He was in a position of power and he knew it. The power to pass or fail students’ exams was great. Students not only committed their time to three years of study, but also borrowed a substantial amount to ensure a better life.
Some of the students, particularly those who failed, could have a large debt hanging over them for the rest of their lives. Even those who gained a 2:2 might find the going tough and students realised that a 2:1 or a first was the currency of success. Some would do anything, yes anything, to get a good degree. Sanderson knew that too.
“Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac”. Professor Sanderson thought of the Henry Kissinger quote as he looked across the tutorial room at Marie. There had been students in the past that Sanderson had yearned for, but nothing like this. Marie epitomised his ideal woman. She was 5’ 3” tall, had short black hair cut in a bob and her wide eyes reminded him of Sophia Loren. She had a slender waist but displayed wonderful curves. Her hips could be described as childbearing and she had beautifully pert breasts, not enormously large, but certainly ample. On many occasions he had imagined how she would appear naked and often found the need to masturbate when these thoughts occurred.
Sex with Louise, his wife, was infrequent at best but he still held the desires of a younger man. Not that he was old now. His academic prowess had brought a Professorship two years ago when he was thirty four so at thirty six he felt it wasn’t an unreasonable age difference to Marie who was probably 22 years old. 14 years, so what.
The tutorial came to an end. As the students were leaving he called to Marie.
“Marie, can I have a word with you before you leave?”
Marie stayed behind and when the other students had gone she approached the Professor. He noticed that one of her buttons on her blouse had come undone, revealing the curve of her right breast. He felt a movement in his trousers.
“I have to say that your piece of work on the Romantic Poets disappointed me Marie. I was hoping for much more from you.”
“I’m sorry Professor Sanderson, I found the essay really difficult.”
“Well for one, I’ve told you to call me Mike, not Professor Sanderson, and for another, I’ve always said that I’d be prepared to hold an individual session with you to ensure you’ll get a good grade.”
“OK Mike. Do you want me to do the essay again?”
“Yes, if you want to pass with more than a 2:2. How about if I say you have until next Wednesday to re-submit and if you are still struggling give me a call and we’ll meet up to discuss.”
“Thanks Mike, I might take you up on that.”
Marie turned and left the room.
It was a couple of days later when Sanderson’s phone rang.
“Professor Sanderson, sorry Mike, it’s Marie Donoghue here. I’m struggling with the essay so can I take you up on your offer of help?”
“Of course Marie. Look, I’m off campus soon and won’t be back until later. How about 8 o’clock in my study?”
Sanderson arrived at his study at 7.30 pm which gave him time to prepare. He tidied his study and drew the curtains. He then put books on his armchair which only left the settee to sit on, or perhaps to even lie on. At 8pm there would hardly be anyone in the building and so the scene was set.
Marie knocked on the door at 8pm and Sanderson let her in.
“I’ve been really worried about the essay Mike and I’m very grateful for your help.”
“Of course there’s one certain way of ensuring a pass with a good grade.”
“What’s that?” asked the somewhat naïve Marie.
At this point Sanderson moved towards her, forcibly grabbed her arms and tried to kiss her.
Marie wriggled free and rushed out of the door.
The next day, Mike Sanderson found a note that had been pushed under the study door. It was from Marie.
Dear Professor Sanderson,
I have fancied you since my first year and I loved what I thought was your intellect, honesty and integrity. I would have done anything to be with you, but your clumsy approach last night killed all of that, so please keep to the professional relationship we should have between us.