Chapter Four: Why I am Like This?:

How did I end up like this? Why do I do this? I’ve thought about this for quite some time. I think it can be traced back to when I was in college.

I was about eighteen or nineteen at the time. I was the first daughter to go to university in my family. I didn’t know much about myself at first. It felt like I was just following script. This was okay, right? I thought so at first.

Then, as you guessed, I met a man.

You know how the story goes. Girl falls for her good-looking mentor. He was older than me. About in his thirties, maybe? I think he was a bit older. The whole thing was a bit odd to me. He wasn’t that attractive in the beginning. He could have any girl that he wanted, but he chose me. Yes, he was the one to pursue me.

It began the first week in September. I think it was. It had to because football season was in full gear. Now that I think about it, it was a Friday afternoon too. I didn’t have any plans for the future at the time. I had just gotten out of my last class for the day. I was heading back to my dorm when someone called my name. I turned and saw an upperclassman running up to me. I don’t think I’ve seen them before.

“Yes?” I asked. The upperclassman, I don’t remember their name, caught up to me. I stared at her, confused.

“Can I help you?” I asked. She asked me if I was my name. I said yes.

“Oh good,” this upperclassman said. “Professor K is looking for you.” I had never heard of this professor before. What could he want from me?

“Okay, what for?” I asked.

“He said that he wanted to talk to you personally. About a project that he’s working,” he said. The more he spoke, the more baffled I became. I heard there was a project that one of the professors in the science department was working, but was this the same guy? I just had to know.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“He’s in the greenhouse across campus,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. I walked down the direction he pointed me in.

----------

The first encounter was nothing that I expected. I wasn’t expecting much, but still. The professor in question, K, wasn’t exactly the studmuffin I heard from some of the senior girls in the science club. (I wasn’t in the science club. I just heard the whispers in the cafeteria.) It’s been years since I last visited this memory. I will do my best to paint a picture of this man. Bald or slightly bald, bushy mustache, always wore sweaters and jeans, age spots on his small hands…

No. I don’t think that’s right. I might have him confused with another science professor. I definitely think K was bald with a mustache. Well, not completely bald. He might have been starting to.

Anyway, I found him tending to some strangely colored roses in the green house. At first, I wasn’t sure if this was him. I stood on my tiptoes for a better look.

“Hello?” I asked. It looked like he had headphones as he worked. I frowned as I walked closer.

“Hello? Professor K?” I asked. He didn’t look up at me. I frowned as I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. He finally lifted his head and moved one of his headphones to the side.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” he said. I remembered looking deep into those hazel-green eyes as I tried to figure out this weird man out. Oh yeah, he did have some beautiful eyes. I don’t think I’ve seen any like those ever again. Not even my husband’s eyes could compare.

“Are you Professor K?” I asked. He lowered his thick sunglasses.

“May I ask who’s asking?” he replied.

“Um… I was sent here by an upperclassman. He said you wanted to talk to me about some project?” I said. That sounded uncertain saying that out loud. It took a moment for him to register what I was talking about.

“Oh!” he said. He asked if I was really my name. I confirmed as such.

“Excellent! Do you like my roses? I bred them myself,” he said. I just stood there, blinking. I had so many questions. My confidence in this man started to wane. If I had said no, that would’ve been the end of the story.

But it didn’t turn out that way, did it?

This story has holes in my memories. His face was blurred out in my mind. But I do remember his fingers. Oh, he was good with his fingers. I sometimes touch myself whenever I think about them.

I frowned as another thought crossed my mind.

My sister said that he groomed me. Hm…