Professor Paradox Novels & Stories

I sat back in the cushy, leather booth just as the appetizers arrived. “So?” Rachael pressed. “What did he say?” “He’s on a date,” I replied, confusion seeping from my tongue. It made sense on just about every level for my professor, a man whose only contact with me should have been in the classroom, to be on a date with a woman who wasn’t me. But inside, where my cells were being made and my blood was pumping, it felt wrong. I felt wrong. I picked up a fry and chewed it with enough force to make myself feel better. I punished that fry, because I couldn’t exactly bitch to my friend that my professor was sleeping with so

"Xavier! As soon as I called out to him, he knew what I meant and came right over to help the professor. At the same time, I noticed that a great deal of blood was pouring between my fingers, and I hastily put another hand over the wound. It looks like a serious injury, and at this rate, the professor's going to die. My eyes almost instantly turned red. Although the professor has done a lot of wrong, but his nature is not bad, his goal is actually only one, that is to pursue scientific breakthrough. He is a scourge of drugs, he is also a teacher I admire, is the world's most appreciate my talent.

Professor Nathaniel Cross was a middle-aged man with slightly frizzy brown hair streaked with gray, sweater vests, and fancy little leather-bound books he said he used for ‘notes’ as he gave a presentation from them while our professor for the course manned a slide show. He was quirky, he was strange, he was absolutely fantastic, and knew what he was talking about. Was he in the know or was he just an enthusiast though? That was much harder to tell than you'd think when some people were obsessed with the idea of the supernatural. Halloween was more than enough to show that, but still. The professor spoke about things he’d have to have done his research on to get such an accurate conclusion,

His shoulders are broad, his dark hair is perfectly messy and his eyes scanned the students once before he spoke. "Professor Harlan, thank you for the warm-up," he said with his deep and smooth voice. "I'm Professor Adrian Knight. I'll be taking over this Literature course for the rest of the semester." Whispers spread across the hall and Juliet stared. He looked too young to be a full professor, maybe early thirties, but his presence filled the room. He set his bag on the desk and turned to the class. "Forbidden love," he continued, picking up right where they left off. "The kind that destroys careers, families, even lives. Why do we keep writing about it? Why do we keep reading it?"

He was trying to act like he didn't care, but his eyes were full of fire. I reached for my chalkboard. I like the view here, I wrote. Huxley chuckled. "A woman of few words. I like that. But I prefer to hear a lady’s voice. Tell me, is the Professor treating you well? Does he let you leave the house?" I just pointed to the "Junior Fellow" badge on the table. "He’s very protective of his work," Huxley said, looking at Caspian. "Maybe too protective. You know, Blackwood, there are rumors that this isn't a research project at all. People are saying you’re just hiding a scandal."

The class was silent, waiting for him to speak. "Good afternoon. This is psychology twenty-two hundred, the study of deviant behavior. I'm Professor Theodore Ashford. Dr. Ashford is also fine, " His modulated, deep voice resonated within the walls of the room with ease. "Now, I know half the class is here to just pass. The other half are actually up for the challenge." The sound of uneasy students shifting in their seats filled the air. Isa saw a glimmer of a smirk appear on the professor's face in response to the discomfort.

The same mouth that had been on me last night. Professor Elias Thorne. The man I fucked senseless in a hotel room. The man I was supposed to marry. He scanned the room and his eyes landed on me. I could see the same recognition I had on my face, flash through his. But it was gone in a second as he cleared his throat and stepped onto the podium. “Good morning,” he said calmly. “I’m Professor Thorne. Welcome to Advanced Literary Theory.” For a moment I just remained transfixed. Mara nudged me. “You okay? You look like you saw a ghost.”

"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?"

All of my students loved me, and seemed to love my teachings. When the first year ended and the second year began, I was not prepared for the influx of young girls, students, throwing themselves at me. I was disgusted. It's an unspoken tradition at this school that every professor would end up sleeping with a student by the end of their second year teaching. That didn't happen with me. The students we have here, or at least the ones I end up teaching, are all spoiled rich kids. The girls are bratty, and not in the way I like.

“Last night, you fainted due to your high fever. Your professor here helped you and brought you here.” “Why wasn’t I taken to the hospital?” Because normally that was the most logical thing to do when someone faints. His house wasn’t a medical center, neither did it resemble a hospital. Though the lady was a doctor, that wasn’t an excuse. Pushing past her view to stare at Professor Grey, who was now seated in the same spot where Dr. Brown sat previously—still smoking. Why would a professor smoke? It was unhealthy and unethical too. I keep questioning, and I will always question why and who made this man a professor in the first place, because he was unfit in every aspect of it.