Bad Teacher

When I started my second-to-last semester of college I entered with the mindset that I'd work hard to pass the math class I was about to take for the third time. The university I attended had a policy: if a student fails a course thrice, expulsion will ensue. It was do or die. Although I knew my professor personally, I didn't expect any favors. I just thought I'd work more intently with him.

When I'd first taken the class as a freshman I simply wasn't focused or committed to doing well. I barely did my homework and often skipped in favor of napping or getting high with my crush. When I enrolled for the second time I chose a session that met once a week, going against my advisor's suggestion to take a class that met several times a week (students were proven to perform better in those). That's when I met Hector.

Hector was my new, young, attractive math teacher. Still, I wasn't motivated to show up to class every week. I remember arriving late on various occasions, interrupting when I walked to my front row seat in skintight jeans and heels. I sat through the lessons, took my notes, and then didn't think about what I'd learned until the following week--a terrible habit. When I got my grade at the end of the semester I learned that I'd failed the class again. 

A few weeks after the semester ended Hector and I crossed paths. This time we weren't bound by university walls. I was on stage dancing at work when I saw a figure across the bar. I wasn't wearing my contacts or glasses so I couldn't make out a face, but I noticed this person incessantly looking in my direction. He came closer and I pranced to the edge of the stage, leaning in to hear him ask, "Hey, were you in my Thursday night math class?" I smiled. When I got off stage we caught up as he bought me shot after shot at the bar. "You never came to class and when you did you were late," he recalled. Hector told me he fought to give me a passing grade but was overidden by administrators.

We kept in touch in the following months. We exchanged numbers and I entertained his flirty texts. Whenever he'd come to my job I knew we were going to get drunk and touchy. He showed me pictures of his wife and newborn baby with one hand while fondling me with the other. The situation felt exhilarating. We agreed I should register for his class a second time.

When I met with my advisor she asked why I wanted to take the same course with a professor who'd failed me. I told her it was my fault and the professor was great. Soon I found myself in front of Hector again, this time with a personal relationship connecting us. It was fun giving each other the eye and texting during class, while my classmates were oblivious.

On a couple occasions we hung out away from both the club and class. He took me to bars and I even met his friends. We'd make out but I always stopped things from going to the next level until one night when we were extremely intoxicated. He drunk drove us to my apartment. We had sex on my couch and the ice was broken.

After the initial thrill subsided I continued to see him. I knew my graduation status depended on it (unless, of course, I studied and worked hard to pass the class on my own like everyone else. Hehe.) In a fateful turn of events my final exam was re-scheduled for a day when I'd be on a family vacation. Hector was approved to privately administer the exam to me. We met in the school library where he walked me through the test, giving me almost all the answers. We were careful not to submit a flawless exam because it would look sketchy.

When grades were posted I breathed a sigh of relief. I could stop hooking up with this man and I didn't have to worry about getting expelled. I passed the class with something like a B. Hector continued to reach out to me after the semester ended but I ended things with him. It was fun while it lasted but I wasn't interested in continuing to see him.

Life is about using and being used. I think we both got something out of the unofficial arrangement. 

The O-Factor

When I Knew it Was Over