Chapter Two - The Nicknames

Here, we dive deeper into Alex's mind and the history of some of his classmates and a dirty professor is revealed.

 

Just our luck. For the very first day of classes, leave it to the faculty to assign the most boring instructor. He is none other than the multi-awarded, most avoided instructor from this college. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a big hand to Professor Alberto.

 

“The concept of death and dying varies from person to person. How one views this is multifaceted. You all have your own biological, emotional, psychological, social, cultural and spiritual factors affecting your views. Hence, no one looks at death the same way another does,” said Professor Alberto. He did so without looking at the powerpoint presentation he made. I have to give him props for that.

 

And I applauded by tapping the cover of my notebook. I kept it closed for the past thirty minutes since I did not find anything worth taking note of in his lecture. Frankly, his having been assigned to lecture on this topic only proved he does not know s**t. I mean, death and dying? Oh, come on. We will go through it eventually and some of us have felt death in our lives. I lost my father four years ago. I learned from experience.

 

“For a patient whose death is inevitable, our goal is focused on pain and symptom management,” said he.

 

Finally, something worth remembering. I opened my crisp notebook and wrote on the very first page:

 

“Priority-dying people need no pain”

 

That's how I remember things better. I try to make them sound more poetic or stupid. I looked over at Marie and I can see she has her total attention on Professor Alberto. Her undivided attention is due to her interest in the subject and not because she found him attractive despite his youth. He is just six years ahead of us, so that makes him around twenty six.

 

I call Professor Alberto the Perve. No, it's not because he is sexually connotated when speaking to his female students. It is because he is sexually connotated when speaking to his male students.

 

“You,” the Perve pointed to Ely Tiu, one of the above-average looking guys in class. “Whenever you masturbate, what do you feel?”

 

“Well, I feel pleasure,” said a reluctant Ely. By this time, the boys behind him were snickering. After all, the Perve's reputation transcends year levels.

 

“When you masturbate, what do you do?” the Perve crossed his arms, trying to look professional but the glitter in his eyes is undeniable. Later tonight, he would think back to this class and stroke his one-eyed snake.

 

Ely was silent. Had this not been a student-teacher conversation in front of forty other students, he would have answered without hesitation. I know Ely. He is the type who would gets hard the moment a girl's skirt would roll up her thigh even for just a quarter of an inch. I have seen him nudge the other boys in class whenever this happens. Hoots and catcalls would then follow. “Take it off, baby,” Ely would say. But, the usual reply would be something like, “Oh for God's sake, Ely, just hire a prostitute and get it over with so we can have some peace,”

 

Now, it seems Ely has met someone whose perversion exceeds his. The Perve now looks at him with undisguised interest and the slightest hint of lust.

 

They said the Perve was very attractive when he was still in college. If that was true, then what happened? Time had not been kind to his now thinning hair (baldness probably ran in their family), sunburnt skin, wrinkled face, sagging man b***s, standing height of barely 5'3” and the ever-present pot belly.

 

“I'm asking you as a teacher. Do not take this the wrong way. This is all for the purpose of learning,” reassured the Perve.

 

All for the purpose of learning? Yeah right. Learning about how your students jack off is more like it.

 

There have been stories of how the Perve has tried to learn more about his students. These were stories handed down from our seniors which we will gladly pass on to the younger generations like a treasured tradition that will go on and on forever.

 

There was one story where, after following up his students in the hospital area, they were getting dressed in the dressing room. The males dress with males, of course. He tried to strike up a conversation with one whose name has remained unmentioned to us for purposes of confidentiality. He asked the student if he has a girl friend. The shy student replied “No sir, there is none,” and this brought a smile to the Perve's face. What followed was one lengthy small talk.

 

“How come you don't have a girl friend? You're attractive. Back in our time, faces like yours ruled the campus,” said the Perve, and the student did not fail to notice how the Perve moved closer.

 

“Well, I'm shy,” said the student. By this time, he was really apprehensive.

 

“Don't be. Students who look like you, who perform in the area as well as you do, have nothing to be shy about. You should carry yourself with more confidence. Maye then, more would take notice of you and idolize you.”

 

The student was silent. He was undressed at this point save for his underwear. Just as he was to turn around to reach into his locker for his civilian clothes, he heard the Perve say, “Have you had sex with a guy?” With this, the Perve moved forward and stroked the student's hairy navel.

 

Of course the student was shocked. He looked incredulously at the Perve and he was covering the little bulge in his briefs.

 

“What's the matter? Did I offend you?”

 

The student nodded. Unable to say more, he turned around and continued dressing himself.

 

“That's the problem with students nowadays. They think their teachers want to have sex with them. Oh come on, man Do you think I'm queer? I was just asking a question. We're all brothers here,” said the Perve in his most theatrical voice that tried its best to masculinize and macho-fy.

 

The student didn't file a complaint. It was said the incident was too minor and besides, the student does not want to go on a legal battle against a professor. What if he lost? How can he go to school without feeling the venomous stares of the other instructors?

 

Anyway, that was barely scratching the surface of the tip of the iceberg. There were more stories, some of which were even verified by my classmates. There were even rumors that not all students declined from his offer.

 

My dear perverted professor. How I wish I could get a sex video of him doing a student and have it shown during the orientation program for the freshmen just so they'd know what they will be risking when going under him.

 

Recon, plan, execute and if rejected, recoil ASAP. That's his modus operandi.

 

“So, are you going to answer my question or would you rather fail in your recitation for the day?” a sweating Ely was asked. Everyone knew it was not just the heat of the room that was getting to him. Some felt pity. The others were amused. I am among them.

 

Across the aisle to my right, I saw Cristie Diaz, the Saint, bowing her head as if in silent prayer. This is how she would look like whenever someone in the classroom is getting humiliated. Sometimes, I wonder if she stews pages of the Old Testament and eat them for breakfast. There's too much good in her that she is so bad for me. If I could, I would hire an exotic male dancer and have him wrestle her to bed. Maybe then she could find release and all this prayerful and religious hoopla could be over with. It would be more exciting if I were able to convert her into one of the Class A hooker-looking girls in our school.

 

Speaking of hookers, there is one in our classroom. An actual hooker by profession and not just by reputation, thus her name, the Hooker. She is Jennifer Trinidad and she sits two rows ahead of me. Some say some of her clients were the respected seniors of a certain fraternity in our college. She started working at the sorry age of 16 to pay for her college. She's not conventionally pretty but she is hooker-pretty.

 

There is also another prostitute in the classroom. A male this time, Denver Cuevas. God, for a Catholic school, we sure have a lot of these people in our campus. He is a real chick boy and even now, he is still what people would say hot. However, his cheater of a dad died right before high school graduation after being shot by his mother. Denver ran away from home for a month without money. They said he sold his body on a nightly basis so only the Social Hygiene Clinic knows of the urethral infections he collected within those thirty nights of hot sex with one stranger after another. Now, with his mother in jail, he has returned home but having been left with little money and with minimal support from his auntie, he lives with his grandmother. To pay for his vices, he still w****s his body but on a twice a week basis this time. What can I say? Old habits die hard.

 

Because of this, he stood out among the other below-average income students here and I baptized him with the name, the Destitute.

 

“So, are you going to answer my question or would you rather fail in your recitation for the day?” repeated the Perve. Several students were elbowing each other and most were trying to suppress a smile.

 

“Well, I whip it out,” Ely finally replied. The whole class sat in undiluted attention, hanging on to his every word. “Then I spit on my palms, make sure they're real slippery, then I grip my dick firmly and start stroking first slowly then rapidly. To keep the action going, I use magazines for my material.”

 

The Perve was the one who listened with the most directed attention of all. He is going to treasure that sentence and remember it every night before he sleeps.

 

“Okay, sit down.” Of course, Ely hastily did so. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, he followed up with another one, seemingly more academic this time.

 

“How can you relate this concept of the pleasure of masturbation to the concept of death and dying?” No one really cared at this point. As far as every one is concerned, Ely will be the butt of all jokes during the break.

 

Almost unsurprisingly, a hand from the front row shot up with the pretentious hesitation of a world-class surgeon about to perform appendectomy. I'd know that hand anywhere. It was one of the two hands whose owner always managed to stay a step ahead of me with regards to academics since grade school up to high school. I thought I would be free from the revolting sight of those hands as soon as I step into college but no, we had to go to the same school and God, I was left eating his dust in the academic race ever since.

 

The owner of the hand is Nick Palacios, revered suck up. For this, I secretly call him the Sucker. Not only is he a suck up but he sucks dick as well.

 

Yes, it has been common knowledge that Nick is gay only he doesn't know that everyone knows yet. How much of an idiot can you be? You can't go to school looking oh-so-gay in your feathered hair and you pinkest long sleeves for a benefit rock concert and expect to be called the most hardcore person in the face of humanity.

 

“The pleasure we get from masturbation reminds us that we are able to feel pleasure; that we are alive!” recited the Sucker. Could this class be more peppered with bull than it already is?

 

“Yes, absolutely. It is good to know at least one of you is listening,” sneered the Perve.

 

“Of course the both of them would be on the same wavelength. For crying out loud their sole reason for living is to choke on cum,” whispered Marie from my left. Leave it to her to say the right things at the right time.

 

“I bet that back when he was young, he had unprotected drunken sex with a woman,” I replied, “and here we have Nick.”

 

“That's stupid. Professor Alberto is just twenty six. If that was so, he had sex with Nick's mother at the age of, like, seven.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn't put it past him. Who knows what other sick and twisted history he has hidden from the rest of the world. Besides, give Nick a pot belly and shave his hair, then you'd see little difference plus...”

 

Marie pinched my shoulder and was looking straight ahead. It seems we got the Perve's attention.

 

“If you have anything interesting to say to the class, Mr. Alacran, you just need to raise your hand,” said the Perve.

 

“Oh, it was nothing. I was just explaining to her what Mr. Palacios just answered a while ago. Please continue, find this topic really enlightening,” and may you burn in Hell with your equally perverted forefathers, I thought.

 

The look of satisfaction on the Sucker's face did not affect me. What I was more concerned with was how much more of this would I have to go through until the next nine months of school is over.