I’m (F21) completely lost in thoughts about my Psychology professor. Back in regular classes, he already had me hooked, but now, ever since he became my supervisor during these practical internships, we’ve gotten even closer. He’s older—around 44, I’d guess—yet he’s everything I crave in a man: tall, commanding, and solidly built. Silver hair, a rugged beard… the kind of man who fills up a room just by stepping into it. He’s married, but there’s this lustful look and innocent smile he gives me, like he doesn’t know the effect he has on me—or on anyone, really. But deep down, I think he knows. There’s this subtle glint in his eye, this way he holds my gaze just a bit too long, letting his eyes flick to my lips, my breasts, with that infuriatingly slight, knowing smile. It’s as if he’s testing me, pushing the line just enough to make my pulse race.

When he’s close, I can’t keep my eyes off him. When he is supervising other students, I hang on every word, feeling the pull of his deep, confident voice as he speaks. My eyes wander to his strong hands, big enough to cover every inch of me, and I imagine what they’d feel like gripping my body. I study his lips when he’s not looking, and damn, those lips… soft, firm, tempting. I want to feel them crush against mine, as I whisper his name in a low, teasing way. And sometimes, I think he notices the way I devour him with my eyes. He catches me looking, and I swear there’s a spark—a shared heat between us. He makes jokes just to get my attention, his voice low and playful, and today, for the first time, he touched me. Just a small squeeze on my arm as I was leaving, but that brief contact felt electric, like a spark racing through me. I’m aching for him, craving him in ways I can barely control.

To top it off, a friend of mine—she’s older and also friends with him—told me that back when he was single, he had a reputation. Apparently, he was known for being a catch, and the word was he was amazing in bed. She told me this just last week, and now it’s all I can think about. It only made me want him more, imagining every bit of it being true. He’s got that look—like the kind of man who knows exactly what he’s doing. The kind who wouldn’t stop until he left me breathless.

I want him to take me, to give in to what’s building between us. But am I just imagining this tension? Or does he feel it too, beneath that polished, professional exterior? Am I crossing a line, or am I just hopelessly caught up in wanting something I shouldn’t?