Chrissie and the Professor

Possibly the after hours engagement with an English Literature professor at college may have been the thing that convinced me that older
men might be more to my liking.
It was during my Junior year at the university when we were discussing the poetry of Arthur Rimbaud, the French poet, that I became infatuated with my professor. He was a typical scholarly gentleman one would expect to encounter at a major university. He was in his mid fifties, and still in remarkable condition for his age. He was about just under 6 feet tall, blue eyes with salt and pepper hair. In class he was charming, witty, obviously well-read and intelligent. When he lectured in class I would hang on his every word.
He introduced me to the writings of Rimbaud and I read every thing
I could get my hands. One day after class I caught up with him as he strolled across the campus to his office. In an attempt to create a dialog with him I proceeded to regale him with the long list of Rimbaud writings that I’d read.
He seemed to be quite impressed with my extensive reading list and as we walked he quizzed me a little with respect to my knowledge of Rimbaud.

Once we reached his office he told me he had some more obscure Rimbaud writings, some of them which had never been published except in French. He said he’d be glad to let me see them, help me with the translations, and perhaps we could discuss them after I’d read them. I told him I’d be thrilled at the chance to have a look at them.
I asked him if I should see his secretary to arrange a meeting in his office.
He replied “ Actually they are in my condo and not in my office. But I rarely transport them in lieu of their old and somewhat delicate condition.”
“I can understand that Sir.” I replied.
‘Christine? Is it?” he said. “You are welcome to stop by my place and have a look at them.” he said.
“Please professor, it’s just Chrissie and I’d be thrilled to stop by and see them.” I said.