodded, thinking.

"But, no matter which career you choose, you'll have to improve your communications and soft skills."

I looked down, on the verge of tears and exhaled in frustration.

"I know, ma'am. I've heard it all my life, that I need to talk more and be social. I've heard others say that my poor soft skills are holding me back from realizing my true potential. Yet, nobody tells me how to do it. I am completely lost at this point. I've given up trying."

"Sameer, look at me. I'll help you. I promise. Now cheer up!" she said with a smile.

I smiled back. It was impossible not to cheer up seeing her dazzling smile.

"Why don't you drop by my house on Saturday morning? We'll talk more in detail and figure out how to help you. I'll text you my address. Is that, ok?" she asked.

I nodded and took my leave. I couldn't believe my luck. Nisha ma'am wanted to help me!

I looked up ma'am's FB profile that evening. Most of the details were hidden to general public. I could see that she was 36 years old and an alumnus of IIMA. I briefly considered sending her a friend request but chickened out.

*****

Saturday morning found me standing outside ma'am's house, stunned. The house in front of me was a bungalow on the outskirts of the city.

Holy shit! She's rich!

I parked my motorcycle and walked up to the security guard at the gate. I never really had a sense of fashion. I always wore oversized clothes to hide my lanky frame. Yet, I felt shabbily dressed that morning. I half expected the guard to turn me away but he was very polite. He got confirmation over the phone from within the house and let me in.

The broad driveway leading up to the house was flanked by beautiful gardens on either side. There was a fountain in front of the house with the driveway looping around it. I rang the bell. The door was answered by an elderly housemaid who ushered me into the living room. I looked around the big, richly decorated room and marveled at the opulence.

"Ah! There you are! Any trouble finding the location?" asked Nisha ma'am.

She walked into the room like a breath of fresh air. She wore a yellow poncho top and white trousers. It was the first time I had seen her in anything other than a saree. She looked mesmerizing as always and carried off the western outfit equally well. She sat on the sofa across from me and crossed her legs.

"No difficulties, ma'am. Your text message was quite detailed."

I looked around again, still in awe of the room.

"Like the house?"

"It's really beautiful, ma'am."

She gestured towards a large portrait hanging on the wall behind me.

"My husband, Yash, is a businessman. His company's done really well over the years."

I looked at the portrait of ma'am with her husband. He was a smart looking, handsome man, with close cropped hair and a salt pepper beard.

"Handsome man! And a very handsome couple, I must say!"

She looked at me, surprised.

"Look at that! Improving your social skills. Complimenting the host. Not bad!"

I smiled, shyly.

"I am trying. Honestly, it's you who's putting me at ease. Thank you, for willing to help me out."

For the next half hour, we spoke. She wanted me to talk about everything. I spoke about my childhood, family, growing up in Dehradun, my school, friends, photography, my speech impediment and my social awkwardness.

She listened to me with genuine interest unlike anyone else in the world. She got few calls and messages on her phone. She ignored them and put her phone on silent. Having the undivided attention and interest of such a beautiful, graceful woman spurred me to talk more. She spoke sparingly in between, asking me few pointed questions to get me to talk more.

She was casual and relaxed in her house than in the University. She felt more like a friend than a professor. That put me more at ease and got the conversation flowing smoothly.

Finally, she asked, "Do you talk much when you're with your closest friends?"

"Yeah."

"Do you feel any speech impediment while talking to them? Coz I haven't notice any of that in the last half hour."

That gave me pause. I thought back and realized that was true. Over the years, I had never felt any speech problems whenever I was with my closest friends.

"I don't think you have the actual problem anymore. It might be more psychological now. Like a reaction to a stressful situation."

I nodded, realizing that she may be right in her assessment.

"Would you be fine coming here, once a week? Let's say, every Saturday? We can work on your development for an hour or two."

"Yes ma'am. Definitely!" I said eagerly.

"And Sameer, let's keep this arrangement between the two of us."

*****

Throughout the sixth semester, I showed up at Nisha ma'am's house every Saturday morning. For the first few weeks, she had me prepare a topic in advance and speak about it for fifteen minutes. She would correct my pronunciation wherever applicable. She also had me work on my gestures, non-verbal cues and eye contact as I spoke.

Few weeks later, we moved on to discussions and debates. She taught me how to put my points across, convincingly, to another person. She also coached me how to be calm and collected when my points were challenged.

We became more comfortable in each other's presence, as the weeks went by. She sat closer to me on the sofa. Her clothes became more casual and comfortable. Although, she never spoke about her personal life, she did start giving me small snippets and glimpses of who she really was, as a person. She was joyous and cheerful on the outside. Yet I felt some sadness in her eyes and a loneliness in her soul.

On my part, I respected her immensely for the work she was doing to help me out. I was utterly grateful. She was so beautiful, elegant and charming. She was nothing short of a goddess, to me. Even though I was smitten long back, I respectfully avoided ogling her the slightest. I strictly maintained eye contact while talking to her. I kept my gaze away from her body even when she wasn't looking. I loved her radiant smile and went out of my way to make her laugh. She was pleasantly surprised and I was amazed at discovering this funny, goofy side of my personality.

The progress I made at her house also reflected in my interactions in the class. I was more comfortable and friendly with everyone. I also spoke with some of the girls in my class for the first time, much to the amazement and envy of Zoheb.

*****

The sixth semester exams were soon upon us. That Saturday morning, I reached ma'am's house at eight o'clock instead of the usual nine. She had asked me to come early to work on improving my posture.

I had a massive growth spurt in high school and had gained almost five inches of height in a year. I stood six feet tall. I had always been a scrawny kid and the extra height made me look lanky. I started walking with a hunched back to make myself look inconspicuous and smaller. That bad habit had stuck.

The housemaid, Tara, opened the door and ushered me in. She was a nice woman. I had learned her name during the second week of my lessons. Since then, I had made a habit of making small talk with her. Instead of taking me into the living room, where my lessons always took place, Tara took me to a different part of the house. She finally left me in the gym room. I saw Nisha ma'am working out on a lat-pull-down machine.

"Sam! Come on in. I am almost done with my workout. Then we'll work on your posture. Give me a few minutes," she said, huffing slightly, and resumed her workout.

Ma'am had started calling me Sam and asked me to introduce myself to people that way. The westernization of my Indian name had the intended effect of making it sound cool to my classmates.

I looked around. The gym looked nice with many expensive looking exercise machines. One entire wall was covered with floor to ceiling mirrors. Yet, my gaze kept coming back to ma'am.

She wore a figure-hugging black tank top and dark grey capri pants. It showed off her toned arms, shoulders and chest with a hint of cleavage. Her breasts were well outlined by the tank top. They heaved and fell with every rep of the exercise. Her hair was combed back and held tight in a pony tail. A light sheen of sweat covered her exposed skin, in spite of the air conditioning.

I had a hard time averting my gaze. She looked stunning. The workout made her skin flush and glow. She was focused on finishing the reps. I gave up trying to look away and admired her, surreptitiously. Soon, my cock stirred in my jeans and started to grow, much to my embarrassment.

She was done with the workout shortly and asked me to stand sideways in front of the mirror. I walked over, hoping the bulge in my jeans wasn't too obvious.

"Take a good look at your overall body posture. See how it's hunched up, here, and around here."

She stood close to me and tapped my upper back and shoulders as she pointed out the areas. I could feel the warmth radiating from her body. She was still breathing heavily after her workout. Her chest heaved in and out visibly.

"Now stand straight, shoulders back and chest out."

She pulled my shoulders back and I followed the rest of her instructions.

"Now look in the mirror. That's what a good posture should look like. I want you to remember this. Practice it every day in front of a mirror. Consciously incorporate it in your daily life. Tell your friend, Zoheb, to remind you to straighten up every time you hunch or slump. Unlearning a bad habit is difficult, but with regular practice, this will become a new habit."

I looked into the mirror and memorized the posture. My eyes fell on her reflection. She looked about five foot six. She too, stood sideways and I could see her figure and posture. Head held high, back straight, pert round breasts, a slim midsection, toned thighs, taut butt with shapely legs.

"Had a good look?" she asked, with the hint of sly smile.

She moved away from the mirror. I followed her to one of the exercise machines meant for upper back workout. She showed me how to operate it and made me do a few reps. Then she made me workout my shoulders on another machine. Finally, she showed me few stretching exercises for the back, shoulders and core muscles. Her lithe body moved easily and stretched far more than I was able to manage. I was anyways engrossed in watching her than trying to mimic her moves.

"Do you workout?" she asked me as we wrapped up the session. We sat facing each other on the exercise benches.

"Not really. This was my first time working out in a gym."

"You should. Exercise releases endorphins in the body which makes us feel happy. Improving your overall personality has a lot to do with how you look and feel. Working out and staying fit will not only improve your posture, but also make you look good and feel confident."

She pulled out the scrunchie to let her hair fall open. She gave her head a shake, airing out her damp hair. She bent forward and started untying her shoes. I had a good, clear view of her cleavage and was glued to the scene. My arousal, that had subsided, was back with a vengeance and my cock stirred again. It took some time for her to untie and untangle the laces, giving me ample time to ogle her.

My cock was hard and uncomfortable within the confines of my jeans. I usually jerked off every alternate day but hadn't done so for the last four days. It was already due and that made matters worse.

She finally took off her shoes and stood up.

"Sam, I have to leave shortly for a meeting. You can take your time. Once you've cooled down, you can take a shower in the bathroom over there," she said, pointing to a corner of the gym.

"There will be fresh towels on the rack. If you need anything else, just call Tara.

"Oh, and one more thing. Let's cancel our sessions until after your semester exams are done. Concentrate on your revisions for now."

The moment she left, I hurried over to the bathroom and got inside. I opened my jeans and pulled it down along with my boxers. Freed of its confines, my cock stood straight. I sighed in relief. It had been uncomfortable for the last few minutes. I took off the rest of my clothes and hung them to dry. The bathroom was small but luxurious. I got into the bathing area and took a shower, hoping to cool down from the exercise as well as calm my arousal.

I turned off the shower once I was done. My cock was still hard as rock. There was no way I could fit it back into my jeans and travel all the way back to my room. I saw a bottle of shower gel on the shelf. I squirted some of it into my hands, leaned back against the wall and applied the gel all over my cock and balls. The slippery sensation felt good. I closed my eyes, relishing the feel.

Images of Nisha ma'am floated in my mind; glowing, perspiring, breathing hard, breasts heaving in her tank top as she worked out. I fondled my balls with one hand and worked on my cock with the other. The image of her, bent forward with her cleavage on display, was seared into my brain. It didn't take long for me to go over the edge. I came hard, ropes of creamy fluid shooting out onto the floor. The orgasm was really intense.

As I recovered, feelings of guilt and shame washed over me. I had just jerked off, fantasizing my professor; the one person I respected and adored immensely.

Shit! What have I done? This is so wrong.

*****

The next two weeks were spent in revisions. Then the sixth semester exams for two weeks after that. The last exam was on a Friday. I hadn't seen or spoken to ma'am in almost four weeks. I missed our sessions and longed to talk to her again. I needed to discuss with her about the future of our sessions. There was still so much to learn from her. I was addicted to spending couple of hours with her every week.

With the last exam done, I decided to visit her house that Friday evening itself. I hadn't informed her that I'd be visiting. I reached her house around eight o'clock and rang the doorbell. Tara opened the door and was surprised to see me.

"Sameer! Is ma'am expecting you?" she asked, sounding slightly uneasy.

"Nope. I just came by to talk to her. Is she home?

"Yeah... but this may not be a good time," she said, hesitantly.

"Oh... I should've called before coming over. Ok... I'll talk to her later," I said.

I was disappointed to have come all this way and not being able to see her. I turned to leave.

"Wait," she said.

She looked away, her face scrunched, wrestling with her thoughts, as if trying to make a decision. She exhaled visibly and asked me to come in.

She took me into the living room, sat me down and said, "I shouldn't be telling you this, so I'll appreciate if you can keep this a secret. I am just a housemaid but ma'am has always treated me as family. I care about her. It's her birthday today. But she's not in a good emotional state right now. She's been crying and drinking this evening."

"Oh... I didn't know it was her birthday. Why is she upset?"

"That's not for me to say. But it breaks my heart to see her this way. That too, today of all days.

"I've known her for the past eight years. She used to be so joyous, so full of life. Now, all I see is just a shadow of her former self. Except, during the times she's with you. I've seen both of you together. You cheer her up and make her laugh. She's always in a good mood after your visits.

"She needs that now. I think she'd be happy to see you. She told me not to have her disturbed, but I am acting here on my own. You should go upstairs and talk to her. She's in the balcony."

"Don't worry, Tara. I'll do my best to cheer her up."

*****

I made my way upstairs. Sounds of an old, melancholic Hindi song wafted through the air as I reached the first floor.

Wow! She's really depressed.

I found the door to the balcony. There was a music player just at the entrance, playing the songs. I stepped out onto a very spacious balcony with lots of potted plants, few lounge chairs and a small table. There was a small, well stocked bar at one corner.