I wanted to be more than mediocre. I always dreamed of dating a beautiful girl. Not a sweet, Christian girl with a pony tail, but a ripe, attractive woman who wore fishnet pantyhose and dark lip liner. And she had to be a slut, one who submitted herself exclusively to male pleasure. But these girls don’t simply tumble into your hand like apples from a tree. Even a slut doesn’t approach you at your locker and ask to suck your cock in the back seat of their parent’s Mazda after six period. It can take light years, even into your mid thirties, before you hit the Slut Jackpot.

So I went to college in search of sluts. I figure they’d be everywhere. Every guy knew that college was the great equalizer of all men, the place where any guy could get laid by a hot girl. But for the extra insurance, I staked my major in English, aware this was where most of the hot Goth chicks assembled. Yet, I was too polite and well spoken in my classes to attack attention (though I did pull off a funny comment that spawned some chicks to notice me.)

But nothing worked. In the end, the truth pendulum had come to rest at the heart of my dilemma: I didn’t have the balls to ask a hot girl out. My confidence sunk to an all time low when I realized that I was 27 years old, slightly overweight, losing my hair like water, and no closer to banging a slut.

Then I met Tammy. She sat at the front table in my chemistry lab and made it a point to meet other students and make friends at random. Had she not been so, I wouldn’t have met her. She had long reddish hair, wore sweat pants a lot, and never put on makeup; she was a savvy business major whose intelligence made up for her slightly unattractive face. She was not a slut, but I fell for her because she liked me. We studied together in my dorm and went to movies on Thursday and Friday. After a few weeks of dating, she moved to my lab table in class and talked only to me. She had retracted from her open sociability that had so characterized her before, but this didn’t bother me.

During summer break, we escaped to the lake often and began making out. No Sex, though, and it did piss me off after a while. A Christian, she believed in marriage before sex. To fucking bad for me. No pun intended. . .But I did have some fun at the lake. Our clothes hurdled under a tree, we would rush into the water and splash ourselves like little kids unacquainted to any world other than our own. Many times, I would rub up close to her under water to nurture my budding erection. Then, when her head popped out of the water, I grabbed my cock underneath the water and jerked off while smiling at her.

We married in a few years and I knocked her up on my wedding night. I remember that night very well, as I kept shutting my eyes during sex, trying to imagine she was a prostitute, or one of those hot girls in English class. As the final motions of intercourse approached, I pictured Susan Davis from my 18 century lit class, who wore tight jeans and pink blouses. My dick was so hard it felt made of cast-iron steel. Nothing could stop me. The fuck had turned completely awe-inspiring. I wanted to call out Susan’s name to make the sex even better, but resigned myself to not jeopardizing my marriage, especially so close to the start.

After the honeymoon, Tammy found out she was pregnant and told me at a McDonald's drive through, coyishly smiling with her hands rubbing my leg.
A couple years flew by before she spit out another kid. And then another came within 2 years. Long before I knew it, I was a responsible 34-year-old married man with 3 kids and a head almost completely bald. But something was still missing. I hadn’t found my slut. That would all soon change.

After Drew was born, we settled into a nice suburban neighborhood just outside of Darren, Arizona. The teaching job I took at Luke Fairfield High offered a modest salary and plenty of time to spend with my family. Life was pretty good for us both. She became a business consultant for a local TV. Station and traveled on the weekends. This worked out for us because having the weekends off, I could watch the kids. Occasionally, during times when I could get a babysitter, I would break away into the nearby town in search of hard core porn shops. I loved the videos. Especially the stuff with cheerleaders and dainty college sluts eager to please. I always retuned the videos on Monday after school, calling my wife to inform her that I had lesson plans to finish up and would be home in a couple hours.

Academics were very important to me. In my classes, I gave a 100 percent to my lectures and class activities. I really desired to impact the students, who I felt were given unto me like disciples. I felt closer to being a spiritual, ethical leader than a teacher.

Luckily, my roster was comprised of all senior level classes and so kept my stress level at a minimum.

“Social construction of femininity has had detrimental effects to women and men. It all becomes explotation,” I said in my Lit and Feminism club after school.

Being only the second session, many, even the best students, still wandered exactly what I was talking about. Most showed up because they liked to read. But even the girls didn’t grasp the ideas I was working with. I didn’t really matter because I enjoyed confusing my students because at least confusion meant they were thinking. One should lead a life of contemplation, Aristotle had taught.

“As you read these popular books, think about character interaction. Is the interaction real, or constructed by a set a masculine and feminine characteristics for social conditioning? Sometimes it’s hard to see, but it is there. We’re all conditioned. Look at yourself and beneath the surface,” I challenged.

“What?” Lance asked bewildered. I myself found this funny.

“For the first couple weeks,” I said, “you will see the shortcomings of stereotyped characters and mediocre plots, both of which perpetuate our male dominated version of society.”

Around 4:30, I finished the club meeting, stuffed my papers into my briefcase, and put the desks back in their proper place. One of the club members, Jenna, also in my first period class, strolled back in the room and laid her backpack next to the door. She was one of the most attractive seniors in my British Lit class. She wore short skirts all the time and had most of the boys drooling over her in class. I overheard some guys in the hallway once talking about how she was the school slut. If I were their age, I would have said the same thing. And would have wanted to fuck her.

“Mr. Ryan, Let’s cut the bullshit, You’re no feminist at all. You are a sick bastard,” she said as she walked up in a confrontational motion.
“Jenna, what is wrong with you? I asked in compete astonishment. Her abrasive statement was, at the very least, appalling. I stepped back and looked solidly at her for an answer. I was the authority figure here; not her.“I’ve seen you at the video store with those pornos,” she went on, “I work in the store inventory and your name pops up on nearly all adult movies.”

“Jenna, I believe you better go home. You don’t look well and are saying things you have no business saying.” I felt nasty sweat beads begin to form on my arms. The little bitch had no business prying into my life.

“Leave now,” I pleasantly demanded. I marched over to the door to let her out when she said, “I will tell you wife if you don’t--.”

“You will do nothing more,” I said.
“I’m sure she would be very interested. Very interested in what her husband does in his free time.”

I was outraged at her intrusion. But then the scalding hatred started to fade. Though I didn’t let on, my entire being slipped down a long drainpipe and into the sewers of embarrassment. I honesty felt ashamed of myself for the first time. After all, I was a 35-year-old man, balding, still beating off to pornos. And you know what, I had no backbone. I had no other choice but to submit to my student’s demands for fear of Tammy finding out. She would leave me.

“What do you want?” I asked

“Friday night after the football game. I’ll be at Lakewood hotel in Pine brook.”

“For what?”

“You,” she said. The she walked out the door, seemingly resolute that she had me in her hands. But I knew it wasn’t me she wanted. Power was her motive--power over a teacher. I guess her stupid little boyfriends weren’t enough.

I went to the hotel. As instructed, I parked in the back and went to room 225.

The door was open. After stepping inside the room, I saw a figure stretched out on the bed. Approaching the female, I could tell it was Jenna. She was wearing fishnet pantyhose and looked like a first class hooker.

“Fuck me, Mr. Ryan.”

What a night that was.

Next week, I found a videotape on my desk attached to a letter. The letter read, “Give me an A, or the tape of us goes to the wife.” God fucking damn it--I kept getting in deeper and deeper.

So now I had to give her an A in order for that nasty tape to go away.
But you know what, when it came down to it, my code of ethics was too strong. I couldn’t ruin the integrity of the educational system. I had to be fair. So Jenna ended up with the C she had earned.

Jenna not only followed through with her threat, but also, she sent the tape to the police chief. As a result, I lost my job and was arrested for statutory rape within a week.

I know that at least you, dear reader, don’t consider me a sick person. I made bad decisions, but you saw that I never compromised my academics. I had a standard of ethics concerning education that was never sacrificed, even for my own benefit.

I am not mediocre, contrived, or fake. I am real. Flesh and blood real. You will ensure this.

Thank you.