If I am being honest, I was mildly obsessed.

I am writing this after reading @stellabelle's blog listing 5 ways to improve your reputation. I don't really need to improve my reputation terribly but I have been struggling to dig deep and find something raw and honest. In her blog she said:

Write something gut-wrenchingly honest, something you've been meaning to write but that you are afraid to admit.
(if you're afraid, then most likely many other people will be afraid also. You will stand out.)

And it hit me....

The thing I had never written about. The thing I had only written in a journal which I threw away after accidentally leaving it in HIS classroom. (Freudian slip?)

I wanted to seduce my college professor.

I never acted on this. I knew he had kids and a wife but I did, secretly, wish he would come on to me. It was a pretty instant attraction. He didn't really look like a stud or anything, he was probably in his mid to late 40's and he had a ponytail, regardless of his large bald spot. (he eventually cut it but I didn't care either way) He was covered in tattoo sleeves, and he chain-smoked and was generally disgruntled. For some reason this drove me crazy

I remember my entire body tensing up and my face flushing when he came over to help me with something and reached over me to show me what to do on the computer. He was right behind me and I could feel his breath on me, his arm was touching my arm. It was TOUCHING my arm!! I would think back to this moment many times while pleasuring myself. Recalling that feeling, that intense spark that I felt when his arm grazed mine.

I also remember a time when he called me over, by name, to ask me what I thought of a 3d model he was working on. I couldn't say much and I felt stupid. I had wanted to say more but I was so taken aback. He valued my opinion as an artist. He wanted my opinion on his work. I just said something about it being good with no clarification or feedback and stumbled back to my desk with my heart racing.

Even though he absolutely never hit on me...

any attention he gave me I used to fuel my fantasies. If he was outside smoking a cigarette while I was waiting for my ride, at night, and he waited with me...it kept me going for weeks. "He waited there to make sure I was safe." I would think. "He cares about me on some level." Talk about bat-shit. Let it be known I was like 20 and was much more sex-crazed and naive than I am now.

I started writing all of these fantasies in a journal. Well, not all of them. That'd be an encyclopedia. But I would write some of my favorites. Usually it involved a BDSM, control type of theme. In my fantasies I was timid and shy and he was the aggressive one. The fantasies generally took place in the classroom, taboo! And, I hate to admit, I even toyed with the cliche "You need to get your grades up" fantasy which was hard to sink into as I had an A in his class.

I probably pleasured myself on a multi-daily basis using these fantasies every time. I was honestly overwhelmed constantly by these thoughts.

So, what made these invasive fantasies come to an end?

Nothing other than leaving school. I don't think anything else would have made me able to stop with the fantasies but once I was no longer seeing him ever Thursday -which depressed be GREATLY- the fantasies naturally faded. I could no longer entertain them as real possibilities. And though, I would probably be horrified if he had acted as he did in my mind (maybe?) I wanted the fantasies to feel plausible nonetheless and with Mr. K (who let us call him by his first name) no longer a part of my life, the fantasies had no fire. Which honestly really sucked at the time... I mean, sure it's probably healthier but that was the most excited I had been sexually in my entire life and now it was over. I had nothing to show for it but the memory of his arm on my arm. The journal, even, had been destroyed. Yeah, I didn't just throw it away, I soaked it in liquid and ripped up the pages. To make sure nobody knew about my fantasies, and here I am now, sharing it with the internet.

Please don't get back to Mr. K. Please don't get back to Mr. K.

Mr. K is not, obviously, his real name/initial. C'mon.

Photos:

Woman in bed:
https://pixabay.com/p-506120/?no_redirect

Woman touching pants:
https://pixabay.com/p-839613/?no_redirect

Woman with awesome hair:
https://pixabay.com/en/hair-female-sexy-hipster-girl-863698/