Smoo's blessing, Smoo's curse

Working at a women's university, especially as a single man, is both a blessing and a curse. It's impossible not to notice that quite a few of my students are gorgeous, bright, and increasingly prone to wearing revealing clothing. When one of them, a former student, popped into my office yesterday to say hi and tell me that I was her favorite teacher (we teachers generally love that sort of thing), I couldn't help noticing how well she filled out her jeans. Tight. Firm. Ready.

Ever since I started working at Smoo, I've tried to avoid writing about lustful thoughts associated with certain students, but I'd be a liar if I pretended I've had nothing but pure thoughts. At the same time, I don't want to give the reader the impression that I view the student population as a never-ending flesh parade; that's simply untrue. These are women-- with plans, dreams, and hopes. That's what I keep in mind when I interact with them.

But men are built to think with their plumbing. That's almost impossible to control. What can be controlled, however, is male behavior. In this regard, I've been a saint. I conduct myself both inside and outside of class the way I would in an American school, i.e., as if I were living in constant fear of a sexual harassment lawsuit. I don't hold back the cutest student in class to ask her giggle-inducing questions. I don't flirt with students during placement interviews. I don't make a habit of ogling women's asses in the hallway or in class. I give my phone number and email address to all my students at the beginning of every semester. Except for one special case, I never go out with my students one-on-one, and I try to avoid end-of-class scenarios in which a student hangs back to ask uncomfortably personal questions. In other words, whatever might be going on in my mind, it never translates into reality.

I am, in short, a man trapped in a man's body.


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