Professor with Benefits

Chapter 2 - Rose

Everyone has a goal in life.

Some of my classmates want to be doctors. Lawyers. Teachers.

The "respectable professions," as I like to call them.

Mine, on the other hand, is to be the best sex therapist of all time. There isn't exactly a 'major' for that. I just take a lot of psychology classes and hope my grad school degree will get me there.

In order to hit my goal, every day I ask myself another question and test it out. Biting on my pen, I stare at the question scribbled at the top of my journal.

How do guys respond to tomboys?

I like experiments, and I'm a person of action. Ipso facto, I do a lot of strange things. Like the experiment I'm doing right now, for example. It's proving my hypothesis to a T.

As my classmates file into our nine a.m. class, I sit in the back row with my hair up in a pony tail. I'm wearing my baggy jeans, black-framed glasses, and my Blackwell University hoodie. My attire is the opposite of flashy, just as I intend. My feminine assets are well hidden underneath a sea of cloth.

It's unseasonably cool today, which has given me this golden opportunity to get to the bottom of my question. I think I know the answer, but I want to observe it in action.

Underneath my core question, I scribble another: Does a man respond differently to me when I've got my boobs stealthily hidden, no makeup on, and big glasses?

Every guy who walks into class proves my theory right. Each one enters, glances at me, sizes me up, and then joins one of the waify blonde girls in one of the middle rows. Soon all four of the guys who entered are chatting it up and flirting with those girls.

I scribble down the observation in my journal.

My roommate Liz files in, sees me and joins me in the back row.

"Hey there stranger. You left early today," she says, tossing her hair as she puts her backpack down.

I turn toward her. "I know. I'm running another experiment today."

She rolls her eyes playfully. "And what did you find out? Guys don't stare at you as much when you don't have your tits out? Shocking."

"Shhh," I whisper. "We can't talk about that here."

"Why not? Isn't this Psychology of Sexuality senior capstone course? Taught by Professor Kaela Yeager. She's like, the most liberal of all the teachers here."

"Liberal?"

"Yeah, she just hands out A's like they are candy."

I sigh. "Is that why you're here?"

"Uh, yeah. Senior year is for partying. I don't need to be weighed down with actual work. Duh."

I give her a mean squint. I love Liz, but sometimes she makes me feel like all my hard work is for nothing. She's a pretty blonde who has coasted by for most of her college career--she even slept with a professor.

A female professor. It was exploratory, she said.

Still, she's been my roommate since freshman year and I love her through thick and thin. I've always been a little jealous of the attention she gets from guys. She's the one they take to the dances. I'm the one guys call up at two a.m. for a try at a drunk hookup. I still haven't said yes to anyone though.

"What about you?" Liz quips. "Are you going to, you know, have actual sex at some point this year?"

"Hey! Not fair. I've had actual sex. Or close."