The Professor
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Ryver sat in the front row of the lecture hall captivated by their professor’s words,
“Not only is there a moral imperative to treat all members of the LGBTQIA+ community with the same legal rights and subsequent protections as their cis-gendered counterparts, but there is also a strong economic incentive. Now, since the only way to change a conservative legislator’s mind is via their back pockets, we need to push for change through the guise of sound fiscal policy if we ever hope to achieve full legal and social acceptance.”
This produced a small chuckle from the audience.
Professor Oakley placed the microphone onto their lap, then wheeled themselves across the stage towards a large table holding two boxes of different sizes. Grabbing the smallest they began, “Pardon the crudeness of a physical example, but my many years up here have taught me the benefit of leaning into the profundity afforded to the physical.” They coughed into a handkerchief that was quickly secreted away, apologised, and then continued, “This first box represents the direct additional tax benefits associated with the legalisation of gay marriage; the registration fees, venue hire, and the like”. They replaced the first box, taking up the second slightly larger box, “This represents the broader economic benefits gained when we include the run-on effects of employment including functionaries, chefs, florists, jewellers and other related personnel.”
Ryver watched as the professor replaced the box and gestured towards the entirety of the stage, “If however, we were to go beyond just the LG and onto the other members of the community and extend our example beyond marriage to include everything from healthcare, to next of kin rights, to co-ownership of property, to schooling, to banking considerations, to inclusive religious and social celebrations. Well …” They paused, coughed again, and slowly wheeled around the circumference of the stage. “Well, that small box over there suddenly increases dramatically to a size that is quite hard to ignore. We are already witnessing such an effect with the legalisation and taxation of cannabis; lower crime, reduced incarceration rates for minor possessions, increased revenues, and decreases in medical expenses relating to overdoses and homelessness, reductions in drug dependency and alcohol related violence. Simply put, legalisation and acceptance of the natural order of things is, and will continue to be, the right financial choice.”
The professor returned to the centre and replaced the microphone, “I look forward to the day when we can all celebrate the union of two or more members of the community in total freedom.” They winked and added, “Who knows, perhaps the reception could be held at a weedery, and we can toast their unions over a finely vintaged red and our choice of green.” There were a few more chuckles from the audience this time. “Thank you for a wonderful semester.”
As Ryver got up, they caught sight of the professor packing up the boxes off to the side of the hall. They coughed into their handkerchief, this time taking a slight pause to examine the contents. Ryver saw a brief flash of red before the professor spirited it away into their pocket once more. Ryver grimaced. They knew the professor was sick, that was as self-evident as the truths they espoused every lecture, but nonetheless Ryver didn’t want to think the worst was coming.
“Professor?” Ryver’s voice sounded shaky in their ears.
Steadying themselves, they tried a second time, “Professor, I just wanted to thank you. Your teachings this semester have put into words some things that I could barely conceptualise, let alone articulate. You have helped me to understand the true nature of the world and, well, achieve a better understanding of myself.”
The professor’s uncharacteristically large smile caught Ryver off guard.
“The semester’s out. I’m not Professor anymore.” Their eyes glazed over for a couple of seconds as their hand subtly brushed the pocket containing the handkerchief. Shaking their head and blinking, they extended their hand towards Ryver, “Call me August if it pleases.” Ryver gingerly shook their hand, smiled, and then paused,
“Umm, Profess… I mean August, would you… would you want to come out for an end of semester celebration with me?”
August shook their head and sighed, “I’m sure you would have more fun with the students your own age. I remember how I used to party back in my college days …” They trailed off, waving away the topic with their hand. “Besides,” they said gesturing to the wheelchair, “I am afraid that my current predicament precludes the consumption of vast quantities of alcohol, as well as most all activities associated with celebration.” That distant look crept back into their eyes as another coughing fit overtook them once more.
Ryver fought to supress the growing sensation that threatened to release itself as a tear or a shudder, “Those kids don’t interest me in the slightest. They can barely hold a conversation. So no, that kind of celebration holds no interest. In my book, fun is a primarily an intellectual exercise.”
“The code of ethics for ‘professor student relationships’ states ...”
“The code states that it is inadvisable for faculty members to associate with students during semester as doing so may result in preferential treatment come exam time. Nothing is precluded.” Ryver smiled coyly and, picking up the larger of the two boxes, added, “But, as you so kindly reminded us, the semester is over, and the exams are marked. So, we are now just two people who share a common interest and with an excuse to celebrate.” Ryver placed the large box onto the professor’s lap and held it steady. Their hands touched. “So, what do you say August?” Ryver emphasised the last word and, staring directly into the professors’ eyes, winked.
Later that night, Ryver and August found themselves traversing the vast college grounds, under the streetlights, to the sounds of distant revellers and the soft crunch of the autumn leaves underfoot.
“Ryver, this has been great. I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t get to spend another night like this, before, well…” Their words trailed off into the relative silence of their walk.
“Well, I don’t see why we can’t do this again Profess… I mean August. I know that your condition isn’t going to magically fix itself, but to be honest, I didn’t think I would ever get to experience a night like this. Ever.” Ryver cut off a wry laugh. “Most of my dates begin with some doofus espousing to understand the intricacies of sexuality and gender, but when it comes down to it, they really know nothing, and frankly they are just wanting a quick root. They may not care much about how I view myself, but I do, and I am certainly not wanting that.” Their face curled as they all but spat the last word.
“They view the goal as sex, whereas you view it as connection?” said August. Ryver nodded, and the professor continued, “Did you mean what you said, when you implied that you consider this a date? I must be totally frank with you, when I said my condition precludes certain activities, I wasn’t just referring to inebriation.” The professor frowned and coughed into their handkerchief once more.
“August, I meant every word and implication. Your classes, this walk, your mind, your humour, your personality.” Ryver laughed again, and shocking themselves with their own bravado, continued, “They are far more satisfying to me than anything those kids could possibly hope to put inside me. No, I think that I would enjoy more nights like this, and I think you would too. What do you say?”
“It’s a date.”
This short story is from the book, ‘Kink, Volume 1’
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