Saturday, March 27, 2010

Adorkable

Thursday night I had a speaking engagement at the august local institution I always think of as the University of the Mall Parking Lot. It was the second speech there in as many weeks. Last week my talk was in front of an all-female class. Thursday, though, I had guys in the audience. Some actual cute ones, too.

There are always a couple of kids at these things who take a hard focus on me when I give my speech about making a living in the creative arts. I think they see me as an experienced success in my field, god bless ‘em, and during the Q&A period these particular students will inevitably ask a lot of complicated questions--they're trying to impress me, generally. There was one in the audience that night, sitting in the front row, scribbling notes. He’d pause when I’d pause, and when I’d begin speaking again his hand would furiously dash across the page while he squinted at me through his wide, heavy-framed geek glasses.

The kid was no more than nineteen or twenty and totally adorkable—he had a close-cropped blond head, a pointy chin, bright blue eyes, and was struggling to grow a beard but only coming up with a patchy crop of peach fuzz. His ratty plaid shirt was open three buttons to expose a pale white chest and the tiniest patch of hair. I’d smile at him from time to time and make eye contact, but I couldn’t shake the conviction that he was transcribing every damned word I said. When it was time to open the floor to questions, his hand shot up immediately. He asked something so convoluted and intellectual that I wasn’t sure he understood it himself—something about how our brand of creative artists were the last bastion of . . . whatever. It was the kind of thing that kids think about when they’re young and noble and full of abstract ideals. I answered him as best as I could, but the entire time I was looking at his fuzzy face and thinking, Damn, kid. You are so fuckable.

I wasn’t at all surprised when he approached the table afterward. He lingered after the more casual questioners left, then approached and gave me his name. “I think it’s really, really great of someone of your stature and professionalism to take an entire evening out to come talk to aspiring artists like us when you have nothing to gain by it whatsoever, I mean, it’s like, really great of you.” I couldn’t pay much attention to his hyperbole. I have no stature. Professionalism, maybe. Basically, I make a living doing what I love, and that’s about as far as it goes. But mostly I didn't respond to his overblown fawning because his backpack was pinning down one shoulder of his plaid shirt. With those buttons he'd left opened, when he leaned forward, I could see the edge of a flat, pink nipple.

“Yes,” I said, nodding, deadpan. “It is really, really great of me.”

He didn’t realize I was joking until I cracked a grin. He pinkened. “Oh! You’re joking.”

“I’m a verbal person,” I assured him. “I like getting out and meeting people. And I like talking about myself. Opportunities like this are the perfect combo.”

“And I guess you get to find some new groupies when you do, huh?”

“Sometimes.” I don’t think he knew what he was opening himself up to. I cocked my head and asked, “Why, are you volunteering?”

The kid turned a shade of beet red, all over. I swear I could watch the flush start in his pale, white cheeks and spread to his ears and forehead, and then rush all out once down his neck and exposed chest. He looked stricken and afraid to move, rooted to the spot. It almost made me hard in my jeans. Christ, if that embarrassment was almost so tangible, I could’ve scooped it up and slapped it on my dick as lube to bang him—which I very badly wanted to do. When he could finally move, he opened his mouth and stammered, “Hah-hah, you’re joking again.”

I smiled and gave him a card, but not before I scribbled my cell number on the back. “Call or email me sometime if you have more questions. Or if you want to talk,” I said innocently enough, but with meaning. He turned the card over in his hands and stared at it for a few seconds, then nodded, mumbled out thanks, and scurried off.

Cute little fucker. I doubt he’ll call, but enough adorkable and eager-to-impress college kids have followed through in the past and ended up with their legs over my shoulders. It could happen.

10 comments:

  1. I have a t-shirt that has a cartoon on it and a the same word, "Adorkable," on it. In fact, the cartoon bears an uncanny resemblance to me.

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  2. From what I've seen, you're pretty adorkable yourself. I mean it as the highest compliment possible.

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  3. Wow that is such an erotic story. I hope he rings. I want you to fuck him.

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  4. I hope so too, Andrew, but I might've frightened that bashful little woodland creature back into the forest.

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  5. Nice story. . .I'm a college prof myself, and have similar experiences at the end of a term from time to time. This term, I have this twink boy in one of my classes; on the last day of class, he stayed after to chat with me. His most telling comment: "I'll try anything," with that bashful, meaningful look in his eye. Time will tell. . .

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  6. Rob,

    Do they really wait for the last of the term to come on to you? In my experience, the ones who are interested have always made their interests known pretty early on in the semester.

    Have they ever done the thing with you in which they say, "Hey, where do you hang out?" and start to name their favorite spots and casually slip in the name of a local gay bar? I get that one a lot too.

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  7. Did you ever hear back from him?

    Back eight years ago, I had one student, a guy on the soccer team, who once told me he'd do anything for an A. I still have the email somewhere... in his case, I don't think he consciously knew what he was offering, but I'm also 90% sure subconsciously, his deeper desires were acting out, given how his overwhelming desire to please his coach, his dad, & me as his prof.

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  8. Anonymous,

    I never did hear from that kid, no. A pity. He was so damned adorkable.

    I think yours might have known what he was offering. He might not have wanted to say, and he might have wanted you to take the lead, but that phrase is well-known enough that he should've known once it came out of his mouth how it could've been interpreted.

    I've had many a student use it as intended.

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  9. Crap, I could have sworn I signed that last comment...

    I still wonder (obviously) -- since he did this in writing.... ok, now I"m going back to my archives:

    Email, early in the semester:

    I wanted to check and see how you thought I was performing in class discussion and or if I was meeting your expectations of high quality work. Please let me know if there is anything in which I can improve, as I am trying to acheive success and a good grade in your class. [snip - details of our class] I am open and willing to take any criticisms or suggestions you have, as I'm sure you have much more knowledge than I on this subject=) Thanks for all your help, see you in class.

    Email, later in the summer:

    I didn't get a chance to talk to you after class today but I wanted to tell you how important it is to me that I get an A in your class. I can assure you I am willing to put forth the maximum amount of work in order to achieve this. As the syllabus states 50% of my grade is based on participation in discussion and the other 50% is based on the final paper. I hope that you wouldn't mind me coming to you every couple of classes or so to check and see how I'm doing in the class discussions and where you think I am as far as my grade goes. Also I would like to meet more than once with you about my final paper to ensure it meets your standards of an exceptional paper. I hope I'm
    not being overbearing with this but it is important to me that I do very well in your class. Thanks again, see you on Monday.

    ....

    You're familiar with the phenomenon of southern boys at the most elite institutions of the region who can't quite articulate what they want... I still look back at these, & see it both ways.

    I also had an situation in that class, right at the end, where I had to call the police on a student; I'll save the details for a private email. But I called this student out of class (oh yeah, he always sat next to me, & I knew what boxers he wore every day, as he stretched...) and since I had a strong rapport with him, I asked him for his cell phone to call the campus cops (this was just long enough ago that maybe 50% of folks had cell phones, as opposed to now). When I called him out, he was terrified that he had done something wrong, & I was going to discipline him.... not ask him to help & to be the classroom leader while I handled the emergency.

    So... something was going on-- I was too cautious to do anything about it, & I certainly didn't think at the time that he knew what he was doing.

    --MassBear

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  10. MassBear,

    Well, in context, maybe his statement isn't quite the cliched "I'll do ANYTHING, perfesser!" that I assumed. It actually sounds like the kind of eager plea for extra credit that an overachieving golden boy would write when he's certain of his winsome charisma. Erring on the side of caution is always best in these situations, anyway.

    I think I know of your other incident from your journal.

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