“Welcome to Sociology of Gender and Sexuality. Im your instructor, Kurt Hummel. You should all have a syllabus. I assume by the fact that you're in college that you can read, and I don't need to read the syllabus to you. Are there any questions about it before we get down to business?”

A pony-tailed blonde with a big hair bow raised her hand. Kurt prayed that she was a cheerleader, because, otherwise there was no excuse for that travesty of a hair accessory. He quickly consulted his class photo roster. “Yes…Brittany?”

“Is today's lecture going to be on the next test?”

Kurt sighed inwardly, but outwardly he smiled and perched on the edge of the big desk in the front of the room. “I think it's safe to assume that everything I say, everything I assign you to read, and everything I show in this class might be on a test, OK?”

“Professor Hummel?” another hand shot up.

Kurt nearly corrected the student, but then he thought better of it. Professor Hummel had a nice ring to it. Doctor Hummel would be even better.

“Yes…Sugar?” Her name is Sugar?  Shouldnt she be at stripper school?

“Will you go over the guidelines for the term paper?”

“You'll note on your syllabus that I've posted some written guidelines on the class website. Please read them. Ask me later if you have questions.”

Kurt paused to see if there were any other stupid questions, but no more hands were raised. “OK, I think we'll go around the room. Please tell the class your name, where you're from, and whatever else you think is interesting about you. Please also tell us why you're taking this class.

“To get the ball rolling, I'll start first. As I said, I'm Kurt Hummel. I'm probably going to call you all by your first names, so you can call me Kurt, if you want. That seems only fair. I'm from Lima, Ohio. I am a graduate student in Sociology, and I'm writing my thesis on portrayals of homosexuality in the media.”

A hand shot up in the back and just as quickly disappeared.

“Are you gay?”

Kurt peered around a sea of faces to find the inquisitor, but he didn't see him. He thought about Dr. Sylvester's admonition to retain control, but he also wanted to create an atmosphere where students could talk honestly about sex and gender issues, so he addressed the question head on. “I didn't see who asked that, but, yes, I am gay,” he twirled a hand, “and fabulous.” The classroom laughed, and Kurt was a little relieved that they got the joke. “But,” he continued, “In this class you'll soon learn that sexuality isn't a dichotomy of gay and straight. We're all on a continuum.”

“But you're on the gay end of the continuum?” asked a student that Kurt identified on his photo roster as Sam.

“Way, way down on the gay end,” Kurt smiled, and the students laughed again.

As the students went around the class and introduced themselves, Kurt checked their names off of his photo roster and made small notes of the interesting things they revealed about themselves. He looked up when he heard a deeply melodious voice from the back, “Hello. My name is Blaine Anderson. I'm from upstate New York, but I was a student at Dalton Academy in Westerville, Ohio. I'm a senior, pre-med, and…well, that's really all that's interesting about me.” Kurt begged to differ. This student was gorgeous. Kurt was getting warm just looking at him.

“Blaine.” It came out as a squeak, so Kurt cleared his throat and tried again. “Blaine,” he said in a more normal register, “you forgot to tell us why you took this class.”

Blaine pinned Kurt with his eyes. “I took this class because I heard the professor was really h…good. Really good.”

He did not almost say hot. Kurt had to be mistaken.

Kurt cleared his throat again. “Thank you, Blaine.” And that cheeky monkey—that gorgeous, doe-eyed, curly topped, cheeky monkey—winked at him.