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Mr. Hardy... Part 1

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He's tall, slim, wavy blond hair that's always kind of messy,  but the cute kind, and has blue eyes.  I've been sneaking looks at him.  I guess it really doesn't count to say it that way.  People are supposed to be paying attention to their professors anyhow.  But I've been looking and daydreaming. I could say that my crush on him happened suddenly; some random day,  some comment or gesture that sparked something. But that's not how it was at all. I fell for him the very first day of class.  I'm pretty sure that I wasn't the only one. All those pretty little teens,  fresh out of high school,  thinking they are so grown up,  getting all dolled up, trying to impress Mr. Hardy, the hot psych professor. At first I was kind of pissed. They were all flipping their hair, or swaying their hips as they walked, or just acting flirty in general.  Those girls were practically throwing themselves at him.  It didn't work.  Right from the start he looked at them just like they were ordinary, boring students. He was a psychology professor, I'm sure he could see through their little game.   By the second or third week they all either got the message or got tired of acting like the sexually starved girls they definitely weren't.  It was when the initial hype over how hot Mr. Hardy was that I started imagining him and me and... well lots of things. 


I was secretly glad that he ignored those stupid prissy girls. It was me,  my imagination told me,  that Mr. Hardy wanted. I had a chance,  I pretended,  with Mr. Hardy. He and I were closer in age than those other girls were, after all. 
One of the first things I began to stare at was his ass in those tight jeans. That of course had somewhat to do with him always writing on the board with his back turned.  Still,  what a great ass. Also,  I am a pretty shy person,  and I find it hard to look people directly in the eyes. So I picked out a less intimidating part to stare at.  


It was about the fourth week in. Mr. Hardy had the habit of turning around quickly in the middle of his note writing to ask a question or elaborate on some point, and so naturally my eyes would still be looking down, now drawn to his 'happy package', which was a bit embarrassing at first because was I was lucky enough to be put in the front row,  and he caught me staring.  At least it felt like it to me.  When I looked up at his face I could see him looking directly into my eyes. I swear I thought I seen the slightest smile. The spell broke when I dropped my pen, which I totally did on purpose to hide my face from a blush. That was when I at least tried to pay attention to the actual class stuff.  What would happen if he caught me staring again,  or staring at the happy package on purpose? I thought; because now it was at the forefront of my mind.  I would think,  'don't look,  don't look,' and it would make me think of looking.  I can't say I didn't enjoy daydreaming of those fine features of his,  but damn it was distracting. In my mind I would reach out for a grab at them, the room would suddenly become empty except for the two of us, I would imagine looking into his eyes without feeling intimidated.  And my page of notes would be half blank,  I would try to focus on the actual board,  and scramble to catch up.  The only thing that saved me from falling behind was that I found Mr. Hardy's class easy.  


I remember this idea I had. Mr. Hardy was so handsome,  so cute,  that I would try to get over my fear of looking people in the eyes by looking into his.  In my mind I had done that so many times.  I would imagine asking him some interesting question, looking into his baby blue eyes,  he would smile and look back into my eyes, I would feel at ease,  and he would answer my question.  In reality all I did at first was walk up to him,  address him so he would look at me,  and look briefly into is eyes before handing in my paper.  Then something unexpected happened.  Instead of taking the paper from me by the edge, his hand touched my fingers, and it surprised me enough so that it drew my attention back to him,  and there we were looking into each others eyes. I let the paper go, he held my gaze and my fingers for a second  longer, then the moment was over.  My feet might have been going slowly, but my heart definitely was going fast.   What was that? Did we share something? Was it some make believe thing fueled by my love struck imagination over a hunky professor? Needless to say,  the rest of the day was spent inside my head, replaying the event and wondering so many things. 

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