c*m Laude Professor Demands My Purity For A Passing Grade By Deborah Cockram
Professor Taylor stepped back from the door, motioning for me to enter his small, out-of-the-way office.
“Come in, Miss Anderson,” he said, eyes glancing down, up, down, and back up again as he took in the full view. There's an old song my dad listens to, by Bruce Springsteen, a line in there about a carnival worker's eyes taking a walk up down the singer's girlfriend's body. Those words came to mind, and suddenly I felt self-conscious.
I guess I have no one to blame but myself. I'm wearing a short skirt, barely covering half my thighs, sheer black panty hose, and an ultra-tight white blouse, top two buttons undone. When I looked at myself in the mirror before leaving the dorm, I had three unbuttoned, but my bo
