The Professor Novels & Stories

“Nope.” Jake’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the gears turning in his dumbass head. He leaned closer, voice dropping low. “Wait. Don’t tell me… you fucked your specialist. The professor.” I froze for half a second, then glared at him. “She’s not our professor. We graduated. She wasn’t even at the school when we were there.” “Doesn’t matter, man.” Jake laughed, stretching back. “She’s got that look, strict, smart, way too hot for her own good. If she was around back then? Every guy on the team would’ve lined up for a shot.”

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 carr

Professor Kingsley, sitting at his desk off to the side, was so red he looked like he was about to burst, jowls trembling with fury. “Cassidy Knox,” the professor said, slowly rising from his seat, “do you care to explain yourself?”

“What the fuck was that for?” He looked almost amused. “You looked like you needed it.” “I did not need a hug,” I said through gritted teeth. “The professor’s an asshole,” he said simply. “You shouldn’t let assholes ruin your mood.” I stared at him, half angry, half confused. “You are so obnoxious you know that right?.” “I’m not,” he said with an even tone. “I'm just saying. You shouldn’t give people like him that much power over you. He’s a miserable old man who probably cries when he looks at his paycheck.”

"Good morning class. My name is Dr. Alqamar San Diego and I will be your professor in Biochemistry for the whole year," Shit.

As the other students filed out, Nate slowly packed his bag, his stomach a knot of dread. He approached the professor’s desk, his stomach a tight knot of guilt. Professor Harding, a man who looked younger than his mid-thirties with an athletic build and a clean-shaven jaw, looked up from his notes. He had a modern, sharp style a dark, well-fitted blazer over a charcoal henley shirt. His expression, however, was uncharacteristically stern.

“Professor, let’s stop here. My brain can’t take it anymore.” I complain to Professor Fortez. My temple is pulsing painfully. I reached my limit already. This Professor of mine is a monster. He is very strict while teaching me. He doesn’t like so many red marks on my paper. He wants everything to be perfect.

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?"

The whole class is talking about professor Zain and I'm smiling like an idiot thinking about him. What's happening to me? Stop thinking about him, Inaya. He's your professor. I mentally scolded myself for thinking about him. I don't want to think about him but still, I'm thinking about him. There is seriously something wrong with me. Three lectures passed away in thinking about my hottie professor. Now it is break time and I'm still thinking about him, sitting in the cafeteria with Anu and Vikas.

I don’t think I have a good grip on my anger with what’s been happening lately. Once the professor came in, more students have already trickled into the room and the introductions flowed smoothly. The professor was a he, most likely in his mid 40s. He had greying hair, a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, connected to thin chain connected to it that trailed around the back of his neck. After dropping what little things he brought into the class onto the desk reserved for him, he took out a board marker and started writing down what I assumed is his name, “Prof. Walter”