The Professor

I witness Brandon Walsh have an affair with his professor on 90210 on after school reruns, and this becomes my main motivation for going to college. I enter classes my first year, seeking the accomplished older gentleman with an elbow-patched blazer and a vasectomy. The daddy who is well-versed in French cinema and cunnilingus. The man who has floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a sunk-in leather couch, who will bend me over and fuck me on it, my ponytail wrapped around his fist while Puccini blares in the background. Alas, he is nowhere to be found.

I have all but given up on my Brandon Walsh affair fantasy, when I get to my third year Literary Criticism class. The Professor is there when I walk in, and he greets me. He’s tall and lanky, outdoorsy looking, hunched over his notebooks, with dark hair and dark, wide set eyes. He is older but not old and he is handsome. He’s far from the sophisticated daddy type I had imagined, but he is my professor. I sit as far away from him as possible, in the top row of the stadium-like seating.

I text my friends, “I am going to fuck my literary criticism professor.”

Wanna keep reading? Subscribe to read “The Professor” and get access to our archives of over 200 stories.

If you are already a subscriber, click here to read.