National Coming Out Day

Did you know that today is National Coming Out Day? Whether you're lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender or a straight ally, be proud of who you are and your support for LGBT equality!
www.hrc.org

You already know I'm out as a bisexual.What don't you know?
I'm a professor-phile. It's the confidence, the skill and education. Competence is sexy.
My first two years of College were particularly lovely because I had massive crushes on select teachers.

The first was the epitome of the focused, serious professor. He'd whisper from just behind me as he'd reach over and correct my drawings. I know for a fact that he's unintentionally sexy because after I gathered the courage to joke about it once, he looked mortified and ran off. He's apparently super christian, married and must have a ton of kids. Haha, every girl loved him. I think there's a fanclub dedicated to him in the bowels of algonquin.

The teacher I had the next year was a woman. At first I was bummed not to have the former prof. She was gorgeous. Like an elf, an elf with a temper. She told us stories of how she'd worked as a tattoo artist at a young age.

So you can imagine how shocked I was to see her at a fetish event. I got a high five from her in the washroom because I curb stomped some twit who thought I was going to give him a lap dance on stage for a t-shirt. Also I made out with a succulent blonde on stage and stole the show from the burlesque dancers. Funny how I have no issue with a room of perverts videotaping el lolita and I getting heavy, but the idea of making a move on this prof froze me.

Actually this isn't the first time I've run into a teacher in a hilarious setting. I was once browsing for a vibrator when I bumped into a middle school councillor of mine. We joked around and stuck a suction cup dong to a cupboard. We laughed at at the dwoinging sound it made when we smacked the door.

There was one prof I really had it bad for. I'd seen his work around the city last summer. None of it really moved me, except for one diptych. So unlike the others, it featured dreamscape creatures, dark masses with white grinning teeth. The piece really disturbs and ensnares me.

First day of class I ran in late, and threw myself down in a chair. He prattled on, and I drew him. Young, too young to teach. With a shock of messy hair, and very cute, hip clothes. We joked around, he mentioned that I missed his introduction. so he pulled up his personal art site. Projected at the front of the room he typed in the url. before he was done I shot up and boomed "You're that artist!?" He flushed. I flushed, the entire room felt awkward for us.

I told him that I followed his work. Omitting that I'd gone to a rather bizarre graffiti party the previous summer in hopes of meeting him. Undeterred by the room's silence, I gushed "... is your best work on display. But that's a print isn't it? Where the original, has it been bought?"
His orderly facade had dissipated. His voice dropped low "It's hanging in my bedroom." Dual-ly not-ed

Skipping home that day, I called up Efram, and told him I wanted to seduce my professor. Urged on by Efram I invited him to lunch, which he declined politely. So I walked with him after class. Next time we stopped at a kiosk for coffee. Another student came up and said hi, the prof looked at him, then nervously at my faintly smug face.

Another day we were locked into an intense conversation at the campus observatory. Both leaned over the sketchbook littered table towards each other. I was prying past his professional facade, and he enjoyed resisting. I'd girlishly ask him for advice, then challenge him when he made excuses or held his tongue. He was surprisingly mild mannered. He played it safe, and kept away from creating incendiary work. "But the piece of yours that caught me eye, what is it about?"
"Oh nothing, I was up late and couldn't sleep. It was just a dream."
"That's it? It's aberrant from the rest of your collection. It's not just asymmetrical vector patterns. You're communicating a feeling, a story. Tell me, what did you feel?"

He leaned in even further, his eyes glancing covertly side to side. "Mouths are a universal symbol understood by our subconscious. Mouths represent hunger. The way he said hunger sent shivers down my spine. My curiosity compelling me further "What do you hunger for?" the question drawn out of me. My lips slightly parted, I wanted to kiss him, but so much more then that I wanted to hear his answer. That was the only honest moment we had together. For that moment his job didn't matter, his girlfriend probably didn't either. But moments are fleeting, though no less beautiful for it.

He flushed, and nervously, endearingly looked away towards the room full of students. "Oh nothing, it was a social commentary." He concluded lamely. "We all hunger for something."

The look he'd given me inspired a great many flights of fancy int he following months. I imagined being pressed into the painting hung above his bed and he railed me from behind. Or maybe I'd have to pin him against it with my nails as I forcibly blew him. Maybe if the heaven's shined down on me, I could arrange to have drinks at his place, and bring Efram.

So while he taught the class the plethora of inane techniques for jumping through hoops, I'd try to imagine the look of incredulousness that would cross his face momentarily as he and Efram locked eyes while they speared me like a spit roast. After that I found I couldn't sit through his classes without getting uncomfortably wet. I'd show up late and try to sneak in, but when his eyes found me they betrayed the tiniest bit more then they should have.

Sometimes I wouldn't sleep the night before, I'd work myself up thinking about what I should say. Then I'd try to burn off energy by committing my thoughts to painting.
When I went in to class, I was bleary eyed, and gave off a slightly vulnerable quiet air. But I'd still get wet, no matter how I tried to treat him as I ought to have been. I stopped going to class and nearly failed the course because of it.

For the end of semester test, I showed up on the last day. On the condition that we passed, he'd give us a print of his. I'd practically begged him all semester for a print of the painting I loved. Handing in the exam, an attached a message that read "I'd like to see the original painting."

When he gave me a print, it wasn't of the painting I'd once gazed at so thoughtfully. Instead is was a piece of corporate garbage.
It's up in my room, and I hate looking at it. It's so indicative of the side of himself he gave me.
In retrospect what would have happened if I'd just pushed him a little harder? He wasn't willing to bench his career on an enamoured student. At the time, though not exceptionally subtle, I never made the first move.

Before him I rather loved literary erotica focusing on forbidden s/M professor/student relationships. But now I can't read them without seeing his adorably shy face flicker into sudden seriousness; when his passion breaks through his laissez-faire professionalism. And when the words read "The professor grabbed her and threw her over the desk raining down spanks to punctuate the lesson." I see him and I engaged in debate, he grabs me, and throws me over the desk winds up his arm waits. waits. then lets it drop, apologizes for his impropriety and scuttles off back to his doubtlessly sexually-uninventive girlfriend.

HAHA! We can't win them all. I look back at that story and smile. He's off chasing his dreams as an artist. And that thought deeply warms my heart.

On a semi-related note: Alan Rickman especially turns my crank. He has since I was too young to know what my crank was. It's the posture, and the voice. Rasputin, Snape and Mesmer are fascinating characters, though oddly I love him best as the dead husband in Truly, Madly, Deeply. That one time, when Johnny Depp cut his throat in Sweeny Todd, I got hard. That's right, stiff.
This explains why I loudly drop lewd comments when walking past the charming old gentleman who works as a tour guide for the haunted walk of Ottawa. Look out for him, he's the hottest geriatric you'll ever encounter.