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He was five minutes early to every class, every week, and each day he'd bring me a copy of the newspaper. Then, after I'd thanked him, he'd take his seat in the front row and stare ahead, his book kept as straight as he held his spine. It was chilling, the determination behind those big Bambi eyes and the way they'd follow me around the room, witnessing every movement I made. I'd finally be able to catch a breath when he'd momentarily look away, scribbling something in his notes, or digging around in his bag for a stick of gum. He never talked to his classmates, who would scatter the minute I'd finish a lecture. But not Timothy, he'd hang around, slowly packing his things, keeping his eyes fixed on me as I packed my papers into my briefcase. He'd close his bag and drift over to the door, thanking me for class on his way out.
Timothy's behavior struck me as strange, considering most of my students wouldn't even consider speaking to me outside of class time, even just the simple pleasantries. But every few years, a kid like Timothy would come around with an acknowledgment that I'm a person too, not just a professor. Most of those kids tended to be quite the suck-ups, probably hoping for an easy A or to assist me on a project, which of course I never gave them. As a psychology professor, it was in my nature to analyze the behavior of people I encountered, especially my students. Most of them were relatively uninteresting, either not yet self-aware, or just plain boring.
Timothy had stumped me from the beginning of the semester, and with each passing week, it began to bother me more and more. He wasn't just a teacher's pet, barely engaging in discussions, never asking me questions about the material, and doing the bare minimum on his assignments. I thought for a while that I could be fulfilling some sort of paternal role in his life, wondering if I resembled his father in some way. I ruled that out, though, considering he's about 5'2 and thin with sandy blonde hair, and I'm 6'4, beefy, and covered in thick, dark hair. It was keeping me up at night, wondering what could be causing this kid to bring me the day's paper and stare at me with such intensity, or linger around my door after class and make sure he was the last student in the room. And then, one night, it finally hit me. Timothy had feelings for me, sexual feelings, and the young, inexperienced, college kid had no idea how to play it.
I woke up the next morning early, taking a shower, carefully shaving my face, and plucking my nose hairs. I had hatched a plan overnight to understand once and for all why Timothy acted so strangely around me. Honestly, it was relatively half-baked, and I had no plan for what to do if I was right, but I was determined. I left the house, arriving on campus at the same time I do every day. I headed to the lecture hall where I taught Timothy's class and grabbed some coffee on the way. I leaned against my desk, coffee in hand, and made sure my pants were tight around the crotch, my bulge sticking out considerably (and inappropriately). Exactly five minutes before class, the door opened, and I was ready to enact the plan.
"Good morning, sir. I brought you today's paper," Timothy said, looking into my eyes, except for an almost instantaneous glance at my bulge.
I grinned, knowing that I'd got him, but decided to continue my plan just to be sure.
"Thanks, kid. Hey, just curious, do you think the class is responding well to the slides I've been making, or do you think they're too boring?" I asked, looking at him with my brows furrowed, speaking casually to get him relaxed.
We hadn't had much conversation yet, and while he stumbled over his words to answer my question, I nodded as if I was listening. I crossed my arms, placing one foot over the other and flexing my thighs, making my bulge jump. His eyes darted down, then back up, while he gulped, hard. Still, it wasn't enough for me to diagnose what was going on with him. I resorted to plan B, throwing any caution I had to the wind. I performed my best fake sneeze, making sure to squeeze the paper coffee cup in my hand, wincing as the hot coffee poured down my torso. Yelping, I jumped up from my desk and pulled the scorching hot fabric from my skin, cursing myself as if I didn't do it on purpose.
"Ah, fuck! Uh... shit, y'know I've gotta just take this off, sorry kid, hope you don't mind!"
"No, uh, not at all!" Timothy said, his voice raising in pitch.
I pulled the wet shirt over my head, revealing my hairy and toned belly, beefy chest, and big arms, making sure to ball my shirt over my head to give the boy a good look at my pits. I moaned fuck under my breath, drying myself with the shirt. Timothy's mouth hung open, which I'm sure he had no awareness of, while I patted my skin.
"Can I get you anything, sir?" he asked.
"Nah, don't sweat it! This is why I always pack a spare," I said, grabbing the clean shirt I packed this morning.
As I unfolded it, I smiled to myself, shocked at how much I was enjoying this. I didn't want it to end, and what I did next probably should've cost me my job.
"Shit, uh, the coffee definitely ran down my pants... I think I have to just take my underwear off. Sorry, son."
"Oh! Uhm, yeah totally," Timothy said, his face turning bright red.
I undid the button on my pants, dragging my zipper down and tugging my slacks off my hips. I looked up at Timothy, who was mesmerized by the outline of my fat cock in my white briefs. Once my pants were off, I hesitated a moment, making eye contact with Timothy, whose eyes and mouth were open wide. I hooked my thumbs under the waistband and yanked them down, letting my dick flop out. Lifting each foot and sliding them off, I turned around, stuffing them haphazardly in my briefcase. I took longer than I needed, shifting my weight from side to side so that my muscular, hairy asscheeks would flex at the boy. Turning back around, I scratched my thick bush before grabbing my pants and pulling them over each leg, stuffing my rapidly growing cock into the thin fabric as I buttoned them. I put my shirt back on, continuing the small talk with Timothy as my dick twitched and pulsed in my slacks. As I did my last button, the first of my class started rolling in, and I excused Timothy to his seat.
The rest of class was equally erotic and distracting, knowing that Timothy's eyes would be locked on the print of my free-balling dick in my pants. I could hardly concentrate on my lecture knowing that I was right about him and had given him the show of a lifetime. Somehow, I enjoyed it just as much as I assume he did, and maybe even more. After a grueling discussion in which no one participated and a brief overview of the coming midterm, class was over and the room had cleared out, leaving Timothy and I alone as we packed our things.
I packed quicker than usual, hoping I could finish before he did so I could give him one final test. At this point, it wasn't about research, but exploring a new side of my sexuality, and I couldn't control myself anymore. Just before closing my briefcase, I announced I was leaving. Saying goodbye to Timothy, I slammed the case closed, making sure that my briefs spilled out in the process. Without looking back, I left the room and out of the building, ducking behind a corner. After a few minutes, Timothy walked past, and I darted back to the lecture hall to check my trap.
I was as shocked as I was aroused to see that my briefs were nowhere to be found and would be covered in a college kid's cum by morning.
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