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Chapter 4

EPOV

Office hours are quite possibly the worst part of my day. For every ten students that come into my office, only one usually has the appropriate intentions in mind and is truly seeking academic advice. The other nine are either miserable brown-nosers trying to ingratiate me with their presence, or girls who harbor a sexual fantasy that includes a tryst with their professor in his office. If those girls only knew who I really was, they would know they were wasting their time. I am used to having teaching assistants that can field questions but my rapid transfer to Carnegie Mellon has made that impossible for this semester.

I look out my window and see the leaves changing on the trees, a sight that I would not see in California. It reminds me of my childhood in Chicago as a boy. This time of year would always signify football season. Emmett, my older brother, was the fullback on our high school team, while I was in the band playing the trombone. Even though I was nerdy and bookish, a lot of Emmett's friends took me under their wing and tried to help me out with the girls at school. I remember in my sophomore year Emmett took me to my first "keg party" after one of the football games, and I got my first kiss (and make out session) with Tanya Denali, the head junior varsity cheerleader. I think that was also the first time I realized that something must be wrong with me, although at that point I couldn't verbalize what it was.

Numbers and music were always my escape, and still are to a great extent. People always felt that these practices were contradictory to each other, being a math whiz and a musician, but I think they are perfectly complementary. Both mathematics and music are exact sciences. There is a right answer and a wrong answer, and the more you practice, the better you become. Discipline is critical as well. You can have the right answer, but if given at the wrong time it can disrupt the entire sequence of events.

This need for discipline is why at 6:05 during my first course at CMU I nearly lost my temper with the tall brunette that had the audacity to come in late to my class. I had spent the entire weekend preparing for this class, knowing that it would be my only opportunity to teach masters students this semester. I really needed to show that I would be a worthy member of the faculty here. And this girl saunters into class thinking she can just come in late and sit in the back and disrupt my entire plans. Incorrect and unacceptable!

I know the type, you see. Isabella Swan is quite attractive in an unsuspecting sort of way, and whether she realizes it or not, people cater to her and allow her to be the exception to their rules. I can imagine that she's had many a professor who has accepted her tardiness, given her the benefit of the doubt, and believed her excuses in the past. Unfortunately for her, I will make sure she learns above any financial concepts in this semester that she has to follow the rules like everyone else. I will seek out opportunities to point out her failure to follow them if she does not. I realize I might be the only man for the job at this point because I am impervious to her charms. You see, although I clinically can look at her and realize her beauty, I also know an incontrovertible fact about myself.

Although I am completely healthy, I have a rare case of male impotency. I cannot maintain an erection with a woman long enough to complete the act of ejaculation, and believe me, it's not from a lack of trying in a variety of ways. My doctors believe that it is psychological rather than physical, but at 32, I have resigned myself that this is how it will be for me and I simply must make the best of it. I have had somewhat fulfilling relationships with women, but in the end it's always the same. They think that they can change me, can make me whole again, and when they realize that it will never be, they move on. At Stanford I made the mistake of getting involved with one of my colleagues in another department. After eighteen months Jessica realized that I would never be able to satisfy her in the way she deserved and we ended our relationship. Unfortunately she decided to share it with the rest of our colleagues and I became the butt of many jokes for male and female colleagues alike. Women pitied me or thought that they could change me. Men either tried to offer me advice or simply questioned my sexuality, since "a real man" could do the deed. It was simply ludicrous that a group of intelligent educators could be so misinformed.

So that is the reason why I left Stanford and headed as far away as I could geographically. I needed a fresh start where no one knew me or cared about my past. I would isolate myself and enjoy my work, maybe even write a book in my spare time.

But Isabella Swan, or any student for that matter, would not embarrass me by disregarding my rules. They would all follow my order and in return I would make Finance a great course for them.

When she stomped off with the syllabus, I could tell that I had flustered her. Did she believe I was insinuating she was old? How ridiculous – surely she couldn't believe I was insinuating such a thing. But again, I am sure that a woman like Isabella Swan is used to men being coy and flirtatious. To state the obvious that she isn't the greenest student in the class should be viewed as a compliment.

"Excuse me, Professor Cullen?"

I look up to see a young man who is barely a day over eighteen standing in front of me, shoulders hunched over, intimidated to be walking into my office. I recognize the student as Peter Wills from my undergraduate finance class. He reminds me a lot of myself when I was that age, young and faltering and nervous about approaching my professors. I am reminded why I chose teaching in the first place.

"Peter, please come in, how can I help you?"