THE MILKMAID IN THE MIRROR
TIA FANNING
CHAPTER ONE
ASTERIOS
“Professor, sir.” The twenty-something year-old bull at the front door bumps my fist. “So glad you made it.”
“Glad to be here,” I lie, offering a tight smile.
With great reluctance, I leave behind the gorgeous night and fresh air to enter the largest, richest frat house on campus. The young minotaurs, all clad in Greco-Roman attire, are celebrating their newest accomplishments with blinking lights, thumping music, and from what I can tell, way too much liquor.
I squint through the raucous crowd of drunk graduates. Truthfully, I’d rather be home reading a book, but the students had begged me to come. I had been voted “favorite professor” at the university by the student body.Again.
So I’m the guest of honor tonight.Again.
Another year, another popularity award.
The air is thick and stuffy, and smells of sweat, cannabis, and cheap cologne. The scent makes my head throb, but I force my hooves forward anyway. The crowd of dancing— or rather, bouncing— bodies naturally part for my giant frame.
Being older than those who’d earned their degrees this night, the toga that crosses my massive body did little to hide the fact that I’m not a frat brother. I’m much taller, my muscles much larger, my horns thicker and longer. I stick out. Literally and figuratively.
In time, all these students will grow bigger and stronger too. Yes, they are all biologically adults and able to reproduce, but their bodies are not done maturing. Strength and wisdom came with age and experience. They still had a couple decades to go to reach my size.
“Yo, Yo, Yo!” came a voice above the now lowered music. “We have Professor Asterios Bove in the house!”
Cheers erupt around me, as did the alcohol. The smell of fresh-corked champagne and cheap beer rains down in celebration as a spotlight finds me in the crowd.
Trying to hide my grimace behind a fake smile, I wave like a beauty-pageant queen. Females toss undergarments at me like I’m a rockstar. A pair of sexy red panties land on my horn tip and hang like a knight’s token. This makes the already boisterous group hoop and holler more. Flashes from cellphones flicker through the dim space.
Too old to appreciate such unhygienic gifts, I simply nod and graciously pocket the small fabric. When I get a moment alone, I will dispose of the unmentionables and wash my hands.
“All the ladies want you!” the host frat brother chortles and throws his arm around me for a selfie. “They’re here to see you! You won ‘sexiest professor’ in the sorority vote.Again.”
“Oh. Wonderful.”
Another fake smile. *click*
Another trophy to add to the shelf.
Suddenly, a microphone is thrust into my face.
“Speech! Speech! Speech!” came the chant.
I take the mic, exhale slowly to gather my thoughts, and signal for the crowd to be quiet. “Thank you for the honor of being your favorite professor. While I appreciate this gesture, this party is to celebrate you graduates and all your accomplishments.”
Cheers and applause rise in the space before dying down again.
“You worked hard to get your diplomas and certifications,” I add, “and I am proud of you all.” I borrow a plastic cup from a nearby frat brother and lift it high. “To the graduates!”
The toast is echoed and all the minotaurs drink. The music volume returns, and I hand the cup back with a nod of gratitude.
Time to find a quiet room.
Nudging my way through the crowd, I search the various spaces that jut from the main hall. I know that, somewhere in this frat house, there is a somewhat quiet place where the non-partying “nerds” hang.
This looks promising.
