What is it about you that has me feeling and behaving in such a way? Some would say it’s because I’m attracted to you. But you aren’t the first attractive student to cross my path, and no doubt you won’t be the last. So why now? This is sure to go beyond normal physical attractiveness. I should be able to figure this and you out. Why, as I think back on our lecture, can’t I get you out of my head? Why am I opening the lid of my laptop and searching your name on Facebook when I should be preparing a lecture? It’s dangerous territory. I know this. I shouldn’t be looking you up and clicking on your name and scrolling through the pictures. Your profile isn’t private, and that annoys me, and I find myself grinding my teeth together at how blatantly stupid you are being. You don’t come across as a naïve person, but your trust in strangers and the world is incredibly loose, and I want nothing more than to punish you for it.
How would I punish you? Would I throw you over my lap, pull your panties down and slap your bare ass until it turns a shade of red? Would you scream? Would you cry in pain or beg me to keep on going? Would my cock stand erect at the way you wriggle on top of me as I subject you to punishing slaps? I’m getting hard just thinking of you, and I shake my head because indecent thoughts such as this have no place in a brain such as mine. I’m better than this. I never used to be, but I am now. I scream at myself to stop looking at the way the light catches on your shiny hair, making it glisten in the sunlight in one photo. How sexy you look as you sip an alcoholic drink. The way your plum-colored glossed lips shine in the picture, and all I can do is imagine those same lips wrapped around my cock.
This is what you do to me, and you must stop. I must stop.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
I won’t.
It’s been a long time since I gave into my id. A long time since I’ve thrown away every bit of sensibility and used my stupid rationality to spur me on. You have had a hold over me since I first saw you, which only grew worse when you became my teacher’s aide. I was foolish to have picked you, but I couldn’t help it. I can’t help myself when it concerns you, and I, a professor of psychology, can’t seem to solve this complex problem. It’s as if there is no definitive solution.
We rarely talk when we work, but we did today. We talked and the door that is usually closed between us was opened, and I was given a sliver of an insight into your life. Into who you are and why you are. I wasn’t sure what I had hoped in engaging in casual conversation. Maybe I was so desperate to find something that would turn me off of you because deep down, I know I have to. My feelings for you are unprofessional and highly inappropriate. If you were to ever see the thoughts that rage on in my head at night, you would have me kicked out of the college for sexual harassment.
Your photos aren’t the least bit personal and show you as the life of the party and someone that is fun and free-spirited. This isn’t you; at least not you entirely. This image you send out to the world is what you want to show everyone who lives on the outside. Sure, there are some sporadic moments of realism, a photo of a takeaway coffee with the sun high in the background, and those beautiful legs of yours with a book settled on them. It tells us you are a person, instead of an image, but then, of course, you had to ruin it with your choice of book. A book by Donald Hargrave. Dramatic literature at its best which invites you into a world of fantasy but really is an indictment of the world we live in. The oppressive, racist, homophobic, misogynistic, megalomanic world. It’s one of those books that is widely popular amongst all kinds of readers, however, is more appreciated within the circles of intellectuals and academics. Because only we can decipher the messages that run rampant in the tome of wonderment. Only we can appreciate the irony of certain scenes and how most of the people who will eventually read the book are, in fact, the dangerous faces of the themes it portrays, but will never know the book is about them. Laughing at them. Pointing out their foibles. Because ignorance is bliss, and bliss is blind. You could read it because you truly enjoy it, but the sentimentality and sincerity is lost because you posted it. Because only people who want to show everyone just how intellectual they are post that they’re reading the novel. They refuse to be lumped into the same doltish circle as the rest of the population. The mouth breathers, I’ve heard some students say in reference to the intellectually challenged. It’s because of what you did that you seem less real, and it annoys me.
Despite my ill feelings toward your choice of social media presence, I appreciate why you would portray yourself this way. Tuck yourself behind the selfies and glamor shots you take of yourself and your life. Your skill behind the lens is rather extraordinary. I wonder if you were caught at the proverbial fork in the road. The crossroads. One full of experience and life to use to your advantage. The other, a mystery set deep in shadows. And if so, what made you choose psychology? Did something happen to steer you in that direction? No matter what it was, I’m grateful. I’m grateful
