staring at my prof's crotch

J is this cool guy - I think I met him in Spanish class (which is where I meet all the best people. such as Lalo) and we instantly got along. He's funny and he's one of those people I can sit with and talk with forever - usually about stupid shit that makes us both laugh. I drag him into all sorts of things - got him doing the civil rights investigator stuff and Alianza stuff. He's not a stalker on his own, but I could so see training him as getaway driver. (Which leads me to another story I will spare you, which was me pathetically crying to a guy I would like very much if I were 16 years younger, "Please, don't let me down. I have so little to look forward to these days." We'll see if he lives up to his promise.)

Anyway, one day we were talking out in the hallway and one of my profs walks past. His movements are very Tai Chi-ish and he's so slim that he can't get clothes small enough to fit him - they are all melting off him, and I was always fearful that they would fall off and he would be there prancing about the room naked, telling us about case and controversy requirement from Article III - and how could I listen?

J tells me that they are frequently in the same men's restroom on the second floor, and he does the urinal stance for me (once again - so glad I'm not a boy!). He says this prof always hides himself from view, leaning forward and shielding his private self from view with his arms. J's theory is that Prof's "Amendment" is so huge that he doesn't want anybody to see.

How can I NOT stare at my prof's crotch all class period long, all three days a week? How?

I'm so afraid my final exam answer will be somehow a question about genitalia size.

Sigh. Take the middle school teacher out of the classroom, but you can never get the middle school classroom out of the former teacher. I used to think my kids who said things such as, "You're one of us," were speaking of ethnic solidarity. Now I realize - they were just calling me immature. And they were right.