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The Professor


The Professor

I take my profession as an educator seriously. I feel that
I owe my students more than the mere contents of a History
course. I feel I owe it to some of them to impart some knowledge
of life, as it really is outside of the classroom. Because
of this avocation, I have feasted on the firm, taut, nubile
flesh of freshman coeds for years. At 45, still fit, with
salt and pepper hair, I've been a college professor
for nearly 20 years, and in that time, I have sampled the
hungry mouths, the milky breasts and arousal-hardened
nipples, the firm, ivory thighs, the slick, slippery cunts,
and even sometimes, the tight, resisting asses of more
young coeds than I can count - and I've loved every minute
of it. I have perfected my search and selection techniques
into a science, and I can predict, almost infallibly on
the first day of class, which sweet, innocent young girl
will be mine before the end of the semester.
The search begins late in the summer. I am seeking a special
girl and willingly invest the time to find her. Eighteen,
and probably away from home for the first time in her life,
the freshman coed can make the most wonderful little lover
a man can ask for. As Dean of the Department, I always choose
to teach two of the first- year survey courses that are mandatory
for incoming freshmen. My colleagues revere me for being
so democratic and taking two of the least wanted courses,
but I have my reasons. I carefully examine the student folders
for the girls enrolled in those two courses. Because the
courses are survey in nature, the enrollment is high and
I have numerous candidates. I eliminate the commuters
- I want a girl living on campus, away from nosey parents.
I also reject those with an erratic academic record in high
school - I want the young scholar who has never failed a course.
Being on Financial Aid or a scholarship is a plus in my selection,
because of the added pressure to perform well in college.
I often eliminate the obviously wealthy student, because
she has grown up learning that a short phone call to Daddy
can usually resolve a problem in her favor, and I don't
want my little selectee to feel she has any easy solutions.
I prefer an oldest child, or even better - an only child,
so that their older siblings haven't "shown
them the ropes" about college. By the first day of
class, I have a pool of six to ten "possible"
girls in each of the two classes, and I am ready for the first
face-to- face meeting. I carefully and slowly call roll,
associating faces with the names. This process is tricky,
for I am searching for an intangible, a feeling. I want the
girl to be attractive, of course, but in a quiet, natural
way. I shy away from the flashy and the "slutty"
looks. I tend to concentrate on the "sweet and innocent"
look. The girl who has dated one boy seriously in high school,
and now finds herself away from him, and is feeling insecure
about how they can stay a couple. She's aware of her
sexuality, but not experienced. She's known the "romantic"
love of a high school sweetheart, and the passion of that
love, but is yet to discover lust.
Last year began as typical, but didn't stay that way,
for long. It was also the year of my "Irish Lasses."
At the end of the first day of class, I returned to my office
enthusiastic with the number of "candidates"
I had selected. There were four lovely girls in "Ancient
History" and three in "American History."
Now, after close inspection of their student folders,
and meeting them in person, it was time to enter "Phase
Three." My reputation on campus is impeccable. Dean
of the Department, published, and a favorite of the students,
my elective courses are always filled quickly. Of course,
the freshmen don’t know this, but word of mouth spreads
fast, and they soon feel lucky to have me for a required course.
I'm known as fair (and fairly easy when it comes to grades),
and an interesting lecturer. My assignments are reasonable,
my classroom is relaxed and my office door is always open.
I'm almost another "Mr. Chips!" The only
thing my freshman students have to complain about is the
weekly written assignment - an essay on the major points
of the week's lectures and reading material. I have
a very good reason for assigning this essay - it is "Phase
Three." By the end of the third week, five of the seven
"candidates" asked for appointments to see
me to discuss their failing grades. I had failed all seven,
all three weeks. Grading at the University is "blind."
That is, the students place only their last five digits
of their student ID number on all written assignments and
tests. All grading is done by number, without a student's
name ever becoming associated with the product, unless
the student permits it. However, as department head, I
had already copied down the ID numbers of all my "possibles"
during my initial selection process. Now, I was about to
meet them "up close and personal." Debbie was
the first, and I immediately scratched her off the list.
She was irate and aggressive about her "F's"
and demanded I review each point and discuss the deficiencies.
After teaching the material for so many years, it's
easy to refute any freshman's arguments, but it still
pissed me off to have to do it with Debbie. I assured her that
her grades would undoubtedly improve as the semester went
on. Colleen was second, and was a definite possibility.
Blonde, blue- eyed, she was pretty and fresh and had a dazzling
smile. She was timid and nervous about her grades, hanging
on every word of advice I gave her. I was charming and she
was appreciative, and I could see the possible beginnings
of that special something some students feel for some professors.
She was thrilled with the time and attention I was giving
her. Susan was next and I took her off the list, too. Maybe
she just didn't compare well with Colleen, but I felt
no electricity, no excitement with her. The fourth appointment
was with Heather, and she made me wonder if I made too quick
a choice with Colleen. The classic Irish lass, Heather
had beautiful, heavy, glossy reddish-auburn hair framing
her milk-and-honey complexion from which her luminous
green-green eyes virtually shone. She was breathtaking
and I wanted her. I wanted to part her red pussy hairs with
my cock.
The last girl only made my life more difficult. Bridget
was not as beautiful as Heather, but it was her full, lush
body that I craved. I wanted to fill my mouth and hands with
her full breasts, to crawl between her perfect legs to taste
her sweet pussy. Colleen, Bridget and Heather - my choice
had never been so difficult! Over the years, I had had two
girls going during the same semester, but it was always
a possibility that one would discover the other, and the
results would be disastrous, so I didn't risk it very
often. Now, here were three girls I wanted - all young, beautiful,
shapely, and possessing the "right" personalities
to make taking them a real possibility, and they were only
freshmen for a year! Not knowing which to concentrate on,
I continued to fail Heather and Bridget, and tutor Colleen
twice a week, in the hopes that they would help me sort it
all out. By the end of mid-term exams (all essay questions,
of course), all three of the girls had a failing grade, without
a prayer of receiving any higher than a "D" for
the course.
Bridget cracked first. She appeared in my office just as
I was about to leave for the evening. She was dressed in a
sweater and short denim skirt, white socks and sneakers,
and I could taste my mouth watering as I ravaged her body
with my eyes. "Professor, can you please spare me
a few minutes?" "Of course. Come in,
let me, isn't it?"
She beamed at my recognizing her. "Yes, Professor.
I came to see you, before, but I'm in even bigger trouble,
this time." By the time she had finished telling me
about her 3.75 GPA (if she didn't count my course) and
how she just didn't understand how she could be doing
so poorly, she was in tears. I wanted to put my arms around
her and pull her warm body close, but I fought the temptation.
My years of experience at this game would carry me through.
I asked her permission to examine her grades, and took several
moments (and several "Hmm..."'s) studying
the book. "Bridget, I can understand your concern.
I don't know what steps you can take to achieve a respectable
grade. To assign extra-credit work, I would have to be fair
about it, and give the entire class the option, and this
wouldn't help you, at all." She nodded and looked
at me, wide-eyed and sincere, "I'd do anything
for a respectable grade, Professor." "Bridget,
I think you should be careful how you phrase offers like
that. You don't mean `anything.'" "Yes,
I do, Professor." I gave a small chuckle, "With
an offer like that, you better watch out. I'll have
you raking my leaves and cleaning my windows. Please don't
make offers like that, Dear. After all, I'm only human."
She locked her eyes on mine, "Professor, you must
understand. I am prepared and willing to do anything."
"Do you know where I live, Bridget?"
Bridget arrived on time, wearing sweater and jeans. I had
an aromatic fire warming the room, Anita Baker on the stereo,
and a very nice, white wine chilled. She was truly beautiful
in the firelight. Her skin was radiant, her eyes clear,
and her lips full and moist. We sat together on the sofa,
tasted the wine, and began talking. After I refilled her
glass, I placed my arm on her shoulders and she leaned into
me. She was still tense, but seemed determined to be cooperative.
We talked about her small home town, and the one boyfriend
she had gone steady with in high school - he went to a large
private college on the opposite coast, joined a Frat, and
wasn't calling very often. I was gentle, and a good
listener. Soon, she was lying on the sofa, with her head
on my lap, and I was gently stroking her cheek and hair. I
could feel her relax little by little, sipping wine (we
were now sharing one glass), and talking. I put the wine
down and placed my hand at her waist. I moved it up, under
her bulky sweater, until I felt her warm, smooth skin above
the waist of her jeans. She tensed as my hand rose along her
bare tummy, and halted at her bra. "I'm a little
scared and a lot nervous, Professor." "I am,
too, Bridget. But I won't deny that I'm enjoying
this very much." She smiled a weak smile, "Me,
too. More than I hoped." I lifted the sweater up and
she helped me remove it over her head and arms. Her bra had
a front clasp and I opened it and lifted the soft cups off
her burning flesh. Her breasts were magnificent. Even
lying on her back, they thrust up, firm and proud. Her skin
was wonderful - smooth, warm and white. Her nipples were
small and round and centered, with just a hint of hardening.
She was blushing under my inspection. She let a tiny moan
escape her lips as I brushed my fingers lightly over her
nipples. They hardened and looked like two pencil erasers.
I caressed all of her breasts with my hands, pressing, gently
squeezing. Her breathing became rapid as I slowly lowered
my face down to her nipple, and she moaned loudly as I sucked
it into my mouth, between my teeth. She tasted clean and
dry. I shifted out from under her and knelt beside the sofa.
She closed her eyes and turned her head into the pillow as
I opened her jeans and slid them and her panties down and
off her hips and legs. Naked, Bridget's body was even
more spectacular than I had imagined - it was flawless.
I knew I was truly going to enjoy the rest of the school year!
I returned my attentions to her breasts, licking and sucking
on one nipple, while caressing the other breast with my
hand. My other hand slowly traced its way over her flat tummy,
her navel, until, finally, it entered her curly pubic hairs.
She groaned as I softly pushed a finger into her already-wet
slit. Her legs relaxed and she allowed my hand to part her
thighs. I found her clit and her hips immediately began
a subtle humping against my touch. A second finger joined
the first, gently squeezing her hard, slippery clit between
them. She tensed - and then in one strong release, she came.
Her toes curled, her thighs locked tight on my hand, she
tried to pull her breasts away from my caresses as she cried
out into the pillows. Slowly, so slowly, the wave receded
and her body settled loosely into the sofa cushions. I was
hard and excited and I wanted her. I stripped off my shirt
and dropped my pants and underwear. I stood beside the sofa
and brought Bridget's hand to my cock. She jerked it
away, as though burned, and pushed her face deeper into
the pillows. I understood. Her legs offered no resistance
as I crawled between them and licked my tongue into her still-wet
pussy. I heard her gasp as I found her clit and buried my tongue
deep inside of her. Her legs spread wider, until I felt them
settle on my shoulders, and her hips pumped onto my mouth.
When I could tell she was again nearing orgasm, I lifted
myself over her body and paused. "Should I wear protection,
Bridget?" Her head made a tiny nod and I opened the
condom and quickly slipped it on. I resumed my position,
with my cockhead resting at her cuntlips. Almost immediately,
her hips thrust up off the sofa to take my cock into her, and
I cooperated by thrusting my hips down into hers. As I buried
my cock to the hilt up her hot, tight pussy, her head snapped
out of the pillows, and her eyes opened and looked at me.
And then, she wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around
my waist, and we fucked. Later, when the wine was gone and
the fire was just a red glow, we dressed. With her clothes
back on, Bridget was again the shy freshman, no longer the
lusty little wench that had just fucked me dry - twice. "What
should I do now, Professor? Do I keep coming back? I'm
new at this." I held her hand, "I'm new at
this, too, Bridget. I don't know what happens, now.
I'm really quite embarrassed that this happened at
all. But, I want you to know, Dear, that I am NOT sorry that
it happened. These last several hours were the most exciting
of my life. I really don't want to think, right now,
that what we just enjoyed was based on some tawdry barter
for a grade. I just don't want to think about tonight
like that. It was too special for me." Bridget smiled
and nuzzled her face into my neck. "Me, too! I was so
scared and nervous about tonight that I can't believe
I'm feeling so wonderful, right now. If it would be
alright with you, I think I would like to visit you, again."
"I was hoping you would say that, Bridget. It's
against every rule I've made for myself, as an educator,
but I want to see you, again, too. But, you have to promise
me that you'll still study and read the material."
Bridget nodded, giggled a little girl giggle and left.
Ah! Success, again!
I didn't realize how successful, until the following
Saturday. I had been tutoring Colleen since our first meeting
about grades. She was the classic high school over-achiever,
doing extremely well there, but not able to keep pace in
college. Her grades were the opposite of Bridget's
and she was desperate to improve her standing in as many
courses as possible. The tutoring was boring and Colleen
lacked the analytical skills to draw conclusions, but
she was still a beauty to look at, and was obviously developing
a crush on her brilliant, patient, caring Professor - me!
But now, after the success with Bridget, I saw no need to
carry Colleen any longer. I would discontinue the tutoring
sessions, award her extra credit for her effort, and fairly
grade the remainder of her assignments. After class on
Friday, I told her my decision and encouraged her to try
studying on her own, and I assured her that I had great confidence
in her abilities. She seemed surprised, but nodded and
hurried down the hall. At eight o'clock, Saturday
morning, my doorbell rang, interrupting my breakfast.
In my robe, I answered the door to see Colleen standing there
with a tear-streaked face. "Colleen? What's
wrong?" "Oh, Professor! Please! I'm so
sorry!" "Come in. Now, sorry for what?"
I asked, as I closed the door. "Sorry for whatever
I did, that you don't want to tutor me anymore!"
"Colleen, Dear, you didn't do anything. I just
think you're capable of doing good work on your own."
"Don't you like me, anymore?" Tears were
rolling down her cheeks as she looked at me. Her sky-blue
eyes were flooded with them. Without thinking what I was
doing, I reached out to her face and caught a tear on my thumb.
"Of course I like you, Colleen. Please don't
cry." To my utter and complete surprise, Colleen
rushed to me, hugging me in her arms and pressing her cheek
to my chest. My involuntary physical reaction to her closeness
was all too obvious, but instead of pulling away, Colleen
pressed her hips against my raging erection. "Oh,
no, " I thought, "the timing on this is terrible!"
I didn't have much time to think because Colleen's
warm hand snuck under my robe and wrapped around my naked
cock. I lifted her chin up and pressed my lips to hers. "Oh,
Professor! Please! Please make me happy!" I didn't
care what she called it, but I knew it was going to make me
happy, too. She slid to her knees and didn't hesitate
as she opened her lips and filled her mouth with my hardness.
She was very good - maybe among the best I had ever had - licking
and sucking and nibbling. Finally, she could tell when
it was time, and proceeded to fuck my cock with her hot, wet
mouth. It didn't take long. I began to come and started
filling her mouth with my cum. She continued until I stopped
coming and then very delicately emptied her mouth into
her hand. She stood and wiped her hand with a tissue and then
stood close to me, seeking a kiss. "Colleen, how did
this happen? We can't do this - as wonderful as that
was for me - it's just not ethical. You're a student
and I'm your teacher." "I don't care,
Professor. Isn't it obvious to you? Can't you
feel how close we are? I've felt it since our first meeting,
Professor. I really think I've fallen in love with
you!" The red light started flashing and the alarms
were ringing in my head. "Colleen, it's just
not possible." The tears started flowing, again.
"But, I DO love you! You're so kind and caring.
You're the only one on campus that treats me like I'm
special." "Well, you are special to me, Dear."
I looked at her beautiful face, and thought about that wonderful,
talented, sexy mouth of hers. I felt my dick stirring, again,
and thought that maybe later I could explain to her about
student crushes on teachers. At that moment, there was
something else on my mind. I opened my arms and she pressed
into me. I walked her down the hall, to the bedroom. Her eyes
searched my face as I opened her jacket and removed her blouse
and jeans. She was smiling when I opened her bra, revealing
her small, round breasts, with tiny, almost red nipples,
and she giggled as I lowered her panties to the floor and
buried my nose in her soft, sparse, blonde pussy. She sat
on the bed and watched me as I opened my robe. "Oh, Professor!
You are going to make me SO happy, aren't you?"
And I tried. For the next two days, I tried my very best to
make her happy. I had never had an easier assignment. She
was a hungry partner in bed - lusty and uninhibited. Not
shy about anything. We fucked and sucked and fingered each
other until we were exhausted. Between fucking, she paraded
around my house naked, washing up, fixing our lunches,
and doing my dishes. What a find she was! And, what a dilemma
I was in! Colleen and Bridget were not in the same class,
and none of the girls had the same major or dorm (part of my
selection process), but maintaining a relationship with
both of them - something I very much wanted to do - would be
tricky and difficult (and exhausting!).
Colleen spent the night, and Bridget visited me again on
Monday evening, and that made my decision easy - I would
try to keep both of them. I would miss the exuberance and
lust (and, oh! that mouth) of Colleen and Bridget's
perfect (and her yet to be truly explored) body too much
to say goodbye to either of them. I resolved myself (poor
me!) to the fact that I had both of them in my life for the time
I had an appointment with Heather scheduled for late Tuesday
afternoon. She was stressed-out and there was no reason
to prolong her agony over her grades, and I was going to let
her off the hook. Even knowing that my coed selection had
already been made for the year and she was no longer a possibility,
Heather still made me silently gasp as she walked through
the door, and I could see the truly radiant beauty that she
was. Even with her eyes downcast and a frown on her face,
she was gorgeous. After she was seated, I explained that
I had been watching her progress in class and on the essays
and was very pleased with her effort. I told her that it was
unusual, but that I was going to disregard her current grade,
start from scratch, and give her a final grade based on her
work for the remainder of the semester, and the final. To
my surprise, she didn't smile or look relieved. "I
came in here expecting you to tell me that it was hopeless,
and I might as well stop coming to class. Why are you doing
this, Professor?" "I just explained my position,
Heather. I'm pleased with your progress and I respect
your effort. Please don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
There was something I thought was fire in her eyes when she
looked at me. "And I guess I'll have to repay you
for your kindness?" "Don't be ridiculous,
Heather. I think this meeting is over." Her voice
was trembling, but she stood and leaned forward on my desk.
"I know what you want. You men! You want me to give myself
to you, don't you? You want me to surrender to you, so
you can make me do disgusting and humiliating things for
you." To say I was shocked would be an understatement!
Then, in a flash, I realized what was going on. In nearly
20 years of teaching, I had met only one truly submissive
girl and my school year with her had been a little heaven
on earth for me. If I was right, I was finding my second. I
didn't want to loose this opportunity. Colleen and
Bridget were forgotten for the moment. "Have other
men made you do disgusting and humiliating things, Heather?"
She nodded a tight nod. "Yes. A teacher in my senior
year and my boss at my summer job. It was just the same as it
is now. The teacher threatened to flunk me and my boss threatened
to fire me. I had to cooperate. I had to submit, or face the
consequences." "But, Heather, I haven't
threatened you about your grades. Just the opposite."
She cried out in dismay, "But, it IS the same!"
Quieter, she continued, "Don't you understand?
I know what you expect me to do to repay you for your `kindness.'"
"Heather, have you dated anyone on campus?"
She shook her head. "Boys. They're all boys.
They only want one thing and then they're gone."
I knew I had a beautiful young lady standing before me, and
that she might have some head problems, but hey, I'm
no psychiatrist. I preferred to think of it as her sexual
preference and decided to "go for the gold."
"Of course you're right, Heather. I do expect
a lot from you. I think it's time your `extra-credit'
work begins, don't you?" Meekly, she nodded.
"Lock my door and come bend over my desk." When
she did, I stood behind her and slowly raised her plaid wool
skirt over her hips, exposing her white, cotton panties.
My cock felt like it was about to burst out of my trousers,
and I hurried to open them and let them fall to the floor.
Heather looked back at me, "Aren't you going
to force me to kiss and lick your `thing, ' and force
me to suck it into my mouth?" As tempting as the thought
was, I wanted to fuck her. My cock was poised at her cunt,
and I could feel her heat. "Should I wear a condom,
Heather?" "Why are you asking me? Just take
me the way you want me. Please!" I wasn't gentle.
I shoved my cock into her and pounded her hips into the edge
of the desk. I was hot and so was she, groaning with every
stroke. She soon began to come and I was surprised with its
intensity. "Use me! Fuck me! I'm a worthless
slut, so fuck me hard!" Maybe if I hadn't been
building up to my own orgasm, I would have thought more about
the severe hang-ups this girl had for being so young, but,
instead, I enjoyed feeling my cock plow into her tight pussy,
finally shooting its warm cum into her. When I was done,
I pulled myself away and sat in my chair. "Now, Heather.
I want you to suck my sticky cock clean in that pretty little
mouth of yours, right now." She almost collapsed
to her knees and positioned herself between my spread legs.
She looked up at me, her eyes seeking mercy.
"Suck my cock, slut." And she did. Then, and
later, back at my house. That night I shot my cum in her mouth,
her pussy and her ass. She called herself a slut and repeatedly
earned her reputation. Between the sex, she told me about
her bizarre adventures at the hands of her teacher and boss.
On the night after her eighteenth birthday, her high school
English teacher ordered her to come to his office. He berated
her for her falling grades and threatened her with an "F"
that would ruin her chance at a scholarship. He suggested
that she become his "special pupil." Heather
said it was obvious what he was interested in, but, for the
first time in her life, felt herself becoming sexually
aroused. It was the teacher's forceful personality
that was exciting her. She willingly submitted to him,
and what followed were several months of bondage, domination,
spankings and humiliating sex. Instead of reporting the
teacher, Heather found herself hooked on him, impatient
between rendezvous, welcoming his abuse. Their relationship
ended soon after graduation, when the teacher moved out
of state. That summer, she was working in a fast-food restaurant.
Badly needing the money, she was working well over 40 hours
a week. One night, after midnight, exhausted and helping
the manager close up for the night, Heather dropped a large
container of cooking oil, spilling it all over the floor.
She said the manager "freaked out, " yelling
and screaming at her, calling her worthless, and firing
her. He must have seen the spark he was igniting in her, because
he grabbed another container of oil and poured it over her
head. She stood there, dripping the pungent grease, humiliated.
"Take that uniform off. You don't deserve to
wear it, " he shouted at her. She unbuttoned it and
let it fall to the oil-covered floor. Her bra and panties
were soaked through and darkly transparent. "And
those, " he pointed. Her bra and panties fell to the
floor. "Now clean this mess up!" Heather got
a bucket and a de-greasing cleaner and began to scrub the
floor on her hands and knees. She said she was totally degraded
- naked, her tits swaying and bouncing with her exertion,
the oil dripping from her hard nipples, her ass in the air.
Soon, her boss was behind her. She felt him slip his prick
into her cunt as he poured more oil over her bare back. Heather's
orgasm was immediate and so intense, she collapsed. Her
boss rolled her over on to her back and re-entered her, this
time pouring the warm oil on her tits as he fucked her. Heather
said she was resigned to her "perverted sexuality"
from that night on. Her boss assigned her the "shit"
jobs at the restaurant and berated her, constantly. Whenever
he felt like it, he would call her into his tiny office, and
have her suck him off or bend over as he fucked her cunt or
ass. He was always rough and callous with her, and she loved
it. One night, her boss took her out back and watched the
two big, black deliverymen fuck her in the cab of their truck,
and several times, ordered her over to his apartment and
she was used and abused by him and his four poker buddies
for hours. She left the restaurant the day she left for college
and had an abortion the week after school started.
Now, she was naked in my bed and was telling me she was glad
she found me, that she needed me. My sane, rational mind
was saying that I should put as much distance between myself
and this lovely, but very screwed up, girl. That she was
carrying more baggage than I wanted to get involved with.
However, at that moment, she again lowered her hot, wet
mouth over my hardening cock, and I forgot all my good resolutions.
What a year! My schedule began to look like an old "bedroom
farce" movie, but I managed. Of course, all three
girls received "A's" for both semesters,
but I hope they got more than just a good grade from their
experience. Bridget flowered into a dynamic lover, relaxing
and enjoying all the pleasures I could show her. She became
quite adept at the skills of love, giving slow, sexy handjobs,
and actually savoring my cock with her mouth. I knew I was
going to miss her and her luscious body, and I have. Colleen
finally admitted to herself that she was feeling infatuation
and not love. We enjoyed each other's company for most
of the year - until Spring Break, when she returned from
the islands "in love" with a junior. Our final
fuck was sweet and tender. She thanked me for making her
feel special and helping her enjoy her freshman year. I
thanked her for her discretion, fond feelings, and helping
me to enjoy her freshman year, too. Finally, there was Heather
- probably the most beautiful girl ever to grace one of my
classrooms. I soon learned that I didn't have what
it took to satisfy her needs for debasement and humiliation.
I played at bondage for her, but I wasn't cruel enough.
I couldn't bring myself to spank her, and I certainly
wasn't going to invite the marching band to join us
in bed. She drifted away from me, and I let her - hell, I welcomed
it. But, I did follow her adventures through my student
and graduate assistant contacts. She soon became a campus
legend - entertaining entire Frats in one evening, taking
on the whole basketball team at a party, fucking the swim
team in the locker room. Unwilling to see her doing that
to herself, I talked her into seeking therapy. Through
a friend, I arranged for an off-campus shrink to see her
and bill me. I think the therapy may have helped. When she
was going home in the Spring, she stopped by to thank me for
my concern. She said that her therapist had recommended
someone in her home town, and that she was not going back
to her old job. I told her I was glad to hear she was on an oil-free
diet, and we both laughed.
The summer is finally over and classes are about to begin.
I can't wait!

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