MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It’s 10pm on Sunday and I wait on Main St. for the bus to arrive with Katia.

Aside from my family—and it would have to be more of an emergency—I don’t know anyone who would make such a trip for me.  I tried to talk her out of it, felt bad about intruding upon her spring break.  But the more we talked the more excited we both became. 

A week together where we can just be ourselves!

A week together to sort out all the shit and avoid stumbling toward graduation!

There’s no direct bus from Philly, so Katia took one to Concord, then grabbed the last bus to Walls.  My breath is as thick as steam from a train.  I kick my boots against the hard pavement in a desperate attempt to maintain some circulation on this sub-zero New Hampshire night.  Grad school in Florida looks mighty appealing at this moment.

The bus pulls up and my eyes widen in anticipation.  Then here comes Katia, red-eyed and sleepy-headed but wearing the biggest smile imaginable as she makes her way down the bus steps.  I run to her.  As usual we squeal and embrace.

I take her bag, sling it over my shoulder, and we begin the mile walk toward campus.  Katia looks around at the dark desolate streets of Walls, still waking up.  She says, “Isn’t New Hampshire where they last spotted Bigfoot?”

And Katia can always make laugh.

I hook my arm through the arm of my best friend as we trudge happily toward Walls College.  There’s no one at Walls like Katia.  There’s no one anywhere like Katia.

In high school we both were shy, but going to college in the heart of Philadelphia has given her a certain urban swagger.  She no longer obsesses over her weight, what people think of her hair (now fluorescent blue mixed with her original brown curls), and she’ll zing you first before you have a chance to utter one syllable of sarcasm in her direction.

“How are things with Tuba Boy?” I ask.

“Better.  I had him read
Fifty Shades of Grey
and it really spiced things up.”

“That’s great.”

“Only down side is I’m Christian and he’s Ana.  But at least I get to punish him if he shows up with garlic breath!”

She has me laughing again.

“I can settle for decent sex,” she continues.  “Post-college is when you have to start looking for Mr. Right.”

I go quiet.  I think I found Mr. Right but everything’s going wrong.

It’s clear that Katia isn’t going to allow one single moment of self-pity, whether spoken or unspoken, for as we arrive on campus she says, “The town was very exciting.  What time is the cow tipping?”

We smirk all the way to my dorm.

My roommate doesn’t know what to make of Katia, perhaps surprised that quiet, introverted me could have such a loud, outgoing friend.  The closets don’t have doors and once Katia gets an eyeful of my roommate’s outfits, wigs, hats, accessories, and explosion of shoes, she starts calling her Lady Gaga.  My roommate says she has some studying to do and leaves the room.

“Studying this late on a Sunday night?” asks Katia.

“She’s really very nice.”

  I throw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and break out some iced tea Snapples.  Katia settles in my bed, logs onto her laptop, begins click-clacking away.  I assume she’s tending to Facebook business.  I change into gym shorts and tee shirt.  Soon Katia says, “I’m on.”

“On what?”

“The Walls Social Blog.”

“No way.”

“Way.  Created an account.  I’m Urban Nightmare.  This is a total window into the lost souls of New England.”

“I’m done with it.”

Katia chuckles as she scrolls through the blog.  “Here’s a guy who says his ideal date is hot sex with a girl then she turns into a pizza.”

“Must be a lacrosse player.”

“Someone posted back that she knew him and would prefer that he remain just a pizza.  Ouch!  In Philly they just shoot you.”

I leave to brush my teeth.  When I return, Katia’s still going strong with the blog.  I roll out the sleeping bag on the floor and set up my extra pillow.  We argued a bit earlier but I insisted Katia take the bed.

Katia says, “You’re a legend!”

“What?”

“I found the whole sequence where you went to meet LoveBrat.  Several people commented on how hot you are.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Want to see?” asks Katia.

“Told you.  Swore off.”

This seems to encourage Katia as she goes on with how everyone thought LoveBrat was a loser and that I had actually seen him and took off.

“He insists he got out of class late.  Several guys are asking if you would get in touch with them.”

“If it were only true.”

“It is,” says Katia.  “I’ll have Lady Gaga verify when she gets back.”

“She’s probably sleeping out tonight.”

Katia soon logs off and gets ready for bed.  She sleeps without a bra and under her oversized tee shirt her big boobs bob around as if they’re being juggled.  I shut the light.  I’m tired.  We both are.  The cold walk made us sleepy.

The last thing Katia says before dozing off is, “You go to your morning class, then wake me for lunch, then we’re going to start the official Paula/Sharon/Professor investigation...”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I’m not sure if Katia’s visiting to clear up all of the questions surrounding the Professor and his possible cheating—though it can’t quite be described as
cheating
since we made no monogamous commitment—or if she’s simply here to give me a boost.

Because as we head toward the Caf for lunch, walking across the campus green, we pass a very tall, skinny boy, and when we’re out of hearing distance I say, “That’s him.”

“Who?” she asks.

Before I can answer she says, “Wait.  Roland!  I recognize him from Facebook.” 

I nod my confirmation and she takes off after him.

I hesitate, recovering from the shock of her abrupt action, then scurry after her.

Just as Katia reaches him she yells, “Hey!  Hey, you!  Roland!”

He stops.  She circles in front of him, steps close, looks like a round midget next to his elongated lanky frame.  But that doesn’t stop her from arching her neck up and staring him straight in the eye. 

Katia says, “Look!  She’s right here.”

I catch up, but keep my distance.  My face turns beet red.  I look around to see if anyone notices what’s going on.

“You can’t just kiss someone then make her invisible,” snaps Katia.  “Say
hi
, nod, don’t just walk past with your head up your ass for two years.”

Roland stammers, “I beg your pardon.” 

He makes a move to brush past her but she blocks his way.

“Don’t beg my pardon,” says Katia, “
beg
for her forgiveness.”

Katia nods in my direction.  Roland finally turns, sees me and then it hammers home what Katia’s talking about.  His face shades as red as mine.  I give him my own defiant stare.

Roland makes another move to leave and this time Katia grabs him by the sleeve and says, “Hey, you’re gay, so what?  No big deal.  No shame.  Come to terms.  Get a grip.  But stop giving girls hickeys!  It doesn’t make you straight.”

Roland breaks free from her grasp, his face going from tomato red to scarlet, and hurries away.

“Find the right guy and get laid already!” she shouts.

His eyes dart everywhere.  Groups of students hear Katia and look over, but it’s unclear whether they know what’s happening.  Roland breaks into an outright dash, his jerky strides, the long neck and protruding Adam’s apple giving him the appearance of an ostrich on the run.

Katia calls after him with a bold and final, “You’ll be a lot nicer...douchebag!”

Katia turns and gives me a big smile.  I’m half-horrified, half in awe.  She walks over and holds her hand up for a high-five.  I shake my head, still speechless, but I do oblige.  We walk.  Katia says, “We need to come up with a name for that, something for the Urban Dictionary.”  She stops suddenly, gives me a delighted grin.  “Of course...
BFF ambush
!”

I grin back.  “You’re out of your fucking mind!”

I clasp the hand of my friend and we head toward the Caf.

After lunch I go to my archeology class.  Katia says she has a paper to work on, but that evening after getting a full report I doubt Katia did any homework.

“I went to the registrar’s office,” says Katia.  “Tried to find out if
Sharon
is her real name and if not does it being with
P
?  They wouldn’t give me such
privileged
information.  I came back about twenty minutes later, got to speak to someone new, told her I was doing a research paper on Asian students who westernized their names and needed some Walls examples but struck out again.”

“Surprised you couldn’t get Social Security numbers.”

“So I meandered over to the English House, hoping to get an eyeful of the Professor, but he was teaching a class in another building.  I noticed Professor Withers had office hours.”

“You didn’t.”

“I certainly did.  Got to see her after pretending to be an ignorant freshman interested in the writing program.  She was very polite, informative.  Yes, she is hot in an
aging fast
sort of way.  On her desk is a family photo of her, the husband, and two little kids.  They all looked smiley and happy.”

“You mean she’s nice also.”

“’Fraid so.”

It must be my expression because Katia adds, “Bottom line you’re stressing way too much.  The odds are surely long that the Professor will ever reciprocate the kinds of deep feelings you have for him.  Either move on or take advantage of your remaining once a week humps which will at least help you put on a happy face.”

“I don’t want to stop seeing him.  I can’t help believing there’s something more between us.”

“So use him as your own personal fuck toy and chalk up wherever it lands to experience.”

“I find it difficult now knowing he might be hammering someone else in the same bed.  Last week was the first time it wasn’t cataclysmic.”

“See how it goes tomorrow night,” says Katia.

“I’m not seeing him tomorrow.”

“Why not?”

“You and I can go to the movies or something.”

“Smush, don’t worry about me!  I can handle a few hours of down time kicking it with Lady Gaga.  I really do have a paper to do.  We have the whole week together!  You only have so many hours left.  And maybe you’ll get to the bottom of this once and for all.”

“I don’t know.”

“I insist.  I want all the details.  I’ve been living vicariously through you all year.  Having Tuba Boy lick my leather boots really isn’t doing it for me.  Go!  Enjoy!”

“We’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll see tomorrow,” says Katia, “because I’m going to Modern British Fiction with you.  I’m sure Professor Beard won’t mind.  I’m not going to miss this chance to take in some teacher eye candy and see, in the flesh, the ultimate student seducer, the delicious dominator himself!”

Suddenly horrified I say, “You wouldn’t BFF ambush him would you?  Really.  This is his job.   He doesn’t deserve it.  I really care for him!”

“Relax.  I swear I would never do such a thing.  He doesn’t deserve that you’re right...”

“Okay you can come.”

“...At least not yet.”

At the beginning of class the next day I’m all student as I approach my teacher, my best friend a step behind. 

“Hi, Professor Beard.  This is Katia.  She’s visiting on her spring break and would like to sit in.  Is that okay?”

“No problem, Celine.”  He peeks around me.  “Hello, Katia.”

She steps forward, all grin.  She reaches out her hand.  “The pleasure is mine.”

He shakes it.  I watch closely.  Katia’s hand does not linger.  And I’m glad she doesn’t say something like
I’ve heard so much about you
.

I take my usual seat in the back of the room.  Katia sits right next to me, but not before strolling down the aisle, giving Sharon, the only Asian girl in the class, a long once over and a surly vibe.  Sharon keeps her eyes front.

Katia whips out her phone and starts to text.

“Put that way,” I whisper.  “He’s adamant about no texting.”

She shoves the phone back into her jacket pocket.

“I was texting you,” Katia whispers back.  “He’s so fucking hot.  Such soft hands.  I’d do him in a heartbeat.”

“Shhh!”

Professor Beard begins a lecture/discussion on E.M. Forster’s
Room with a View
.

Katia, posture straight, folds her hands together and rests them on top of her desk like a perfect little angel, eyes glued to Professor Beard as he moves about the room with his enthusiastic confidence and commanding voice.

It’s not long before he’s writing on the blackboard with such vigor his ass shakes from side to side.  Katia leans her head out to the side for an unobstructed line of vision.

I’m embarrassed, but sure Katia isn’t the only one checking him out.  I can’t help smiling on the inside.  Perhaps Katia will now understand why I’m so smitten with him, why he’s always in my thoughts.

Halfway through the class I have to shush Katia again after she takes advantage of a pause in the discussion to lean over and whisper, “I like the view in this room just fine.”

It takes full concentration to follow the lecture and discussion and not regress to last semester’s behavior that surely zinged the bell off the Perv-O-Meter when my eyes focused on him with such fire his clothes burned away and I would imagine taking him deep into my mouth, sucking him off, or mounting him on top of the desk with unashamed enthusiasm while the class watched in awe.

But I fight off all sexy thoughts and even contribute a few tidbits to the discussion.  I aced the recent midterm and have gotten no grade below an A and I want to keep it that way.

After class I notice Katia watching Sharon and Professor Beard quite closely.  Sharon simply gathers her stuff and leaves, not even a nod exchanged between them. 
              Katia follows me to the front of the room.  In her best student voice Katia says to Professor Beard, “Thank you, sir, for allowing me to sit in.  These seventy-five minutes have been most
illuminating
.”

“You’re welcome,” says Professor Beard.  “I hope you two have a great rest of the day.”

Once out of the building, along the walkway back to the dorm, Katia, in her most analytic, academic tone says, “Celine, it’s my theory that ten percent of what makes a man good in bed is what he has...ninety percent what you
think
he has.  Now perhaps I’m a bit biased after being privy to some, let me emphasize
some
when yours truly hungered for more info on the wonderful creative things that man is capable of, but...I do concur.  I
think
that the Professor is a certifiable hottie of epic proportions and if you dare miss your allotted two hours I will be forced to board the bus back to Bethesda this very afternoon in a shameless attempt to force you to seek your just reward.”

I do miss him.  So much!  Last Tuesday was definitely off because I was so focused on
Paula
Withers, but seeing him today in class, imagining some of the things I need to do with him, absorbing Katia’s reaction as well, makes me hunger desperately for the man, reinforces for sure that he’s someone I can’t do without.

“All right,” I say with a wry smile.  “If you insist.”

*******************

That night I leave Katia alone in my room, sprawled on the bed as she attempts to work on her paper.  My roommate continues to make herself scarce.  I brave the chilled bike ride to Echo Lane with nervous eagerness. 

Regardless of all the bullshit I’m just plain horny!

The Professor’s in his room waiting.  Surprisingly, he greets me with a deep, sensual kiss while leading me to the bed...already warming me up.  He undresses me, slowly, not allowing me to help, as he slides off my hoody, pulls my tee shirt over my head, undoes my jeans, removes my bra, panties, shoes, and socks. 

On the nightstand is a bowl of clear liquid.

I squirm in anticipation.

Once I’m completely naked, he stands over the bed and strips, without hurry, provocatively, his eyes locking on mine as he unbuttons his shirt, drops it off his shoulders, reveals his muscled chest, undoes his pants, and lets them descend to the floor.

Before we do anything else, I, seriously, could drop a hand between my legs and get off just by looking at him.

Once he’s completely bare I reach forward, eager to touch him.

“No,” he says gently.  “Relax.  Enjoy.”

My arm drops to my side.  He turns me over onto my stomach.  He reaches into the bowl of thick liquid, soaking one hand, then rubs his two palms together.  The liquid is heated, olive scented, and his touch his golden and warm.

His hands grasp my shoulders and I let out a deep sigh of gratefulness.

He massages...fingers as strong as any athlete’s.

I close my eyes, whisper, “Wonderful.”

His probing goes deep, seemingly finding every knot and hard place on my back, working each spot until the tension disappears. 

And there’s certainly a lot to get rid of: stress from wondering who
P
is, if he’s definitely sleeping with her, and how often...my suspicions about Paula and Sharon; still waiting on grad school and grades, fretting over my diminished role in his life, wondering if our Tuesdays will last to graduation.

I want
this to last.

All of the stress gradually dissipates with each continued probe along my body with his sturdy masculine fingers.  He works his way down my back, then skips to my legs.  His hands glide from the oil and the warmth brings great comfort.

Maybe it’s my imagination working overtime but at this moment I feel loved.

It’s not simply his elegant, sensual touch, but the
intent
of his hands and fingers as they caress and soothe my calves.  So much care.  So much feeling.