I think for students to have crushes on teachers is a pretty normal thing. It's not something that's ever really happened to me much, mostly because I spent most of my education in the Catholic school system, so all the teachers were boring old housewives whose children had long flown the coop. They needed children to maintain because that's how society has trained them. Kind of sad, really.
It wasn't until coming to college that I had ever seriously been attracted to an instructor. My first teacher crush was my first Mandarin teacher, Teacher Li. (I'll avoid real names here.) She was this sprite, 27-year-old Chinese woman, pretty as can be, and very prone to wearing white dress shirts with the top two buttons undone, and her hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She must have been going for the friendly librarian look, I imagine, as my fellow hot-blooded heterosexual male classmates and I couldn't take our eyes off of her for the whole semester.
I remember the day in April when the class went outside for our lesson since it was so nice out. The sun was friendly and charismatic that day, and the slight wind drew the clouds away from above us, revealing a blue, endless sky. We sat in the grass and learned things. Characters. Backwards grammar. Intonations. Things that would never truly sink in for another year. I remember the feeling of the soft grass underneath me. I remember how Teacher Li sat up straight with perfect posture, alert, attentive, yet so kind, loving, understanding of our stupidity. Her whole being was so compact, tiny, and full of eagerness. The faint breeze made her few bangs brush across her cheek, so pale and Mongoloid, so young and ambitious. Her chest was partly revealed, and her hips were just the perfect width to draw me in. She would look at me as if I really mattered to her. She wanted me to learn. She thought I was worth something.
And somehow I payed attention.
A year later, my next Mandarin teacher would take control of my heart and toss it up and down in her hand like a pitcher readying for a galactic curve ball. Teacher Ma, this time, was also a 27 year-old Chinese woman from Shanghai whose ability to teach ignorant Americans the subtleties of her mother tongue confounds me still. She had unusually poofy hair which he refused to maintain, and these skinny jeans that were wondrous on her lower half. She has these glasses, too, that were clearly not her prescription, since she was still squinting a lot. Often she'd wear the puffy jacket kinda like the one that Michael J. Fox wears in Back the the Future, but most of the time, Teacher Ma would have this poncho-esque article of clothing that covered her whole top half. I can't really explain it well, but it was really pretty on her. I fantasized about her frequently. I still do. It didn't help that she liked to flirt with us a lot. I would get so confused.
Over the summer, she wanted me to come up to school and make a movie with her and her other Chinese gal-pals. The script was horrendous. I wanted to see her again. She's back in Shanghai. We still talk. She invited me to come visit her when I go to China. I dream about meeting up with her and hanging out. Then we'd sort of fall in love and become inseparable. I'd come back home and everyone would be so surprised that my first girlfriend would be an older Chinese girl, and then her parents would be so happy that their sole daughter found an American boy to marry. We'd travel across the world together, me making art and her making her awful movies. I'm such a fucking romantic.
But now, I have a new crush, and this time it's far more passionate. Again, another Asian woman has enthralled me in such a beautiful and human way. The teacher of my Chinese religions course is taught by another young, doll-like Chinese girl, named for our purposes as Teacher Guo. She looks about 29 or 30 to me, and with a more book-smart, intellectually capable and sexually independent air to her. She's nobody's bitch.
I can't help but get turned on by her. Even her lectures, so asexual and inhuman, obsessed with Chinese cosmology and bone inscriptions, arouses me and leaves me squirming on the inside. I had to meet with her at the beginning of the semester. So when I was alone with her in her office, door closed, my libido would NOT SHUT UP! She was going on about the subjective distinctions of the definition of religion, but all I could think about was all the ways I'd screw her, in what positions and what locations in this very office. Her accent was so damn foreign and blatantly and unforgivably Chinese, but her vocabulary and articulation of advanced ideas was incredible. I had trouble keeping it in my pants, but I was successful nonetheless in maintaining a conversation.
Teacher Guo drives me crazy! It's not like I think of her night and day and want to write poetry to her like Cyrano deBergerac. I just want to nail her. Is that so wrong? Am I a bad person for thinking this way? Shouldn't I be able to control my thoughts about sex and passion, or is that the Catholic school teaching resurfacing? I've only had sex once (another blog soon on that) but I feel the need to extend that sort of feeling to Teacher Guo. What would she say? She'd be creeped out, right? People don't say things like that to other people! Why not?
Everyone has these moments, in one way or another. We are all sexual beings, as much as we like to hide it. Ingrained in all our DNA is the need to furiously copulate in order to keep our species alive. This society that we've created for ourselves, its etiquette and standards and abstract social order, covers up a lot of our inherent desire for procreation. We have to hide this sometimes.
I want nothing more in my life right now than push her up against the book stacks of religious texts and move my hands up her long, thick skirt, and feel her heavy breathing against my chest. I want her hands to stroke my upper arms and shoulders. I want her to wrap her legs around my waist, trembling and anxious and curious. I want to whisper poorly-worded sentences in Mandarin behind her long, brown hair as our bodies- okay I'm getting ahead of myself. I will refrain from the rest of the fantasy for now, but the point is that my desire to spread my seed far and wide across the landscape of the fairer sex is something that most people would label with heavy words like "creep" or "pervert".
We're all freaks and weirdos on the inside. Don't ever deny that. I know you want it and you know I want it. Let's cut the crap.
It wasn't until coming to college that I had ever seriously been attracted to an instructor. My first teacher crush was my first Mandarin teacher, Teacher Li. (I'll avoid real names here.) She was this sprite, 27-year-old Chinese woman, pretty as can be, and very prone to wearing white dress shirts with the top two buttons undone, and her hair tied back into a tight ponytail. She must have been going for the friendly librarian look, I imagine, as my fellow hot-blooded heterosexual male classmates and I couldn't take our eyes off of her for the whole semester.
I remember the day in April when the class went outside for our lesson since it was so nice out. The sun was friendly and charismatic that day, and the slight wind drew the clouds away from above us, revealing a blue, endless sky. We sat in the grass and learned things. Characters. Backwards grammar. Intonations. Things that would never truly sink in for another year. I remember the feeling of the soft grass underneath me. I remember how Teacher Li sat up straight with perfect posture, alert, attentive, yet so kind, loving, understanding of our stupidity. Her whole being was so compact, tiny, and full of eagerness. The faint breeze made her few bangs brush across her cheek, so pale and Mongoloid, so young and ambitious. Her chest was partly revealed, and her hips were just the perfect width to draw me in. She would look at me as if I really mattered to her. She wanted me to learn. She thought I was worth something.
And somehow I payed attention.
A year later, my next Mandarin teacher would take control of my heart and toss it up and down in her hand like a pitcher readying for a galactic curve ball. Teacher Ma, this time, was also a 27 year-old Chinese woman from Shanghai whose ability to teach ignorant Americans the subtleties of her mother tongue confounds me still. She had unusually poofy hair which he refused to maintain, and these skinny jeans that were wondrous on her lower half. She has these glasses, too, that were clearly not her prescription, since she was still squinting a lot. Often she'd wear the puffy jacket kinda like the one that Michael J. Fox wears in Back the the Future, but most of the time, Teacher Ma would have this poncho-esque article of clothing that covered her whole top half. I can't really explain it well, but it was really pretty on her. I fantasized about her frequently. I still do. It didn't help that she liked to flirt with us a lot. I would get so confused.
Over the summer, she wanted me to come up to school and make a movie with her and her other Chinese gal-pals. The script was horrendous. I wanted to see her again. She's back in Shanghai. We still talk. She invited me to come visit her when I go to China. I dream about meeting up with her and hanging out. Then we'd sort of fall in love and become inseparable. I'd come back home and everyone would be so surprised that my first girlfriend would be an older Chinese girl, and then her parents would be so happy that their sole daughter found an American boy to marry. We'd travel across the world together, me making art and her making her awful movies. I'm such a fucking romantic.
But now, I have a new crush, and this time it's far more passionate. Again, another Asian woman has enthralled me in such a beautiful and human way. The teacher of my Chinese religions course is taught by another young, doll-like Chinese girl, named for our purposes as Teacher Guo. She looks about 29 or 30 to me, and with a more book-smart, intellectually capable and sexually independent air to her. She's nobody's bitch.
I can't help but get turned on by her. Even her lectures, so asexual and inhuman, obsessed with Chinese cosmology and bone inscriptions, arouses me and leaves me squirming on the inside. I had to meet with her at the beginning of the semester. So when I was alone with her in her office, door closed, my libido would NOT SHUT UP! She was going on about the subjective distinctions of the definition of religion, but all I could think about was all the ways I'd screw her, in what positions and what locations in this very office. Her accent was so damn foreign and blatantly and unforgivably Chinese, but her vocabulary and articulation of advanced ideas was incredible. I had trouble keeping it in my pants, but I was successful nonetheless in maintaining a conversation.
Teacher Guo drives me crazy! It's not like I think of her night and day and want to write poetry to her like Cyrano deBergerac. I just want to nail her. Is that so wrong? Am I a bad person for thinking this way? Shouldn't I be able to control my thoughts about sex and passion, or is that the Catholic school teaching resurfacing? I've only had sex once (another blog soon on that) but I feel the need to extend that sort of feeling to Teacher Guo. What would she say? She'd be creeped out, right? People don't say things like that to other people! Why not?
Everyone has these moments, in one way or another. We are all sexual beings, as much as we like to hide it. Ingrained in all our DNA is the need to furiously copulate in order to keep our species alive. This society that we've created for ourselves, its etiquette and standards and abstract social order, covers up a lot of our inherent desire for procreation. We have to hide this sometimes.
I want nothing more in my life right now than push her up against the book stacks of religious texts and move my hands up her long, thick skirt, and feel her heavy breathing against my chest. I want her hands to stroke my upper arms and shoulders. I want her to wrap her legs around my waist, trembling and anxious and curious. I want to whisper poorly-worded sentences in Mandarin behind her long, brown hair as our bodies- okay I'm getting ahead of myself. I will refrain from the rest of the fantasy for now, but the point is that my desire to spread my seed far and wide across the landscape of the fairer sex is something that most people would label with heavy words like "creep" or "pervert".
We're all freaks and weirdos on the inside. Don't ever deny that. I know you want it and you know I want it. Let's cut the crap.
imaxtoy:
Print this out. Fold it into a heart and leave it on her desk as anonymous... Watch how she maintains herself in class... If she becomes dramaticly more sexy in behavior, your "love letter" has "captured her heart". If not, better keep yourself anonymous or else she'll call the cops on you... 