I have a crush on my professor.
I know. I know. What am I thinking, right? At least read before you shake your finger at me in defiance.
I’m a little maniac and hypersexual right now so please excuse the bipolar. Just don’t make direct eye contact with it.
I developed a harmless mini crush on The One Who is a Silver Fox when I took his class last semester. He is nerdy, awkward, has a dry sense of humor and easygoing. That sexy old geezer turns me on like a key in the ignition y’all! He’s divorced, has a preteen year old daughter and is 23 years my senior. He is definitely the oldest man I’ve ever been attracted to. I undressed him with my eyes occasionally and inspected his dick print during lecture. Yeah…dick print. It’s not monstrous but it seems suffice.
My feelings went through a complete transformation this semester. I have a burning desire for him! I registered specifically for his class. I sit close to him. I watch his mouth as he speaks. I have intense sexual dreams about him. When he accidentally said “sex” instead of “text” during a lecture, I nearly lost it. Perhaps it was a Freudian slip. Ha!
We tend to hold our gazes too long but I chalked it up to familiarity—until last week. I was sitting in a secluded study area as he was walking to his office. Our eyes met and we greeted each other as usual. Here is where it deviated from the normal—he smiled like a Cheshire cat and stared until he passed the corner! This lasted about 6-7 seconds. I was initially shocked but I proceeded to do the following dance in my head.
I could be overreacting. Maybe he didn’t stare as long as I thought. Maybe time only stood still for me. Maybe he was being really friendly that day. Perhaps he was waiting for me to break the glance first. Who knows? But then again…when I’m in another class, he usually stares right at me when he passes by.
Where do we go from here? No damn where! Duh! Typical me would flirt heavily until I secured the penis if couldn’t get anything tangible. I won’t do that this time. I’m tired of rejection, heartache and booty calls. Can a sista get wooed and pursued before she gets nude? The fantasies just seem safer. I can control them. He does what I like. He gives me long stemmed roses, kisses me like I’m the only woman alive and takes me to fancy restaurants in my head. He’s such a gentleman and kinky! Don’t hate.
Speaking of booty calls…a few days ago, The One Who Sets Me On Fire contacted me after vanishing for 2 months and 7 days. The nerve of him! Yes I counted! I told him I was no longer interested. Truth is, I am horny as hell but I didn’t appreciate him tossing me aside until he was ready to play with me again. And the bromance seems to still be going strong so I’ll pass. No thanks.