The Professor

Chapter Eight | Don't Wear Panties

With Taylor Swift blasting from my speakers, I get ready for class slightly chirpier than usual, thanks to the memory of last night playing on repeat in my mind. James' moans and grunts have yet to leave my consciousness and—I'll be honest—I doubt they ever will. His delight is all I can think about as I tie my hair up, feeling particularly partial to a ponytail. I keep my makeup minimal with just a touch of foundation and clear lip gloss, though do make more of an effort with regards to clothing. So much so, I fire a quick text to Lara in the hopes she can shed some light on the situation.

Sloan:

What colour should I

wear if I want to attract

someone's attention?

Lara:

RED!!!!!!

Lara:

P.S, I want a name!

Sloan:

Ed Sheeran.

 

I laugh, knowing my response will piss her off.

Lara:

Bugger off! Is it 

your professor?

Sloan:

No comment.

Lara:

🍆🍆🍆🍆

I disregard my phone and scour my wardrobe for something class-appropriate, red and—most importantly—sexy. In the end, I pair a new, red satin blouse with my black skinny jeans and a chunky belt for purposes I'm sure Lara would approve of. I throw my favourite ankle boots into the mix, knowing they match just about everything. Each item looks good laid out on my bed, though no outfit is complete without underwear. With that in mind, I go to my drawer and pull out a lace set, stopping short of my task when something catches my eye. I hadn't noticed it yesterday, which—in all likelihood—was down to my flustered state. James had just nibbled on my ear, and I was doing everything in my power not to curl up in my bed as a way of surrounding myself with his smell. But there it is. Tucked under a Victoria Secret thong. Clear as day.

My planner.

I pull it from its position and flick through the pages, noticing a few scribbles that aren't mine. On various days throughout the year, he's left inspirational quotes and reminders not to get inundated with stress. On December 16th, he's written in block capitals, 'THE QUEEN'S BIRTHDAY' and I giggle, knowing that's when Jane Austin was born. On Valentine's Day, he's drawn three love hearts and a flower, alongside what looks to be an attempt at a cherub. On April 7th, he's written down a reminder for my dissertation hand-in, followed by, 'Don't worry! You'll do AMAZING!'.

No one has ever written in my planner before, and it feels strangely intimate. More intimate than last night's blowjob, even. Not that I mind. I find the whole thing rather romantic. Having said that, being without it has felt strange and finally having it back pleases me more than what it probably should. I'm one of those people who find scheduling things beneficial. In fact, I'm itching to turn to today's entry and quickly scribble down my plans. It might make me a little late for class, but James won't mind. Afterall, he's the one who stole it in the first place.