I'm determined to talk to him again. This time it will be different. I dazzle him with my suaveness. My charisma. My charm and great . . .
"Oww! Watch where the hell your going!" This is said by Stacey the blonde bitch in the fourth row. How was I suppose to know her damn foot was stickin' out in the isle. How can she feel anything with that hoof on the end of that leg anyway. Oh, there he is.
"Oh hi, uhhh . . ."
"Devon," I say rescuing him.
"Right Devon, what's up?"
"Well, I was thinking about what you said about Freud last week and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind helping me out. I'm having a bit of trouble trying to understand all this Oedipus stuff."
He gave a little laugh and glanced down at the ground before answering. "What did you have in mind?"
A little role in your bed, chilled Champaign, sex for hours and long cigarette afterwards. "How about we study together for the mid-term coming up next week? I could use the help of someone who knows what he's doing."
He smiled again. A very small smile I might have missed if I hadn't been entranced by his lips. "Why don't you come to my room tonight?"
Did I just hear what I thought I heard? "What?" I say pretending I didn't hear him.
"Tonight. Why don't we study in my room?"
"Oh, okay, sure." I try to sound as unenthusiastic as possible. "See you tonight." I turn to leave knowing that I'm about to enter one hell of a fantasy. His voice stops me.
I turn back, "Ya?"
"Don't you want to know where my room is?"
"Oh ya!" Oh shit how could I do that. He must think I'm a complete idiot. No wonder I need help with Freud!
"Room 204 in the main res. building. See you there about 7:30?"
"Sounds great. See you then."
He nods and turns back to the front of the class. The professor has just entered the lecture hall. I find myself a new place to sit behind a row of giggling young women. Slinking down behind them I close my eyes and begin to plan my evening. What should I wear?
He notices my cologne as soon as I step through the door. "You smell great," he compliments. "Thanks, it's Skin by Laurent." Raising his eyebrows he says, "You've got expensive taste." "I only ware it for special occasions," I respond seductively. He begins approaching me steadily, slowly. Bringing his hand up he cradles the back of my neck and reaches up with his mouth to meet mine. A fraction of an inch away he pauses, "This will be a very special . . .
"Mr. Michaels!" I'm rudely pulled back to reality. My professor is standing at the bottom of the auditorium yelling at me.
"I understand that you recently had quite a fall," he yells up at me with a smirk on his face. I try to slink down even further than I already have. "Perhaps, given this present lapse in attention, you should be looked at by the campus nurse. We wouldn't want you to miss anything due to your injury." This sends a ripple of laughter across the class.
Flattered by his concern I offhandedly remark that I'm fine. Satisfied he returns to his droning on about Erikson an apparent student of Freud's. I make a note to remember to bring this guys name up later tonight. I, after all, have a date. I can't be bothered with Psychology now. Maybe I should wear something that shows off my arms, I've been lifting an awful lot of stuff lately and they're looking pretty buff . . .