seducing my professor

Due to good grades and recommendations from my high school I am able to go to a nice university. I am starting my sophomore year. As an English major I have the advantage of using poetry and witty turn-of-phrases to seduce any woman I want. It is how I got my high school girlfriend and a few girls last year to spend the night in my dorm.

The first day of classes was already half over and I was not scared at the perspective workload. My next class was a writing class, it look interesting because we were able to write stories, poems, essays, opinions, or whatever came to mind.

I took my seat just as this tall redhead walked in. she looked young and I half expected her to sit down in one of the desks near me. Instead she put her bag on the desk in the front of the classroom and started writing stuff on the board. I could not believe this beautiful figure before me was supposed to be Professor Williams. I expected an old man with gray hair and a bushy beard, not a woman who looked like she could have been a swimsuit model.

We started and once introductions where done and she explained what the rest of the semester had in store she let us out early. Everyone was happy we got to leave early but I wanted to talk to the professor. I held back while everyone ran out as fast as possible. When it was just she and I, I went up to talk to her.

I held out my hand to shake hers, her skin was soft and smooth. I introduced myself and asked her if this was her first year at the school. She said that not only was this her first year at the school but this was her first year in the city. I told her that I had spent a lot of time here growing up and would be more than happy to show her around town; I mentioned a few of the great restaurants and museums I knew of and she seemed interested.

I asked her if she wanted my cell phone number so she could call and ask for directions or recommendations for where to go. She seemed hesitant at first; she could see how awkward and inappropriate it would be for a professor and student to be calling each other out side of class.

I assured her that there was nothing inappropriate about someone who is new in town asking for advice on what sights to see. I then gave her my number and told her that if she wanted to talk about museum exhibits or the best place to get a pizza, to call me. Then I left.

She did not call me but I figured as much. I saw her in class and we were discussing a poem. She told us that our homework would be to write a poem for next class about whatever we wanted. I took the opportunity to write a love poem. I did not say who it was but I described her red hair and long legs. I wanted to hint that it was she but still make it vague enough so that it could also apply to a number of other girls. I got it back with no comment on its content. She seemed to ignore it. I tried again with another love poem, this time I was a bit more intense when I described the physical actions I wanted to do to her. With innuendos and euphemisms I basically said that I wanted to fuck my red hair goddess until our genitalia were sore, and then fuck her again. I also hinted about how I would fuck her hard and strong from every position.

Once more my poem got no recognition. She treated it like every other piece of homework that she came across. I knew she liked me; I had been sure to do all my work, show up to class on time, and have plenty of interesting things to say on the readings. She smiled every time I said something insightful and would love to have the class discuss the ideas I brought up. (If you are thinking I am a teachers pet just remember I am trying to get into her panties, had she been the old man I imagined I would not put in nearly this much effort.)

When we were supposed to write short stories I was sure to write one that would be painfully blatant in its message. She gave us free range to write about anything we wanted so I wrote an erotic story about a student fucking his English teacher. I changed the names but it was clear that I was writing about her and me.

The class when we got our stories back mine had a note at the end, “See me after class.” Finally the reaction I was waiting for.

After class I walked up to her desk and held out my paper, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, we need to talk.” It seemed as if she was forcing herself to be calm and steady when speaking to me. “Your writing so far is concerning.”
“Why, did I have a lot of spelling errors or grammatical problems?” I was playing dumb.
“You know what I am talking about. At first I thought it was kissing up, then I thought it was a crush. You are not the first boy to have feelings for a teacher. But this last story you wrote, it’s too much. This has to stop.”
“What has to stop?”
“Your sexual advances.”
“I never made any sexual advances.”
“In your writing you did,” she pulls out a copy of my second poem and starts to read it, “those legs of ivory which hide her precious hidden treasure will part so that I may make my passions known to her.”
“How is that a sexual advance?”
“You’re saying you want to spread my legs so you can get to my vagina.”
“I did not use your name though, I could want to get to some other woman’s vagina; did you think of that?”
“I did, but your story is about a student having sex with his English teacher, who sounds a great deal like me.” She took out a copy of my story and started reading from it.