Her Dirty Professor Read Online Free PDF

pluck and shave my entire body. This takes up most of my time. That’s when I realize I’ve really let myself go when it comes to upkeep. I mean, I exercise because I want to stay healthy. Sick body, sick mind, they say. I need my mind on top of its game, so a daily workout routine is essential. Unfortunately, pruning isn’t part of that regimen. I don’t think I’ve shaved above my knee since I was sixteen, and I’m starting to wonder if my poor razor is going to crap out on me before I’m done. It doesn’t, but there will definitely be some razor burn going on tomorrow.
    Now, back to the perfect outfit, since I have yet to pick it out. I try on my one dress. It’s cute. When I pull my hair up and add a pair of flats with it, it’s even cuter. But cute is not what I’m going for. So I opt for a pair of jeans that fit my curves quite nicely. It’s not going to knock him backwards when he sees me, but at least it won’t give him second thoughts about our hook up—I hope.
    As if telepathically sensing my dilemma, my roommate walks in. We’re not all that close, but she’s let me borrow clothes before, and she’s tidy, so we get along just fine. She also has impeccable style. She can throw together some of the most random things and make it work. And she definitely likes to show off the goods.
    She lifts a brow when seeing me standing in front of the full-length mirror. “You have on your nice jeans. What’s the occasion?”
    I look down at my “nice jeans”, as she calls them. The only thing that makes them nicer than the others is that they’re the only ones I own without holes in the knees.
    Obviously, I’m not about to tell her about a possible hook-up with my teacher, so I keep it vague. “I have a date.”
    “With a man?” she says, skeptical.
    “Yes, with a man.”
    “Oh, weird. I thought you were a lesbian.”
    I frown, looking at her over my shoulder. “Why would you think that?”
    “I’ve never heard you talk about guys before.”
    I shrug. “That’s because no one has caught my eye until now.”
    “How long’s it been?” she asks.
    “Couple years.”
    She scrunches up her face. “You’re going on the first date you’ve had in a couple of years and you’re wearing that?”
    I look at my reflection again. I look fine, I guess, but nothing about this outfit screams “rip off my clothes.”
    “I don’t really have anything else to wear,” I say.
    “This won’t do.” She goes to the plastic mobile closet she keeps in the corner of the room. The dorms are terrible when it comes to storage space. Or any kind of space for that matter. Our beds are practically on top of each other. Since we’d never met prior to becoming roommates, we had to learn to not be shy really quick. Privacy is not a luxury we have.
    “I have the perfect thing,” she says.
    She pulls out what I think is a shirt at first, before realizing it’s just a really short, red, spandex-stretchy dress. “Try this on. The color will look stunning with your dark hair,” she says.
    I take off my clothes. I’ve been wearing my socks long enough for them to leave a mark around my ankle that I hope fades before I leave. The dress hugs every curve of my body and she’s right, the color really is striking against my pale skin and brown hair. It’s shorter than anything I’m used to wearing, just long enough to hide my butt cheeks. Every time I sit or stand, I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t ride up.
    I look good, but I can’t help but feel somewhat self-conscious. I don’t wear things like this. Girls with confidence, girls like Serena and my roommate, wear things like this.
    “Oh, and you have to wear these with it,” she says, handing me a pair of black six-inch Louis Vuitton stilettos with red soles. It’s a good thing we have the same shoe size as well or I would’ve been wearing scuffed blue flats with it. A bold choice that someone other than me might’ve been able to pull off.
    She takes in the