The Stripper

The Stripper

Ron Ehrs

A co-ed student becomes the teacher for her professor

* * * * *

[Author's note: this is my 8th story for Literotica. Only one of them has run under 10K words - this is over 13K. I write long because to me the story and the people matter. I also try to build in some humor, though I'm not sure who notices. And, yes, I did teach college English in the past, but sadly, this is not autobiographical.]

* * * * *

When all this happened, I was in my first year as a contract instructor at a local college in West Texas. It wasn't a community college, it was one of those branch four-year colleges they set up to make it convenient for local students to attend. My job was second-tier, no chance of tenure. But I liked teaching, and teaching jobs of any kind were hard to find. So I had settled myself into a second-class future.

I was engaged to Trixie. We had been dating for a couple of months. She felt that was plenty of time for us to know what we wanted and to go ahead and take the next step -- which was, of course, to get married. I'm not sure I was totally convinced, but she had enough conviction for both of us.

We weren't actually living together. Trixie wasn't going to live with me until we were official, but we would spend two or three nights a week together (mostly Friday and Saturday nights, plus the occasional weeknight). And yes, we were having sex. It was good, I guess, except that Trixie told me blowjobs (she never used that word, of course) were strictly for marriage. Which I take it was to be my reward for going ahead and getting married? And given my limited experience, I wouldn't have had any way of knowing what else I might be missing.

I was 25. I had what was called an ABD -- All But Dissertation -- from Texas State University in San Marcos. I had taken the necessary courses for the PhD, but I hadn't done my dissertation yet. I told myself I was going to get around to it, but these days my teaching load made it difficult to focus on a major project like that. My ABD, however, had been enough to get me a contract teaching position here at an outback college in the state system. Adjunct faculty like me taught on a three-year, renewable contract -- lower pay, a higher class load, and no opportunity for tenure or the security it provided. Still, given the truly awful teaching market on the college level, it was a find to jump on.

Mostly I taught freshman writing, which none of the real professors wanted to have anything to do with. Someday I might get to teach an intro lit class, which was what I really wanted, but I couldn't count on it.

Trixie was 22, and about to graduate. She hadn't been in any of my classes, we had just met at a frat party. I had been in a frat in college and was welcome at parties at the local chapter here. Those parties were my best shot at meeting women who weren't my students.

Trixie had a dual major in Business and Home Ec. She was not an outstanding student in Business, but she did pretty well in her Home Ec classes. She wasn't bad looking, I guess, blonde hair, blue eyes, nice face, fairly decent body (a few extra pounds, but not a problem yet), but she wasn't the kind of hot that would give her the pick of the football team or have a gaggle of fraternity brothers clustered around her.

I was too new at the school to have any friends whom I had known for very long. I did have a few guys I used to talk to and sometimes have a beer with. I had even introduced Trixie to them one time. When I got together with them alone the next time after that, I asked them how they liked her. I could tell they were trying to be positive, but it was definitely lukewarm. One of them suggested it might be better to live together for at least a year before jumping into anything -- i.e., marriage.

Still, it wasn't like I had girls flocking around me. I wasn't bad-looking, and I was reasonably smart, but girls could see the life I had settled for, and they were much more interested in guys with some real sense of hope and ambition for the future.

So there I was, and Trixie had pretty well decided for us. She had a solid picture of our future laid out, even if it wasn't going anywhere special. But marriage was definitely part of the picture for her, and, given that she hadn't distinguished herself in her business courses, it wasn't likely she would end up after college in a situation that would be better for finding eligible males than where she was right now. Whatever my limitations, I was her best shot.

I don't mean to say I was unhappy, but part of me realized I wasn't feeling that kind of poetic passion you see in movies and on TV. Still, mine was not a very poetic life, aside from occasionally teaching a few poems to a class of freshmen. And, I supposed, it seemed like time to start becoming a grown-up. What else was there to look forward to?

* * *

Trixie had decided on an early summer wedding despite the Texas heat. She wanted all her girlfriends from high school to be able to attend as well as her girlfriends from college. I wasn't quite sure who I wanted to have attend. High school was a long time ago, and most of my college buddies had followed very different paths in their lives so there wasn't much connection. Even the people I had known in grad school, who I should have been closest to, either had real teaching jobs -- in which case they would look down on me -- or they hadn't gotten any offers at all -- in which case they would resent me.

I hadn't told my parents about the wedding yet. They knew I was dating someone, but telling them about the wedding was different. That would make it "family official." My mother would want to know all about the plans, and would start wanting to know more about the girl. She would also be making lists of relatives to invite.

Weddings are a funny thing. There's a lot of weird shit going on in everybody's head. For one thing, there's the question of whose idea it is. Sometimes a guy will be desperate to marry his girlfriend as a way to hang onto her. But I suspect that more often it's her idea -- or at least the idea that's been handed down to her since childhood. These days, of course, there are lots of professional women who are wary of marriage, or at least insist their prospective husband be even more high-powered than they are. But for girls like Trixie, the real value of college is the MRS degree. And this being her final year of school, this was a matter of some urgency, particularly if she wanted to keep up with her sorority sisters and her friends from high school.

For me, the idea initially was somewhat neutral. It seemed natural enough, after all, I was getting older and perhaps it was time to move into adulthood. All the same, however, as Trixie began making actual plans, my doubts began to step up, front and center.

Did I really love Trixie? I had sort of assumed I did, it was a kind of an inevitability, right? I mean I was supposed to be in love with her by now, wasn't that the way it worked? Maybe the idea of actually getting married was giving my doubts too much space. Still, did I really want to end up living with and banging Trixie -- and only Trixie -- for the rest of my life? I had never been much of a ladies' man, so the idea that breaking up with Trixie would land me in some kind of Playboy paradise didn't really mesh with my reality. But, on the other hand, the rest of your life is a long fucking time -- especially fucking Trixie.

* * *

Trixie was in her element these days. She had all these plans to focus on, and to discuss endlessly with her girlfriends and her mother. Occasionally she would ask me what I thought of this or that idea, but it was mostly a pro forma gesture. She didn't really care about my answer, and I didn't either.

She wanted to hold the wedding in her hometown, which was about 70 miles from the school, so she began to spend a lot of weekends going to see her mother and check out local venues and caterers and the like. Sometimes she was so busy she wouldn't even have time to call me over the entire weekend.

Trixie's departure left me with not all that much to do on weekends, but at least I didn't have to listen to her talk about wedding plans.

* * *

I was living in an older single-level house a couple of blocks from campus. It wasn't anything special, but it was pretty convenient.

Anyhow, it was a Trixie-less Friday night. Trixie had headed out a few hours earlier after her last class ended. I was trying to figure out what to do with myself. I had eaten a sandwich, which might pass for dinner. I wasn't really in the mood for TV. I thought I might head over to one of the local student bars and have some beers, but even that idea didn't seem too exciting.

That's when my doorbell rang. When I opened the door, a girl was standing there, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and carrying an oversized purse. "Hi, Professor. Can I come in?"

I remembered her. Her name was Stacy, and she had been in one of my first-semester writing classes. She had curly black hair, was slightly zaftig but in a voluptuous sort of way, and had a cute face that also exuded a kind of sensuality -- looking at her, you got the idea that even just making out with her would be a memorable experience. She was also smart, probably the best writer in the class, or in fact, in any of my classes.

It wasn't just that, however, she seemed to be very enthusiastic about my class. She always sat in the front row, beaming happily. I couldn't help but notice her. When she came to class one day wearing a shirt with a large, spangled "PIZZAZZ" emblazoned diagonally across her ample chest, it was hard for me to stay focused on my lesson for the day. So yes, I noticed her, but I had just started dating Trixie shortly before that, so I reminded myself that I was spoken for. But still...

Anyhow, here was Stacy standing in front of me with that big smile on her face. The thing is, looking at her -- even just standing there with her -- was making me feel...guilty? That was silly of course, but Trixie was pretty clear that her expectations for me didn't include me feeling what I was feeling right now.

Still, Trixie was out of town, hanging with her mom, and here was Stacy, nicely asking if she could come in. I mean, shouldn't I be polite? Maybe she was here to ask me if I would give her a letter of recommendation or something for her work in my class.

"Sure, come on in," I told her. "Have a seat."

* * *

She came in and sat down on the sofa. I sat down on a chair facing the sofa. "So, what's up?" I asked her.

"Nothing much, I guess. I had just been thinking about the class you taught and how much I enjoyed it and how much I learned, and just kind of on the spur of the moment I thought if you weren't busy maybe I could just come by and chat. I never had a chance to just hang out and talk to you when I was taking the course."

"Well, I don't know what kind of company I'll be, but it's nice to see you. Would you like a beer? You're not a student of mine anymore so it's probably okay."

"Sure, that would be nice, nice to just have a beer and have a chance to hang out with you."

I went to the kitchen and got two bottles of beer and popped off the caps. I brought them in and handed her one. I sat down and had a swig. It tasted better somehow in this new situation.

She took a drink too, and then said, "I hear you're getting married."

"Yeah, I am. The wedding is going to be this summer."

"So, I guess you're excited?"

I knew what I was supposed to say, that yes, I was excited and all that. But looking at Stacy, I wasn't feeling excited about the wedding at all. In fact...I wasn't feeling particularly excited about Trixie either. Still...

"Well, I guess so..." My voice kind of trailed off.

"I mean you guys must be in love and everything, which is cool."

I wanted to switch the subject, because this was going in the wrong direction. "How about you, Stacy, you must have a boyfriend. I mean I can't imagine guys not wanting to go out with you."

Stacy looked as if she was digesting what I had just said. "No," she said. "I started dating a guy about a month ago, but I broke up with him."

She was silent for a moment, then she added, "He was into swapping -- you know like getting together with another couple and swapping partners -- and I didn't like that at all. I guess I'm basically old-fashioned. I mean I'm not exactly old-fashioned, but swapping is over the line."

We both sat there, not saying anything. What she had just said, well, after Trixie and all, it was just doing a number on my head.

I guess we had been drinking our beers faster than I realized. "Would you like another beer?" I asked.

"That sounds good to me," she said.

I got two more beers from the fridge and brought them out. I'm not much of a drinker, so even the first beer was starting to get me just a little bit buzzed.

We sat there again, just sipping our beers, not sure of what to say next.

"By the way, do you go by 'Dan,' or 'Daniel'? I mean I figure since I'm not your student anymore, it should probably be okay to stop calling you professor."

"People usually just call me Dan," I said.

"I think I'd rather call you Daniel. It's more dignified. It's also sexier. At least it is to me."

* * *

She sat there for a moment as if trying to decide whether to go ahead and say what she was about to say.

"You know, Daniel, I've seen your fiancé. I guess she looks okay, but she's pretty sorority to me. I hadn't really thought that was the kind of girl you would end up with. But you know, if you're in love, that's fine."

I couldn't reply to that. Her description of Trixie was pretty much right. How did I end up with her? A little late to start wondering, of course. I mean, we were going to get married this summer. But hearing Stacy say that was kind of unsettling.

"So... I guess your buddies are going to throw you a big bachelor party, with lots of drinking and lots of strippers. That's usually how it goes."

"Well, I don't really have a lot of buddies here, and the guys I know might want to go out for drinks, but none of them would think about strippers. I mean they're all pretty straight-arrow, or maybe they're pretty lame. I don't know."

"That's a shame. Really, strippers should be part of the deal, right?"

"I don't know," I said. "And besides, my fiancé would definitely not approve."

"Well, isn't that the whole point? To remind you of what you're giving up? Maybe to give you one last fling? Or...maybe even make you change your mind?"

This was definitely getting into dangerous territory. I had been trying hard not to think about questions like these.

"You know," she continued, "I get the feeling you're missing something. You're too young to be that old. I mean you're smart, and you're kind of hot. I know it's not my place to say anything, but I just get this feeling you could do better, or more, or something. But hey, I shouldn't be saying any of this. I didn't come over to dump on your happy occasion."

I was "kind of hot?" Did I need to hear this? I mean, yes, I liked hearing it, a lot, actually, but it didn't seem like it was helping things right now.

Stacy set down her empty bottle on the side table. "Besides, I suppose she's really awesome in bed, lots of blowjobs and all that. I've heard the sorority girls practice their blowjob skills to get guys to want to marry them."

It pained me to answer, but here was my chance to talk about it, since no one else would ever raise the subject. "Well, I guess she's okay, I mean I really haven't had that much experience. The thing is, for now, we're still using condoms. She says she's saving the pill and 'naked sex' for when we get married. And I mean, condoms aren't that bad, are they?

"As far as blowjobs -- and that's not a word in her vocabulary, she would never say it -- she says she's absolutely saving that for marriage. I mean I guess that's one of the benefits of getting married, right?"

"You're kidding, right? I mean you go down on her, don't you?"

"Not really...actually not at all. I don't think she wants me to. I mean I shouldn't be saying anything about this to you anyway. It'll all be fine once we get married."

Stacy looked at me. "Are you fucking crazy? How many blowjobs do you think she's going to give you once she's safely married? Do you think she's going to want you to come in her mouth? You know she's never going to swallow. That would be disgusting. Pretty soon, you won't even want to ask. Hell, you won't even dare to hint.

"If it had been me, I would've been sucking you off the whole time. I mean oral sex is what you do if you're really into someone. That's how you get intimate, not just fucking.

"And condoms? You said you were engaged? Holy shit! I'm on the pill, and I don't even have a boyfriend."

She paused a moment as if considering the turn our conversation had just taken. "Look, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all that, but Jesus.

"Anyhow, where's your bathroom? And while I'm in there, can you get us another round of beers?"

* * *

I pointed down the hall toward the bathroom and went back to the kitchen for another round of beers. I knew I was talking too much, saying things I really shouldn't be saying. But I don't know, why hadn't I had a chance to talk about these things before? Had I just been sleepwalking all these months?

I brought the beers in and set hers on the side table beside the sofa. I sat back in the chair with mine. And while I was waiting, I pulled out my smartphone and switched it to "Airplane mode." I didn't want it to ring right now. I wasn't sure when I'd get another chance to have a conversation like this one.

* * *

Stacy seemed to be in there for a while, but eventually, I heard footsteps coming back.

When she walked back into the living room, she had changed her outfit. She was wearing one of those Catholic-schoolgirl-type short (actually very short) plaid skirts, a wide black leather belt, and on top she was wearing that T-shirt with the spangled PIZZAZZ written across it. She had tied the T-shirt up in a knot on the side to keep it from covering her skirt and belt.

When I saw the T-shirt, I realized how much I had been missing all this time with Trixie. Trixie never would've worn anything like that.

I was just sitting there with my mouth hanging open.

"It looks like you remember the T-shirt, Daniel," Stacy said. "I loved wearing it to class that day. I just didn't know you had a girlfriend. Well, at least your girlfriend -- oops, I mean your fiancé -- isn't here right now. I have a feeling we're both happy about that." She shimmied her chest at me letting her boobs move back and forth under the T-shirt.

I guess I should probably have been feeling guilty, I guess, but right now, all I was feeling was lust in my heart. And other places. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt this way, if ever. Certainly never with Trixie.

"Nobody should end up getting married without at least one stripper beforehand," Stacy said.

Stripper? What the hell?

"Since I knew you were getting married, I figured this was my last chance to do this before you were lost to the rest of the world. Or at least to people like me. And I don't know, maybe I thought you needed it?

"Of course, if I'm wrong, you can just tell me to leave now."

Leave now? I had a feeling that even if Trixie had been sitting there beside me right now, I would not have asked Stacy to leave. Trixie who?

Between that very short schoolgirl skirt, the black belt, and the T-shirt, I was starting to feel all sorts of things, none of which were exactly proper under the circumstances. I found myself wanting to just reach out and grab her. What the hell was wrong with me?

* * *

Stacy was watching me with a look of satisfaction on her face.