Mr. Johnson glances over at us. He knows this isn’t normal, but he doesn’t say anything, just wanders from desk to desk to see if anyone needs help.
“Did you watch the video again?” Serena asks.
I busy myself with my beakers and flasks, setting up my burner, trying to act all casual, like it’s no big deal. “I did. But I don’t think it’s Mr. Johnson.”
“Are you kidding? It looks just like him,” she says. Serena is beautiful, but it’s an out-of-date beauty. She’s too pristine, too put together. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled, clothes pressed. Reminds me of what people in the eighties expected pretty to be. I’m so tempted to dump my beaker of water on her head, see what shape wet gel makes with her hair without the authority of a brush and comb around to put it back in its place.
I seek out Mr. Johnson across the room, follow him with my eyes to make sure he doesn’t sneak up on us while we’re talking about him. Somehow I think he knows anyway. It’s like he can sense his own presence elsewhere. That old saying about ears burning, or whatever. He continues to glance our way and I keep averting my eyes to make it seem as though I was looking at the instructions on the whiteboard instead of him.
“I looked at the full movie and the names in the credits; I didn’t see his anywhere,” I say. “It wasn’t him.”
Boyfriend leans into the conversation and scoffs at me. “Have you ever watched a porn before? They never use their real names.”
My face heats up. I’ve watched porn before. A little. Very little. Not that I’m opposed to it at all, but when you share accounts and passwords with your parents it’s difficult to buy or search for things on the internet you don’t want others to know about. I guess I should’ve known the actors weren’t using their real names since most of them have names like “Johnny Dong” and “Lana Gnitsif”—which I thought was kind of a pretty name until I realized it was Anal Fisting spelled backwards.
“The guy in the movie is way too young,” I say, doing everything I can to convince myself and them that they’re wrong about the teacher I admire so much.
“Yeah,” Serena says, running her finger around the rim of my beaker. I swear if she tips it over and spills water on my assignments, I’ll break the damn thing over her head. I almost want her to, just to see if I have the courage to do it. “Because it was made ten years ago.”
“Damn,” I mumble. I didn’t even bother to look at when the movie had been made. By the low quality of the film, it makes sense that it was made ten years ago compared to some of the other movies that were on the website. I can’t get too down on myself for not paying attention to these things, though. After all, my attentions were elsewhere—a couple times that night.
I look at Mr. Johnson again. Really look this time. The shapes his body makes when he’s standing or leaning. The different facial expressions. He has the best smile. Genuine. The kind that makes wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. The actor in the video didn’t have those. In fact, he looked as though he’d never smiled a day in his life.
Could it really be him? I can’t imagine why someone so brilliant would resort to porn. I mean, unless he just really wanted to. Not that there’s anything wrong with porn. It’s a perfectly satisfactory profession for a lot of people, and I hear there’s good money to be made in something like that. I’m totally all for the sex-positive movement. It’s just, he doesn’t seem like the type who would put himself out there for the world to see. That’s a bell that can never be un-rung. When someone goes into a profession like teaching, there are background and credit checks to be had. Every decision you’ve ever made in your life is under scrutiny. You basically have to be a nun or a priest in your former life. Squeaky-clean as fuck.
I’m doing the math in my head. In order for him to get to where he is now, a professor in one of the best private universities on the west coast, he would’ve been in college himself back when the movie was made. He also would’ve known videos like those could eventually destroy his career if anyone were to find out. Why would he risk his entire career?
“The only way to find out if it was really him,” Serena continues, “is if someone sees the goods. Also, there’s that birthmark on his hip that would totally give him away.”
There’s that, but I could tell just by seeing his dick. I would know it anywhere. I watched the video several times and have it ingrained in my memory.
“How are you going to do it, just walk up and ask to see his birthmark?” I ask, skeptical.