Dean Taylor stood outside the Student Union, waiting patiently. He was early -- therefore, no impatience on his part -- for his first meeting with a new tutoring client. He checked the form the Tutoring Department had given him and reviewed the name again. He didn't recognize it, but that wasn't unexpected; he would turn 28 this year, a full decade older than most of the students coming into State College, so it would have been very unlikely that he knew any of his freshman tutoring students.
He'd been told to look for a flashy convertible. When the late model come-and-get-me-red Jaguar pulled up, dollar signs flashed before his eyes. They disappeared quickly as the two occupants hurried out, seeing him and likely thinking they were late. They were obviously mother and daughter, though Dean couldn't help but wonder whether mom -- who was unbelievably gorgeous --had had her kid at age 12 or something.
The daughter -- Dean's new student -- was simply ... simply oh-my-god perfect, exactly the kind of girl that every guy on this campus -- student and teacher alike -- wanted to do the nasty with.
Dean's roommate, Skip, had often questioned him about his female student and about whether he was ever attracted to them or hit on them or -- Eureka! -- got a little before or after a tutoring session.
The answers were, in order, yes, no, and only in my nightmares.
Yes, Dean was often attracted to his female students. Beautiful girls were often -- not always -- disadvantaged in their early years because, as babes, they were allowed to skate by on many of their studies. Male teachers and students alike so often thought that by letting these babes out of homework or by doing it for them, they were going to get their dick wet. These men were almost always wrong, but didn't know it until it was too late for them to get some and too late for the high school age girl to go back and learn what she'd missed.
This wasn't always true, of course. Some of the smartest women Dean knew -- either personally or via television or the internet -- was beautiful women. And, of course, there was the male version of this same problem, with so many athletic types skating through their high school and college years without learning a damn thing just 'cause they could throw or dunk or hit a ball better than their counterpart. It made Dean sick to think about it. So much intelligence squandered for looks or athletic prowess.
And no, Dean never hit on his tutoring students. Two thirds of his income came from one-on-one instruction, and he wasn't about to risk his career on, again, getting his did wet.
And finally, the only in my nightmares comment was due to the stress that came with even fantasizing about a current student. Dean put a great amount of discipline into keeping his eyes on his student's paper and pencil, not her tits and ass. It was hard; he was just a guy, but he was a determined guy, too.
Dean had no idea why his new, young client might need his services. Was she one of those babes in high school who got A's simply by winking at the male teachers...? Or, had she simply had problems with a subject and not been able to get appropriate assistance from the overburdened public school system? Possibly, her current professor spent more time trying to publish papers in University journals and spent far too little time actually teaching? Dean hadn't been told, but he would learn soon enough. It was possible, of course, that the girl was simply a ditz -- the stereotypical dumb blond -- but Dean hadn't met that many truly, inherently stupid people in his life. Stupid people were usually potentially smart people made to be stupid by other stupid people, had always been his belief.
As he watched the two beauties nearing him, Dean redoubled his resolve to keep his blood flowing to his brain and not to his dick. He descended the steps, offering out a hand first to the mother -- after all, she was the one making payment for services rendered -- and then to the student. He introduced himself, suggested they go to the coffee shop on the corner to discuss a schedule, and led them that way.
He'd been told to look for a flashy convertible. When the late model come-and-get-me-red Jaguar pulled up, dollar signs flashed before his eyes. They disappeared quickly as the two occupants hurried out, seeing him and likely thinking they were late. They were obviously mother and daughter, though Dean couldn't help but wonder whether mom -- who was unbelievably gorgeous --had had her kid at age 12 or something.
The daughter -- Dean's new student -- was simply ... simply oh-my-god perfect, exactly the kind of girl that every guy on this campus -- student and teacher alike -- wanted to do the nasty with.
Dean's roommate, Skip, had often questioned him about his female student and about whether he was ever attracted to them or hit on them or -- Eureka! -- got a little before or after a tutoring session.
The answers were, in order, yes, no, and only in my nightmares.
Yes, Dean was often attracted to his female students. Beautiful girls were often -- not always -- disadvantaged in their early years because, as babes, they were allowed to skate by on many of their studies. Male teachers and students alike so often thought that by letting these babes out of homework or by doing it for them, they were going to get their dick wet. These men were almost always wrong, but didn't know it until it was too late for them to get some and too late for the high school age girl to go back and learn what she'd missed.
This wasn't always true, of course. Some of the smartest women Dean knew -- either personally or via television or the internet -- was beautiful women. And, of course, there was the male version of this same problem, with so many athletic types skating through their high school and college years without learning a damn thing just 'cause they could throw or dunk or hit a ball better than their counterpart. It made Dean sick to think about it. So much intelligence squandered for looks or athletic prowess.
And no, Dean never hit on his tutoring students. Two thirds of his income came from one-on-one instruction, and he wasn't about to risk his career on, again, getting his did wet.
And finally, the only in my nightmares comment was due to the stress that came with even fantasizing about a current student. Dean put a great amount of discipline into keeping his eyes on his student's paper and pencil, not her tits and ass. It was hard; he was just a guy, but he was a determined guy, too.
Dean had no idea why his new, young client might need his services. Was she one of those babes in high school who got A's simply by winking at the male teachers...? Or, had she simply had problems with a subject and not been able to get appropriate assistance from the overburdened public school system? Possibly, her current professor spent more time trying to publish papers in University journals and spent far too little time actually teaching? Dean hadn't been told, but he would learn soon enough. It was possible, of course, that the girl was simply a ditz -- the stereotypical dumb blond -- but Dean hadn't met that many truly, inherently stupid people in his life. Stupid people were usually potentially smart people made to be stupid by other stupid people, had always been his belief.
As he watched the two beauties nearing him, Dean redoubled his resolve to keep his blood flowing to his brain and not to his dick. He descended the steps, offering out a hand first to the mother -- after all, she was the one making payment for services rendered -- and then to the student. He introduced himself, suggested they go to the coffee shop on the corner to discuss a schedule, and led them that way.
