Batch

07-20-2013 -- I'm on a college campus, taking a class. The instructor is assigning classwork and homework, and we're working on it. The overall class seems to be some sort of art class, but it spans a wide variety of artistic forms. The biggest thing is that, at the end of the semester, we are going to New York, where we will be making a red, white and blue balloon dress for the Statue of Liberty for some sort of patriotic celebration. I think during the course of the dream I attend three classes, but all three sort of flow together.

During the first class, several students show up for the class who just don't seem to be very into it, not paying much attention, showing little interest, and leaving early. The classwork is some very interesting reading and questions, and I am really into it and find that I am able to do an excellent job with them, and earn compliments for them. Unfortunately, before the class is over, I am called away to home for a few minutes to do something for my mom. Thankfully it doesn't take long, and I am soon back for the rest of the class. As it ends, I am trying to find all my papers and assignments, and hoping I don't get called away again, as it seems sort of unprofessional.

During the next class, some of the students are talking about others that were here for the previous class, but aren't here today, and they are the same ones who didn't really seem to be into things. One student is telling of one of them who supposedly left because he had to tutor another student in another subject, but the person telling the story insists the supposed tutor doesn't know the subject well enough to tutor a first grader and teach them anything. There is also some discussion about a somewhat cute brunette, probably about 16 or 17, that was here the last time, but isn't here now, but then she shows up with the gray haired professor (who looks kind of like a non-cartoon version of Lisa Simpson's band teacher), arguing almost violently with him about her being late, and her not having the assigned homework done. She seems to be demanding to know why he can't cut her some slack, and he finally loses it and almost screams at her "Because I'm the ogre ... erm ... teacher, that's why!" Then he tells her that she is well on her way to becoming an ogre, and we all start to chuckle. Then he puts her in charge of the whole class while he goes and runs some short errands, and we're suddenly no longer laughing!

The first part of the class is taking place in an almost bowl-shaped seating area just outside of the building the class officially takes place in, and we start by turning in the homework, which is one of those sort of adult coloring sheets, perhaps 11x17 or 12x18, with a black-lined image that one is supposed to color using fine markers or colored pencils. It is a picture of perhaps five generic super heroes in poses outside a building. Our assignment was to color it in, developing the heroes or the building or the scene ... whatever we were interested in. I concentrated on the heroes, designing their costumes and hinting at their powers, as many did, but some worked on the scene or the building. One didn't seem to have much time, and just took two colors and did what he wanted throughout with those colors, and left the rest in black and white.

The professor is handing out the classwork, and it doesn't seem to be nearly as in-depth or involved as the last time, but instead seems to be mostly ads for Universal Studios. Joking, I raise my hand and ask if this is a hint about our next field trip. He says actually they are trying to arrange a visit, but for now we are to compare and contrast the different ads and decide which ones work better, and why. Soon we move into the lecture hall and continue the class.

The teacher seems kind of disappointed with us as a class, because out of the entire class, only me and one other voted to do some extra prep work for this New York visit, and he worries we aren't taking the honor of being the ones tasked with making this massive balloon dress seriously enough.

One of the students in the class is another professor who is taking the course. She is a fairly attractive red head, perhaps about thirty five, with a reasonably nice figure. She is wearing a sort of orangish dress that comes down to just below her knees, kind of muted and professional, but she is doing some minor dance steps that hike it up two or three inches above the knee, before saying oops, she shouldn't show her legs like that or "..." (a student whose name I can't remember) will overheat himself. I don't quite follow the transition, but within minutes, this red headed professor is on her belly on the ground, showing off one of her favorite exercises, which somehow has her undulating like an earthworm. The thing about this is that it has her dress riding up her body and pooling around her waist, showing every inch of her luscious stocking-clad legs. Worse, something about the movements also causes her panties to not hold, and they go falling down her legs, flashing the entire class. Pleasantly shocked, one of the male students turns to glance at me and says "Did I just see ..." "Yes ... yes you did," I reply, while the ladies in the class are horrified, and all the men are trying to find a better viewing position.

Thankfully (or not), we're just about done for the day, so we start gathering up our things as the professor/student straightens out her clothes. She leaves, and goes to her office to gather the rest of her things, done with all classes for the day, and a few of us run into her again, near the parking lot. She still is going on about how much she loves that exercise, and ends up lying in the grass demonstrating it again to the great pleasure of some of us. This time the girls act, however, and are trying to pull her panties back up as she undulates. I'm just grinning as this already reasonably attractive professor becomes more and more so. For the first time in quite a while, I find I'm growing hot for teacher!

Soon the third class rolls around, and we are all back together again, though I am struggling to find my papers and supplies, which for some reason seem to be scattered all over the classroom. I find myself having to go through several stacks of other people's works to find the scattered remains of my own. But I don't really care, as very shortly the red head is doing her exercises again. Somebody comments on her form or something, and she shifts to look at them in such a way that has her plainly visible twat undulating inches from my face, and I can't help but think she has to know what she is showing, and to be doing so like this, she must be desperate for some attention. I might just have to give her some. Meanwhile, the young brunette student is getting tired of this, and seems to decide that she wants some attention, too. She suddenly starts talking about how she likes doing handstands ... while wearing a loose top that gathers around her neck, showing off her small (but still growing) breasts. Unfortunately, she doesn't have anything interesting enough to distract from the red head's salient point. You know, it is really too bad that I awoke at that point!

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Earlier in the night had a long, involved dream, but of the kind that you can't remember many of the details. I know it involved a lot of super heroes or vampires or that sort of 'ultra-human' beings running around, but soon it kind of switched to less ... talented people, but just tough guys and gals. Not quite wrestler sorts, but tough fighters. One guy tries to grab me by the neck and flip me over his shoulder, but I see him coming and grab him at the same time, so we both flip each other, but as we lay on the ground, I am the one that recovers first, which kind of tells them to be a little wary of messing with me. After a while, when they are trying to determine a sort of ranking, they pair me with a kind of short guy. Not a midget, but like five feet tall or so. Very broad and muscular, though. We grapple for a few moments, and I throw him to the ground on his back kind of gently, so there is less chance of hurting him, but again showing I am not somebody to mess with. Two other small bits involve me somehow coming in with what I, and everybody else in the dream would swear is a jaguar kit, but it truly is as small as a kitten. Also, a lady who was a bit of a tough fighter, earlier in the dream, is now back, but cares nothing for fighting, but is only worried about finding her dogs, before they get lost or hurt. Strange stuff.