Professor Membrane Novels & Stories

Ford’s office. He was standing by the bookshelf, flipping through a file. Over his gray shirt, he wore a dark blazer, and at his collar sat the exact tie bar I had chosen the night before. My last excuse died there. “Professor, I revised the proposal.” Dr. Ford took it and skimmed the first pages. “Professor Reed will join the joint-project discussion this afternoon. Review your methods section again, especially sample selection and variable control. Don’t get caught off guard.” “Of course.”

Ava Sterling couldn't breathe. Not because the classroom was warm — the AC was humming softly. Not because the students were loud — they were stunned silent. But because he was standing ten feet in front of her. Dr. William Reid. Same cutting jawline. Same intense eyes. Same smug, unreadable expression. Only now he wasn’t some random man in a dark club. He was her professor. Ava sank lower in her seat, heart hammering against her ribs. Camille nudged her under the desk.

I didn’t want to imagine it. But then I remembered his face. The Professor’s face. When he had his hands around Daniel’s neck, the veins on his forehead pulsing, his eyes wild and red. That wasn’t the same calm man who taught us. That wasn’t the Professor I thought I knew. I hugged myself. “No… he can’t be that person,” I whispered, though even I didn’t believe it. The air in my room felt heavy. “I need fresh air… gosh,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the walls squeeze tighter around me.

"You'll both be working closely with the department of economics. The lecturers and students, if possible." I wiped my hands on my jeans as they'd turned clammy with sweat. The whole thing felt so surreal to me. It all of a sudden felt like I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders. "Professor Deric will fill you in on the rest and I'd like to release you so you both can go about your day." He pushed the glasses up on his note and picked up the book he was looking at earlier. Seeing that as my cue to leave, I stood up on shaky legs.

"We only have a few minutes before this class will be over so I'll try and rush things." He turned to the large screen behind him and pressed a few buttons on the keyboard before placing his hands on the desk in front of him, eyes flitting across the screen and the projector on the other end. The professor began explaining the outline for the course and what we should expect for the semester, as he droned on about why we shouldn't slack off of any research given to us Jason leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Do you think it's illegal to ogle your professor's ass?"

The student's eyes lowered to the name of the professor for the course. Theodore Ashford, PhD Department of Psychology Professor & Dean for College of Social Sciences Isa let her hands glide over her keyboard for a quick G****e search. Something had to be off for a class like this to not be full yet. What she found was a world-renowned psychologist with dozens of publications, two uploaded TedTalks, a New York Times interview, and... To say the professor was just hot would be much less an understatement than a blatant insult. Through just the aggregates of pixels on her screen, Isa could sense the poise and presence the man carried with him. And, God, was the man attractive.

Mara opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened and everyone quieted down. The professor walked in, but his back was facing, so I didn't see his face at first. He had lean broad shoulders that filled out the white button-down sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had dark hair and a strong posture. A few girls whispered and giggled. Mara leaned over. “Damn, the new prof is fine.” I laughed under my breath. “You’re ridiculous.” Then he turned to face the class and my laugh died in my throat. Grey-blue eyes. The same angelic jaw. The same mouth that had been on me last night.

I quickly opened the school’s forum and began to type. MissCaptainOfAll: I need help ASAP! This is a case that should be handled as an emergency. Does anyone know who the professor handling Data Analytics for year three is? He is somewhat anonymous but I really need to know who he is right now. If you have emails or some type of way to reach him, reply to this post!

He’s close now, he looks at me as if he’s studying me. “Higher, stretch.” His hand moving near my ribcage but not touching. “I need to see how the muscles look.” I stretch higher. His eyes track the movement of my body like he’s memorizing equations. “Turn slowly.” He takes a deep breath. “Something wrong, Professor?” “Your posture.” His voice sounds strained. “Your back curves here.” His finger runs down my back, the first time he’s touched me since I stripped. “Do you feel that?”

“It’s good to have multiple outlets. Art can be isolating sometimes.” “Is that why you became a professor?” I asked. “To be less isolated?” He considered this as he stirred the sauce. “Partly. Teaching forces me to engage with the world in ways I’d normally avoid.” He gave a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. “Though my colleagues would probably tell you I still don’t engage enough.” ‘Professor Julia seems to think you engage just fine.’ I thought to myself. “The sauce is almost ready. Would you mind setting the table? Plates are in the cabinet.”