In Love With Shakespeare

What have I done

"Just pick a topic, come on!"

I don't know why put I shot back instantly, "You pick a fucking topic, Professor East!"

And that really shocked me! I honestly would never have dreamed of talking to a professor like that. I really didn't seem to be myself.

She looked at me, horrified.

"I can't believe you just said that!" she said sternly.

"You'd better believe it!" I mumbled, feeling like a teenager who'd blurted out something rude and was now muttering for safety's sake.

"Young woman! Your behavior is quite unacceptable!"

I looked up at my professor. Her cobalt-blue eyes were on fire now. I noticed that those super-intense eyes were ever so slightly slanting, and at that moment my glamorous professor even looked slightly wolfish. She was certainly extremely angry. But also intensely beautiful. She was smiling and I could see the whites of her teeth, but the smile did not look quite as kind as earlier. She was also clasping her hands tightly together, then pushing her palms forward with her fingers still interlocked. I thought of someone warming up to play the piano.

"Sorry ma'am," I found myself saying in a voice a little meeker than usual. "I know I've been bad!"

I also noticed my voice kind of cracking up a little as I said that. I

wasn't exactly sure if it was fear or desire or some strange, intoxicating combination of the two. I watched, wide-eyed as Professor East stood to her full height, stretching up so that her mauve blouse was pushed tight against the high mounds of her impressive breasts. She walked over to a high-backed chair, still limping slightly, her legs almost impossibly glamorous and her heels somehow louder than before: click, click, click! She sat on the chair in a slightly formal manner and then smoothed her dark skirt across her thighs.

"I rather fear," my professor said in a smooth, measured voice, "that some kind of old-fashioned punishment for your bad behavior might now be necessary."