Crime & Punishment
ahorsewithnoname
Crime & Punishment
By ahorsewithnoname
Description: A sociology professor at a well-respected New York City college becomes embroiled in a sordid trial and discovers bad luck firsthand. In a series of unfortunate events, things get worse, then better, then worse, then better, and, wait for it . . . then worse. Erotic, entertaining, and giving new meaning to the phrase, "the monster awakens."
Tags: college, professor/student, erotic, romance, well-endowed, bad luck
Published: 2023-06-25
Size: ≈ 8,496 Words
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Crime and Punishment
Preface
Present Day
It was the strong scent of lemon pepper that first assaulted my olfactory organs, causing a quick pang of hunger to grip my mid-section. Were I a dog, I suspect drooling would soon follow.
As I opened my eyes, I could see that the feast was worthy of this special meal. My lack of concern for the rising cholesterol problem in America was evident in the three breadcrumb-encrusted, fried pork chops as well as in the side dishes, which included au gratin potatoes and broccoli with cheese sauce. Dessert was New York-style cheesecake, simple yet elegant. Two glasses of milk, whole milk to be sure, sat in plastic cups. The plastic ware was seated on top of a cloth napkin, which in turn was resting on top of a pure white linen tablecloth. Almost perfect. I opened the small cardboard box, and inside was a container that I immediately recognized as from the warden’s wife, Sondra; homemade applesauce to compliment the pork chops. Now it was perfect.
I looked up at the man who delivered the feast and, catching his eye, nodded. Then I focused to his right on the man in the suit and tie. His look was that rare combination of pensive resignation and mild amusement. I silently mouthed “thank you” to him. He nodded, looked at me for a few more seconds, then turned and left, followed by the server.
Starting with the first chop, I cut carefully yet determinedly and fell into reflection yet once again on how I ended up at this stage of my life, sitting in solitary confinement on death row at a maximum security prison, just hours away from my inevitable execution, wearing the bright orange uniform of an Attica prison convict.
Chapter One
1985
“Fight or flight is a rather common behavioral trait among most animals. More aggressive species and/or more aggressive specimens within species tend toward fight, while less aggressive ones are more inclined toward flight. Humans commonly prefer flight, but by no means aren’t capable of fighting, and it is this very diversity that makes humans the most heterogeneous species on the planet.”
As the Director of Graduate Studies, Department of Sociology at Columbia University, it wasn’t often that I got to speak to first-year students. But each year, I would make an appearance at one of the large, auditorium-based classes, shock the graduate student cum instructor, and spend the better part of an hour imparting some of my decades of experience on the young minds, trying not to sound preachy or pontificating.
A young man about halfway up raised his hand, the smirk on his face indicative of his upcoming attempt at some form of wit at my expense.
I nodded at him.
“Professor, aren’t you being politically incorrect by calling humans hetero when it's so obvious that many are openly gay, or are you of the “don’t ask, don’t tell” caveman mentality?”
There was an immediate rise in the murmuring, a few chuckles, and even a few “oh shits,” but the one I liked best was “watch this,” obviously not a freshman but someone who had attended one of my previous lectures.
“Mister...?” I inquired of him.
“Jarden.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Jarden. Thank you for your helpful insight into human relations. You would be stunningly correct in that humans are most certainly not ‘hetero,’” and I noted with glee that Jarden’s chest was puffing up immodestly, “except that I stated that humans are ‘heterogeneous,’ which means diverse in character or content.” There were a few “Oh, snaps,” but I was by no means finished. “Now, judging by your apparel,” as people in the audience took in his high school varsity-lettered jacket, “you may be spending too much time smashing heads and not enough time enriching yours. I would suggest that you seek the help of the beautiful young lady next to you whom you came in with,” the girl’s eyes peeking up at me from her smartphone, “but from the way she is sitting, her posture, and the eye-roll that she gave when you imparted such wisdom upon all of us, I suspect that your desire to advance your booty call meter with her will be met with a less than desirable response.” Time for the final blow amidst the scattered howls of laughter. “Or perhaps you were simply too enamored with your last test score of 18, not 18 out of 20, Mr. Jarden, but 18 out of 100, the lowest test score in the history of this department. I believe,” as I started to clap, “a round of applause is due to Mr. Jarden.”