Her Dirty Professor

I go into the dean’s office. No one else comes out. Twenty minutes. What the hell was he doing in his room alone for twenty minutes? Maybe he heard it was me here to see him and he just wanted to make me squirm. Well, it worked. Blood rushes in my ears and my heart is like a caged animal thrashing in my chest.

This is too much. It’s more grownup than anything I’ve had to deal with since graduating high school. I want to walk away and forget everything. The only thing keeping me grounded is knowing I’m doing this for Loche. I’d do anything for him.

“Shut the door behind you,” Dean Meyer says. He sits behind an imposing desk. On top of it are pictures of his wife and grown children placed in matching gold frames.

He stacks a pile of loose papers in front of him. The task seems more important to him than giving me his full attention. Funny how I used to really admire this guy, but now that my scholarship and Loche’s job are on the line, I’m looking for the horns and pitchfork hiding beneath that very obvious rug on his head.

Folding my hands in my lap, I say, “I wanted to talk to you about what you saw at the restaurant last night.”

Not that what he saw could be misconstrued as anything but what it was. I’m going to tell the truth, for the most part. I think that’s best. But in the hours between when I got back to my dorm this morning and sitting here, I read the entire manual on student conduct. I will inform him that there are no definitive rules stating that a teacher cannot date an adult student. It’s only frowned upon when it comes to ethics and morals. Unfortunately, by me pointing this out, I’ll be saying Loche doesn’t have those qualities that this particular school finds important enough to make as their motto. But, not having those things is not grounds to terminate his job. Especially if that student will no longer be attending that school.

The thought of leaving fills me with such a deep sadness, my vision starts to turn gray. I shake my head and square my shoulders, pulling myself together. I need to stay strong or I will never get through this without breaking down, and I refuse to cry or appear weak in front of this man.

Before I can say another word on the matter, Dean Meyer stops me and says, “There’s no need. Mr. Johnson already came to speak with me this morning.”

“He did . . .” I say, hanging off the edge of my seat.

“He resigned from his position.”

“What?” I say, voice rising. “He can’t do that. This wasn’t his fault.”

The dean stops what he’s doing and looks at me with eyebrows raised. “He did it to save your scholarship. As I’m sure you’ve probably read in the manual of conduct, students on scholarship can be released for any reason that might jeopardize the moral or ethical reputation of this establishment. While it does have to go in front of a board for vote before that can happen, I’m fairly certain having an affair with a teacher will fall under that category. You’re welcome to roll the dice, Georgia, but Mr. Johnson fought to save your scholarship. I think he’d be highly disappointed if he threw himself under the bus for nothing.”

“But—” I start to say when Dean Meyer interrupts.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to protect him, because he had that same look on his face when he came in here to protect you. I gave him the option to either end his relationship with you or leave his job. He chose to leave. Let it go.”

I close my mouth. It’s been hanging open this whole time.

“Good day,” the dean says. “Please close the door on your way out.”

Unable to get words out, I stand and walk out of his room and close the door. His secretary watches me leave, no doubt hearing everything.

I still can’t believe Loche would rather leave his job than end his relationship with me. That’s more than a fling. I know that I love him, but I’d had my doubts about his feelings toward me. Until now. I need to find him. Find out what happened. See how he’s doing. This can’t be easy for him. You don’t just fill out an application and hand it over to a manager to get a job as a professor as a prestigious university. That takes time, money, commitment. He must be devastated. I have to be there for him.

I go to his house, ditching my classes for the day. It’s probably the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done in my life—well, besides sleeping with my teacher. But I’m sure the world won’t stop and my grades won’t plummet for missing one day.

I take a cab to his house. When I get there, he’s sitting on the porch swing with his borrowed cat curled up on his lap. Loche smiles when he sees me.

“What did you do?” I say, trying to sound firm, but my voice withers away into a pathetically sad sound.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” he says.

“I had to come see you.”

“I take it you talked to Dean Meyer.”

Tears start to fall without me realizing they were even there. Suddenly I’m imagining a life without Loche in it. No more seeing him every day in chemistry, my favorite teacher just a favorite memory. What if he starts to resent me after this? If he struggles to pay his bills or can’t get another teaching job, he’ll ultimately blame me. I don’t want to lose him.

He stands up, moving the cat to the side. The cat glares at him a moment for interrupting his comfortable spot before finding a different spot on the cushion.

Loche comes toward me. I should meet him half way but my legs won’t move. I’m afraid if I try, they’ll collapse.

He pulls me into a hug and I breathe in his familiar scent, his warmth. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I let the tears flow freely now. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him, trying not to be too loud even though my body is going through the motions of wracking sobs.

“It’s okay,” he says, kissing my forehead and rubbing comforting circles across my back.

“No, it’s not okay. I doubt Dean Meyer will give you a letter of recommendation after all of this.” I look up at his beautiful house. I can’t imagine living like this, then having to move into an apartment or something worse.

“I don’t need one,” he says.

I pull back to look at him. He wipes tears from my face with his thumbs. “What do you mean? How will you get another teaching job? Without a letter of recommendation, you’ll be asked why you left and you’ll have to tell them the truth. No one will hire you after you slept with a student—even if it’s perfectly legal.”

“I know,” he says.

I shake my head, confused. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t need a teaching job. I don’t need a job at all. I was only teaching because it was something I worked so hard to do, but honestly, I don’t love it anymore. There are other things I’d rather do with my time.”

“What do you mean you don’t need a job? How will you survive?”

His cheeks flush and he looks at his hands that are now on my shoulders. “After I got paid for being in the movie, I used some of that money to patent a formula I came up with for a longer-lasting lubricant. It ended up changing the sex industry, actually. I made enough to where I don’t need to work anymore.”

I just stare at him, wide-eyed. “Are you serious?”

He smiles and shrugs.

“Let me guess, does it involve coconut oil?”

He laughs. “Maybe a little.” His gaze finds mine and he gets this serious look on his face. “I’m excited to see where this thing between us goes. I want to be with y

ou.” He bites his lip, looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.

“What?” I say.

“I’m in love with you.”

I hesitate, but only for a moment, my muscle memory still fearing someone will see us. But I guess that doesn’t matter anymore. I launch myself into his arm and kiss him. I don’t want to stop kissing him, but the words are fighting to get out of me. “I love you too,” I say, more tears spilling down my cheeks, but this time with laughter falling shortly behind.

We can be a couple. He actually wants that from me, and I want it too. More than anything.

He takes me by the hand and leads me into the house. We’re barely through the door when I start to take off his shirt, and I kiss his nipples, sliding my tongue across them. I’ve heard men’s are just as sensitive as women’s. The way he groans make me think they really are.

While my tongue is busy, I unbutton his jeans and pull them down, along with his boxers. He steps out of them. I don’t touch him right away, wanting to make this moment last, prolong the pleasure. Instead, I touch everything but his dick. Tickle his belly button, run my fingers along the trail of hair beneath it. Follow it down to his trimmed pubes and brush my fingers through it.

His breathing quickens and his cock twitches. But still I don’t touch it.

Crouching down, I kiss his stomach and make my way down. My lips hover over the head of his cock, breathing lightly, softly blowing on it. He shivers.

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that, don’t you?” he says.

My face stays at crotch level while I look up at him with only my eyes. “That’s the point.”

He moves my hair off my face so he can watch as I lip the silky skin of his balls and take one of them in my mouth, rolling it around softly with my tongue.

He tilts his head back. “Oh, God,” he says in a husky, breathy voice. He doesn’t stay that way long, eager to keep watching the action.

Snaking out my tongue, I take turns licking and kissing up the shaft of his prick until I reach the head. A few rings around the rim and I’m putting the entire thing in my mouth. I poke the hole with the tip of my tongue, tasting the salty goodness of his pre-cum. He massages my shoulder as I swallow him down, going slow while trying to breathe through my nose so I don’t have to come back up for air.