In Heat (Part 1, First Chapter)
#1 of In Heat (By Chapter)
PART 1
It was early September, and it was hot, Northern Oregon or not.
If the triple-digit heat-wave outside was miserable, the broken air conditioning inside was worse -- especially since the social sciences building of the small college campus was short on windows, and we were situated on the west side, which didn't help us at all as the afternoon wore on. Worse yet, it seemed as though the building's heating system had kicked on, periodically spilling even warmer air out into the room, though the vents had been blocked with a layer of aluminum foil, which hardly helped at all.
I mopped the sweat off my face, scrubbing my hand over the stubble of a two-day beard. Wish I'd shaved after my shower this morning. In the sweltering heat my face itched like a swarm of ants. To distract myself, I turned in my seat to scan the room. Everyone was bunched up in front; the stadium seating left the higher seats in the back several degrees warmer than those down front, and nobody was about to head back there today, no matter how much attention they didn't want.
To the far right sat Raven and NightWing -- formerly known as Tedd Stawlings and Patricia I-forget-her-last-name -- the faux-Goth couple whose cheap black mascara was melting unpleasantly. In the middle of the room and just behind me was Bobby Dill, resident self-proclaimed Dungeons and Dragons expert, who worked at the library in the evenings, and was presently engaged in rifling through what I assumed were his campaign notes. (Yes, I'd "experimented" my freshman year. I'm not too proud to admit it. Not inside my own head, at least.) All the way to my left, as far away from the "Goths" as she could get, sat Sarah Parker, the usually-, though not currently-, perky head cheerleader and once-and-future Homecoming Queen who looked to be wilting in the heat. The rest of the crowd was filled with faces both familiar and strange, though I couldn't attach names to anyone else. I did recognize about a third of them from last year; I figured I'd have to see about making some new friends this semester, for cribbing notes if nothing else. And who knew, maybe we'd actually get along.
My eye caught on the door to the hallway as it opened wide, admitting a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in black leather shoes, pressed slacks, and a light blue dress-shirt tucked neatly behind his black leather belt with a silver buckle. His hair, either platinum blond or an early white, was full and straight and long, tied back into a tail with a leather thong. His skin was darkly tanned, and he had a football player's build, solid and muscular, though his shirt was loose enough to do little more than hint at the muscle beneath. He was obviously in incredible shape, unlike a lot of athletes who go to seed once they pass twenty-five. He was in his forties at least, possibly in his fifties, but the lightness in his step belied his apparent age and bulk. I wasn't normally into older men, but he was definitely a jaw-dropping specimen.
...And yes, I'm gay. Get over it.
I'd heard the previous semester that this professor was a real hardass, with ice-blue eyes that could drill into your brain from across the room. He now proved at least some of the rumors true, refusing to make any concessions to the heat beyond opening the two small windows on the east and west sides of the room. He sat at his desk, his dress-shirt's long sleeves buttoned firmly around his wrists, the collar cinched shut at his neck, and he didn't appear to be bothered by the weather at all. I was about to die in my sleeveless basketball jersey, but his hair and face were dry. He wasn't sweating at all, far as I could tell.
Lucky bastard.
He shuffled his papers around a bit, putting them in order, then glanced at the clock mounted on the wall to his left and stood, fists planted on the top of his desk. He leaned towards us, those icy blue eyes gleaming above a slightly feral grin. 11 o'clock: it was time to begin. "Welcome to World Religions and Mythologies 101. I'm Professor Whyte," he began, his voice grabbing my attention immediately. It was deep and rich and a bit gravelly, the drawl in his voice hinting that he'd grown up somewhere in the rural southern US. "Some of you're taking this class as an elective; others're in it for your major."
Okay, so that was a lot more than a 'hint'. The man was a full-bore Texan; I'd have bet Bobby's gold-plated d20 on it.
"Who here's a sociology or anthropology major?" He stood to his full height of somewhat more than six feet and took note as I raised my hand, along with about half the rest of the class. Including Sarah, surprisingly. You never think of cheerleaders as being in it for the education, but apparently she was. Anthropology for the win, baby.
He nodded, pleased. "Great. I think you'll find we've got a whole buncha interesting stuff to cover this term, but today'll be kinda boring. Roll call; getting to know what's expected of you; setting up for the rest of the semester; and so on. So let's get it over with, then y'all can get outta here."
He instructed us one by one to stand and introduce ourselves, standard beginning-of-the-semester stuff. I'd let it go without further comment, except I couldn't help but notice that whoever was giving introductions at any given time seemed unusually squirmy, even considering the prevalence of stage-fright. I figured out why when it was my turn.
Mr. Whyte called for the next student to stand and I pushed to my feet, glanced around for a second as I gathered up my thoughts, then looked into the professor's eyes and started inhaling to speak...
...and then I suddenly couldn't breathe.
I mentioned the rumors about how his eyes bored right into your head, right? Well, that was an understatement. I'd never met anyone who focused so intently the way this man did. It was...disconcerting. Like he was trying to read the thoughts engraved in the back of your skull. And he didn't even seem to be aware he was doing it. Those eyes of his were almost physically painful. And they were directed at me.
It was distracting, and arousing.
I had to close my eyes for a moment and remember how to breathe again before I could recall what I was going to say. I didn't stumble over it -- thank you Mom, for those Public Speaking lessons -- but I was still having trouble concentrating as flashes of those glacial eyes kept creeping into my thoughts.
I was so glad that my royal blue jersey and shorts were long, loose, and baggy, because I was rock-hard when I sat down; those eyes turned me on like a light-bulb, and even now I'm amazed at just how much the memories alone affected me. Still affect me. Whatever.
It was certainly a relief when the professor's gaze turned to the next student in line -- probably for a different reason altogether than for most of the others -- though did his eyes linger just a bit too long, or was it my imagination? Did his skin flush, or were my raging hormones playing tricks on me? Were those slow suggestive blinks as he looked in my eyes what I thought they were? I shook the cobwebs out of my brain. My head was so big sometimes that you could've used it as a hot-air balloon, but even I knew when not to push it. Sure, I hit the weights and played basketball, I took martial arts classes and was athletic in a lean and wiry kind of way, but -- despite what might come out of my mouth at times -- I knew I wasn't in this man's league. If he even liked guys. Not to mention that he was probably twenty-five years older than me, and he was one of my teachers, to boot. Down boy.
Still, that didn't stop me from daydreaming, which led to my completely missing the homework he gave at the end of class.
©Lycanthromancer
10/14/2010