Under The Graduate
By W.D. Lekker
Copyright 2012, W.D. Lekker
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Under The Graduate
I tried desperately not to gawk at Ms. Fae. Like the times I sat in her classes, she wore a white blouse that tightly clung to the curves of her breasts. It was also dangerously buttoned low – like usual – to where I could get a glimpse of her cleavage and black-lace bra. She also wore a very conservative herringbone skirt with a high slit up the side. It wasn’t that she had stood or posed in a provocative way, either. She was sitting in a library cubicle, but even then, her tight clothes revealed all the drool-inspiring contours of her body.
Plus, there was something else a little bit strange about her appearance beyond her clothing. We were on the 15th of the library’s 20 floors. Her cubicle overflowed with books, but not the type you’d expect an English graduate student and teaching assistant to have. They all were paperback, and grammatically speaking, they all had some sort of possessive in the title. Like:
The CEO’s Rival Mistress
The President’s Slutty Secretary
The Manager’s Unruly Employee Of The Month
The Priest’s Pensive Parishioner
The Model’s Sweaty Agent
The Photographer’s Sweaty Model
The Police Sergeant’s Pregnant Officer
The Greek Media Mogul’s Scathing Sci-Fi Writer
It went on and on. There had to be at least fifty of those pulpy paperbacks stacked around her. I also noticed some key feminist texts like Camille Paglia’s Sexual Personae, as well as a few of Nietzsche’s and Foucault’s tracts. Part of me wondered what Ms. Fae was up to, but besides the beautiful contours of her body, my attention was glued to the current erotic novella she had been slapping adhesive notes into: The Professor’s Horny Undergraduate.
It got me thinking. Over the past two years, I had taken three classes from her, and I realized that the reason was rarely scheduling convenience, topic interest, or inherit trust in her academic and intellectual acumen. At that moment in the library’s stacks, I realized that I was staring at the stockings stretched over her shapely legs. Ms. Fae was hot – very hot. That was rare in my English department faculty, where the median age had to be 57. Not only did I find her lectures interesting, but I remember how much I loved to look at her while she was lecturing. I remembered how I used to imagine her naked. Yes, made me quite a pig. I realized that. However, it certainly helped me learn the critical theories she tried to impart. Still, maybe I studied hard for her essay tests not just because I wanted a good grade, but in some weird, nerdy way, I wanted to impress her?