I could stare at him all day in awe. Marvel over the way his jaw flexed and his muscles tensed. My muse. His presence alone demanded respect and attention. No words were needed. My body quivered in quakes and tsunami when he was  me. His aura. That aura of his. The charm, the wit, the assertiveness. Every day I would see him, but we never spoke one on one. It sucked, but I enjoyed admiring from a distance. When he finally did speak, his base and treble made me tremble once again. Hypnotised by his pearl whites, the way the corner of his lips arched into a cheeky smile and exposed his dimples. I felt weak. He consumed me. Robbed me off of my pride and composure. I had to take a seat. From then on I made any excuse to talk to him, each time I did I’d notice something new that made me fall deeper. I remember the first week he shook my hand and I felt that alpha grasp. The clutch of a man. No complexion could compare to the sun kissed bronzed brown of his own. Woven together so perfectly, blended impeccably. Wow, God really took his time crafting this one. Epitome of God’s handiwork. Pure art. I have to stop staring. But how can I? What a man. A man. But I’m barely a woman. To him, I’m just another kid with a silly crush on the professor. 

I was just a kid with a silly crush on the professor. Till I professed to him how he made me feel. Once the truth was out my words flowed, gritty and sore like sand until they became a smooth as silk. Now I found myself on his silk sheets, with my silk hair bonnet perched awkwardly on my head. I silently wonder how many students of his have found themselves on these same sheets. We don’t have pillow talk after sex on this bed. We become riddled with guilt and anxiety. Every night I’m up convincing him this could work. Prophesying our future. I’ll drop your course. I’ll move to a different department. Dare me, I’ll change university. Listen mister, you are my everything. I’m drawn to you and I’m stuck in your orbit. It’s a gravitating effect and it hasn’t weakened since the day he literally walked into my life. He’s my everything. Early lectures, I’m in attendance sitting front row. I could listen to him talk all day. I loved the passion in his voice, his awkward hand gestures and the confidence that came along with it that distracted you from his awkward tendencies altogether. What a man. I have never come across one like him. 

I love the feel of his skin. The sensation of when he first thrusts it in. Every pant of breath as exercises me like a gym. It’s him. My muse. And I’m not deluded, I swear. But I’m everything to him. I just know it. He fits beautifully inside me. Fills me up and makes me whole. His strong hands clasped around my neck, again he manages to steal my breath away. I’m choking and my eyes streaming. Daddy please, I’m pleading. Maybe this is sexy to him. My alpha. It hurts. Stop. But he keeps going. If this is his love I don’t want it. But fuck, I need it. It hurts. Stop. But I keep going. His assertiveness has a dark side. Professor has a mean streak. Once upon a time he made me weak in lust, now I’m weak in love. It’s crippling. He crippled me. I can’t walk, and it’s not in the way I’d like it to be. I was young and free; but I trapped myself. Tangled in his web of lies and vicious beats. 

I did drop his course. I dropped out altogether. It got too much. But I can’t escape his touch. The speed of his punch. The sting of his slap. Assignments piled up. He marked my grades as hard as he marked my body with his violent lashes. I used to admire the way his jaw clenched and his muscles flexed, now it frightens me. 


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