Guest Contributor Chelsea Black: My African Lecturer

So it was my first year of university and I had developed a teenage tendency to crush hard and assume that every man I met was the one. I was young I was naïve but the one thing I wasn’t lacking in was confidence…. or time on my hands.

The target of my youthful affection was my Humanities lecturer. At the time 6 years older than me was a lot and he had the cockiness of a man who knew everything. I had to have him. He had a gorgeous smile, could wax lyrical about feminism and yes, ok his body shape hinted at the cuddly frame he would have in later years but what did I care He stoked the passions of my cerebral fires and I was hooked.

He wasn’t stupid either. He saw the eyes I gave him and spoke to me a little longer than necessary after class. But he was a popular thing and I rarely saw him out of class without an entourage of sappy 1^st years. I knew better than to be part of that group. Instead I stalked from a distance but acted cool up close and personal.

Then one day an opportunity presented itself. I spotted him in the distance and my lower regions did a tumble of excitement. He was with a group on the main concourse but was saying good bye and heading out towards……shit, where was he going?  The concourse was a square in the middle of the campus but there was a complex rabbit warren of exit possibilities. So I ran, knocking down lecturers and students as I tried to intercept him. It was then that I thanked my previous short lived career as a 400 metres running school girl as I put on that last spurt for 50 metres .

And out of the building he emerged, like a short African god smiling at me benevolently. He stopped and I told him I was at a loose end so would walk with him to his next class. Turns out he was heading to his dorm. So we made it back and somehow I managed to invite myself in for lunch. I don’t know how my precious but I had blatant unashamed skills of horniness. He took the bait. He knew what I wanted. We never had lunch.

15 minutes I was heading back dazed and confused. Oh don’t get me wrong we had sex but the whole thing had lasted….well not very long at all! But then I was an ardent reader of Cosmo and knew that sometimes the first time isn’t always great. And maybe he had been really hungry. He didn’t look like the sort of man to skip a meal.

The next time I was ready. We went back to his and when he looked close to finishing after 3 minutes I suggested that I get on top for a bit and let him lie back, relax and watch. Next thing I know I was on the floor. I was there for longer than 15 minutes this time but only because he was lecturing me on the ways of an African man. He really was a very good lecturer. Apparently I shouldn’t offer suggestions and I was to be fucked and like it. Sex was his area of expertise not a woman’s.  I tried to ask him what I was supposed to do if I wasn’t really enjoying it and he laughed at me. Of course I was enjoying it. I was? Well he was my lecturer and he knew best but, I really didn’t THINK I was enjoying it. I asked him about all his feminist teachings and he said that was his job, not his life.

Needless to say my dreams of the older man who would pleasure me to ecstasy died a quick death. The next time I saw him on campus he didn’t’ smile. Years later we spoke on Facebook and he told me that he had then realised that he was a shit shag and I kindly confirmed that he indeed was. So I guess in the end I taught him a thing or two.

© Chelsea Black

Nana Darkoa’s P.S: Chelsea Black has a fascinating blog which I love reading at http://www.chelsea-black.com/, and she is one of the people on twitter who keeps me amused via @chelseablack