Tenure -- Challenge #121 (PG-13)
Posted: Tue Oct 05, 2010 7:00 pm
Disclaimer: the usual. If you recognize it from ML, I don't own it.
Thanks as always are due to my patient and understanding beta, the admirable Lilly.
This is in answer to a question that many have asked...namely, "what was someone thinking?"
Tenure
Hearst College, Los Angeles, May, 1935
Gerald Stochansky fidgeted, tugging nervously at his bow tie and running one hand through his thinning hair. His half glasses slipped down on his nose, as they always did when he was agitated, and he peered over them at the young woman smiling at him, her notebooks perched agressively on her hip, wating for a response to her offer. He’d heard of such things, of course, but…having spent his career at all-mens’ schools, he’d never been confronted with the reality before. At least, not so bluntly. And now that he was, he reflected that he still wasn’t sure letting women into higher education was such a good idea, anyway. He could still remember, in his younger days, the debates over pipes and beer about giving them the vote. He hadn’t been in favor of that, either.
He sighed. He’d promised himself a trip to his favorite restaurant tonight for a pork bun, as a reward for the completion of his latest paper. He felt that was one of the perks of moving to the West Coast. The Chinese food was much better here. Not that he’d ever had a problem with research and publication. That was easy; physics was a precise field, all equations and concepts. No human factor, not like instruction. Teaching wasn’t his strong suit, but without good student evaluations, he’d never get re-appointed, and this time, he wanted something that lasted. He wanted tenure.
And now, here was this bouncy blonde, very collegiate in her thin, tight sweater with the Peter Pan collar peeking out above it, and the slender skirt hugging her hips and thighs, above ankle socks and scuffed saddle shoes. He supposed he was lucky she wasn’t in rolled up dungarees, a fashion he found extremely offensive. Young ladies should be…young ladies. Not what his father would have called brazen hussies.
He’d called her in to discuss her poor performance in his class, but somehow the conversation wasn’t going exactly as he’d planned. All he wanted was for it to be over, so he could escape campus and get to the Empress Pavillion.
“Excuse me, Miss Harper?” he said.
She put down her books and eased around the corner of his desk, suprisingly graceful, considering the general gracelessness of her attire. Her smile was winsome, though. Winsome and utterly attractive. Women never smiled at him like that, and he had no idea what to do about it now.
“You see, Professor Stochansky,” she said, punctuating her phrases with a slow glide of the tip of her pink tongue across her lips, “I’ve had a very busy semester. Not enough nights with my nose in the books, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, so you said, but—”
“If I don’t get an A in physics, the Dean of Faculties is making noises about rustication.” She bit her bottom lip, the edges of her front teeth so very white against the red of her mouth. Professor Stochansky felt the temperate May afternoon had suddenly gotten much warmer. He refrained from pulling at his tie with an effort, and told himself under no circumstances would he even consider removing his jacket. He was quite—firm—on that point. “And I would hate to leave college,” she continued, coming closer. “I do love it here.”
Good heavens, was that a hand resting against his shirtfront?
“Now, then, Miss Harper, that really isn’t—”
Her smile was broader, sunny. He’d never noticed before what perfect white teeth she had. Perhaps a bit sharp, but perfect. “Professor Stochansky—Gerald—please call me Lisa. I think we can be on first names, under the circumstances.” He backed up a little, but she moved closer, following him.
He swallowed hard. His bowtie was too tight. Apparently not for long, though, as that slender hand was tugging at it, untying the neat knot. It looked as though he wasn’t going to get a lot of choice in the matter.
“Miss Harper—”
“Lisa.”
How was it she was able to be even closer. He could feel her breath against the skin of his neck, and her hands holding him were strangely strong.
“This is really not appropriate, Lisa. I have ethics to uphold.” His hips hit the table where he kept all his papers neatly stacked, rocking it slightly. He was running out of room to back up, and she seemed to be incapable of understanding “no.” Perhaps he could acquiesce, and let her do whatever magic she was obviously offering…and still stick to his guns. After all, what could she say?
Now, she seemed to be breathing in his ear, her voice low and intimate, as though she’d read his mind. “I can tell you’re thinking about taking advantage of me, and not giving me the grade. Professor Hennessey, in English, tried that last semester. And you know…he’s gone this term. See, I may not study, but I’m smarter than that.”
Stochansky gulped. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do, Gerald.” Her body was pressed against his, and his breath hitched in his chest. “But you see…” and she put her mouth down to his neck, where he could feel the sharpness of her teeth, “what I’m giving you is not what you think. It’s more than a fair trade, though…I get an A, and I get to stay at Hearst, and you get…eternity.”
Thanks as always are due to my patient and understanding beta, the admirable Lilly.
This is in answer to a question that many have asked...namely, "what was someone thinking?"
Tenure
Hearst College, Los Angeles, May, 1935
Gerald Stochansky fidgeted, tugging nervously at his bow tie and running one hand through his thinning hair. His half glasses slipped down on his nose, as they always did when he was agitated, and he peered over them at the young woman smiling at him, her notebooks perched agressively on her hip, wating for a response to her offer. He’d heard of such things, of course, but…having spent his career at all-mens’ schools, he’d never been confronted with the reality before. At least, not so bluntly. And now that he was, he reflected that he still wasn’t sure letting women into higher education was such a good idea, anyway. He could still remember, in his younger days, the debates over pipes and beer about giving them the vote. He hadn’t been in favor of that, either.
He sighed. He’d promised himself a trip to his favorite restaurant tonight for a pork bun, as a reward for the completion of his latest paper. He felt that was one of the perks of moving to the West Coast. The Chinese food was much better here. Not that he’d ever had a problem with research and publication. That was easy; physics was a precise field, all equations and concepts. No human factor, not like instruction. Teaching wasn’t his strong suit, but without good student evaluations, he’d never get re-appointed, and this time, he wanted something that lasted. He wanted tenure.
And now, here was this bouncy blonde, very collegiate in her thin, tight sweater with the Peter Pan collar peeking out above it, and the slender skirt hugging her hips and thighs, above ankle socks and scuffed saddle shoes. He supposed he was lucky she wasn’t in rolled up dungarees, a fashion he found extremely offensive. Young ladies should be…young ladies. Not what his father would have called brazen hussies.
He’d called her in to discuss her poor performance in his class, but somehow the conversation wasn’t going exactly as he’d planned. All he wanted was for it to be over, so he could escape campus and get to the Empress Pavillion.
“Excuse me, Miss Harper?” he said.
She put down her books and eased around the corner of his desk, suprisingly graceful, considering the general gracelessness of her attire. Her smile was winsome, though. Winsome and utterly attractive. Women never smiled at him like that, and he had no idea what to do about it now.
“You see, Professor Stochansky,” she said, punctuating her phrases with a slow glide of the tip of her pink tongue across her lips, “I’ve had a very busy semester. Not enough nights with my nose in the books, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, so you said, but—”
“If I don’t get an A in physics, the Dean of Faculties is making noises about rustication.” She bit her bottom lip, the edges of her front teeth so very white against the red of her mouth. Professor Stochansky felt the temperate May afternoon had suddenly gotten much warmer. He refrained from pulling at his tie with an effort, and told himself under no circumstances would he even consider removing his jacket. He was quite—firm—on that point. “And I would hate to leave college,” she continued, coming closer. “I do love it here.”
Good heavens, was that a hand resting against his shirtfront?
“Now, then, Miss Harper, that really isn’t—”
Her smile was broader, sunny. He’d never noticed before what perfect white teeth she had. Perhaps a bit sharp, but perfect. “Professor Stochansky—Gerald—please call me Lisa. I think we can be on first names, under the circumstances.” He backed up a little, but she moved closer, following him.
He swallowed hard. His bowtie was too tight. Apparently not for long, though, as that slender hand was tugging at it, untying the neat knot. It looked as though he wasn’t going to get a lot of choice in the matter.
“Miss Harper—”
“Lisa.”
How was it she was able to be even closer. He could feel her breath against the skin of his neck, and her hands holding him were strangely strong.
“This is really not appropriate, Lisa. I have ethics to uphold.” His hips hit the table where he kept all his papers neatly stacked, rocking it slightly. He was running out of room to back up, and she seemed to be incapable of understanding “no.” Perhaps he could acquiesce, and let her do whatever magic she was obviously offering…and still stick to his guns. After all, what could she say?
Now, she seemed to be breathing in his ear, her voice low and intimate, as though she’d read his mind. “I can tell you’re thinking about taking advantage of me, and not giving me the grade. Professor Hennessey, in English, tried that last semester. And you know…he’s gone this term. See, I may not study, but I’m smarter than that.”
Stochansky gulped. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do, Gerald.” Her body was pressed against his, and his breath hitched in his chest. “But you see…” and she put her mouth down to his neck, where he could feel the sharpness of her teeth, “what I’m giving you is not what you think. It’s more than a fair trade, though…I get an A, and I get to stay at Hearst, and you get…eternity.”
to turn HIM?
I've got to say, one might wish that Lisa had been a bit more discriminating in her tastes, but hey--a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do, as she might say. 
Not much vamp comes out of him... 