Amy, Part 1

Amy, Part 1

On a campus of beautiful young women, Amy stood out. She had no curves to her body, small breasts, but she did have a gorgeous ass. What stood out about Amy was her face. She could have been a model for a portrait of Queen Nefertiti on the wall of an Egyptian temple. She was of mixed ethnicity, her dad was German, her mom was Singaporean. The combination of these two ethnicities gave Amy an unbelievably beautiful face. High Asian cheekbones, skin not quite white, piercing blue German eyes.

But Amy was more than just attractive or beautiful. Her face was beautiful to be sure, but she had something extra, something smoldering and sensual that went beyond just beauty. I don’t know if I can explain it but I’ll try. My college campus is full of beautiful women. Tall, short, buxom, whatever you can imagine. And anyone would call these women beautiful. But Amy had something more that I think was only seen by guys. Maybe she was giving off mega pheromones, but when you saw Amy, you didn’t just think, “Wow, she is gorgeous.” Most men, including me, also immediately thought, “Wow I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her right here and right now. And she looks like she would love that.” It’s the kind of look some of the more sultry Victoria’s Secret models have.

You couldn’t miss Amy on campus. Well, actually you could miss seeing her, because she was always surrounded by a set of guys, all vying for her attention. Gorgeous women often hate the attention they attract, but not Amy. She seemed to thrive on all the attention. She was adept at deflecting the advances of would be suitors without hurting their feelings. Everyone, even girls jealous of the attention she received from boys, described Amy as “the nicest person.” She had the combination of amazing looks, but a warm and inviting personality.

Or so I was told. While I had seen her around campus—who hadn’t—I did not have Amy in a class of mine until the first semester of her junior year. In true Amy form, she always sat in a sea of boys, but managed to ignore them and listen to what was going on in class. I did not have expectations about her academic talent one way or the other, but after the first two or three assignments, it was clear I was dealing with a very intelligent girl.

I didn’t know at the time whether or not Amy had a boyfriend, but it didn’t matter, certainly a girl like Amy had her choice of men on campus. As the course had a section on marriage and gender power, it was not unusual for students to discuss sexual topics in my office hours. But the conversations almost always related to the course material and not their personal lives. Even so, I was not really surprised when Amy started discussing her sex life, if only tangentially.

“Professor, I thought it was really interesting to learn about the different theories about how people find their match in life. Sociologists think it all has to do with social class and power relations in society. Economists think it all has to do with search costs; like, whether or not I should dump this boyfriend depends on whether I believe the chances of finding someone better outweighs the cost of looking further. Which one do you believe? There is so much that can change in the future, jobs, education, fate, how would I know if I were trading up? And where does love appear in all of this?”

I stifled a laugh. This girl was good. I tried to start my answer with something to lighten the mood.

“Well Amy, economists would condemn you to a lifetime of searching! You can always attract someone better, and you won’t have to look long so your search costs are low. Just look at the line outside your door.”

Amy blushed a bit and looked down at her lap. “Thank you Professor. That was a very kind thing to say. I wish it was that easy.”

“Oh, Amy, forgive me, I was just trying to make a joke and give you a compliment at the same time. I’m sorry the joke missed the mark. With so many to choose from, I have no doubt that your dating life is complicated at times.”

“Boys follow me everywhere! I can’t go to the ladies room without four or five boys waiting for me when I come out. I try to be nice to everyone and I think I succeed,”

I interjected, “Amy, from what I understand no one on campus has a bad word to say about you.”

Amy blushed again, “Thank you Professor. I try. But these theories have made me think about my own life. Let’s face it, at this point in life college students are pretty much the same. Some have better prospects than others, but who knows whether their potential will be realized. You can’t tell. My dad barely finished university in Germany, and had no prospects at all. He had to go to Singapore to find a wife. German girls wanted to have nothing to do with him. But now he is head of Asian operations for a big German manufacturing firm. Nobody would have guessed that when he was in college”

“Amy, knowing what kind of person you are, even the little bit that I know, I think it is clear that your dad made the right choice of mate.”

“Thank you again, Professor. You are really flattering me today.”

“No, it is only flattery if it’s not true. I haven’t said anything that’s not true. But let’s get back to your thoughts about these theories.” I was running the risk of getting too personal with a female student, and that can come back to bite you these days.

“Okay. Just hypothetically speaking. Wouldn’t this theory suggest that women, college women, should go after older men? Those men are established, have careers, there is less uncertainty about what you are getting. Of course this takes love out of the equation completely. For example, Professor, you are single, you are established, so as an older man you have more certain prospects than any of the boys running around here. Who knows what will become of them?”

I bit my tongue and did not say how thrilled I would be if Amy dated an older man—me for example.

“First of all, don’t assume that’s not true. That would be a good term paper. Compare female college graduates to female high school graduates as to the age of their first husbands. Second, don’t you think your observation about being more certain of a mate’s prospects might explain why women are marrying later than they used to?”

“Oh, that makes sense!” Amy exclaimed as the lightbulb went on over her pretty head. I get it. But I am going to start dating older men anyway.”

Her change in preference caught me by surprise, as it seemed out of sync with what we were discussing. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with younger men, Amy. Except of course their more uncertain prospects.”

Amy sighed heavily, as if there was some burden she needed to unload. “It’s more than that Professor. You know these college boys. They don’t care if I’m smart, stupid, nice, mean, rich, poor. They just want to fu–, uh, sorry, they just want to get in my…uhh sorry again, they just want to…”

“Make love? Have sex? Bump nasties?” I smiled at Amy’s discomfort, as she turned redder than ever. “I have been at this job a long time, Amy, words like “fuck” don’t even register. But thank you for trying!

“Okay,” she said somewhat defiantly, “every one of the guys who hit on me all day long, all they want to do is fuck me and then brag about it to their friends and broadcast it all over campus. It happened with my first two “boyfriends” on campus which is why I’ll never date a college boy again!”

“Be happy Amy that you have so many prospects, you have your pick of the litter. You’ll know it when you find him. There will be someone who will respect you and love you for everything you are. Maybe he’s not here at college. Maybe it will be an older man.” I paused and smiled. I couldn’t resist. “And if you go the older man route, remember that I’m available!”

Amy looked up at me, jaw dropped, shocked look on her face. She mellowed when she figured out that I was kidding. Kind of.

“I’m sorry Professor, but that’s just what I mean. We have been talking a long time and you take me serious and treat me with respect, and I love that. I think I would be so much happier if I was dating someone like you.”

Amy said this last sentence in a way that said that she really meant someone like me—not me. Oh well.

It kind of became a not especially funny joke between us. I would see Amy in the hall and call out, “Hey Amy, I’m free tonight!” She would respond, “I’m not.” Or she would ask me, “Professor, you busy this weekend?” “Of course!