One Hour

 

College was great, and Zoe was having a great time, and meeting a lot of friends in her first year. The courses were boring, of course, but then she'd expected that. She hadn't come because she felt a calling for anything, but because it was expected of her, and her parents pretty much insisted that if she didn't she'd be a big loser all her life.

So she took mostly liberal arts courses which were not very challenging, and spent a lot of time out at restaurants and bars, as well as, of course, the many parties at sorority houses and fraternities.

Partying wasn't what she was here for, but of course, it was what she liked, what she wanted to do, what brought Zoe the fun and pleasure and excitement she craved. But she knew her parents wouldn't be amused at her failing as easy a course as English, not when they were forking out $30,000 a year for her to attend.

It would also screw her up next semester because until she'd finished the basic English courses she couldn't take the higher level ones, like creative writing, that she wanted to. Zoe had an active imagination and she very much wanted to be a writer, perhaps for a magazine until she could write and sell her own novels.

Professor Cambridge had always seemed to be a fairly nice man, though he could also be kind of fussy. Still, his occasional bursts of temper were always with one of the guys, not the girls, especially pretty girls like her.

Zoe was, of course, well aware of her effect on men, and appreciated it. It was nice not to have to do things for herself, nice to have guys buying her things and taking her places, nice to be wanted and greeted wherever she went - as long as they were reasonably polite about it, of course.

Just because they took her to a nice restaurant and then to a movie or something, didn't suggest she owed them anything in return, of course. Other than the pleasure of her company, which was certainly worth quite a bit given the number of men eager to experience it.

But partying did distract her from her studies, at times, and especially ones, like English, which seemed so basic and simple she didn't really feel she had to study at all. She was going to be a writer! Of course she had no problem with English!

And of course, given her English class tended to be first thing on Mondays it was also an excellent choice for her to skip when she had a late night Sunday, or just didn't feel like yawning her way through one of Cambridge's boring lectures on stuff she already knew anyway.

Unfortunately, time had crept up on her. She'd missed a lot of classes and a lot of assignments, and she was now actually in danger of failing the course. But sometimes men could be ... persuaded... to be nice to her, even where she was in the wrong. And Zoe casually accepted she had done wrong here.

Still, she looked like... she looked. Men always wanted to be nice to her because of that, and Cambridge was a man, albeit an old man with graying hair.

Zoe was an intelligent girl, and calculated that the best time to ask for a favor from the professor would be when he was in the best mood, which was likely to be Friday after classes. Who wasn't in a good mood on Friday when work was almost finished?

She also decided to dress for the part. She wasn't going to be obvious about it, of course. She wasn't going to wear something revealing, something showing a lot of cleavage, say, or something with a short skirt. That would be cheap, tacky and demeaning.

But... well, there was nothing wrong with accentuating her appearance. She usually pulled her blonde hair back in a casual tail for school. Today she brushed it so it shone and let it hang free across her shoulders, parted in the middle, and carefully sprayed to stay in place.

She wore her red sweater-dress. It was form fitting, and she knew she had a very attractive form, yet the dress had a turtleneck top, so could hardly be said to be revealing. The hem was a few inches above her knees, but quite respectable. She wore a black belt around her slender waist to accentuate her hourglass shape, and then for good measure put on a pair of frameless glasses.

They were actually from a costume shop, part of a sexy librarian outfit she had worn at a Halloween party, and were clear glass. But she thought they made her look intelligent and sophisticated. And of course, she wore a pair of high heels.

She hung around until the tail end of his visiting hour, not that he got a lot of visitors. His class was, after all, quite easy, then braced herself, with a sad-but-hopeful expression on her face as she went up to the half open door and knocked.

She pushed it open and saw professor Cambridge turn at his desk from where he looked to be grading papers.

"Yes? Visiting hour is about over, Miss... ahm... Connors, isn't it?"

"Yes, professor," she said, in her meekest voice. "I won't take more than a minute!"

He shrugged and turned the chair around, beckoning her in.

She came in, making sure her shoulders were back to emphasize her firm breasts.