Undeclared: A Tiffany Story

He saw in me more than anyone ever could. I was a freshman in college. I wasn't sure what or who I wanted to be so I left my major undeclared. I took the slew of bullshit courses required by almost every major. There was the math, lab science, and token English course. Throw in a few electives and you have your basic first semester for the average over-achiever. The odd thing was, I had no desire to hang out with anyone in my age group. I didn't want to join a sorority. I didn't want to try out for cheerleading. And the drinking parties that everyone flocked to on the weekends only annoyed me with the noise and random vomiting. My name is Tiffany and this is how the story of how my life began to be scribed.

Professor Gates was a young man I suppose. He was about twenty-eight with a master's degree at the time. That's the reason he got stuck with the one and two hundred level English courses. The problem with these courses is that everyone must take them so most the work turned in was somewhat less then inspired. Anyway, let's just say that Gates seemed to be rather tense the first day of class. I sat in the front row simply because it looked like those in the front row could string together a simple declarative sentence. I was doodling in my notebook when Gates walked passed me. I felt his arm brush against me as I lifted my head to look at him. He was just shy of six foot. His hair was dark and his eyes were blue. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a suit that somehow looked half undone. The shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The sleeves were pushed up a bit with traces of chalk dust on the bottoms. He was the typical hot professor. Well, typical for me anyway. I found out later in class that many jocks and sorostitutes found his class to be a bore. But then again, their essays usually started out like "My essay is about..." Needless to say, my taste in men was not dependent upon their opinion.

He had assigned a story from a modern book that first week. Kissing in Manhattan was a collection of short stories by David Shickler. I had never heard of it before so I was excited to read anything that came with the stamp of approval from an expert in English Literature. The story assigned was "The Smoker". It's a story of an over achieving student who invites her English teacher over to dine with her family. He is surprised to learn that she has plans to marry him. But what is more surprising is he finally agrees.

I walked into class thinking about this assignment. I mean, what the hell was he thinking? Don't get me wrong; it's a fantastic story. It's a fantastic book. I couldn't help but buy the whole damn thing after reading that. I couldn't wait for this class discussion. I even made sure that my shirt was unbuttoned enough to give him a nice view.

Just as I was opening my notebook, I caught the scent of his aftershave as he walked by me. "I trust you have all read the assignment." I looked around to find that I was probably one of five that read it. To my left was Vicky who was busy catching up on Brad and Angelina. On the other side was Steve who was more concerned with my thighs than the assignment. His attention was quickly diverted when Gates began, "Steve, what was Nicole doing during the quiz."

Startled, Steve answered, "Quiz? What quiz? It's only the first week of school."

"If you paid more attention to class instead of her legs, you might know what we were discussing." He turned to me. "Maybe the legs could answer that question?" He began to walk away assuming I had not read the assignment either.

"She was writing a passage of from The Tale of Two Cities." I answered and then said below my breath, "You pompous ass."

"What was that, legs?" Apparently I didn't say it low enough.

"The name is Tiffany. Perhaps you would know that if you were not so busy staring at my legs." His mouth dropped a little.

"I assure, Miss Tiffany, that I was not." He adjusted his sleeves as he walked back to the head of the class to shuffle some papers. "I see that you have read enough to answer the first question. But have you read it enough to answer the rest of them?"

"Oh, I've read it enough to answer anything you would want to ask. But what I want to know is, can you answer my questions?" I leaned forward to give him a glance at my breasts. He took the bait.

"And what questions do you have?"

"Well, Mr. Gates, I've always been under the impression that what one chooses to read says as much about him as it does the author. So I'm wondering, why this story? When there are literary icons like Poe, F. Scot Fitzgerald, and Hawthorne from which to choose, why choose a relatively new author? Why would an English Professor assign a story of a student who falls in love with her English teacher and then seduces him into matrimony?"

He stammered, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"I mean this. Did you assign it because you admire the writing? Or maybe you assigned it subconsciously. So, do you want to be seduced or married?" I could hear the snickers around the classroom.

Professor Gates just stared straight at me. I couldn't tell if he wanted to hit me or kiss me. Finally, he composed himself enough to answer. "Miss Tiffany, that will be enough. The book is a best seller and the writing is exceptional. I have no ulterior motives." He lifted his head to the class. "Since it seems that only one has read the assignment, you can all try again. Only this time, I expect an essay on the story." He looked at me. "Now, since you, Tiffany, have read it so carefully; you can write an essay on anything you like. The difference is, your essay will have to be six pages as opposed to the three pages I expect from everyone else."

He continued. But for some reason, he never stepped in front of the podium for the rest of class. When it was over, Steve came over to me as I gathered my notes. "That sucks that you have to write so much."

"Thanks for your concern, Steve. But it really doesn't bother me at all. I only hope I can keep it down to six pages."

"So what are you doing tonight?"

I looked up at him again. He was tall with sandy blonde hair. His eyes were grey. He had a beard that did little more than shadow his face. But it looked good on him. And I have to admit that he was built. It didn't necessarily have a jock kind of vibe to him. It had to be from something else. I could see his chest just barely through the unbuttoned part of his shirt. He wore a pair of cargo shorts and flip flops. He seemed to recognize that I was looking. "Hey, are you checking me out?"

"Just returning the favor." "And?"

"And I think I may be free tonight." Okay, so he was hot and I hadn't gotten any since I left home.

"All right, cool. I'll be there to pick you up at eight. What dorm are you in?" I gave him the address and he left. I looked over to see Gates getting his things together. The professor seemed to look a little pre-occupied.

That night, I was sure to put on a mini skirt and low cut top. My hair was swept off my neck. I put on my fuck-me heels. By the time Steve showed up, I looked really good. "Where are we going?" I asked as we walked out the door to my building.

"Well, I know this guy who is having a party."
"All right." I wasn't thrilled. But I wanted to have some fun.

When we got there, the party had already begun. People were doing keg stands in the kitchen. A couple was practically screwing on the couch. And someone ran to the bathroom to throw up. Yup, looked like a fun night. Steve went over to say hello to his friends and grab a couple beers. I usually don't drink, but I made an exception on that night.

Steve and I stood just outside where we could actually hear each other. "So what do you think of Gates' class?" He asked.

"I like it."

"I bet you do."
"What is that suppose to mean?"
"It's obvious you have the hots for hm."

"I do not. But he is fun to torment." Just then, Dave walked up to us. He was an asshole jock and I couldn't stand the sight of him. I've told him this. He just doesn't listen. But I had probably a bit too many so I wasn't really all that argumentative that night.

"Hey Steve!" Dave slurred. "Oh, what do we have here? Aren't you looking hot tonight, Tiffany?"

"Thanks Dave. Now move along."

"No, not quite yet." He looked down at my cleavage. "Wow, these are even better close up. Are they real?"

"Yes. Now go away."

"Prove it." He grabbed my breast and buried his face in my cleavage.

"Get the fuck off me." I screamed. Steve turned to us. He grabbed Dave by the neck and threw him off me. Dave came in to punch Steve. He blocked the punch, chopped Dave in the neck, and then gave him a heal palm to the face which sent him flying back and unconscious. Now I know where those muscles came from. That turned me on. It turned me on so much, I downed my next three beers in no time.

Next thing I know, I'm in Steve's dorm. He was kissing my neck and groping my breast. I was feeling dizzy and I couldn't think straight. I was drunk. "Steve, not so fast."

"You are so beautiful." He pulled my shirt from my shoulders hard. It ripped off my body.

"What do you think you're doing?" I yelled as I pushed him off me.

"Come here, you little slut." He pulled me to him again. I struggled but he managed to pin my hands behind my back as he pulled my bra down so he could lick and suck my breasts. I could hear him unfasten his pants. I felt his cock on my inner thigh. "You want this, don't you?" He said as he backed me up to his desk. He lifted my leg until I was sitting there with him between my legs.

"Oh Steve, we can't. Please stop!" I said as my head fell back to welcome his kisses on my neck. He reached his hand to my pussy and grabbed my panties.

"Yes we can." He said as he ripped them from my body. His cock plunged deep inside me. The room was spinning as I felt him violently fuck my pussy. I saw the door open. There were other men in the room now. Steve didn't stop. He just fucked me harder, faster. "Isn't she so fucking hot?" He asked the men watching us.

"Yeah, can I be next?" One of them asked. I couldn't make out who it was.

"That's not the way it works. It's Steve's conquest. Let him have her." Another voice answered.

I started to scream as I felt my body respond all the more to his cock pounding in me. He grabbed my breast again. The desk was banging against the wall. He grabbed my ass as he pushed deeper inside me. "Oh yes! Fuck me!" I screamed.

"You like that, don't you?" He whispered in my ear.

"Yes!"

"Tell me how much."

"I love you're cock so much! Oh my god, I'm going to come!" Just then my body became tense as my orgasm exploded throughout me.

"That's it, baby. Come for me." He fucked me faster. "Oh yeah!" He said as he came. I actually heard applause as he slipped out of me and pulled up his jeans.

He went to his drawer and pulled out a T-shirt. He tossed it to me. "Something for you to wear home." He said. My panties were ripped. My shirt was ripped. I had no choice. I slipped it on. "Come on, baby. I'll walk you back."

Well, he had to practically carry me back. He dumped me in my bed and left. I awoke the next morning-afternoonish with an incredible headache. Unfit for the public, I stayed in to work on my paper. This night gave me an idea though. If Gates wanted a paper, he would get one. I decided to write about a single defining moment of the summer between high school and college. I decided to write about Andy. I handed in a story called "Jazzman" on Tuesday and was looking forward to getting it back on Thursday.

Thursday, Mr. Gates walked into class late saying, "I have about half of your papers graded. They should be done by Tuesday." Another lecture I didn't really listen to. I was pissed. I went to track him down after class, but didn't catch up with him until about four again. He was reading at his desk. But it was like he knew I was coming. "Good afternoon, Ms. Dickens."

"Okay, now you're freaking me out. How did you know it was me?"

"Just a guess, have a seat." I sat down. He held someone's paper in his hand. "I read your essay."

"Oh really? What did I get?"
"Tiffany, is this something you would read to the entire class?"

I didn't understand what he was trying to say with that question. But it didn't take me long to answer it. "Yeah, of course, do you want me to?"

He just shook his head at first. "Okay, I'll grade it then."
"You mean you haven't graded it yet?"
"Well I wanted to give you a chance to hand in something else."

For some reason that comment just seemed to pierce through my ears right into my brain, a lump of rage got caught in my throat and soon it found my voice. I began, "Professor Gates." I wanted to remind him of his title. "You gave an assignment. I did it. You wanted a paper. I wrote one. You said I could write about anything I wanted. I did. Now I understand it is graphic. But this is college as you were so kind to point out. If you are sexually repressed, that is your problem, not mine. I'm not changing it. I'm not toning it down. And I'm not writing something else. If you plan to fail me on a well- written piece of work then know I plan to go to the head of the department. Now just grade the damn thing and hand it back to me."

"I can't believe you just said that." He just looked at me for a second. "It's an A." "What?"

"You're right. It's well written. But know that you will alienate part of your audience with erotica."

"I know. But I write what I feel." I got up to leave.

"Tiffany?"
"Yes Mr. Gates."

"What happened with Andy?"

"We are taking a break while we are in school." I walked out of the office but not before I heard one last comment not meant for my ears apparently.

"The stupid bastard."

The following day, I declared my major. I looked at the list of advisors and saw his name. I went straight to his office at about noon. I knocked on the door and then walked in. He was reading some assignments. He didn't bother to look up as he said, "Hello Tiffany. How can I help you?"

"I just declared my major as English Literature and I would like you to be my advisor."

"Hey, that's great. Let's set up an appointment for Monday." He said as he grabbed his briefcase.

"Can't we just talk now?" I stepped in front of the door.

"Well, I'm kind of hungry. I skipped lunch." He put his hand on my shoulder to slightly push me to the side. I just put my hand in front of him. I wanted to look into those eyes up close.

"I eat."

"All right, come on." He reluctantly complied.

I wanted to sit across from someone who loved the language as I did. I wanted to drink his thoughts into my brain and feel his passions for great literature. That was not what I got. He seemed distracted. He barely looked me in the eye. And we kept our conversation to nineteenth century epics like Les Miserables. "Well. I have an appointment in an hour so I'll let you go."

"Fine." I said. I was kind of pissed. We only had like ten minutes and he was leaving. "Wait." I raised my voice. He turned around. Only this time he looked me in the eye. "Am I bothering you or something? Is it too much to ask to have a conversation for more than ten minutes?"

"Tiffany, you are my student. That does not give you the right to talk to me with that tone of voice." He turned and started walking towards his house nearby.

I knew he was right but I didn't care. It took about fifteen minutes to cool down. Then I left to apologize. Everyone knew where he lived. It was a blue house that seemed to be built somewhere around the nineteen hundreds. It had huge windows, gingerbread around the porch railings, and the remnants of an old chimney. I tentatively knocked on the door. It opened and I saw him standing there with a puzzled look on his face. He had dressed down to just his shirt and a pair of jeans. "What are you doing here, Tiffany?"

"I was wrong before. I shouldn't have said what I did. I just wanted to talk to you about my major a bit." I looked at him again and noticed the beer in his hand. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come. You have obviously slipped out of professor mode."

He smiled a bit. "No, it's okay. Come in." I walked into the house. The kitchen looked like it was barely used. There was a desk where the dining room would be. It was piled with papers, books, and an ashtray with cigars next to it. Somewhere in all that was a computer and keyboard. He noticed me looking at the desk and attempted to explain. "I write when I get the chance. I haven't got a chance in a while."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm busy grading papers."

"Gee, you would think you would have them graded on time then."

"Hah, very cute. But I'll have them graded when I'm damn ready. You'll just have to deal with it."

"Just kidding. I'm sorry."

"Come in here and have a seat." I sat on couch while he sat across from me on the chair. "Now what are you concerned about?"

"Well, I declared English Lit. as my major but now I'm wondering if I should have gone with Creative Writing instead." As I went on, I noticed his eyes darting around the room. The bastard wasn't even listening to me. "Mr. Gates?"

"Yes?"
"Are you even hearing me?"
"Oh yes. Of course I am. Lit or Writing, I heard that." "And what do you think?"

"I think you will do plenty of writing in your Literature classes. It will only add to your skills as a writer." He got up and nervously walked around the room. "Okay, now that I answered your question, I think you should go."

"What?" I couldn't believe it. He was shutting me down again. I got up and walked towards him. He backed up to his desk. "Look, if you don't want to be my advisor, just tell me."

"It's not that. I do want to help you. I just think it's not..."

"Not what?" I said as I tried to look into his eyes. I noticed he was not looking at me. His stare seemed to focus on something on his desk. I followed his gaze to the corner of a photograph. "What is so interesting about this?" I said as I reached for it.

"Tiffany, no." He said his hand reached to stop me. He was too late.

I noticed an ankle in the picture first. Then as I pulled it out, I saw a leg. It was a woman's bare leg wrapped around something. Once the picture was in my hand, I could see why he didn't want me to see it. It was a picture of me half naked and being fucked by Steve. That whole night was in a haze. I didn't realize someone took a picture of it. I stood there for a moment with my eyes wide and my mouth open.

"Tiffany, I'm sorry."

"How did you get this?"

"Someone slipped it under my door last Saturday along with this note." He handed me a folded piece of paper that read, "I got her first. Steve"

"Why would he give you this?"
"I don't know. I guess he suspected. Never mind. I'm sorry. You should go."

"Oh really now? Did you want me to go so you could look at this more? I don't understand why you would keep it. I don't understand why Steve would even give this to you? What was he thinking?" I came in close to him. He was just inches away from me. I could feel his breathing. It was quick and shallow. And then all of a sudden those eyes that would never look at me were staring straight into mine.

"How could you not know?" He said in a deep and serious tone. "He gave it to me because he saw the way I look at you."

"What?" My breath was becoming quick. I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck.

"Steve saw how I stare at your breast during class. Everyone sees it. The only one who doesn't is you." He raised his voice. "And then you give me porn to read! Yes, it was a well-written story. But it was a story about you fucking some guy. Did you really think that would not affect me?" He leaned into me making me back up a bit. "I'm a man and you're a beautiful, sexy woman. All I could think about was you doing all those things to me." He grabbed the picture from my hand.