Page 29 of Bad Professor

When we got back from Cincinnati and checking on Nick, I spent most of the weekend rewatching the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I’ve watched it countless times, but I always find something new that I can bring up in class.

I finished reading The Return of the King on the plane down to see Nick.

This is all just last-minute preparation; I have my first six lectures ready to go. Questions to ask the class, comments that will prompt discussions. I created this class, wrote the syllabus, came up with the assignments. There have been other classes on fantasy literature and even Tolkien, but never this one. It’s mine and I’m excited to teach it.

This is what I love about teaching—the anticipation. Can I give a lecture that will spark debate, create new ways of looking at old material, and bring the class together? I think I can. I’d like to think I can.

Especially since I won’t let myself be distracted.

It’s good that I met Tilly before the weekend because I’m in the zone walking to the lecture hall that my class, the History of Fantasy Literature: The Rise of Tolkien has been assigned to.

I’m not thinking of women, or sex - just elves and dwarves. And hobbits, of course.

The hall isn’t one of the big ones, which is good because it’s always difficult to get a discussion going, but it’s not one of the small ones either.

It’s a good size. I can do this.

This is going to be good.

Thoughts of Tilly have crossed my mind since Thursday night more than a one-night stand usually does. There was something about her—soft and sweet, but with a spark buried deep inside, like one of those candles that you have to burn to find the ring buried deep in the wax.

There’s no way I should be comparing Tilly to a ring; I must be really caught up in the books.

There’s no point thinking of Tilly at all. There’s been no word from her. No text—and yes, I did check my phone more than a few times Friday to make sure I didn’t miss one—and no call. I don’t know her last name, so I can’t check social media to see if she suddenly jetted off the other side of the world, or hosted a huge end-of-summer party, or even, really does have a husband that she lied about.

Thinking about checking her out on social media always makes me feel like a stalker, but everyone does it.

I clearly left the ball in her court. I sensed the hesitation and I never like to push a woman, even when I can’t get the sight of her blonde hair spread out on the pillow when I left, and the sound of her breathy, “Yes,” out of my mind.

And her ass. I really can’t stop thinking about her ass. So much that it was the image of Tilly that I fixated on when I took my cock in my hand in the shower this morning and pumped to release.

There will be no pent-up sexual tension when I walk into this class. I still think about the first time I met Mallory and fell under her spell. It was because I was horny.

No horny professor today.

I am spent—and I should thank Tilly for that as well. There are no blue balls. Heading into my first class, I have a completely limp dick with no thoughts in the back of my mind that might change that.

Lord of the Rings is pretty much sex-free, so I can focus on the battle of good versus evil, not listen to eighteen-year-old geeks giggle about who’s getting off with who.

I don’t even look at women when I pass them walking across campus. I paste a smile and keep my eyes to myself.

This is going to be good.

Maybe I should text Tilly after class.

“One does not simply walk into Mordor,” I begin as I walk across the lecture hall. “And one does not simply walk into a lecture on the brilliance of J.R.R. Tolkien and his influence in the genre of fantasy without having a few Lord of the Rings quotes ready. What’s your favourite?”

There’s a pause, long enough for my heart to catch in my throat; expecting students to be as excited as I am might be a bad idea. But then someone speaks.

“I would have followed you, my brother, my captain, my king!”

“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.” That’s from the back of the class and I grin in that direction.

“There is courage and honour to be found in men,” comes another.

“Ah, Boromir,” I say. “He has some of the best lines in the book. It’s too bad he had to die. Who’s got another one?”

There’s a murmur starting in the middle row, near the left wall, and I glance in that direction. “No good checking Google. If you’re in this class, it means you’re a fan, so have at it.”

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