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05 Eylül 2023, 12:19
*1*
I can't remember my father. He left when I was so young. I remember only crying, and crying, and crying. So many divorces are made under the principle that it will be better for the children if they didn't have to listen to their parents fighting constantly. I personally think it would be better for the children if their parents would act like the adult role models they would wish their children to become, and work out their differences and stop fighting, but that never seems to enter the equation.
Divorce has become a byword in marital relationships, an easy out, a convenience too easily applied to a messy situation. The adults go about calling their exes bastards and bitches, and their little circles of friends pitch in, believing they are providing support, when in actuality they are simply strengthening the myth they wish to hide behind, blaming it on everything but their own childish incompetence and failure.
Then there are the courts, rubber stamping the plague of broken and dysfunctional families, not giving a damn about the society they are passing on to a coterie of youth who may never know the example of love two people can hold for each other. Is it no wonder the sins of the parents are visited upon the children? Would it be so bad if one judge simply said, "Quit bickering and think of someone besides yourselves...namely, your children!"
And yes, I'm bitter. I had to grow up without a father.
*2*
When I entered high school in Virginia, I already had my sights set on a college...The University of Montana. Why, you may ask? Quite simply because it was the best school for paleontologists on the planet. Like all children, I was interested in dinosaurs. The difference with me was that I never for a moment grew disinterested, but scoured the bookstores for the most recent discoveries and textbooks on the subject. But I had gaps in my knowledge, and I knew that I would have to gain the respect of the experts in what I had made my field, by attending the best college and gaining the imprimatur of the best teachers. Ergo, The University of Montana.
Of course, I had other reasons. My father was one of the professors there. He was an expert in the field of bone identification.
Anyway, I studied hard all the way through high school, never falling from the honor roll, and becoming a prime candidate for scholarship money. After presenting the valedictory address at graduation, then acing my SAT's, I applied to, and was accepted by, the college of my choice.
As you might gather, determination is one of my strong points.
*3*
My mother raised me well. She was a self-sacrificing, loving parent, who was always quick to denigrate her "ex," my father, for his abandonment and lack of support over the years. She hadn't even cared to keep track of him, never wanted his money, and never even talked about him, save to criticize him for his multitude of faults. "I've done all I can for you, and he's done zilch!" was a mothering mantra I grew up with from an early age. She even moved us to another state and legally changed our names so that he could never find us.
It's not that I believed everything she said, but she certainly painted the only picture I had of him, outside of a few visual and imperfect toddling childhood memories.
As I said, I was top of my class in high school, and younger than most graduates, having turned eighteen the last week of May, two weeks before graduating. I believe I skipped seventh grade in middle school...I never really missed it. I was self-driven to learn and far advanced in my reading and math abilities. To be honest, I was entirely socially inept, never getting along with boys whom I considered terribly lacking in maturity, which described just about every boy in high school. As I didn't wear makeup and thought that the biggest waste of time was walking around in malls with other girls shopping for clothes...well, I guess you get the picture.
Not that I wasn't pretty. I'd look at myself in the mirror and evaluate myself against the other girls in my class. My breasts were small, but well-rounded. My skin was pale and nearly free of freckles and moles. Maybe I was a little skinny, but looking over my shoulder at my reflection revealed curves in all the right places. Besides, quite a few boys had told me I was pretty, which usually meant, "I want in your pants!" so I never paid much attention to them.
So there I was, standing on the platform waiting to board the train from Washington DC to Chicago, then another line to Montana. My mother was in tears, not believing that I was actually traveling 2000 miles from home to study a subject that would result in a life of grit and sun-burn. Of course she had no idea of my ulterior motives, nor did she know that my father taught there. If she had, I probably would never have been able to board the train. It was my mother's mother who had kept track of him. Grandpa had died when I was twelve and we went to Georgia for the funeral. It was during that visit that Grandma showed me a Giresun Escort (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) letter from him. She said that periodically through the years, not knowing where we were, he would send her a card or letter. She had kept the last one he had sent, announcing that he had taken a professorship at the University of Montana, and she gave it to me when Mom wasn't looking. I've kept it hidden over the years, looking at the University website to follow his career and the classes he taught. I held my mother tightly as we both sobbed our farewells, and my tears continued on the train as it careened across the continent. A new world...a new life.
*4*
Three days later I woke in another world, much drier, flatter, and emptier than Virginia. The sky seemed to be much bigger as the trees were not as tall, thick, or close. The campus of the college was immense, with an enormous student population, which was fine with me, as I could lose myself in the crowd. On day one I roamed about the buildings, looking for my classes, passing all the sorority-fraternity-and-everything-Greek tables, ending up with an armful of papers, which I promptly consigned to their proper bin, eventually finding the basement apartment I had signed a lease for, months before, just across the park that adjoined the campus. It was snug and cozy...and quiet, as an aged widow lived above stairs. So far, so good.
My next hurdle was my first encounter with my father. He occasionally lectured to freshmen, but usually he taught only upper classmen, leaving his associate professors to do the dirty work of giving long boring lectures concerning elementary principles of paleontology. It was finally on the third week that I was able to meet him face to face. Or should I say, we met in a rather different orientation.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I spent a sleepless night pondering what I would say if there happened to be an opportunity. I chose my clothes carefully, drifting between skimpy to ultra-conservative looks. I finally settled on a mid-thigh pleated skirt with a peach-colored button-down shirt, completed and complemented at the collar by an unassuming navy blue silk scarf. I laughed when I came across an old pair of bright pink panties with the word PRINCESS printed across the bottom...something a girlfriend had bought me as a joke when I was much younger. They were a little tight, but I wore them as sort of an amusing counter-prop to what was an otherwise serious situation.
Next was my decision to announce myself, if the opportunity occurred, as his daughter. Better to get things out in the open and out of the way, in my opinion. I thought of all the scenarios that might occur following such an announcement: "Daughter!" he would cry, followed by a huge hug; "Daughter?" he would shrug, saying we would talk later; or maybe he would give me an odd look and just abandon me there at the door of the classroom. The third option seemed the most likely. After all, he had done it before.
That morning I brushed and brushed and brushed my teeth, wishing them to be bright and white, followed by an immense inundation of mouthwash. Dressing and primping to make sure everything was just right.
"You never have a second chance to make a first impression," I said to myself in the mirror.
Then hoisting a load of books into my arms for all my classes that day, I stuck a pencil over my ear for any note taking, and set out for the seminal moment of encounter.
Never had a hallway seemed so long as the one leading to my father's lecture room. My heels seemed to click endlessly on the linoleum as I slowly neared the door of the room. At times I thought of running...running and not stopping, until I was back in Virginia, but what would that accomplish? Nothing. And I'm not one to embark on a mission to accomplish nothing. I steeled myself, and opened the door.
Peaking around the doorway into the room, I discerned immediately that the professor, my father, had yet to arrive. In the process of sneaking that quick peak, the pencil tucked behind my ear caught on the doorsill and fell to the floor.
I bent to pick it up.
At that moment, the professor arrived, walking hurriedly down the hallway in conversation with another professor. Upon reaching the door, he turned to wave goodbye to the other professor and backed into the classroom, meeting an unexpected obstruction...namely, my behind!
I was propelled, sprawling, across the linoleum floor at the front of the classroom, my books flying willy-nilly every direction. As I was taken completely by surprise, it took me a few seconds to realize and assess what had happened. There I was, lying on the floor, the force of the fall turning the orientation of my skirt upside down, and exposing my behind to a lecture room of freshmen who began to laugh, hoot, and wolf whistle at the bright neon pink panties advertising my PRINCESS status to the world. But worse, my father and professor had a ringside view.
"Oh my God," I thought to myself, "What must he be Giresun Escort Bayan (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) thinking?"
I slowly rose, getting my bearings and looking about me in a daze, trying to collect my thoughts and find my books which seemed to be everywhere. It was that moment when I got my first look at the professor and breathed a sigh of relief. He was very young, probably a grad student serving an internship as an associate professor, with sandy hair, and incredibly good looks.
"I ? I'm sorry," I whispered as I began to turn a deep scarlet.
"It's ok. It's ok," he replied, reassuringly, "Accidents happen, and it was entirely my fault. It's I who should be apologizing to you."
He began to pick up my books, deftly and quickly, until a second or two later they were again in my arms and I found myself invited to a nearby desk. Upon taking my seat he spoke.
"Once again, my sincerest apologies, Miss...?"
His words were like honey, sweet and calming...like an aloe, soothing my troubled spirits.
"Rutger, sir," I choked forth an answer, "Cairin Rutger."
"And my name is John," he said, then realizing his informality added, "Professor John Rodgers."
The world froze around me as my jaw dropped in disbelief.
It was him. My father.
So much for meeting "face to face" I thought to myself. Luckily the class dealt with subjects I had already comprehended from reading years of studies and reports. It gave me time to think of what just happened. It also made me realize that there would be no possibility of introducing myself as his daughter. Not after what he saw. I would have been embarrassed beyond belief. But furthermore, I didn't want to invite further embarrassment upon him. Best leave the subject alone for the time being. Later in the year, things would be forgotten and a more opportune moment would present itself.
For now, I was thinking how young he looked, without a touch of grey, exhibiting that sandy-haired pate of his. And his eyes! Bright and hazel, touching all those he lectured to, bringing them home to the subject he loved and revered so much.
Then I began to think of my clumsiness and stupidity. Why had I worn those damn pink panties? They were so tight I could only think of how they must have accented my buttocks and the crease of my vagina. I was mortified. I could not look him in the eye. What had I said to myself in the mirror? You never had a second chance to make a first impression? I could have crawled into a hole and died!
*5*
My classes didn't allow me to return to my apartment for lunch, so I ate at the redoubtable cafeteria on campus. I slid myself into a booth with a bag of chips and a Diet Dr. Pepper, desiring a little privacy. There were oriental paper screens between the booths set up in long rows to provide study groups a little privacy, but they didn't screen out sound very well.
"Can you believe that girl?" said a coed with a brassy voice, "She just laid it all out before him. What a slut!"
"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have done it too, given the chance," retorted a younger girl with a mousy voice, probably a freshman, "I saw your face when Professor Rodgers appeared."
"Can you blame me?" said the first girl, "He's quite the looker, if you ask me. He's one professor I'd like to roger!" The girls giggled at her sophomoric pun.
"Obviously Miss Rutger thinks so," chimed in a third voice, "But I have to admit, it was a smooth move she pulled off. If Professor Rodgers was of a mind toward those things, he certainly got an eyeful of goods all wrapped up in a pink package. Ha! What a preview that was."
"And a princess to boot," brassy tossed in, "Plastered across her ass just to make sure everyone was aware of her intentions. I wouldn't be surprised if she fucks half the freshman class by the end of the semester."
"I'm not so sure of that," interrupted mousy, "It looked like an honest accident to me. It was unfortunate though. I kinda felt sorry for her."
"Frosh naiveté," said the third voice, "When you're a junior like me, you'll see through all the tricks, as plain as the nose on your face. Too bad it won't work though. I've seen others pussy up to the Professor to no avail. He's simply impervious to seduction. I don't know if it's a sense of professionalism...or maybe he's just gay."
"Anyway," said brassy, "He still got the eyeful. I saw him take a quick look at her goods. Jesus Fucking Christ! Did you see that camel toe? Well, I did, and half the freshman class also, not to mention the Professor. I'm betting offers are gonna come rolling in for that alone. It's at least good to know your competition...and she has set the standard pretty high, I'd say."
Mousy's thoughts seem to have been kept to herself after that.
So that's what the whole school was thinking. Not only did I totally screw things up with my first meeting, but I had branded myself the quintessential school slut, to be admired and hated by all the others who aspired to get their freshmen Escort Giresun (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) hymens busted before midterm.
To say I was mortified would be an understatement to end all understatements. I gathered my belongings and ran from the cafeteria and across the park to my apartment. I would attend no more classes that day, or perhaps ever. My mind was running toward thoughts of returning home and attending a small college in Virginia. As long as I stayed here I would never be able to live this down. The tears welled up in my eyes. How stupid could I have been to think there would ever be a favorable outcome to this whole charade.
So that was it. Before I had made it half way across the park, my mind was made up. I would have a long talk with the landlady and work out some arrangement until she had another boarder, and I would take the next train out of this nightmare forever. I sat down breathless on a bench, struggling with my thoughts, when I noticed a petite girl standing about thirty feet away by an oak tree. When she saw that I had noticed her, she approached cautiously, not sure what to say.
"I saw you running from the cafeteria," she said. The mousy voice was unmistakable. "I'm sorry you had to hear that conversation. It was deplorable what Ginny said. She's so hot for the professor, she can't think straight. We went to the same high school on the other side of town, and she was the school slut. I guess she's intending to make a name for herself here too."
I looked at her a moment, my eyes dripping tears, and looked back down.
"My name is Missy...short for Melissa."
The last thing I wanted to do at the moment was make a new friend. After all, I'd just have to say goodbye to her in a couple of days. My body convulsed in a sob I would rather have wished to hide. I felt her sit down close beside me, wordlessly conveying to me, with her tiny frame, the message that she was no threat and wanted to help if she could.
"Cairin," I said, "Cairin Rutger."
"It's a pretty name," Missy replied, "And you are a pretty girl, undeserving of what occurred this morning. I don't think for a minute it was intentional."
I emitted another convulsive sob.
"You're probably the only one who thinks so," I assured her, "It seems the rest of the school has branded me a slut. I don't know if I can stay. It's too painful to contemplate."
She sidled up next to me, oddly smelling of lemon drops, and took my hand.
"It's ok," she said, "Sometimes we just have to have a good cry. I won't think any worse of you. Let's go to your place and have some hot tea. It'll make you feel better and calm you down a bit."
She helped me up and we walked hand in hand to my place. She gave me a lemon drop to feel better, and oddly, it did make me feel better. I found her presence very calming. We spoke very little. After a good hot tea I felt better.
"You're not leaving are you?" she asked.
"I was thinking about it," I answered, "but I'm reconsidering."
"Good."
And she rose and left. Somehow I knew I had just acquired a lasting friendship.
*6*
The next two months found me ignoring everything but my lessons. I was a hard studier. Missy accompanied me to most of the classes we shared. She was a good friend, ready to give anyone the finger who cat-called or whistled. Eventually the princess comments died down and life became a little more normal.
My social life, as you might gather, was nil. I had taken a full load of classes and being the over achiever I was anyway, time sort of took on a spirit of its own, regimenting my life in a way that, thankfully, helped me forget the disaster early on. Missy spent every evening studying with me, which was a big help to both of us. Finally, near midnight, she would stretch and yawn and disappear with very little fanfare. I had asked her once if she wanted to study at her place, but she just shrugged and shook her head.
"You're right next door to the college...no need," she'd reply.
*7*
The Fall was brisk and breezy, sweeping up the leaves in swirling eddies about the campus. The smell of harvest was in the air. Halloween was nearing fast. All about the campus, signs were being posted, announcing costume parties at every frat house. Halloween was an annual event that swept the campus and whipped it up into a frenzy of activity.
One night Missy piped up, "So, which party are we attending?"
Honestly, I hadn't thought much of it, but she seemed to have her heart set on it, so I agreed to go with her to whatever party she chose. I wasn't very keen on fraternities. She chose one with an omega somewhere in the Greek jumble of acronyms. I had no real costume, but I did have a wraparound Indian sari, that if I added a red dot between my eyes, I could pass as an Indian rani. I just couldn't bring myself to use the word "princess."
Missy showed up dressed in impeccable cosplay fashion as Little Bo-Peep, complete with fluorescent green eye makeup and bright purple wig. An astonishing sight! She took one look at me and cried, "Cairin, you're outfit is screaming 'panty lines!' You have to wear something different underneath." I ran into the bedroom and grabbed a thong, the only one I owned for this very reason, and quickly changed. Then we were off, giggling and making jokes.
I can't remember my father. He left when I was so young. I remember only crying, and crying, and crying. So many divorces are made under the principle that it will be better for the children if they didn't have to listen to their parents fighting constantly. I personally think it would be better for the children if their parents would act like the adult role models they would wish their children to become, and work out their differences and stop fighting, but that never seems to enter the equation.
Divorce has become a byword in marital relationships, an easy out, a convenience too easily applied to a messy situation. The adults go about calling their exes bastards and bitches, and their little circles of friends pitch in, believing they are providing support, when in actuality they are simply strengthening the myth they wish to hide behind, blaming it on everything but their own childish incompetence and failure.
Then there are the courts, rubber stamping the plague of broken and dysfunctional families, not giving a damn about the society they are passing on to a coterie of youth who may never know the example of love two people can hold for each other. Is it no wonder the sins of the parents are visited upon the children? Would it be so bad if one judge simply said, "Quit bickering and think of someone besides yourselves...namely, your children!"
And yes, I'm bitter. I had to grow up without a father.
*2*
When I entered high school in Virginia, I already had my sights set on a college...The University of Montana. Why, you may ask? Quite simply because it was the best school for paleontologists on the planet. Like all children, I was interested in dinosaurs. The difference with me was that I never for a moment grew disinterested, but scoured the bookstores for the most recent discoveries and textbooks on the subject. But I had gaps in my knowledge, and I knew that I would have to gain the respect of the experts in what I had made my field, by attending the best college and gaining the imprimatur of the best teachers. Ergo, The University of Montana.
Of course, I had other reasons. My father was one of the professors there. He was an expert in the field of bone identification.
Anyway, I studied hard all the way through high school, never falling from the honor roll, and becoming a prime candidate for scholarship money. After presenting the valedictory address at graduation, then acing my SAT's, I applied to, and was accepted by, the college of my choice.
As you might gather, determination is one of my strong points.
*3*
My mother raised me well. She was a self-sacrificing, loving parent, who was always quick to denigrate her "ex," my father, for his abandonment and lack of support over the years. She hadn't even cared to keep track of him, never wanted his money, and never even talked about him, save to criticize him for his multitude of faults. "I've done all I can for you, and he's done zilch!" was a mothering mantra I grew up with from an early age. She even moved us to another state and legally changed our names so that he could never find us.
It's not that I believed everything she said, but she certainly painted the only picture I had of him, outside of a few visual and imperfect toddling childhood memories.
As I said, I was top of my class in high school, and younger than most graduates, having turned eighteen the last week of May, two weeks before graduating. I believe I skipped seventh grade in middle school...I never really missed it. I was self-driven to learn and far advanced in my reading and math abilities. To be honest, I was entirely socially inept, never getting along with boys whom I considered terribly lacking in maturity, which described just about every boy in high school. As I didn't wear makeup and thought that the biggest waste of time was walking around in malls with other girls shopping for clothes...well, I guess you get the picture.
Not that I wasn't pretty. I'd look at myself in the mirror and evaluate myself against the other girls in my class. My breasts were small, but well-rounded. My skin was pale and nearly free of freckles and moles. Maybe I was a little skinny, but looking over my shoulder at my reflection revealed curves in all the right places. Besides, quite a few boys had told me I was pretty, which usually meant, "I want in your pants!" so I never paid much attention to them.
So there I was, standing on the platform waiting to board the train from Washington DC to Chicago, then another line to Montana. My mother was in tears, not believing that I was actually traveling 2000 miles from home to study a subject that would result in a life of grit and sun-burn. Of course she had no idea of my ulterior motives, nor did she know that my father taught there. If she had, I probably would never have been able to board the train. It was my mother's mother who had kept track of him. Grandpa had died when I was twelve and we went to Georgia for the funeral. It was during that visit that Grandma showed me a Giresun Escort (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) letter from him. She said that periodically through the years, not knowing where we were, he would send her a card or letter. She had kept the last one he had sent, announcing that he had taken a professorship at the University of Montana, and she gave it to me when Mom wasn't looking. I've kept it hidden over the years, looking at the University website to follow his career and the classes he taught. I held my mother tightly as we both sobbed our farewells, and my tears continued on the train as it careened across the continent. A new world...a new life.
*4*
Three days later I woke in another world, much drier, flatter, and emptier than Virginia. The sky seemed to be much bigger as the trees were not as tall, thick, or close. The campus of the college was immense, with an enormous student population, which was fine with me, as I could lose myself in the crowd. On day one I roamed about the buildings, looking for my classes, passing all the sorority-fraternity-and-everything-Greek tables, ending up with an armful of papers, which I promptly consigned to their proper bin, eventually finding the basement apartment I had signed a lease for, months before, just across the park that adjoined the campus. It was snug and cozy...and quiet, as an aged widow lived above stairs. So far, so good.
My next hurdle was my first encounter with my father. He occasionally lectured to freshmen, but usually he taught only upper classmen, leaving his associate professors to do the dirty work of giving long boring lectures concerning elementary principles of paleontology. It was finally on the third week that I was able to meet him face to face. Or should I say, we met in a rather different orientation.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I spent a sleepless night pondering what I would say if there happened to be an opportunity. I chose my clothes carefully, drifting between skimpy to ultra-conservative looks. I finally settled on a mid-thigh pleated skirt with a peach-colored button-down shirt, completed and complemented at the collar by an unassuming navy blue silk scarf. I laughed when I came across an old pair of bright pink panties with the word PRINCESS printed across the bottom...something a girlfriend had bought me as a joke when I was much younger. They were a little tight, but I wore them as sort of an amusing counter-prop to what was an otherwise serious situation.
Next was my decision to announce myself, if the opportunity occurred, as his daughter. Better to get things out in the open and out of the way, in my opinion. I thought of all the scenarios that might occur following such an announcement: "Daughter!" he would cry, followed by a huge hug; "Daughter?" he would shrug, saying we would talk later; or maybe he would give me an odd look and just abandon me there at the door of the classroom. The third option seemed the most likely. After all, he had done it before.
That morning I brushed and brushed and brushed my teeth, wishing them to be bright and white, followed by an immense inundation of mouthwash. Dressing and primping to make sure everything was just right.
"You never have a second chance to make a first impression," I said to myself in the mirror.
Then hoisting a load of books into my arms for all my classes that day, I stuck a pencil over my ear for any note taking, and set out for the seminal moment of encounter.
Never had a hallway seemed so long as the one leading to my father's lecture room. My heels seemed to click endlessly on the linoleum as I slowly neared the door of the room. At times I thought of running...running and not stopping, until I was back in Virginia, but what would that accomplish? Nothing. And I'm not one to embark on a mission to accomplish nothing. I steeled myself, and opened the door.
Peaking around the doorway into the room, I discerned immediately that the professor, my father, had yet to arrive. In the process of sneaking that quick peak, the pencil tucked behind my ear caught on the doorsill and fell to the floor.
I bent to pick it up.
At that moment, the professor arrived, walking hurriedly down the hallway in conversation with another professor. Upon reaching the door, he turned to wave goodbye to the other professor and backed into the classroom, meeting an unexpected obstruction...namely, my behind!
I was propelled, sprawling, across the linoleum floor at the front of the classroom, my books flying willy-nilly every direction. As I was taken completely by surprise, it took me a few seconds to realize and assess what had happened. There I was, lying on the floor, the force of the fall turning the orientation of my skirt upside down, and exposing my behind to a lecture room of freshmen who began to laugh, hoot, and wolf whistle at the bright neon pink panties advertising my PRINCESS status to the world. But worse, my father and professor had a ringside view.
"Oh my God," I thought to myself, "What must he be Giresun Escort Bayan (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) thinking?"
I slowly rose, getting my bearings and looking about me in a daze, trying to collect my thoughts and find my books which seemed to be everywhere. It was that moment when I got my first look at the professor and breathed a sigh of relief. He was very young, probably a grad student serving an internship as an associate professor, with sandy hair, and incredibly good looks.
"I ? I'm sorry," I whispered as I began to turn a deep scarlet.
"It's ok. It's ok," he replied, reassuringly, "Accidents happen, and it was entirely my fault. It's I who should be apologizing to you."
He began to pick up my books, deftly and quickly, until a second or two later they were again in my arms and I found myself invited to a nearby desk. Upon taking my seat he spoke.
"Once again, my sincerest apologies, Miss...?"
His words were like honey, sweet and calming...like an aloe, soothing my troubled spirits.
"Rutger, sir," I choked forth an answer, "Cairin Rutger."
"And my name is John," he said, then realizing his informality added, "Professor John Rodgers."
The world froze around me as my jaw dropped in disbelief.
It was him. My father.
So much for meeting "face to face" I thought to myself. Luckily the class dealt with subjects I had already comprehended from reading years of studies and reports. It gave me time to think of what just happened. It also made me realize that there would be no possibility of introducing myself as his daughter. Not after what he saw. I would have been embarrassed beyond belief. But furthermore, I didn't want to invite further embarrassment upon him. Best leave the subject alone for the time being. Later in the year, things would be forgotten and a more opportune moment would present itself.
For now, I was thinking how young he looked, without a touch of grey, exhibiting that sandy-haired pate of his. And his eyes! Bright and hazel, touching all those he lectured to, bringing them home to the subject he loved and revered so much.
Then I began to think of my clumsiness and stupidity. Why had I worn those damn pink panties? They were so tight I could only think of how they must have accented my buttocks and the crease of my vagina. I was mortified. I could not look him in the eye. What had I said to myself in the mirror? You never had a second chance to make a first impression? I could have crawled into a hole and died!
*5*
My classes didn't allow me to return to my apartment for lunch, so I ate at the redoubtable cafeteria on campus. I slid myself into a booth with a bag of chips and a Diet Dr. Pepper, desiring a little privacy. There were oriental paper screens between the booths set up in long rows to provide study groups a little privacy, but they didn't screen out sound very well.
"Can you believe that girl?" said a coed with a brassy voice, "She just laid it all out before him. What a slut!"
"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have done it too, given the chance," retorted a younger girl with a mousy voice, probably a freshman, "I saw your face when Professor Rodgers appeared."
"Can you blame me?" said the first girl, "He's quite the looker, if you ask me. He's one professor I'd like to roger!" The girls giggled at her sophomoric pun.
"Obviously Miss Rutger thinks so," chimed in a third voice, "But I have to admit, it was a smooth move she pulled off. If Professor Rodgers was of a mind toward those things, he certainly got an eyeful of goods all wrapped up in a pink package. Ha! What a preview that was."
"And a princess to boot," brassy tossed in, "Plastered across her ass just to make sure everyone was aware of her intentions. I wouldn't be surprised if she fucks half the freshman class by the end of the semester."
"I'm not so sure of that," interrupted mousy, "It looked like an honest accident to me. It was unfortunate though. I kinda felt sorry for her."
"Frosh naiveté," said the third voice, "When you're a junior like me, you'll see through all the tricks, as plain as the nose on your face. Too bad it won't work though. I've seen others pussy up to the Professor to no avail. He's simply impervious to seduction. I don't know if it's a sense of professionalism...or maybe he's just gay."
"Anyway," said brassy, "He still got the eyeful. I saw him take a quick look at her goods. Jesus Fucking Christ! Did you see that camel toe? Well, I did, and half the freshman class also, not to mention the Professor. I'm betting offers are gonna come rolling in for that alone. It's at least good to know your competition...and she has set the standard pretty high, I'd say."
Mousy's thoughts seem to have been kept to herself after that.
So that's what the whole school was thinking. Not only did I totally screw things up with my first meeting, but I had branded myself the quintessential school slut, to be admired and hated by all the others who aspired to get their freshmen Escort Giresun (http://www.gumushaneescort.org) hymens busted before midterm.
To say I was mortified would be an understatement to end all understatements. I gathered my belongings and ran from the cafeteria and across the park to my apartment. I would attend no more classes that day, or perhaps ever. My mind was running toward thoughts of returning home and attending a small college in Virginia. As long as I stayed here I would never be able to live this down. The tears welled up in my eyes. How stupid could I have been to think there would ever be a favorable outcome to this whole charade.
So that was it. Before I had made it half way across the park, my mind was made up. I would have a long talk with the landlady and work out some arrangement until she had another boarder, and I would take the next train out of this nightmare forever. I sat down breathless on a bench, struggling with my thoughts, when I noticed a petite girl standing about thirty feet away by an oak tree. When she saw that I had noticed her, she approached cautiously, not sure what to say.
"I saw you running from the cafeteria," she said. The mousy voice was unmistakable. "I'm sorry you had to hear that conversation. It was deplorable what Ginny said. She's so hot for the professor, she can't think straight. We went to the same high school on the other side of town, and she was the school slut. I guess she's intending to make a name for herself here too."
I looked at her a moment, my eyes dripping tears, and looked back down.
"My name is Missy...short for Melissa."
The last thing I wanted to do at the moment was make a new friend. After all, I'd just have to say goodbye to her in a couple of days. My body convulsed in a sob I would rather have wished to hide. I felt her sit down close beside me, wordlessly conveying to me, with her tiny frame, the message that she was no threat and wanted to help if she could.
"Cairin," I said, "Cairin Rutger."
"It's a pretty name," Missy replied, "And you are a pretty girl, undeserving of what occurred this morning. I don't think for a minute it was intentional."
I emitted another convulsive sob.
"You're probably the only one who thinks so," I assured her, "It seems the rest of the school has branded me a slut. I don't know if I can stay. It's too painful to contemplate."
She sidled up next to me, oddly smelling of lemon drops, and took my hand.
"It's ok," she said, "Sometimes we just have to have a good cry. I won't think any worse of you. Let's go to your place and have some hot tea. It'll make you feel better and calm you down a bit."
She helped me up and we walked hand in hand to my place. She gave me a lemon drop to feel better, and oddly, it did make me feel better. I found her presence very calming. We spoke very little. After a good hot tea I felt better.
"You're not leaving are you?" she asked.
"I was thinking about it," I answered, "but I'm reconsidering."
"Good."
And she rose and left. Somehow I knew I had just acquired a lasting friendship.
*6*
The next two months found me ignoring everything but my lessons. I was a hard studier. Missy accompanied me to most of the classes we shared. She was a good friend, ready to give anyone the finger who cat-called or whistled. Eventually the princess comments died down and life became a little more normal.
My social life, as you might gather, was nil. I had taken a full load of classes and being the over achiever I was anyway, time sort of took on a spirit of its own, regimenting my life in a way that, thankfully, helped me forget the disaster early on. Missy spent every evening studying with me, which was a big help to both of us. Finally, near midnight, she would stretch and yawn and disappear with very little fanfare. I had asked her once if she wanted to study at her place, but she just shrugged and shook her head.
"You're right next door to the college...no need," she'd reply.
*7*
The Fall was brisk and breezy, sweeping up the leaves in swirling eddies about the campus. The smell of harvest was in the air. Halloween was nearing fast. All about the campus, signs were being posted, announcing costume parties at every frat house. Halloween was an annual event that swept the campus and whipped it up into a frenzy of activity.
One night Missy piped up, "So, which party are we attending?"
Honestly, I hadn't thought much of it, but she seemed to have her heart set on it, so I agreed to go with her to whatever party she chose. I wasn't very keen on fraternities. She chose one with an omega somewhere in the Greek jumble of acronyms. I had no real costume, but I did have a wraparound Indian sari, that if I added a red dot between my eyes, I could pass as an Indian rani. I just couldn't bring myself to use the word "princess."
Missy showed up dressed in impeccable cosplay fashion as Little Bo-Peep, complete with fluorescent green eye makeup and bright purple wig. An astonishing sight! She took one look at me and cried, "Cairin, you're outfit is screaming 'panty lines!' You have to wear something different underneath." I ran into the bedroom and grabbed a thong, the only one I owned for this very reason, and quickly changed. Then we were off, giggling and making jokes.