Infatuated

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Romance
There's nothing more exciting than being alone with your teacher.

Submitted: February 28, 2019

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Submitted: February 28, 2019

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It was a Friday, last Friday to be exact, and instead of getting dinner with my friends, I was stuck going to a study session hosted by the Teaching Assistant. I would have skipped it and celebrated Zana’s twentieth birthday with her, but the study session was being counted as extra credit and I needed a good grade. Either way, I was planning to go to her sorority’s party to celebrate with her later in the night.

So in the ten degree weather (Fahrenheit, not Celsius), I made my fifteen minute trek from my dorm to the classroom. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, but I kept my hood over my head to keep my face warm and shield me from the wind as much as possible. You can bet my earbuds were in and the music was blasting.

The class is about two hundred students, the professor, and two TAs. The classroom that the study session was in, on the other hand, fits roughly forty people. The professor has taught the class enough times to know how many people show up.

And when I arrived, five minutes late, there had been about fifteen people. I sat somewhere in the middle, unable to sit in the back since I had left my glasses on my desk. Who needs ‘em? Well, I do, but that’s not the point.

The discussion didn’t cease when I walked in the room. Something about scales of measurement. The TA, a graduate student, was writing on the whiteboard about Freud’s and Jung’s views of psychoanalysis. The boy sitting next to me, who I assumed to have asked the question based on his speedy typing, wore the Greek letters Tau Kappa Tau and smelt like Hollister.

I took out my laptop and opened my notes. I had actually come prepared with questions since it was review for the midterm. I’m no degenerate. And when the TA was done, I raised my hand.

“What’s enactment? Professor Belany didn’t talk about it a lot, but said it was important for the exam.”

The TA, Andrew, nodded (like all TAs do when they think for some reason) and said, “Enactment is when the client and therapist have internal schemas. And schemas, if you recall, is the way a person views the world. Enactment also says that people are influenced by non-verbal communication.”

I typed everything down, word for word.

“Does that answer your question?”

I gave a thumbs up. Someone else raised their hand and the discussion continued. I’ll spare you the boring details because you have better things to do than read about psychoanalysis.

I watched Andrew, checking the time on my phone every few minutes, hoping the study session would end early. Zana was the last in our friend group to turn twenty and I wanted to be with her the whole day.

I raised my hand again. And again. I happened to know that if you participated more, you’d be given free points on the final. A friend that took the class last semester gave me the hint and it was confirmed when Andrew started asking those who participated a lot what their names were. I was one of those people. My name’s Amelia by the way.

Frat boy, Spencer, was a close second for participation. If one of us had a question, the other had the answer. It almost seemed choreographed, but I had never seen this boy in my life. Andrew seemed to get a kick out of it, leaning against the whiteboard and watching everything unfold. You could easily see that he was sleep deprived, as most graduate students are, but he still looked attentive.

His hair was dark – maybe chestnut? I wasn’t sure, I was too busy telling Spencer that you couldn’t have a therapeutic alliance without genuine human caring. Either way, his eyes, hair, and beard were all the same color. He rocked the sharp jawline and short beard, his hair a little crazy from the day’s wind.

Eventually, Spencer left early for some other event, signing the attendance sheet on his way out. “So long, buddy,” I said to him on his way out. He gave a little wave and closed the door behind him. That was one way to make a friend.

With my new best friend gone, I stayed mostly silent. I knew I was in the clear for the extra credit, and the secret extra credit, and all my questions had been answered. I knew I could have left early, but I had begun to enjoy the study session.

I stared at Andrew, admiring having him as a TA. Everything about him was attractive – his hair, his face, his confidence, his intelligence, the way his body looked in the shirt and vest. Suddenly I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

I checked my phone. Five snaps from Maya of her, Zana, Beth, and the rest of the group. I sent her back a picture of me rolling my eyes. After some time scrolling through my phone, there were only ten minutes left. The group was getting ready to head to the sorority house to begin their pregame of the pregame.

For the remaining time, I put my phone away and looked through my notes for anything else I could ask about. The class was fairly silent, Andrew waiting for someone to ask additional questions. With five minutes left, I asked, “can you explain what drives change in client-centered therapy?”

This seemed to peak Andrew’s personal interest. “There are therapeutic factors such as the therapist’s competency, the client’s environment…” He continued on, talking past the end time. I kept eye contact as the other students packed up their things, signed the attendance sheet, and left. I listened carefully, knowing nothing that in-depth was going to be on the exam, but knowing how important it was to listen to someone’s interests. It is a therapeutic techniques course.

When the class was empty, not more than five minutes after the ending time, Andrew sat in the desk where Spencer had sat. Sitting down, as opposed to standing in an authoritative stance, made him look much younger. I was able to see the bags under his eyes more clearly and how his hair had been styled before the wind came.

“You’re really interested in this,” I stated.

“I’ve written a lot of papers about this kind of therapy. Conditions for change are just the most interesting part to me.”

“How hard is the exam?” I asked straight out.

Andrew laughed. “I haven’t seen the exam yet, but I think you have a good chance at getting an A.”

“You haven’t seen the exam?” What’s the point of TAing if you can’t give hints that you’re not allowed to?

“To be honest, I’m not even sure Professor Belany has finished writing the exam. She’s been focused on the conference she’s speaking at. But I’d TA’d for this class before and it’s not terrible.”

“I’m not the grad student. Of course you don’t think it’s terrible.”

Andrew leaned in and whispered, “I was an undergrad too and I took this exact same class once. I understand that it’s hard.” He leaned back. “But you seem like you’ve studied a lot already.”

“The class average for the first exam was a seventy-four. I have the right to be worried about a cumulative midterm.”

“Of course you do! But I’m just telling you to chill out a bit. Spend the weekend doing something fun because after college, the fun disappears.”

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t tell me that you don’t have any fun.”

“I do, just not nearly as often. Graduate school takes up a lot more time than undergrad.”

“But you’re enjoying it?”

“Yeah. Why? Are you planning to go to grad school?”

“What else am I going to do with a bachelor’s in psychology?”

Andrew smiled and slapped his hand on my shoulder. “There’s always social work. It’ll keep you in a lot less dept.”

“I’m planning on doing what I love, not what gets me out of school the fastest.” If I was doing that, then I’d become a stripper.

“How far do you plan to go?”

“As far as I have to until I’m satisfied.”

I could see the gears turning in Andrew’s head. I kept eye contact. Once I heard that it was a sign that you were serious and confident, I stopped avoiding eye contact.

“I wish you the best of luck,” he said.

“Same to you, Andrew.”

Intrigue filled my thoughts, returning back to what it would be like to kiss him. I played the scenario in my mind, moving closer without even realizing before it was too late. And when it was too late, I didn’t care.

I could see that the blinds were down all the way and I knew the window on the door was covered with advertisements for the psychology department because I had read a couple of them before walking into the classroom. I leaned in closer.

Andrew looked between my lips and eyes until we were close enough that our lips touched only slightly. I waited a moment, giving him the chance to pull away, to say no, to forget this ever happened. When he didn’t, I sealed the deal.

He leaned his hand on my knee, the armrest of the desk a barrier between us. I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of this awkward positioning without ruining the moment, but Andrew was a quicker thinker than I. He stood first, guiding me up with his lips. Hands on my waist, he led me to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room.

I leaned against the desk, cupping Andrew’s face. Our kisses were slow, as if they’d been thought out. He smelt of shaving cream even though it was clear he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His hands wandered from my waist, to my bottoms, to under my shirt. His hands were soft on my back.

I willed him to go further, guiding his hands to all the right places. I could feel his excitement. We kissed faster and a little rougher. I heard my phone buzz at the desk, but I ignored it (for obvious reasons).

It was ten degrees outside, but one hundred in the room and I couldn’t handle it. I could feel the sweat start to form under my arms and could tell Andrew felt the same. I began unbuttoning his vest and when I got it off, he pulled away to lock the classroom door.

Being out of breath didn’t stop us. I let him take off my shirt. I hadn’t shaved my armpits in a few weeks and hoped he wouldn’t notice, but it never seemed to be a problem. I let his hands roam over and under my bra, his lips following the same route.

I unbuttoned his shirt, feeling the soft skin of his shoulders and hair on his chest. He wasn’t muscular, but he was toned. It didn’t matter either way. I kissed his neck and his hands continued to roam.

Things had slowed down, but I knew exactly what I wanted and I was going to get it. I brought his hand to my front and he understood the hint.

There was no pushing everything off the desk like they do in movies. Instead, he slowly guided my back against the desk and stood between my legs. He leaned over, kissing me more forcefully than before. I ran my hands through his hair and let him kiss my neck. I could feel the hairs on my arms stand when his hand reached the waist of my leggings. Skipping the fanfare, he slipped straight past the underwear.

Oh, would you look at that? This has gotten a little too mature for this audience. I think you can guess what happens next.


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