The Disgusting Tale of Dr. C
A case of attempted sex-tortion by my loathsome geography professor
Looking back, many years now, my college experiences mostly provides me with pleasant memories of academia — making the Dean’s List, graduating with honors, earning my BA and MA degrees — except for the one situation with a man I’ll unaffectionately just refer to just as Dr. C.
“Hey, the creepy professor is staring at your butt,” my protective friend remarked as Dr. C walked behind us into his classroom.
“Gross,” was my only response as I wiped the sweat from my forehead.
It was a hot morning promising to get even hotter under a cloudless San Fernando Valley sky, as we headed to his non-air-conditioned bungalow room. I wore shorts and a tank top each day to class for the heat’s sake and certainly not to attract his attention.
He did stare at my various body parts when I passed by him — so I did my best to ignore and avoid the man whose mouth reminded me of a shark’s — thin-lipped and curled downward. His eyes wandered across the young women in the front of his class like he was perusing a well-stocked Las Vegas buffet at leisure.
He posed himself up at the lectern with a perpetual self-importance that I suspected was a cover for his vast insecurities…
