Page 10 of B is for Baby Me (Classes in Kink #1)
Chapter nine
A Long Game
Fletcher
Good lord, modesty ? That’s the only thing standing between me and the scene of a lifetime. Stripping JR bare in front of a group of salivating onlookers—God, how I would’ve loved it. Showing off his obedience, the raw power restrained solely by my will. His trembling muscles and quivering cock, alert to my every command. I would’ve conducted the scene like a maestro.
Even so, last night’s lesson was still a masterpiece. JR’s request for a kiss may have been innocent, but his reaction was anything but. He responded to my tongue as if it were a conductor’s baton, drawing out the sweetest notes of surrender. As he held his obvious strength in check, he allowed me to guide us to an incredible crescendo. The echo of our climax is still ringing in my ears.
If simply kissing my sub can lead to such a staggering conclusion, there’s no telling what could occur during a scene involving total nudity. Perhaps it’s best to keep that lesson behind locked doors, as JR prefers. Thankfully, I won’t have long to wait—we’ve planned our next meeting for the following week. In the meantime, I have classes to teach and laboratory research to conduct. It’s time to steer my mind away from the sub consuming my thoughts and focus it on more scientific matters.
I snap my fingers to get my TA’s attention. “Josh, how familiar are you with genetic disorders caused by chromosomal anomalies?”
When he turns to me, his eyes are so wide, you’d think he was facing oncoming traffic. “N-not very, sir.”
“Then why on earth would you become a Molecular Biology assistant?” Honestly. What a waste of my time.
“The dean asked me to help you,” he says, cowering under my gaze.
Good lord. As if I—the head of the Biology department—need the ‘help’ of an unschooled undergrad. “What qualifications do you possess that would assist me, Joshua?”
“It’s just Josh, sir,” he mumbles. “My name. It’s just Josh.”
“Very well. What are your qualifications, Just Josh?” I tap a finger against the desk while I wait for him to respond.
“My parents are both doctors…?” His shoulders hunch up around his ears.
“I see. Well, unless your parents are going to review these compositions, you’re of no further use to me. You’re dismissed.” I turn my back on him, preparing to grade the stack of essays in my inbox.
Josh clears his throat. “Should I return next week, sir?”
“If you must. In the interim, perhaps you could educate yourself on the basics of genetic mutations, if that isn’t too much to ask.” He’s the fifth TA I’ve had in two years. How difficult can it be to find good help?
“Yes, sir. I will, sir.” He backs away, closing the door to the deserted classroom behind him.
I shift in my hard wooden chair. Maybe I should grade the papers at home where I’ll be more comfortable. I’ve been looking forward to reading JR’s essay on genetic ribosomal dysfunction. A glass of wine, my favorite armchair, and my protégé‘s composition sound like the perfect way to relax and unwind.
“Dr. Fletcher! Toiling over essays, I see,” the Dean of Students interrupts my thoughts. He claps his hands together as he enters the lecture hall. “Scouting for talent! Keeping an eye out for—“
“Yes, yes. IQ,” I cut him off. Ugh . The man is like a cross between a fitness coach and Santa Claus. “Speaking of which, I want to talk to you about my current TA.”
His cheery smile falls. “Don’t you dare complain to me about Josh. I hand-picked him for you myself.”
“Were the crops mildewed?” I arch an eyebrow. “Was there a drought?”
Dean Owens lets out a sigh. “How many TAs have you gone through already? You know what they say about the common denominator.”
“Denominators?” I snort. “Fractions are too complex for Josh.”
“You’re not getting a new assistant until next year,” he insists, pointing a finger at me. “And don’t mistreat him hoping he’ll run away—it won’t work this time.”
“Fine. I promise not to beat the child.” I roll my eyes. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”
The dean’s carefree smile returns. “I came to check on a student of yours. George Bennett. Big guy, goes by the nickname JR.”
“I’m familiar with him,” I murmur. Intimately familiar.
“He’s the star of the Golden Gladiators football team, in case you didn’t know.” He rubs his hands together, his grin widening. “NFL scouts come to all of our games because of JR. He’s bringing a lot of attention to our athletic program.”
I narrow my eyes at the administrator. “I refuse to show preferential treatment based on athletic ability, Joe. Let’s be clear about that.”
Dean Owens splutters, “Of course not! I would never suggest such a thing. Besides, JR has an excellent GPA—he’s a feather in the university’s cap. Who else can say they have an NFL-bound athlete graduating magna cum laude?” He puffs out his chest, clearly proud of my protégé.
I fold my arms on my desk, raising an eyebrow. “And how does this relate to me?”
“I just want to make sure you aren’t abusing our star athlete.” He gives me a knowing look.
“I don’t intend to whip him,” I say. JR will be happy to hear that. “Actually, I’ve asked Mr. Bennett to apply to my master’s program.”
“Good luck with that.” The dean laughs. “I don’t think you stand much of a chance against the National Football League. Those players make millions of dollars per year! And that’s not even counting all of the fame and glory.”
I purse my lips. “Is that so? That’s quite a commentary on our society’s values.”
Dean Owes shakes his head at me. “Not everyone wants a Nobel Prize, Tom. Not when they could have a Super Bowl ring instead.” He claps me on the shoulder, apparently finished with what he came to say.
As he leaves the classroom, I settle back in my chair, processing this fresh information. Perhaps I’d been wrong to assume JR would choose science over sports. I hadn’t considered the fame and fortune that the NFL could offer the young man. It seems I’m not the only one courting George Bennett, Jr. It may be time to up my game.
I narrow my eyes as I formulate a plan.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Dear Mr. Bennett,
The International Conference on Genomics and Molecular Biology is coming up. As a prospective student in my Masters of Science in Human Genetics program, I would like you to join me as a guest. Prominent geneticists from around the world will be in attendance, and it would be my privilege to introduce you to them. The conference focuses on ground-breaking research in your chosen field of study. It’s a singular opportunity for you to meet some of the brightest minds on the planet.
We’ll discuss the details at our next appointment.
Regards,
Thomas Fletcher, PhD
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Dear Mr. Bennett,
I’m forwarding a brochure for the conference center and its attached hotel accommodations. Spartacus University will cover all expenses. In addition to the stimulating lecture agenda, the rooms appear quite comfortable. There’s even a 4-star restaurant on the property. I’m certain we’ll both enjoy this educational experience.
Regards,
Thomas Fletcher, PhD
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Mr. Bennett,
I expect to see your MS application on my desk in the morning. My program is unparalleled, and I demand to know if you intend to apply. I won’t pursue you like a dog chasing a ball. Please inform me of your intentions immediately.
Regards,
Thomas Fletcher, PhD
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Sorry, Professor! I’ve got my letters of recommendation pulled together, and my essay is finished, too. All that’s left is my list of thesis ideas. I’m excited to apply to your grad program... I just haven’t talked to my dad about it yet. It’s complicated. Would you mind keeping this between us until I discuss it with my father? I’d really appreciate it, sir.
Yours,
JR
P.S. The conference sounds amazing, and the hotel looks dope!
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Bennett,
I’ve already told Dean Owens that I want you in my program. My apologies for speaking out of turn.
There are grants available if finances are an issue. With your GPA and my recommendation, I’m sure you can find adequate funding.
Regards,
Thomas Fletcher, PhD
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
No, it’s not that. My dad’s counting on me to join the NFL. He used to play pro ball himself—he was really good, too. But then my mom got sick. Cancer. He quit football so we could spend more time together as a family. When Mom died, he kind of lost it. But then I started playing junior football, and it was like he got back his will to live. So anyway, long story. Like I said, it’s complicated.
Yours,
JR
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Bennett. I understand the influence a parent can have on one’s career. My parents were both professors, and my decision to teach was partially a desire to pass along their legacy.
Be that as it may, it’s important that I know your aspirations. Are you hoping to become a professional athlete? Is my master’s program a second option in case your first choice falls through? I must warn you that research science is a jealous lover—it requires one’s full attention and passion. If this is something you are unwilling to give, please inform me now.
Regards,
Fletcher
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
The thing is… I love football, especially the strategic side of the game. But I don’t eat, drink, and sleep football like my teammates do, y’know? It’s more about the camaraderie for me. Most of my friends are on the team, and everyone loves my dad. They’ve practically adopted him. So it’s not just football... It’s family. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. We’ve already entered my name in the NFL draft for the spring. How am I supposed to tell everyone that I’m backing out now?
But if I could choose a lover, it would be science. I guess I’m in the research closet. ;)
Yours,
JR
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
I see your dilemma. Well, as they say, there are no unsolvable problems. I suggest we sleep on it and discuss the matter again tomorrow. With our combined intellect, I’m certain that we can devise a solution.
Good evening, Bennett.
From: [email protected] To: [email protected]
Good night, Professor. And thanks.
I wake up in the morning, my mind puzzling over JR’s predicament as if it were a Millennium Prize problem. But isn’t that usually the way? Some of my greatest discoveries have followed a good night’s sleep.
I set the issue aside while I prepare for the day ahead: classes, the lab, and a conversation with my sub. But first, coffee. I stop at WLL for a Kashmiruccino and a bite to eat (their Rock & Cinnamon Rolls really are delicious). After giving the stoned barista a tip— ‘don’t smoke weed for breakfast’ —I stroll across campus toward the science building.
The trip to the coffee shop reminds me of the recent conversation with my sub. Hmm… How could roles, expectations, and limits apply to JR’s dilemma? A parent often plays a vital role in one’s career decisions, and setting limits on a parent’s expectations can be difficult. Bennett Senior likely has his son’s best interests at heart. We just need to devise a strategy, one in which JR can express his academic ambitions in a way his father can appreciate.
We need to play ball, as it were.
I pull out my phone. “Hello, Mr. Bennett. Do you have a moment to talk?” I believe in cutting to the chase. Email can be so tedious.
“Professor?” JR sounds both surprised and pleased. “Sure! What’s up?”
“I’ve created a game plan to address your problem,” I say as I stride across the North Quad. “I would like to meet your father.”
“What? You want to meet my dad?” he yelps. “Um… don’t you think I’m too old for parent-teacher conferences, sir?”
I snort into the phone. “I had a more casual setting in mind. Perhaps a party or one of your football games, somewhere relaxed where your father and I can get acquainted.”
“Why do you want to get to know my dad?” His tone holds a grain of suspicion.
Good lord, how hard must I court this student? “I simply want to show him another side of your life, one that isn’t sports-related. He should know that another world exists for you beyond the football field. Withdrawing from the NFL draft is unnecessary at this stage—I suggest playing a long game.”
JR lets out a sigh of relief. “It’d be great if I didn’t have to disappoint my dad right away. So, the plan is to ease him into the idea?”
“Precisely,” I confirm. “When and where should we meet?”
“Well… we usually hang out at Roscoe’s Bar and Grill on Sunday afternoons,” he says. “Y’know, catch the game on the big screen? Lots of guys on the team drop by for a beer. We can get kinda rowdy, though. It might not be your scene.”
“Oh? My interest in scenes is quite diverse.” Doesn’t he know this about me by now? “Besides, footballs are made of leather—and I enjoy a bit of leather now and then. See how much we have in common?”
JR groans in my ear. “Professor, you’re gonna totally blow my mind someday, aren’t you?”
“That is my intention, Mr. Bennett.” Blowing his mind—and other body parts— that’s the kind of long game I want to play.