His name is Mr. Professor.
I met Mr. Professor this past Saturday, but we were both out with other people. The entire evening I was distracted by his intensity, imagining what it would be like to get my hands on him. Little did I know, he was thinking the same exact thing. He texted me the following morning to tell me so. Well, he told me that and so much more. We ended up texting back and forth most of the day and making plans to hang out just the two of us.
When I say texting back and forth, I should probably expand upon that and tell you that these texts mostly outlined the things we wanted to do to each other. Now, I’ve never been a huge fan of sending dirty texts…well that’s not entirely true. I’ve always been a fan of receiving them, but I’ve never been good at replying to them. Suffice it to say that this guy found a way to bring that out in me. I’m a lover of words in every sense, so using them erotically gets me in a way that few other things to do. Mr. Professor has a way with these words which should really come as no surprise. And I quote:
I’m a poet. Fucking poetically means ‘fucking is a dirty poem.’ Words are the sexiest things there are. So few know their erotic power during sex.
And did he ever follow through on that promise.
He started by cooking me an amazing dinner–lamb soup with rice (cooked properly) and spinach sauteed with garlic. It was the yummiest meal that I had in weeks. And it was just a prelude to all of the yummy things that would soon follow. An hour of tension building with sweet kisses, hand holding, and light touching and teasing. Getting to know each other–our backgrounds, where we come from, what our families are like. Laughing, sighing, and creating a need for one another that only the other could satisfy.
One thing lead to another, as these things often do, and alas we were in his bed getting to know one another on an extremely erotically charged level–one that I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced before. But by the time we moved on to round two, I was quite familiar with this particular brand of sex. Quite familiar with my desire to want it again.
I shared with you that I know I have a thing for teachers, but Professors??? Who knew? The power, the intelligence, the sexiness of imparting knowledge is almost more than I can handle. But I will admit that what turns me on the most is knowing that he is standing before a room of undergrads who are all thinking the same way about him. I’m positive that there are at least a handful of students that he teaches that want to get their hands on him, but I know (with smug reassurance) that while they are fall picturing him naked, he’s attempting to control his fantasy of having sex with me. I know this because he told me so. I know this because he told me he had to think of nothing but my hands yesterday lest he not be able to handle the anticipation of the thoughts that were attempting to take over.
I will definitely be doing this again. And again.