JulienSorel
Member
- Aug 28, 2019
- 68
I am going to end things soon, but I figured I would at least share a better part of my life.
I was interested in that class because the teacher was beautiful. I saw a photo of her on the faculty webpage and I knew I would never miss a class if she were my professor. I chose my outfit carefully that day making sure I looked irresistible without looking as if I ever tried. I have spent a lot of time looking in the mirror and I knew what I would wear that day. I was not yet enrolled because I got into the program a week after the start of school, speaking in person to nearly everyone involved in the administration of the department and admissions. It was stressful, and now that I was enrolled into the program, I needed the professor to enroll me into the class.
I chose a pair of Paige black denim, very skinny accentuating my figure and containing nylon in the fabric which made them comfortable, and it showed. I chose a simple Zara heather grey T-shirt I had that fit perfectly with a shorter sleeve, and the vneck could be enclosed by five small metal buttons placed an inch apart each, it was thin but opaque, and my nipples could be seen poking through and forming perfectly sculpted lines along the pictorials and draping loosely around my thin waist despite being of a slim fit. For a second layer, I had a denim jacket from H&M, it was just the right shade of light blue, silver buttons with a slim fit. I would be holding this when I see her. For shoes, I wore the Clark's Desert Boots in beeswax that I have had for over six years, and I have spent as much at the cobblers as the cost of the shoe. I love them, they had been with me to jail by now, a memory that I really did not want attached to those boots. They were so wrinkled, so beaten up, but they were comfortable and most importantly, familiar. I was 6'1, 155lbs, sculpted by the hand of Michelangelo and the ballet barre.
My mind was in hell. I was wondering how a professor could be so beautiful, in a room with almost forty girls and no guys, ravine directly behind us, it was the perfect class. My mind was in tatters from repeated surprise fights and kick outs by my mother and boyfriend, I had been in jail for a day, spent months dealing with the court system, and even more months traveling from different Airbnbs, burning through cash and forced into no contact despite most of my belongings being still stuck at home, and with all my life plans shattered again. I was already suffering from suicidal depression, my mother assumed I was happy and spoiled, she sent me on a wild ride with the court system and police with photo evidence of broken things of fights she induced with her endless screaming. There are few things worse than a narcissistic mother.
When I told my mother that I had suicidal depression, and that I could not handle her lying about my past history anymore because I knew there was something emotionally wrong with me, the enthusiasm she told unrelated stories and how she would fail at the Reid technique when I employed it told me my past was far uglier than I ever imagined. My parents cheated, fought, and divorced, while my relatives sat on the sidelines fanning the flames. When I questioned her on some of my angrier memories, I could tell how she was denying it meant she knew I could remember the truth. My developmental issues and brain trauma was obvious by this point in my life, and I was struggling to continue each day without breaking down and crying. I knew I could not show her this, because she would just take it as an opportunity to attack me. Home felt like a warzone, and I lost by fighting back. I had money, almost $130,000.00, but I only splurged on prescription skincare and dermatologist cosmetics, and I loved the contrast between chugging kale shakes with holes in my shirt, but she made sure to break me before I could leave home.
I was living in a friend's basement. I was trying to find a condo as a long term home I can take a degree in something I am interested in to be a professor. Sitting in that classroom, despite how perfect everything was, I could still feel that jail cell. It reeked of anger, sweat, and open toilets. Here, it smelled of different perfumes mingled with tension, and I could feel it more than anyone as the only guy in that room. I listened, I took notes, but I felt numb. I stared at her she taught, she was so perfect, brunette hair, large doe eyes, a slender frame, a high forehead, a thin and beautifully proportioned body. She wore a thick crew neck T shirt, large, tucked into black suit trousers that were straight cut, but formed a nice shape around her butt. She also wore black ballet flats of patent leather. Her outfit was so simple and clean, without any stress for accessories. Her natural beauty showed easily.
After class, I went to her office to ask if I could be enrolled. Before I did so, I made sure to check the mirror. I unbuttoned one button, leaving only two buttons out of five, and I made sure my hair was divided perfectly and formed the right proportions. My hair looked stately, regal, majestic, and my boots looked like I worked construction. The contrast between fineness and thickness of my hair and the tattered and aged look of the shoes stretched the principles of contrast in appearance to the extreme, but the impression held. The lack of detail in any of my clothes made the balance in my proportions that much more apparent, and I understood proportions in terms of the statue of David, thus God himself. My skin was clear and pale, what skin I showed through my shirt accentuated this. I wanted to make sure she would not be able to resist enrolling me into her class. This felt a little insane, I am Chinese for fuck sakes. I went to her door, took a few deep breaths, thinking of a few nervous moments I fought through in dance class, and knocked on her door.
"Come in."
"Hi. I just wanted to say thank you for class today."
"You're welcome, what can I do for you."
"I'm not actually enrolled into the class right now, I entered the program a bit late."
"Oh, I'm sorry, the class is full."
"Oh, that's too bad."
"Yeah…I'm sorry."
"It's alright. Could I still keep attending classes, maybe someone will drop the course and a spot will open up?"
"Of course you would be free to do so, but there's actually a waiting list of six people right now."
"Wow."
"Yeah…unless if any of the other TAs are going to hold class, I'm afraid this class is full."
"Ah okay, maybe I will just try next year then."
"Yeah…"
"Okay, bye"
"Bye"
I was disappointed, I really was. That did not even seem like affection coming from her, and she is the professor, why can she not do something. Maybe ask me to sit down, try in vain for a couple minutes to see what she can do to at least entertain the moment? This was a flop. I remember going to the mirror. I looked alright, but I looked so tired, and defeated. It was not such a disappointment, but life felt so grimy right now, so bleak. Having something of beauty to look forward to would have so great.
I complained to my friend after getting home, and also told him of how beautiful I thought the professor was. She did not say I could not try attending the class anyways, and I had until next week to decide if I wanted to attend or not. I thought it would be a bit awkward, considering how she made it somewhat clear that my chances of enrolling into the class was slim, but she did not say no.
Next class, I chose a different outfit. I wore black Lululemon Dropt Pants that were of a synthetic material similar to thicker leggings with side pockets that hugged my lines just enough to be deemed appropriate for a guy, and I wore a navy long sleeve shirt from H&M that I could roll up and button to my upper arm, with three buttons arranged vertically separating the crew neck, and a white Hanes vneck undershirt so that I could still show some skin when I button my shirt. I wore the Clark's because I had nothing else, they looked so beat up it was getting embarrassing. I don't even know what I am doing, if I am trying to seduce her or something. I am not even getting into the class. My life was in tatters and the past week of class has only made it clearer that my situation is bleak, and my mind too broken for school. I could not study to save my life, I spent everyday smoking weed at the park.
I went into class and saw the rows of women, but fortunately there was an empty seat in the front. I took it, and it was only a little distance from the whiteboard. The professor was not yet there. I took a moment to reflect on how I felt right now, and if this was what I wanted for the next few years. It seemed absolutely hopeless and that this was foolish. I had no idea what I was doing with my life, and the life I had thought I would lead months ago was only planned under complete duress and anger.
She opened the door and entered the class. She looked beautiful. For a moment, I realize that my life had always been in chaos, but this was at least a part of it that I can enjoy. I was sitting in a class, knowing I would not continue on with it, or the program, or anything else I had ever planned or dreamed of in my life. The last week showed me that. The internal noise was too loud, I could feel frustration laced in every part of my existence. But she was beautiful, and I could at least take the time to enjoy her presence regardless of wherever I was going to end up next. In a way, the fear and uncertainty made her even lovelier.
She wore a pair of tight black denim which hugged her perfectly, tracing every line of her legs, and slim boots of matte brown leather that complimented her height and gave her steps a gentle gracefulness. I could not help but notice every detail of her shirt. She wore a long sleeved dress shirt with sharp collars, heather grey and very snug hugging tightly around her breasts, her nipples poking the fine fabric and even accentuating the silhouette that her shirt formed over her chest while draping loosely around her waist despite being of a slimmer fit. The remaining length of the shirt produced a dresslike effect, trailing behind her as she moved so you only saw one contour of her waist but never the other. Did my shirt do that?
She did this on purpose. She dressed with the exact little details that I had put myself together with to try and seduce her into enrolling in the class. I even felt a tear at how beautiful that was, how she would actually do such a thing. I wished I was younger, that I did not have these horrific memories, that my life was not in tatters, that I did not suffer from what was not my fault, that I was here earlier. I did not have a wrinkle, my skin radiated youth, but I had enough wisdom from pain to echo any old man's sorrow. I knew I would have nothing to do with school anymore, my mind was broken. She was so beautiful, and I could not help but look at her butt as she wrote on the chalk board just a little distance from me. She was a work of art, and to think someone like her would actually go so far as to dress herself like me in hopes that I would not feel down about how I tried. I did not understand the exact message, but the exact message and intentions of anyone is blurry to you when one has no direction left in life. It is difficult to imagine without solid ground beneath your feet. For the moment however, I was happy I got to look at her, and I knew could always remember this moment with a smile.
Class ended. I thought of maybe going to her office, of maybe asking her a question about class, but I could not. I loved what she wore, I realized she had probably reflected on this moment endless times throughout the week. She mentioned she had a boyfriend also, but there she was, in the same outfit echoing my ambitious attempt. I wanted to, and I regret I did not. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful moment I am very thankful for.
I was interested in that class because the teacher was beautiful. I saw a photo of her on the faculty webpage and I knew I would never miss a class if she were my professor. I chose my outfit carefully that day making sure I looked irresistible without looking as if I ever tried. I have spent a lot of time looking in the mirror and I knew what I would wear that day. I was not yet enrolled because I got into the program a week after the start of school, speaking in person to nearly everyone involved in the administration of the department and admissions. It was stressful, and now that I was enrolled into the program, I needed the professor to enroll me into the class.
I chose a pair of Paige black denim, very skinny accentuating my figure and containing nylon in the fabric which made them comfortable, and it showed. I chose a simple Zara heather grey T-shirt I had that fit perfectly with a shorter sleeve, and the vneck could be enclosed by five small metal buttons placed an inch apart each, it was thin but opaque, and my nipples could be seen poking through and forming perfectly sculpted lines along the pictorials and draping loosely around my thin waist despite being of a slim fit. For a second layer, I had a denim jacket from H&M, it was just the right shade of light blue, silver buttons with a slim fit. I would be holding this when I see her. For shoes, I wore the Clark's Desert Boots in beeswax that I have had for over six years, and I have spent as much at the cobblers as the cost of the shoe. I love them, they had been with me to jail by now, a memory that I really did not want attached to those boots. They were so wrinkled, so beaten up, but they were comfortable and most importantly, familiar. I was 6'1, 155lbs, sculpted by the hand of Michelangelo and the ballet barre.
My mind was in hell. I was wondering how a professor could be so beautiful, in a room with almost forty girls and no guys, ravine directly behind us, it was the perfect class. My mind was in tatters from repeated surprise fights and kick outs by my mother and boyfriend, I had been in jail for a day, spent months dealing with the court system, and even more months traveling from different Airbnbs, burning through cash and forced into no contact despite most of my belongings being still stuck at home, and with all my life plans shattered again. I was already suffering from suicidal depression, my mother assumed I was happy and spoiled, she sent me on a wild ride with the court system and police with photo evidence of broken things of fights she induced with her endless screaming. There are few things worse than a narcissistic mother.
When I told my mother that I had suicidal depression, and that I could not handle her lying about my past history anymore because I knew there was something emotionally wrong with me, the enthusiasm she told unrelated stories and how she would fail at the Reid technique when I employed it told me my past was far uglier than I ever imagined. My parents cheated, fought, and divorced, while my relatives sat on the sidelines fanning the flames. When I questioned her on some of my angrier memories, I could tell how she was denying it meant she knew I could remember the truth. My developmental issues and brain trauma was obvious by this point in my life, and I was struggling to continue each day without breaking down and crying. I knew I could not show her this, because she would just take it as an opportunity to attack me. Home felt like a warzone, and I lost by fighting back. I had money, almost $130,000.00, but I only splurged on prescription skincare and dermatologist cosmetics, and I loved the contrast between chugging kale shakes with holes in my shirt, but she made sure to break me before I could leave home.
I was living in a friend's basement. I was trying to find a condo as a long term home I can take a degree in something I am interested in to be a professor. Sitting in that classroom, despite how perfect everything was, I could still feel that jail cell. It reeked of anger, sweat, and open toilets. Here, it smelled of different perfumes mingled with tension, and I could feel it more than anyone as the only guy in that room. I listened, I took notes, but I felt numb. I stared at her she taught, she was so perfect, brunette hair, large doe eyes, a slender frame, a high forehead, a thin and beautifully proportioned body. She wore a thick crew neck T shirt, large, tucked into black suit trousers that were straight cut, but formed a nice shape around her butt. She also wore black ballet flats of patent leather. Her outfit was so simple and clean, without any stress for accessories. Her natural beauty showed easily.
After class, I went to her office to ask if I could be enrolled. Before I did so, I made sure to check the mirror. I unbuttoned one button, leaving only two buttons out of five, and I made sure my hair was divided perfectly and formed the right proportions. My hair looked stately, regal, majestic, and my boots looked like I worked construction. The contrast between fineness and thickness of my hair and the tattered and aged look of the shoes stretched the principles of contrast in appearance to the extreme, but the impression held. The lack of detail in any of my clothes made the balance in my proportions that much more apparent, and I understood proportions in terms of the statue of David, thus God himself. My skin was clear and pale, what skin I showed through my shirt accentuated this. I wanted to make sure she would not be able to resist enrolling me into her class. This felt a little insane, I am Chinese for fuck sakes. I went to her door, took a few deep breaths, thinking of a few nervous moments I fought through in dance class, and knocked on her door.
"Come in."
"Hi. I just wanted to say thank you for class today."
"You're welcome, what can I do for you."
"I'm not actually enrolled into the class right now, I entered the program a bit late."
"Oh, I'm sorry, the class is full."
"Oh, that's too bad."
"Yeah…I'm sorry."
"It's alright. Could I still keep attending classes, maybe someone will drop the course and a spot will open up?"
"Of course you would be free to do so, but there's actually a waiting list of six people right now."
"Wow."
"Yeah…unless if any of the other TAs are going to hold class, I'm afraid this class is full."
"Ah okay, maybe I will just try next year then."
"Yeah…"
"Okay, bye"
"Bye"
I was disappointed, I really was. That did not even seem like affection coming from her, and she is the professor, why can she not do something. Maybe ask me to sit down, try in vain for a couple minutes to see what she can do to at least entertain the moment? This was a flop. I remember going to the mirror. I looked alright, but I looked so tired, and defeated. It was not such a disappointment, but life felt so grimy right now, so bleak. Having something of beauty to look forward to would have so great.
I complained to my friend after getting home, and also told him of how beautiful I thought the professor was. She did not say I could not try attending the class anyways, and I had until next week to decide if I wanted to attend or not. I thought it would be a bit awkward, considering how she made it somewhat clear that my chances of enrolling into the class was slim, but she did not say no.
Next class, I chose a different outfit. I wore black Lululemon Dropt Pants that were of a synthetic material similar to thicker leggings with side pockets that hugged my lines just enough to be deemed appropriate for a guy, and I wore a navy long sleeve shirt from H&M that I could roll up and button to my upper arm, with three buttons arranged vertically separating the crew neck, and a white Hanes vneck undershirt so that I could still show some skin when I button my shirt. I wore the Clark's because I had nothing else, they looked so beat up it was getting embarrassing. I don't even know what I am doing, if I am trying to seduce her or something. I am not even getting into the class. My life was in tatters and the past week of class has only made it clearer that my situation is bleak, and my mind too broken for school. I could not study to save my life, I spent everyday smoking weed at the park.
I went into class and saw the rows of women, but fortunately there was an empty seat in the front. I took it, and it was only a little distance from the whiteboard. The professor was not yet there. I took a moment to reflect on how I felt right now, and if this was what I wanted for the next few years. It seemed absolutely hopeless and that this was foolish. I had no idea what I was doing with my life, and the life I had thought I would lead months ago was only planned under complete duress and anger.
She opened the door and entered the class. She looked beautiful. For a moment, I realize that my life had always been in chaos, but this was at least a part of it that I can enjoy. I was sitting in a class, knowing I would not continue on with it, or the program, or anything else I had ever planned or dreamed of in my life. The last week showed me that. The internal noise was too loud, I could feel frustration laced in every part of my existence. But she was beautiful, and I could at least take the time to enjoy her presence regardless of wherever I was going to end up next. In a way, the fear and uncertainty made her even lovelier.
She wore a pair of tight black denim which hugged her perfectly, tracing every line of her legs, and slim boots of matte brown leather that complimented her height and gave her steps a gentle gracefulness. I could not help but notice every detail of her shirt. She wore a long sleeved dress shirt with sharp collars, heather grey and very snug hugging tightly around her breasts, her nipples poking the fine fabric and even accentuating the silhouette that her shirt formed over her chest while draping loosely around her waist despite being of a slimmer fit. The remaining length of the shirt produced a dresslike effect, trailing behind her as she moved so you only saw one contour of her waist but never the other. Did my shirt do that?
She did this on purpose. She dressed with the exact little details that I had put myself together with to try and seduce her into enrolling in the class. I even felt a tear at how beautiful that was, how she would actually do such a thing. I wished I was younger, that I did not have these horrific memories, that my life was not in tatters, that I did not suffer from what was not my fault, that I was here earlier. I did not have a wrinkle, my skin radiated youth, but I had enough wisdom from pain to echo any old man's sorrow. I knew I would have nothing to do with school anymore, my mind was broken. She was so beautiful, and I could not help but look at her butt as she wrote on the chalk board just a little distance from me. She was a work of art, and to think someone like her would actually go so far as to dress herself like me in hopes that I would not feel down about how I tried. I did not understand the exact message, but the exact message and intentions of anyone is blurry to you when one has no direction left in life. It is difficult to imagine without solid ground beneath your feet. For the moment however, I was happy I got to look at her, and I knew could always remember this moment with a smile.
Class ended. I thought of maybe going to her office, of maybe asking her a question about class, but I could not. I loved what she wore, I realized she had probably reflected on this moment endless times throughout the week. She mentioned she had a boyfriend also, but there she was, in the same outfit echoing my ambitious attempt. I wanted to, and I regret I did not. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful moment I am very thankful for.
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