Discipline & Desire

Chapter 1

It was 1952 when Marlon Brando decided to come to The New Institute as a professor. It was the buzz of the university, filled with outcasts and artists. Everyone's minds seemed to work differently than those of the people on the outside world.

Everyone saw things in living color and from a different perspective from normalcy. With that said, having a superstar coming to teach one of our courses was exciting, but not surprising. Such bright pupils like us deserved nothing less than the best.

All of the girls gawked over Brando's good looks. They squealed and stared as he passed through the narrow corridors of our campus building. The boys would scowl at him. They'd huddle together and try to analyze exactly what made Brando so sexually appealing to the average female.

Some males openly embraced Brando as a sexpot, in that community many wanted to find out for themselves. The endeavors of many students & faculty in that school were as fluid as their artistic ability.

Marlon was surely no exception to this way of thinking and acting.

Still, our class consisted mostly of women. Some of which weren't even trying to become actors. I saw writers, producers, dancers, shrinks and others who so obviously signed up for the class out of sheer curiosity.

The handful men that were present in that large lecture room of 200 were either truthfully there to learn or sexually interested in Brando as well. You could tell Marlon enjoyed this attention, of everyone tripping over their own feet to get near him. The energy he exuded welcomed this behavior with open arms, and when class was in session it surely was present.

That first class was the first time I'd ever seen Brando wear glasses. They were circular brown rimmed glasses that perfectly framed his chiseled face. The frames were silly, if it had been anyone else wearing them they would've looked like Harold Lloyd. But no, we were dealing with Marlon Brando, who managed to make the most ridiculous things sexual.

It was Brando, after all, who made the basic white undershirt a fashion stable. Young boys across the country suddenly were stepping out in what used to be considered underwear. After Marlon wore it, suddenly it wasn't seen as underdressed or stupid.

Marlon's style and aura left anyone in his presence insatiable. Everyone wanted more of him, yet he never gave enough to satisfy our wonder about him.

That first class, Marlon arrived in dark grey slacks and a navy blue turtleneck sweater. His glasses sat on his strong nose and his hair hung in loose curls on his forehead. His loafers were old yet shined, he made them look polished. I bit my pencil as he entered the large room.

Everyone sat forward on the benches in the circular lecture room. We all stopped breathing at the sight of him, giving him all of our attention and respect. Like the performer he was, he let the silence resonate in the room for a moment.

He stood there for a moment, then walked to one side of the room. Looking at the audience, he didn't make any particular facial expression. Then, he looked back to my side of the room. Walking back toward us, he stood there once again.

I was 3 rows up on those bleachers, close enough to see him in detail. My cheeks got warm as his eyes skimmed along my row. For that millisecond where his eyes landed on me, for some reason, I felt like I was somehow important in the world.

He snapped his fingers, and I was suddenly taken out of my trance. I blinked as my eyes focused out of it's daydream, he was looking off to the other side of the room. At this point in time, I had no significance to Mr. Brando.

"Attention." He said in a nonchalant, yet powerful voice. "That's what you want from your audience."

He walked in front of us for a moment, then stopped at a particular girl in the front row. He stared at her and she stared back. She was left no choice but to break out in a nervous giggle, his honey brown eyes melting her inhibitions.