The Professor's Pet

September 1986-1

SEPTEMBER 1986

1.

So: Like I said, it was the mid-eighties. Gird up your loins – or better yet, loosen them a bit – and try not to sympathize! Good luck. In any case, back then I was like uncounted other eighteen year-old guys, leaving the dozy, stodgy Midwest for a wild-and-crazy college in sunny Southern California. My name was Ben James, and I was an admittedly sheltered young man. My experience with drugs was limited to alcohol and maybe a little m*******a. I knew nothing of hallucinogens, or of the other powerful concoctions being developed just then for use in various kinds of therapy, espionage, and prisoner interrogation. I knew even less about s*x, having had only one real lover who’d terminated our affair after only one interrupted attempt at intercourse. She’d fled my bed, weeping, complaining that the pain was just too great. Too bad for her I guess; yet even worse for me. I should have known. Perhaps my only distinguishing feature at that time had been an unpredictable ‘little’ quirk of biology: a p***s that was frankly prodigious.

Now I’d known that I had a big d**k for years, naturally. Gym class, and then years of soccer practice had proved that beyond all doubt. All the envious ribbing, even ridiculing – not to mention the evidence of my senses – had made that indisputable.

Despite being wiry if not quite slight, and only five foot-ten, I’d somehow been gifted with the member of a mastodon. Yet what good was such a gift if it made me not only an object of ridicule, but unfortunately exceptional to the point of celibacy? Clearly, it would take either a career in pornography or a similarly exceptional woman to finally find a destiny for me…

Enter Dr. Teri Teasel.

Now this was an exceptional woman if there ever was one, and in a wide variety of ways. Not quite thirty yet, Dr. Teasel taught both Chemistry and Psychology at my chosen University, and she held a degree in Pharmacology as well. A former child prodigy and widely acknowledged genius, she was even rumored to have overseen top-secret studies for the nation’s intelligence services. A classic type-A personality, she was brilliant and driven, over-achieving and domineering, supremely cold and calculating and as stern and strict in the classroom as any professor ever. Incidentally, of course, she was also remarkably attractive.

A classic Nordic beauty, she was tall and slender, with perfect aquiline features, piercing blue eyes and waist-length hair of scintillant platinum-blonde. Her legs were long and shapely; her hips flared fetchingly wide and her waist and belly contrastingly trim. While not particularly large, her breasts were achingly pointy and upswept, with huge conical n*****s that habitually protruded through the thin, filmy blouses she favored. The fact that she was also always braless made for a maddening distraction in her classes, a fact I quickly discovered in my first week of school.

Chemistry 101 was my last class of the day. Next to the first class, when hangovers and general bleariness often make it impossible to concentrate, this time period – well after lunch and just before soccer practice – was the worst. Add in a gorgeous professor with skirts split to mid-thigh and barely concealed breasts, and even the rather simple facts of elementary chemistry had trouble competing with those of a more hormonal kind.

I was no different from any other adolescent male. I didn’t care what a b***h she was. After the first week, I didn’t even care about my grade – although dropping below a 2.0 would cost me my soccer scholarship. All I cared about was the free show – and maybe indulging in a few incidental fantasies rather than absorbing the molecular structures of the various types of sugar…

So of course, coincidence and synchronicity conspired to condemn me.

This class was right before soccer practice, right? And I had lunch, then a free period, then Chem 101 at 3:30. Tuesday of my second week, it occurred to me I could save time by wearing just boxers and my sweats to class, and then heading from there straight to the locker room. Getting on the field early and impressing the coaches with my dedication couldn’t hurt my chances of being a starter at all…

So there I was: sitting right smack in front of the podium, wearing just moccasins, boxers, baggy sweat pants and an ever baggier Buffalo Sabres hockey jersey, when Ms unbelievably snotty and hot strutted into the room wearing a jet black skirt cut just as short and slit just as high, and a white silk blouse even more filmy and thin than ever, and began lecturing on the chemistry of s****l reproduction.

Okay, it was all gametes this and chromosomes that. But since when did specifics matter s**t to emotions? And whenever did a determined if inconvenient erection agree to stop f*****g swelling? Sitting in the front row in the loosest of clothing, with no real desk but a typically miniscule college right-hand writing platform to hide behind, I suddenly had a seriously humiliating problem to deal with.

I fidgeted, shifted, tried to rearrange my rapidly hardening d**k, but to no avail. Soon I was pitching a tent in my pants that would be obvious to anyone who looked. Worse, within a minute it had elongated enough to effortlessly push aside my dual elastic waistbands and poke right up out of the top of my pants!

Hastily I arranged my shirt to cover it, but nothing could hide the huge, pulsing bulge underneath my clothes. Next, I tried moving my books onto my lap to crush it down, but that heavy pressure only made me throb up even harder. I was desperately trying to hold the books in place with my left hand and take notes with my right, when finally disaster struck. An extra urgent pulse of my fully-awakened monster suddenly caused my grip on the books to slip, whereupon they promptly crashed to the floor, interrupting the lecture and drawing all eyes in the room to me.

Sitting in the front row, my own front was mercifully hidden from most of the class. Only the few students to either side of me could grasp the true nature of my difficulty. And their stifled giggles were quickly stilled by the stern sweep of Dr. Teasel’s notorious glare. Yet she of course was right in front of me, not six feet away, and her penetrating gaze was justly famous for missing nothing.

“Mr. James, do you have a problem?”

“No ma’am,” I replied, this response being belied by my most impressive tent and furiously blushing features.

“Then if you are through fidgeting around and disrupting my class, perhaps you could retrieve your textbooks and apply yourself to today’s lesson. Then I’ll see you in my office at four-thirty. Perhaps a little extra course work will help you to keep your mind on your studies.”

“F-four-thirty?” I stammered. “But I have soccer practice…”

“Four…thirty!” she grimly intoned, and her intimidating manner was enough to shut me up. I bent to retrieve my books, thankful at least that now that it had humiliated me and gotten me into trouble, the monster was finally slipping back into sleep.

The last remaining half hour of class was the longest I’d ever yet endured. Yet the hour that came next would seem both longer still and yet at times impossibly swift. It was certainly the most bizarre and disconcerting span of time I’d ever so far experienced…

2.

Chemistry 101 let out at 4:20. Without even a glance at me, Dr. Teasel packed up her bag and left through her private exit behind the podium.

With a sigh, I joined the general exodus mounting the tiers of steps and seats leading to the pair of exits at the rear of the lecture hall. At this point, those in the know were hilariously circulating the specifics of my unfortunate little incident, and I had to put up, yet again, with tons of ribbing from my new teammates and quite a bit of giggling – and some seriously speculative looks – from the ladies.

Oh well. This was old hat by now, and I had more pressing worries. I could ill-afford to miss a practice this early in the season, and I had quite enough homework already, thank you very much. I was not looking forward to the coming interview.

So I made my circuitous way through still unfamiliar surroundings and finally located the office of Dr. Teasel in the Chemistry Department. Classes were finished for the day, and I was swimming upstream against the general exodus, but I still managed to reach my dread destination right on time. With a fresh sigh of trepidation I knocked.

“Enter,” came the cold command, and I obeyed.

Dr. Teasel was seated behind her well-ordered desk, clearly waiting for me. There was a single straight-back chair positioned a few feet in front of it, and I set down my bag and moved to take it.

“I don’t remember telling you to sit!” snapped my bitchy professor, and I froze.

“Unless you were born in a barn, please observe proper manners. Close the door behind you, and present yourself standing just in front of that chair.”

Once again I silently obeyed, and at this she seemed somewhat mollified. Her manner softened slightly, but nothing that could be remotely construed as warmth entered her expression. She merely sat there, and eyed me coldly for several long minutes. Determined not to compound my offense by fidgeting, I cast my eyes down and waited her out. When she finally began to speak, it was at first to my total confusion, and then once again to my ashamed little schoolboy embarrassment.

“Rumors about you have reached me already, my boy. Giggling girls have been heard speaking in scandalized whispers about a certain new member of our men’s soccer team. And anyone with eyes couldn’t have failed to notice your problem today…”

Once again she let the silence draw out, and at last I felt compelled to break it. Perversely, the monster in question was starting to twitch again, and I had to do something to distract, deny, delay.

“Problem, ma’am?”

“Don’t be an i***t!” she snarled. “And don’t you dare treat me like one! My intellect dwarfs yours like a Cro-Magnon that of an Australopithecine! You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

She paused, took a deep breath, and then continued.

“Your p***s is abnormal,” she stated matter-of-factly. “And I’m willing to bet you are still a virgin because of it. Yes?”

For a moment I was so dumbfounded I couldn’t respond. But seeing her eyebrows narrow impatiently I scrambled to answer.

“No…well, yes. Kind of both…”

“Let me guess,” she interrupted with a smirk. “Every girl you tried to stick it in stopped you before you got halfway.”

Struggling to believe that this conversation was even taking place, I nodded dumbly. Dr. Teasel nodded knowingly back. “Well young man, it just so happens that I have a complementary problem. It’s known as a weakened pelvic floor. I will spare you the anatomical details and merely relate that my box is a bit too big. Thus no normal man can generate the necessary friction to bring me to orgasm. But you are clearly abnormal. Perhaps we can help each other to solve our respective problems…”

Smirking at my dumbfounded expression, she rose, circled her desk and locked the door to her office. Then she moved up close behind me and just off to one side, and quietly spoke the most mind-boggling words I’d ever yet heard.

“Drop your pants.”

“Whu-what?”

“All the way to the ankles.”

“Whu-why?”

“Because I want to inspect your erection, you i***t. Judging by this afternoon, and the way it’s growing right now, it may be just what I’ve been looking for. So bare it to me, my dumb young boy, if you ever want to pass my class, and perhaps even have s*x for the first and possibly only time ever in your pathetic life!”

In a bewildered haze of excitement, unbelief, and rapidly skyrocketing arousal, I hooked my thumbs in my waistbands and yanked both sweats and boxers down to puddle about my sockless moccasins.

Naturally my c**k got caught in the process, and the tugging action, followed by the flopping as it finally flipped free, combined with my suddenly raging libido to accelerate the already swift ascension of my erection. Then my professor stepped up even closer, reached around me and gripped it.