I recently read a book about a teacher-student relationship, and it took me back to a time when I had the biggest crush on my English professor during my undergraduate years. The first course I took with him was an academic writing course for engineers, focused on how to write proper technical papers. This professor had a reputation for being the harshest English professor in the humanities department when it came to grading and assignments. He assigned far more papers and projects than other professors teaching the same course. I didn’t know that when I signed up for his class. My only goal at the time was to earn the credits and move forward with my studies.

For the sake of privacy, I’ll call him Professor D. Professor D was tall, perhaps around 170 cm, lean, and fit. Just one glance at him, and you could tell he stayed active. Later, in one of his classes, he mentioned he had been practicing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu for years. He had blue eyes, which were hidden behind frameless glasses. He was bald and almost always clean-shaven. There were a few times, though, over the courses I took with him, that he showed up with a beard. He looked extremely good with one. His smile was charming—big and warm, showing all his perfectly straight teeth. Professor D was, without a doubt, the most handsome professor who had ever taught me.

There were about 14 students in that English writing class, and most of them were the laziest bunch ever. But not me. I was the A-student who had always planned to major in the humanities but had to choose a more lucrative major due to personal circumstances. Professor D would present interesting topics for us to write about, and I would always lead the discussions. My papers were always well-written; I chose difficult, engaging topics and put in a lot of effort. Professor D was impressed. I later learned from other students that he was notorious for not giving A’s easily, but all of my papers earned an A with only minor feedback.

Like any good teacher's pet, I frequently visited his office hours. I memorized the timetable he taped to his door by heart. I’d bring a set of questions with me—questions I already knew the answers to—but I enjoyed being in his presence. I think Professor D found my enthusiasm for his lectures both refreshing and amusing. After all, engineering students aren’t known for their interest in the humanities. Whenever I answered correctly, he would wink and smile at me—a habit that eventually rubbed off on me.

I was probably 18 or 19 at the time and hadn’t yet learned how to be confident when talking to a man. I would rush to his office hours, cheeks flushed with excitement and arousal. I must have been especially red one day because Professor D asked, "You look flustered. Is everything okay?" I wonder if he knew the effect he had on me.

I scored an A in that English writing class. I must have made a good impression because he invited me to join the humanities course he was teaching the following semester. Of course, I was going to sign up. I wouldn’t miss the chance to earn his praise and attention again. When the next semester came, I was on the waiting list for that course. I spent two hours in the registration office, convincing them to move me from the waiting list and into his class. I wasn’t leaving until I was enrolled.

Over the summer, I lost some weight; the fat in my cheeks melted away, revealing a beautiful woman. Because of my intense negotiations at the registration office, I entered the class 15 minutes late, giving Professor D more than enough time to look over the students’ list and scan the room. To notice that his favorite student is not there. When I finally pushed open the door, he paused, glanced in my direction, flashed a big grin that made me melt, and said, “I’m glad you’re joining this class.” That sentence alone was enough to establish my dominance over the other students—to let them know that I was his pet, his favorite. I had done extremely well before, and I was going to do it again. I would ruin the curve for everyone.

To keep this story short, I’ll spare the details of that second humanities course. In total, I took three courses with Professor D during my four years engineering degree. I maintained my grades, always earning an A. Once, I spotted a mistake in the course material that he overlooked which earned me the comment: “If you were a grad student, I would hire you as my assistant!”.    

One time, I asked him for a letter of recommendation. He wrote the letter in his own words, which is rare since most engineering professors ask students to write their own letters that they later sign off on. Here are a couple of sentences from the letter (with some details omitted for privacy):

“She has an inquisitive mind, the kind professors feel blessed to shape.”

“Nerd is dedicated and driven, unafraid to tackle difficult subjects. She handled the material far beyond what I expected from a first-year student.”

“I can honestly say she is one of the top students I’ve taught at XXX. I have high hopes she will be leading a team solving key engineering problems in the next decade.”

I’ve been praised by many educators over the years, but those words, written by him, are particularly special. It’s been five years since Professor D wrote that letter of recommendation, and his words still have an impact on me. I miss being praised. I miss being his pet. I wonder what he would think if he knew I am open to being his pet outside of a professional setting too. I have never touched myself while thinking of him because I respect him too much. However, I’m no longer his student so I guess having an orgasm while thinking of him is ethical now.