A Teacher

(Originally Posted by YearEnds)

I could've been anything, you know.

Well, not anything, but near enough.

I couldn't have been a gymnast, or a fashion model (at least not a traditional fashion model). Those things are just not possible for a leggy 5'10" woman with a 36F-22-42 figure, however limber or pretty she might be.

And I am limber, and I am pretty, and I am that tall, and I do have that figure. And I love showing it off, at least when it's appropriate.

Generally, if you want to find me, I'm in one of four places: at home, walking around nude because I love the way the air feels against my skin (did I mention I'm pretty damn sensitive? It doesn't take long for my sex partners to discover that they can bring me to a screaming orgasm just through nipple play); in the gym working out, because even though I'm naturally nicely toned I still like to keep it up, and I'll take any excuse to wear revealing, skintight clothing in public, not to mention that I love the way my thick knee-length blond hair waves about when I'm on a treadmill (not that that's all I do there, and as for the hair, it won't grow much longer but if I cut it it just goes back down to my knees); at the beach, because I love wearing tiny bikinis that pretty much only cover what public nudity laws require be covered; or in the lab, because did I mention I've also got a 245 IQ?

Yeah, I'm smoking hot, love to show off my body, and am one of the smartest people on the planet. I spoke at least ten languages fluently by the time I was five (I speak at least sixty now), got into Mensa when I was eight, went to Princeton at ten, earned a doctorate from Harvard at sixteen, and now I've been a full professor of physics at Berkeley for five years, ever since I finished my postdoc at Yale at eighteen. They just gave me tenure right out of my fellowship, and there are constant rumours that I'm on the shortlist for a Nobel. There's even rumours that I'm going to get two or even three Nobels within the next decade or so, and only a few days ago I was informed that I'd won a Fields Medal. (I may be a physicist, but when you're as smart as I am, sometimes the proof of the Generalized Riemann Hypothesis just comes to you, you know? And anyway, I got honours in chemistry and math, as well as physics, in my undergrad, so it's not like I'm a slouch there.)

Of course, it's not like it's all been smooth sailing for me. Teaching a class of graduate students when you've got a porn-worthy body (not that I do any modeling, never mind nude modeling or anything pornographic, not that I haven't been offered astounding sums of money if I would) and you're not even legally allowed to pose nude, never mind have a beer, isn't exactly the greatest experience. And teaching freshman physics at eighteen (my first class at Berkeley) made me glad my tenure allowed me to avoid teaching if I didn't want to. Even some of my colleagues have tried to get a little touchy-feely with me, but between my general athleticism, the fact that I work out for at least two hours every day (and I can lift twice my weight in whatever mode you want), and the fact that I've earned at least a sixth-degree black belt (or the equivalent) in every martial art on the planet means that nobody made that mistake twice. Not that I hurt them or anything, at least not beyond what it hurt them to have the hottest, smartest woman they'd ever know knock them flat on their ass inside two seconds.

I should say that while I'm glad I don't have to teach, I don't actually want to avoid it. That freshman physics class was the worst, but I'd been teaching classes at all levels ever since I began my graduate work. At first the reactions were mostly incredulity (which quickly dissipated when the students realized that I was smarter than any of them would ever be), then sexist remarks as puberty gave me my current body (which have never done away, but I'm numb to them now), and now, yes, I do get asked out by my students, but I never deal with them on anything other than a purely professional basis. The fact that I've won a teaching award literally every year since I started teaching helps counteract any thoughts I might have of not wanting to teach, as well.

Which isn't to say I'm not thoroughly sexually active. I've known I was bi since I first learned about sexual orientations in middle school (thank goodness my state required comprehensive sex ed and let me learn it), and when I first learned about STIs and periods I went home and invented a pill that shut off my menstrual cycle (and another one to turn it back on, in case I ever want to have kids naturally), and a shot that changed my immune system so that I'd never feel the slightest bit ill, and would never be contagious. It's even sexually transmitted itself, so total imperviousness to disease has been trickling through the population over the years since I started having sex. (My parents knew about it, of course, and they knew about my inventions. I gave them the shots, as well, and my mom's the only other person to have taken my pill. She loves how she gets to save money on various feminine hygiene products, and my dad tells me that he loves that they can have unprotected sex every night. TMI, Dad. TMI. And they were fine with me becoming sexually active; they'd never been worried about my ability to take care of myself if a relationship should turn abusive.) Anyway, I've sort of seen it as my duty to have as much sex as I could reasonably have, and since it's not like I have a problem finding willing partners, I've had a lot of one-night stands over the years. (I also set up my smartphone to interface with every other device in its vicinity and insert a little piece of software that ensures that nobody will upload any pictures or video of me they might have surreptitiously taken. I hate porn.)

So anyway, I was sitting in my office, putting the finishing touches on a theoretical paper about how to achieve fusion at room temperature, and I was about to turn to a draft of one about how to convert matter outright into usable energy at 50% efficiency, while also giving some thought as to how to create artificial gravity, when my life changed for, well, quite literally, forever.

There were no fireworks, no trumpets, no choirs of angels (well, not right then), nothing other than what I felt and knew to indicate that anything had changed. But everything had changed.

I was God.

Now you'd think that I'd be ecstatic about this, right? I mean, never mind studying the fundamental laws of the universe, I could change them at a whim. No need to put up with all the catcalls and innuendo when I could just mentally impress on everyone that such things were Not Okay. No need to go through the drudgery of lectures and assignments and exams when I put the relevant knowledge directly into my students' brains.

But the thing was, I actually kinda liked that stuff. I liked discovering things, coming up with new hypotheses and testing them in the lab, seeing students come to their own understanding of course material. I even sometimes liked all the coarse remarks I got, if only because I have one of the best withering glares on the planet and I do enjoy using it.

That said, I also knew that someone had to be God, and so I'd much rather it be me than, say, another horny teenager. Especially if it was one of my freshmen students this term. Half of the boys would probably, first thing they do, teleport into my office, wipe my clothes from existence, strip away my free will, turn my desk into a bed and start fucking me with a two-foot cock (probably two of them, one for my pussy and another for my ass), and keep going for as long as they wanted. The other half would also do that, only they'd give give me tits three times bigger than my body first. And as for the girls, well, becoming God instantly makes you omnisexual and sends your libido through the roof, so half of them would have me eating them out, and the other half would give themselves two cocks and be screwing me. The ones who'd blow up my tits would be about evenly split between the two camps.

I had a little more self-control than that, though, since the first thing I did was clone myself, give my new body tits three times bigger than the rest of her, banish our clothes to nonexistence, turn my desk into a bed, give my original body a pair of two-foot cocks, and start fucking myself in the cunt and the ass. Plus I changed the rate at which time moved outside my office so that I could keep going for a few quadrillion years without risking missing my dinner date that night.

Anyway, after I'd come to orgasm for the 3,243,234,098,235,203,495,203,994,878th time, I decided enough was enough and that I should probably do something other than what was essentially glorified masturbation. So I restored myself to normal, reset my office, and walked out toward my dinner date with a reasonably attractive woman I'd met in a lesbian bar the previous night.