Chasing Professor Styles

There’s something about Professor Styles that makes her a recurring figure in your nighttime fantasies.

Part of it, you must admit, is her killer body. She rarely wears clothing that shows off her figure, but there’s a certain point at which you can’t hide it. Her tight sweater and slacks today has only confirmed what your imagination was filling in before. Your teacher is a babe.

But the other part that makes her appealing, which feels a bit silly to admit, is just how brilliant she is. You’re deep enough into this whole chemistry business to know who some of the hotshots are, and this woman is up there with the best of them. As you’ve begun to dive more into her papers, you’re just starting to appreciate what kind of a brain and what kind of drive was needed to get her here.

With that said, it takes more than a bit of courage for you to knock on the door to her office. Michelle gives you a curious look, but you ignore her, waiting by the door for your response.

“Hey Alex,” Professor Styles says, opening the door for you. “How’re you doing?”

“There’s some things about the research and class that I’d like to talk to you about,” you say.

“Come in, have a seat,” she says invitingly, pointing to the extra chair she keeps in her office. It’s a bit of a cramped space, journals and loose papers piled up everywhere. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well, I did some of the optional readings that you put on our syllabus for class,” you say. “I was surprised by how tightly it seems to connect to some of the research that we’re doing in lab.”

“It’s no coincidence,” Professor Styles smiles. “It’s how I pick out my prospective undergrad RAs, most years.”

“Is that how Michelle got the job?” you ask.

She nods, the smile on her face an oddly nostalgic one.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better fit,” she says. “That girl’s got a rare talent.”

“Much like you?” you say, playfully.

Professor Styles laughs, shaking her head.

“Call it self-flattery, but she does remind me of myself, back when I was in college,” she says.

“I see the resemblance,” you say. “You must have been the most sought after gal in your sorority, too, huh.”

“Dangerous territory there, Alex,” your professor says, though the smile on her face grows wider. “But no, I was never in a sorority. And I never had Michelle’s looks.”

“I find that hard to believe,” you say, pausing to get a good look at her. “You’ve still got them.”

She’s surprisingly youthful for a professor. You wouldn’t have put her at a day over thirty, and yet, you know from her CV that she’s a good few years older than that. Her face still has the charm of youth, and she keeps in great shape. She’s hot in a mature, sophisticated way. It’s a different sort of feeling than most of the girls on campus inspire, but it’s one that turns you on nonetheless…

“You flatter me too much,” Professor Styles says, clearly tickled by your words. She clears her throat, giving you a look that you find difficult to decipher. “Now Alex, listen carefully, because I will only tell you this once. I keep relations with my students strictly within the confines of university policy. Do you understand what I mean? Strictly. Within. The. Confines. Of. University. Policy. Remember that. Oh come now, don’t give me that expression. I wasn’t implying anything about you. Just stating a fact. You came here to discuss work. Shall we talk?”

You maintain composure, trying not to let your disappointment show. This was always going to be a long shot. Better things to be resolved this way, than getting reported to Title IX for sexual harassment. The two of you slip into talk about your work in her class and research. The conversation goes surprisingly well. You’ve always had a knack for chemistry, and the extra hours that you’ve been putting into the class have paid off dividends. From the occasional raises of her eyebrows, you can feel that you’re impressing Professor Styles just as much as that first day in class. She stops at some points to jot something down on her phone—ideas that the two of you discussed that she wants to keep for the record.

“I work long hours. You get more done, but it also doesn’t help much with memory,” Professor Styles smiles apologetically, putting her phone aside.

“I’ve seen you stay late in here,” you say. “When do you usually go home?”

“I try to get out before midnight. I don’t always succeed,” she replies, smiling a bit at the shocked expression on your face.

“Every night?” you ask, startled, still not quite believing her words. There’s an implication here. One that you’re not sure if you’re reading too much into, but if you’re right…

“Every night,” she says, putting special emphasis on the first word. “But I’m not always the last one out. The grad students have a tendency to stay later than me. I give them all copies of the lab key, so that they can lock up after me.”

Oh fucking hell. A key to the lab. She stays every night.

“And undergrads?” you ask carefully, trying to figure out if you’re interpreting her words correctly.

“If they’re diligent enough to stay late, and I feel I can trust them…” she pauses, a twinkle in her eye. “Why not?”

Every night. Burn Night. You need to earn a key to Professor Style’s lab and then you can have her. That’s within the confines of university policy, right? The path forward is clear.

Styles +15