Switching it Up

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Christopher

What a perfect day to be cruising to work in a Jeep with the top down. It’s almost as if the whole world, Mother Nature herself, wants me to have a great day. Pulling up to the traffic light at Barnes and 1st Street, my mind is all over the place with excitement. My focus is split down the middle, bouncing between my physics lesson plan and my last good hook-up from a few weeks ago. If I had a nickel for every time a woman told me in this past year, “I’ve never tried this before, but I’ll do it for you,” with a shy smile on her face, I wouldn’t still be teaching this semester. Who am I kidding? I would probably have an extra twenty-five cents! All it seems to take is a bit of intense eye contact, just a handful of kisses, and before I know it, they’re melting like a snow cone in my warm hands.

Pulling into the faculty parking lot, that reality sneaks its way into my brain and I simmer on it for a minute, laughing to myself. This year has certainly been filled with some good shenanigans and only a few crushed feelings on the part of the ladies. The thing is, I never kept from these girls the truth about my intentions being purely physical, nor did I tell them any lies to get their s*x. They were well aware that I love to play, but only when we’re all on the level. Some girls seem to struggle to accept that they can’t change my mind about that. I know it sometimes hurts their feelings when I don’t commit, won’t make a fling into something more emotionally meaningful. My ethical convictions are too strong, and so I never manipulate emotions to get s*x. The headache of it alone makes it not worth attempting!

One could definitely get used to this feeling; the first day of school, surrounded by a whole new group of coeds and a handful of new female professors. Last year was my first year teaching here and I didn’t get a chance to observe my surroundings and feel comfortable until nearly the end of first semester. This time, I’m gonna savor it. I jump out of the Jeep and walk towards the science building. Students and professors are moseying about, making their way toward classes. I can spot the new kids, maps whipped out, pigeon-toed as they spin in circles trying to figure out the layout of this campus. I stride across the grassy courtyard, chest out and shoulders back, scanning for any familiar faces...or some faces with which I would like to get more familiar. I start to recognize a handful of the more tenured professors. We exchange nods as we make eye contact. This really is a beautiful campus we have here at Greenville State. It’s definitely got a small-school feel to it, but I like that. The old Southern architecture of these buildings is exactly what I imagine an institute of higher learning should look like.

I turn my mind back to the human scenery and the search for eye candy. Look at that; two o’clock high, there goes a cute little number. On second thought, she looks a little too innocent and childlike for my taste. Clearly still wearing the clothes she wore as a high school senior. The thought turns me off, but I still strike a charmer’s smile as she gazes at me. Doing one more quick self-assessment of my appearance, it dawns on me that I probably look like I’m trying to be an Abercrombie model or something, walking around with a blazer and just one hand in my slacks’ pocket. The vibe I’m giving off is probably Joe Cool, but is really my way of protecting this nagging shoulder pain. If I swing my arms naturally, the pain goes from nagging to stabbing. Keeping my hand in my pocket is a much more palatable option for now until the pain clears up, likely in a few more days. Some ass-clown of a wide receiver blocked me from my blind side with all his body weight during my football game last week. The little bastard tagged me good, but I lit him up just two plays later when he tried running across the middle of the field. As I connected solidly with his ribcage, I heard his breath and his confidence sucked out of him in one swift moment...and it felt good. It was made even better by the fact that everyone in the arena saw and heard the impact. Our bench cleared out, players whooping and hollering on our side of the field as we sent our opponents’ offensive players back to their sideline to comprehend just how lopsided the game was about to get and prepare for a thrashing. That really filled our home crowd fans with excitement, too, and they supported us with increased fervor for the rest of the night. Still, this shoulder is a few days away from being 100 percent. At this point, I just need to make sure I don’t bump into anything. The pain is nothing to complain about. On any given day, damn near every football player at the pro level or with us in the feeder league is dealing with some measure of ache or pain. If they aren’t, they probably don’t see much time on the field, or they’re a precious quarterback, unable to even be touched without drawing ire from fans and ridiculous penalty flags from the officials.

I continue my one-armed Abercrombie strut and glide up the handful of steps in front of the science building. Entering the building, I see students straggling and hear that steady white noise of hushed conversations and questions directed at no one in particular. All right, Chris, no dating students from your own class...from the department is fine, but none of your students. This affirmation helps for now, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be tempted to break it within a few hours. The absurdity of it cracks me up and I realize I have a little more faith in myself than that. I finally reach the old dark wooden door leading to the office and step inside.

“Major!”

The familiar voice of my boy Nick hits my ear before I’ve even had time to release the door handle. I shoot back the kind of chin-up head nod that only friends can get away with doing to one another. How many times last year did I tell that goofball that I was discharged from the Army as a captain, not a major? He insists on calling me that, probably because he thinks it sounds cooler than captain. It doesn’t really bother me; it’s a promotion, and he’s been a solid wingman pretty much from the moment I met him, looking out for me here among the other professors and even setting up a few easy softballs for me to knock out of the park when we mingle with coeds.

He’s a few years older than I am and has been teaching here for five years, but we definitely connect. Part of me thinks he was happy when I showed up because he isn’t nearly old enough to fit in with the elder statesmen and women of this department, most of whom are already seated at the table as I look around the room. The digital clock on the microwave tells me that I arrived with about five minutes to spare. Coffee sounds like a good idea and I head towards the kitchenette area on the right side of the room, raising my eyebrows to ask Nick if he wants a cup. He nods yes. I don’t need the jolt of energy, as pumped as I’m feeling this morning with all the new faces outside. Having something to sip just ensures that I am not lulled to sleep by the monotonous voice of our department head, Mr. Dave Chamberlain. His so-called “urgent updates” will be boring and I will probably want to pull out my own eyelashes after about thirty seconds of hearing him drone on about nothing.

It would be great to be able to sit there and talk nonsense with Nick when the old man is rambling on but that would make both of look bad, and the teachers do seem to at least respect Nick a little bit. They see me as a young playboy based on my revolving door of conquests last year and I guess I can’t really blame them, I just wish they would mind their own business. Chasing ladies does still entertain me a little bit, but it has started to bore me as of late. Having fun is one thing, but too much of a good thing feels monotonous. I don’t quite understand why, but something tells me that the ultimate challenge is finding one good woman and keeping her around for longer than it takes to watch the latest cliché-riddled romantic comedy. There’s no way I’m going to share that revelation with the other teachers, though. The less they know about me, the better. If they want to paint me as a two-dimensional guy, that’s fine. It should lead to fewer questions. Here comes one of my “lovely” colleagues now; it’s Mrs. Davison. She reminds me of a female version of a Morgan Freeman character from any of his movies; full of sage wisdom and advice I didn’t ask her for. Time to be polite.

“Hello there, Mister Stephens. I hope you had a good summer and you didn’t break any good girls’ hearts...but that look in your face tells me otherwise.” She doesn’t even bother beating around the bush. So predictable.

“What can I say, Mrs. Davison? I was born this way. Never gonna stop.” Hopefully, that was one-dimensional enough to get her off my case without much more questioning.

“Oh Lord, young Mister Stephens,” she sighs.”I’ll pray for you.”

“Thanks for that, ma’am,” I reply unnecessarily, as she turns on her heel and takes a seat at the conference table.

There are about three servings left in this pot of coffee on the counter; perfect. It would have been tricky trying to make a fresh pot one-handed. I fill straight to the brim a cup that I intend to give to Nick. No sugar or creamer will go in this one. I start to grab a cup for myself when the door creaks open again and I look over my left shoulder to see which old professor is walking through the door.

Holy moley, this is no goat. Tell me this woman isn’t a student. She is so genuinely beautiful that I need a moment to take her all in. She’s got the sexy librarian thing going on with her hair pinned up, pastel blouse and a tight dark skirt that’s hitting right at her knees. Wow...the dark patterned hose and black pumps are a good touch, new gal. This is a pleasant surprise.

She looks around and seems to recognize a few of the professors already. As she turns towards me, I avert my eyes and bring my head back towards my coffee as smoothly and quickly as possible. Surely it was smooth enough that she didn’t notice me gawking at her shapely legs. From my peripheral vision, I can tell she’s making her way over here. What is she doing?! I don’t even have an opening line ready! Why didn’t anyone tell me to expect her? Think fast. She’s right beside me, placing an oversized lunchbox on the counter directly to my left and pulling out a coffee thermos.

Ever so nonchalantly, I manage to pretend the coffee maker is suddenly the most interesting object on the planet and has captivated my attention. Meanwhile, I have actually shifted my body about six inches further from the counter and leaned back just a bit so I can check out her entire package without being noticed by her. The shape of her hips and ass is extraordinary. She definitely has the hourglass silhouette. And those shoes...I can’t keep my eyes away from those legs as she shifts her weight back and forth from left to right foot, occasionally letting her shapely heel pop out of the back of her shoe.

Images of her bent over this counter with that beautiful, plump ass beckoning me have smeared themselves all over my consciousness and I’m not trying very hard to clear my mind of them. Focus, Chris. It’s been about thirty seconds. She should be looking this way to at least acknowledge my presence and get some coffee. My safety mechanism is to scrunch up my lips and brow in a slightly disapproving way so I have some degree of cover when she looks over at me. Perfect timing. Just as I finish taking mental snapshots of the entire length of her body, she looks over at me and catches my quasi-mean face. I soften it up and return the slight smile she wears on those perfect, full lips.

“Good morning,” she says in a tender voice. Her gaze is split between me and the coffee machine.

“Good morning to you, ma’am,” I reply. With all of my ogling, I didn’t even bother coming up with a line. s**t. Military instincts kick in and I go with the tried-and-true respectful approach. “Care for a cup of joe?” I ask as I close the gap between myself and the counter.

“That sounds great; I’ll just take the last of what’s in that pot,” she says, reaching towards it. I barely have time to move Nick’s cup out of the way as she reaches in front of me, nudging my arm in the process and sending a surge of pain straight to my shoulder. I fail to stifle the grunt and it probably sounds like I have constipation. Fantastic.

“Sorry about that—you okay?” she says.

My brain is still in a slight fog from the sharp shot that coursed through my body, but I pull it together with the grace of an old-school film star.

“Oh, I’m fine; I was just thinking about something. Welcome to the department.” I smile at her as I grab Nick’s cup and head toward my seat at the conference table, fully aware that I left with no coffee for myself.

It doesn’t even matter right now. As the pain goes away, my mind’s eye returns to her and my visions for her, for us. I can focus on how badly I muffed that opportunity. Why didn’t I offer to make her a fresh pot of coffee? I’m that selfish ass who couldn’t even be bothered help her out on her first day. She looks like such a sweet girl. Sitting at the table beside Nick, I vow that I will treat her like a real person before f*****g her brains out. We only exchanged a few words, but I could see in her eyes that she’s probably an innocent little sweetheart of a girl...probably has an interesting story that I’ll sit through, a variation of a sheltered, unexposed girly girl life that I’ve heard many times before. She’ll get my undivided attention, though.

“...aaaaand you’re not even listening. Holy s**t, man. Did you have fun undressing new girl with your eyes? You should have seen the look on your face when she walked in.” Nick pulls the coffee cup towards himself and begins to sip. He has been talking to me in a hushed tone since I first sat down and I had no idea until just now.

“Sorry, man...who, what now?” From the corner of my eye, I see new girl sitting down at the far end of the table.

“Forget about it bro; we’ll talk later,” he says as he turns his attention to Mr. Chamberlain at the front of the room. I shift my body language and eyes toward the front but I am completely checked out. The drone of Chamberlain’s voice becomes a backdrop as I imagine my first legitimate conversation with new girl. Damn, I want to get to know her...to get to know all of that!

Random words during this meeting pierce my consciousness. My ears pick up on “staff orientation night Tuesday” and then conveniently shut themselves down again. Tuesday night at the sports bar down the road; I remember seeing the event posted to our shared online calendar. That could be a good opportunity for me to have some face time with the mystery girl in a friendly setting. My killer instinct, temporarily knocked of track earlier, is back at 100 percent now. I even start nodding my head approvingly as I begin to fantasize about how everything could play out in the next couple days.

My eyes happen to meet with Mrs. Davison’s directly across from me. s**t. She’s been watching me this whole time, I bet. She shakes her head and mouths something at me while our eyes are locked. It’s probably something along the lines of “I’m watching you” and I couldn’t care less. My only regret in this moment is that my face had been so damn easy to read.

Tuesday night can’t get here soon enough!