Office Hours

All characters are at least 18 years old.

Hank

Stop staring at her panties. Stop staring at her panties. Stop staring at her panties.

“And I believe that’s all we have time for today,” I announced with a quick glance at the clock. “Please make sure to finish reading Chapter 8 if you haven’t already, as we’ll be covering Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. See you all next time!”

My Psychology 1301 students were already packing up before I even finished, and I had to raise my voice higher and higher as I spoke to be heard over the commotion. While they all filed out, I turned and began erasing my scribblings on the blackboard. That’s right. Private high schools had smart boards, while here at community college I was using chalk. I sighed and dusted my hands off, reprimanding myself for my lecherous thoughts as I turned to collect my lecture materials. I was surprised to see one of the girls still here, standing close to my desk. Panty girl, to be more precise.

A tallish slender brunette with black wire frame glasses, Jean was one of my best students. If her exemplary attentiveness and midterm scores were anything to go by, I would be seeing her again next semester in Psychology 1302. Her and her black lace undergarments.

“Jean. Can I help you?” I asked as I began putting away papers. Had she been doing it on purpose? Giving me an eyeful? More than likely, she was oblivious of how her legs had been spread during class, and I was just being a creep.

“Yeah, just had some questions about multiple relationships,” she replied. Contrary to her demure appearance, she had a rather forceful way of speaking, as if she was talking at you. The dichotomy was jarring at times.

“Unfortunately, I have another class soon,” I said apologetically.

“Do you wanna discuss it over coffee?”

I stopped packing my things, eyes growing wide. Was she… asking me on a date? “Pardon?”

“I said, do you have office hours?”

I blinked at her a few times, trying not to frown. I could have sworn… Had I heard wrong? She’d never shown signs of anything that would lead to her asking me out, which was partly why I was taken so off guard. Or had I imagined it? It was hard to work around college girls and not take notice of the more beautiful ones. Jean was a good example. Her appearance was all over the place though; baggy clothes, a short slightly off-center ponytail, her brash cadence, and soft feminine features all sort of clashed. It was like she couldn’t decide who she wanted to be, though that wasn’t uncommon at her age.

You’re not a shrink, Hank. Just answer the question.

“I do, from two to six. Do you know where my office is?”

“Of course. Well… no.”

I wrote my room number on a notecard and handed it to her. “Fourth floor of this building. My door is always open, so swing by whenever.”

She held the card with both hands as she looked down at it. “Right. Okay, cool or whatever. I’ll see ya.”

The next class was already filing in, and she had to fight the current of bodies coming through the door. My thoughts were still on Jean while I pushed through another lecture. Office hours, huh? With her grades, she didn’t really need them. Then again, sometimes discussion with the professor was exactly how you reached the top of the class. And then there were the unsavory methods of reaching the top of the class, I thought darkly. God, was I going to become one of those types of educators? If Jean asked, would I be able to successfully decline?

It was a relief to finally retreat to my office and be alone with my thoughts. What a headache this was. Being a young professor, my life was now rife with college girls being coy and at times even flirtatious. I was now the subject of a fair bit of female attention, attention I had never experienced in my youth. I simply didn’t know how to navigate it. Not like anything would come of it, I thought with a chuckle.

Anyway, the next class’s materials were already prepped and there were no quizzes to grade. I tried to focus on reading a study, but my mind kept wandering. Fortunately, not to perverse thoughts of my students. Unfortunately, to resentful thoughts of my ex-girlfriend. Sighing, I reached into my top drawer and pulled out a squash ball, leaning back in my chair and flinging it at the wall. I’d gotten a couple of complaints from the other professors, but I wasn’t in any mood to think about all that.

BAM!

“Disloyal,” I said, catching the ball neatly as it bounced back to me.

BAM!

“Greedy,” I muttered.

BAM!

“Exploitative bitch,” I growled.

The door opened, and the ball slammed into the wall right next to Jean’s head. My eyes widened in horror, and the ball smacked me right in the face, leaving me reeling.

“Whoa, prof!” Jean yelped. “Jesus. Should I… Should I come back later, or…?”

“No, no, come in,” I groaned, holding my cheek while I failed to reach the ball on the ground as it rolled away from me. “Sorry about that.” I paused, looking up at her, suddenly irked. “You don’t knock?”

“Nope. But I guess you wouldn’t have heard anyway,” she replied, staying by the door after closing it.

“Yeah. Sorry again. Just working through some… personal problems. Please, have a seat.” She hesitated, looking skeptically at the chair across from me. “Or stay standing, whatever works for you.” With a twist of her lips, she sat. I smiled, letting go of my face.

“That’s gonna bruise,” she snickered.

“Possibly,” I agreed. “So, you said you had some questions?”

“Yeah.” She stopped, as if mulling something over. “Multiple relationships.”

I nodded. “Where a different type of relationship exists between a therapist and a client beyond the professional one.”

“Right. Does that apply to anything else? Like, not in psychiatry.”

“Well, our main concern is with psychiatry and ethics, but yes, I suppose the same concept can be applied to other things as well. Take family businesses, for example. The relationship between two people could be both of parent and child, and also of employer and employee. What ends up happening is work follows you home, which, as you can imagine, could be very stressful.”

“Lines start blurring,” Jean summed up, and I nodded. “So it always ends badly?”

“Not necessarily. Some very successful people work with their spouse, sibling, parent, or child. But in a lot of cases, the problems still stem from an ethical viewpoint.”

She took a moment to digest, then sighed. “So there’s a chance.”

I couldn’t help my curiosity. “A chance for what?”

“Nothing. I’m gonna be late for work. First night on the job.” She rose suddenly, hefting her bag back onto her shoulder.

“Oh? Congratulations on the new job. Where do you work?” I asked with a smile.

Her eyes flitted up to mine, and she blushed a bit and mumbled something while looking off to the side. What a rare sight, to see her bashful. Then she looked… fearful. Not the kind of nerves of a teen at their first job, but something else. I raised my brows questioningly, and she cleared her throat and said a bit louder, “I’m a… waitress.”

Just a waitress? Then what was all the embarrassment for? Nothing shameful about being a waitress, especially at her age. Was there something more going on here? Stop being nosy, Hank.

“Well then, you should probably get going,” I chuckled. “Like you said, don’t want to be late on your first day.” She nodded and turned to leave without a word. “See you next lesson, Jean.” I began packing my own things, then left my office with my briefcase in hand, coat folded over my arm. On my way home, I spotted her on the sidewalk, presumably heading to work.

And that niggling feeling in my mind replayed her reaction to her job.

“Nosy and creepy,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head in admonition. “Great, I’m a stalker now.”

---

I followed her downtown, keeping a decent distance so as not to be spotted. Yes, this was all kinds of wrong, but I had a bad feeling about her job. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Was she putting herself in danger working at her new job? Was it at a rough-and-tumble bar? But then why did she blush?

Shaking my head, I decided it was because I’d asked her a personal question. It was my best guess. I made up my mind to just see where she worked to make sure she was safe, then head home and put it out of my mind.

And then she disappeared around a block and I lost her.

“Shit,” I hissed. Had I been made? I looked around. There weren’t many places to hide around here, apart from dark alleys. Not many places around at all, come to think of it. The only places around were a butcher, a cafe, and a night club, and the cafe was closed. Butchers didn’t have waitresses, which meant… she worked at a night club?

I looked up at the squat building lit up with neon, a pit growing in my stomach. With the suggestive colors of the neon, an ugly thought flashed through my mind: maybe this was a strip club. A tale as old as time, college girls stripping to pay their way through school. It would explain everything I’d seen in my office. No… No, not Jean.

The darker part of me urged me to go in. Who wouldn’t want to see their student on the pole? A decent educator, that’s who. One who didn’t care who their students showed their naked bodies to. But at the same time, I was supposed to guide my wards toward choices that would better their lives, to use mind over matter.

In a hazardous mix of jealous lust and a misguided need to protect her, I found myself in the short line to get in the club. I just had to hope nobody I knew saw me here; that would be disastrous. When I got to the head of the line, two bouncers stopped me to see my ID. I handed it to the first one while the second looked me up and down. With a shake of his head, the first one returned my ID.

“Nope, sorry, all full,” he barked.

“Then I can just wait, right?” I replied, confused.

“Sorry buddy, ya gotta go.”

“Wait, what kind of club turns people away at the door?” It was only at this moment that I realized I’d never gone clubbing before. For all I knew, this was common practice.

“Buddy, yer no spring chicken, lemme tell ya that. And here–” He cut himself off as he cupped an earpiece, listening to instructions of some sort. He glanced up at me, then to his partner, before straightening up. “Hmph. Yer in luck, buddy. Looks like we just freed up a spot.”

That caught me off guard. “Just… go in? There’s no entry fee or anything?”

The other bouncer snorted. “Do ya want there to be an entry fee?”

Swallowing, I walked past them and into the lobby. It turned out that the building led underground, and I descended into the belly of the club, opening the double doors that led to the dance floor.

Music and lights assaulted my senses, and I felt so out of place in my attire and with my briefcase. So it wasn’t a strip club. People were dancing in the center of the giant room, and booths ringed the entire spectacle. Looking up, I saw a large black sheet of glass on the ceiling that receded upward at the edges. A room to view the whole dance floor, probably where the DJ was.

It was impossible to distinguish anybody in the throng of people here, and I had to get out of the way. I secured a booth, and one of the waitresses swung by to take my order. She was maybe in her mid-twenties, dressed like a nun, except no nun would be caught dead wearing the sexy getup she was in.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked casually. She luckily didn’t have to shout over the music, since the booth was quieter and allowed for conversation.

I placed my briefcase next to me on the seat. “Yeah, um. I’ll just have a, uh… A martini?” I didn’t drink much. I didn’t party at all, really. I was totally divorced from the crazy lives my students led. It didn’t bother me, but it didn’t make trying to blend in here very easy either.

“Sure, I’ll be right back with that.” The sexy nun walked off, and I exhaled heavily. What was I even doing here? It felt like I got caught in some current and was just dragged along for the ride. This was a stupid idea.

I looked out at the dance floor, at the sweaty bodies mingling to the beat. I was surprised to see patrons even older than I was, having the time of their lives. It made me feel that the bouncer had singled me out. My age shouldn’t have been a factor in getting in here, especially since I was only a few years older than even these waitresses.

And speaking of, a waitress returned with my drink. A different girl, this one wearing a lewd student costume. Her white short-sleeved button-down shirt was tied in a knot between her breasts, leaving her belly exposed. Her plaid skirt was so short it could barely qualify as clothing. Before she could hand me my drink, she froze, and I looked up to see her hair tied up in pigtails, black wire frame glasses completing the ensemble. My eyes widened in shock.

“Professor Lang?” she gasped. I couldn’t believe it. It really was her.

“Jean?”