Page 22 of Folds
The delivery of her final paper, handed to me in person after an apparent issue with her computer, will, thankfully, be my last interaction with Ms. Anderson.
No more short skirts, no more scent of acrylic paints and strawberry shampoo filling the lecture hall, no more feeling like my wolf would rip out of my skin, just exactly as she had described in her paper, at the thought of my claw against her ass.
…again and again, my paw would land on her trembling skin, turning it from white to pink to red until she obeyed…
Fur grows beneath the textured weave of my tweed pants. My feet shift in my shoes, pressing on the leather oxfords, forcing them to contain the thick fur and padding as my feet begin to transform into paws.
The torment should be over, but my body still holds on to the wolf.
I shove the lid onto the box of now-useless papers and thrust it in the small storage closet at the back of the lecture hall.
chapter two
LUCY
I am going to fuck my professor. I am going to fuck Professor Kane.
I repeat the mantra over and over again, as if every time I repeat the words, my body will be propelled faster towards my goal.
I am going to fuck my professor.
I toss my diploma and cap onto my couch. My cell phone buzzes, but I ignore it, tearing off my graduation gown and the outfit beneath before jumping into the shower.
I am going to fuck Professor Kane.
Once dry, I put on a black top with strategic cut-outs—I’d slashed it open a few nights ago in a fit of boredom— and pull on a dark pink plaid skirt. The skirt has a sort of British punk vibe I’m currently into and is ripped over the right thigh. I’ve added three oversized safety pins, further committing to the aesthetic and holding the skirt together.
“Shit!” I notice I’ve missed cleaning off a few spots of paint on my calves in the shower. My solution? Black, semi-sheer, knee-high socks with an argyle motif and chunky ankle boots. Tossing my phone into a hot pink, faux fur bag, I race out of my apartment.
I am going to fuck my professor,I repeat with renewed rigor.I am going to fuck Professor Kane.
The bus is five minutes late. “Crap!”
I’m not sure how long my professor will be at the university. Her TA said she was packing up this evening before heading out of town tomorrow. She could already be gone.
When the bus finally arrives, my boot catches on the first step, and I whack my knee against a pole. I nearly eat it, but I manage to catch myself on the bright yellow railing just in time.
“Careful,” the bus driver calls down to me, waiting until I stand and pay before she pulls away from the curb.
“Thanks,” I smile, “I always try.”
There is a tear in one of my knee-highs.
“Damn!”I’m really, really going totryto fuck my professor,I repeat, myconfidence not quite as stalwart as before.
On the thirty minute cross-town ride, I nervously fiddle with the bottom safety pin on my skirt. One large pot hole later, and, when the bus drops me off in front of the university, I’m down to only two safety pins holding my skirt together.
“Jesus Christ!”Okay, so I’m going toreally try to attemptto fuck Professor Kane.
My internal mantra isn’t quite as motivating as before.
What if Professor Kane is wearing a three piece suit tonight?
Oh Gods, what if it’s the tweed one?
Professor Kane has this one tan and brown suit, so perfectly fitted that when she uses her shiny black stick thingy to point to stuff on the board, her jacket lifts to expose the tight fit of her pants. I can follow the thin brown stripes as they round over the firm curve of her ass and slide down her long legs, over her perfectly sculpted thighs and calves. Then, when she reaches further across the board, no doubt pointing out some arcane piece of supernatural lore featured in a 2000s camp fest of a movie, I get to watch as the pronounced hills and valleys of her biceps shift beneath her shirt sleeves.
Swallowing hard, I walk across campus, my mindflipping back and forth so rapidly between my goal—fuck Professor Kane—and my worry—what if she isn’t there? What if she’s so hot, I can’t get a word out? It’s happened before —that the University’s gothic stonework and the lush foliage are a blur.
