A Student Strips in My Classroom

Hell-fer-Sartain, Fall 1984

I hated every minute of every day of my 232 days in Hell-fer-Sartain...ugh...Texas, where I was exiled just after getting my M.A. from Indiana University -- teaching bonehead English to classes of homophobes, if I could make it to campus through the constant gridlocked traffic.  But one incident  almost made one day bearable.

One of my students in Survey of English Literature was Chad, a soccer player from Australia, tall, slim, tanned, in the habit of flirting with me, or at least saying things that sounded like flirting, like"Can I knock you up later?" ("Can I come to your office?").

One day early in the semester, I was lecturing on Shakespeare, when Chad came running in late, still in his gym clothes: a t-shirt emblazoned with the school logo and red shorts.  He plopped down in the first row.

"Hamlet's soliloquy...." I began.

Then, suddenly, out of nowhere, Chad's shirt came off.  I saw a smooth, tanned, muscular torso.

On the beach, he might not have been impressive, but in a classroom on a dull September afternoon, he was stunning.

And shocking.  My jaw dropped.  I could not have been more surprised, not even if the whole class disrobed in front of me.

The room became very silent.    All eyes were on Chad as he carefully folded his shirt and put it in his gym bag.

Oblivious to the staring eyes, Chad took his gym trunks off.  Underneath was a well-packed jock strap.

Finally I was able to speak.  "Um...Chad?"

"What?"  He reached into his gym bag, pulled out a pair of jeans, and wriggled them on.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"  Next a fresh t-shirt came out of the gym bag and wrapped onto his muscular body.  And a notebook and pen to take notes.  He looked like a college student.

I continued my lecture, and called Chad up to my desk after class.  His excuse was: "I didn't want to be late."

Apparently students in Australia changed clothes in the classroom all the time.

Or maybe he just did it for my benefit.