My short story for L200, Sex, Dreams, and Altered States of Consciousness

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She had a childish, nervous, and perhaps promiscuous resemblence. She was such a child. She reeked of resemblance of a nine-year-old girl, and not just through her appearance but even tone and demeanor. Is it wrong to have the damning urge to deflower an associate instructor in college, 25, who conveniently looks to be nine?
How awful. Any student, or better yet the AI themselves, to even conceive such a raunchy concept should be shunned by the media, in even greater importance to spam my newsreel for the next several weeks. How awful.

"You shouldn't plagiarize!!" She exclaims, "You will get caught!" She proceeds to giggle, nervously. Jesus, why would she giggle? Somehow she's correlating that perhaps if she plays off serious business, business as serious as plagiarizing, in a lighthearted manner, she won't come off as a bitch.

Dark blonde hair, lightening as it slightly rested upon her shoulders. Cute glasses. Cute jewelry. She looked adorable. Maroon blouse, white-laced bra. The size of her breasts were suspect, likely enhanced by that bra, that white-laced bra. Small breasts seem to evoke innocence. The instructor was completely and utterly innocent. What a wondrously evil idea. Ah but class has ended; people around me began to stand up and pack their belongings. Now I was assigned chains, chains that would be my homework damning me for the weekend, and making me publically loathe her to my classmates and my friends. Yet, I secretly loved her. I wanted her. I wanted her, to want me.

How is my life outside the dismal world of elementary composition? I was hungry and needed a cigarette. I only possessed for the latter need. They were cloves, at least. Oh could they ever suffice for food? I've loathed food since coming here. My newfound veganism turned out to be awful. I feel as though I can't eat anything, for fear that it may be laced, laced of all things, with some sort of animal product, but I hate to be an impudent bastard about it. I stepped outside finally...all those God damned stairs. They were notoriously worse going up, of course, and particularly to be a smoker conquering the stairs. I fumbled my back pockets for my cigarettes. They would be crushed. The next search was for my lighter. The taste of an unlit clove cigarette dangling in my mouth in midst of the search for a lighter has gained appreciation in my life. The taste was so sweet, yet so wondrously toxic, like that AI. Maybe her lips could taste like cloves. And once it's lit, it's somehow different. Geeze, and I had made it at least five minutes without thinking about her. Am I a man of contradictions? I loathe big business, but I love cigarettes. I don't like the image that smokers are given. (Plus, I've liked too many other girls, who didn't smoke. So innocent... Fuck them for living the plain life of being a straightedge.)