Dear Teacher, I love you

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I am hot for teacher. I have never been hot for teacher so this is really weird and I’m pretty freaked out by it but at the same time I’m enjoying the heat of it all. I get electric shocks when I make eye contact with him during lecture. It’s actually quite exciting and yet so frustrating at the same time because I can’t actually have a normal conversation with him and he makes me nervous when I usually wouldn’t be and I work harder in his class than I would if it were anyone else. So I guess that last part works in my favor.

In the meantime though, it sucks. Because I sort of compare a lot of my dating partners to him and they never really measure up to my hotter, steamy, bearded teacher who’s completely established, professional, and admirable.

And I know it’s not totally one sided, like he definitely finds me attractive (in a hot for student kind of way) and we stand further apart and stare longer because of it – which is annoying because all I want to do is talk to him but it’s so taboo I can’t even risk being friendly.

He’s far too old for me and I know it’s completely unrealistic and never going to happen but the fantasizing part is just fine with me. It’s slightly reminiscent of being twelve and having a celebrity crush. Except with this one, I actually get to meet him.


Often times I know what he’s thinking when another student in class says something slightly inappropriate and I feel like I know the kind of person he is when he’s around his friends.

I think it boils down to intense admiration. I pretty much want to be him when I get older and finish up my professional career and start to worry about living a more stable lifestyle. Working freelance cannot be easy. I intern for a professional photographer and I see how much work goes into his business and I see how often he works in order to make his life work the way he wants to. His hours and workload vary from minute to minute and he’s constantly answering his email to set up more shoots, send out files and estimates. It’s a never ending story.

And yet, I want to be a teacher. I want to foster brain children and let my pupils see the light and understand me the way I understand him and strangely enough I think to myself as I drive home how I know one day I’ll be able to adequately understand him only because I myself will teach and so I will then know. Which makes me oddly melancholy because I worry I may never tell him how dearly I value his critiques or how much I enjoy his work and style.

It’s hard to say how you feel in situations where you need to walk endlessly on eggshells. Being politically correct and situationally appropriate sucks when all you want to do is be friends with the teacher you sort of find intensely attractive in all his self confidence and subtle smiles when he knows he shouldn’t be laughing.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to tell him that the man I marry will remind me much of him and the standards he has showed me. Because I want to fall in love with someone who’s sarcastic and also hopeful, who is proud but not vain, who is smart but not a dick about it. I want to find a dancer in this world, one who whistles when he’s got a tune replaying in his head.

So here you are teacher, my confession of love and admiration to you.



Hopelessly romantic for no reason at all