Paint Me, Professor | Student-Professor Erotic Novel | 18+ | ✔️

94 - Awakening

FOUR YEARS LATER

Christopher
***

I greeted my colleagues as I walked down the corridor to my office. Even at eight in the morning on a Monday, my co-workers managed to smile and wish me a good morning. I retributed the gesture by smiling their way, keeping our interaction brief.

I started my morning at Evergreen by going through the material I'd cover in my lectures. I went through my notes for Art History until Mr Turner knocked on my door.

"Good morning Mr Turner," I said, looking up from my papers. "Any progress on finding that manuscript?"

"Good morning Christopher," he replied politely. "No, I'm afraid not. Our best guess is that Evergreen lent it years ago and never got it back. I might go to the city archives, but I doubt it's there."

"It's worth a shot," I replied, wanting to cheer him up. "If I were to find an old-looking piece of paper signed Eugène Delacroix maybe I'd send it to the archives for good measure."

"Yeah, but not everyone has common sense..." complained my older professor. "Anyway, I didn't come here to complain. I want you to come watch my lecture today, the one straight after lunch."

I glanced at my watch. I had to get downstairs in ten minutes.

"Do you have an interesting guest?" I asked, packing up my papers for Art History.

"I'm trying something different this time and I want your opinion," he said candidly. "I want the students to get a different perspective of the Arts, from the point of view of the news media."

I didn't want to be rude to Mr Tuner so I said I'd be there. I thought his course was boring when I was a student and that opinion only intensified when I became a professor. His course had no critical thinking, only information dumping. Even though it gave students a holistic view of the Arts, at the Master level I believed they should go deeper into specific topics and become experts on the subject.

With that in mind all morning, I was extra demanding on my students. When it was time for them to present the assigned paper for that lecture, I challenged them to think critically about what they had read. I had a few satisfactory responses, but no one met my expectations. Granted, we were only in October so they'd have a whole semester to improve.

During lunch I was approached by a few students who were unsure of how to participate in class. I didn't mind that they came to me, quite the opposite. That desire was commendable and deserved my time and attention. When I finished speaking to the last student, I realized I was twenty minutes late for Mr Turner's lecture. I rolled my eyes, dreading the next three hours.

I walked at the pace of a snail until I reached the amphitheater. I made sure to enter through the backdoor so I wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb. I pushed the door slowly, making zero noise. I sat on the last row, my eyes glancing at the filled seats below. The amphitheater was pretty full.

Once I started paying attention, I immediately knew something wasn't right. The lecturer was a young woman, her long wavy brown hair hitting the middle of her back. She was wearing a light purple blazer over a black jumpsuit, a pair of formal black heels and understated jewelry. She looked extremely familiar but in that context it was hard to tell.