By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
In college, I always had the hots for my professors. In class I was the model student, but back in the dorms I liked nothing more than the thought of academic seduction. I never worked up the nerve to get into a faculty member's pants, but that didn't stop me from daydreaming. In particular, I'd fantasize about a German professor who'd taken a liking to me as a freshman: early fifties, tall, awkward, with a teddy bear build and a devilish twinkle. In my preferred scenario, he graded papers while I hid beneath his big wooden desk, my head between his legs.
So imagine my excitement a few months ago when I got a Facebook message from one Dr. S., the recent recipient of a PhD in the literary arts and now a professor in middle America. Like me, he considered himself a high-minded cybersex enthusiast. At first we sent messages back and forth about the nature of eroticismthe online equivalent of pretending, over a cup of coffee and civilized conversation, not to be foaming at the mouth to get each other into bed. Then he started sending me transcripts of old encounters. I was impressed: he actually knew how to write, he moved slow and built up steam, and he put a lot of thought into his naughtiness. With a previous partner, he explained, he'd even constructed a cybersex apartment: a series of rooms they'd "furnished" together so they could role-play jumping each other in familiar settings.
Still, I wasn't 100% convinced this Dr. S. would be worth my time. Call me cocky or pessimistic, but enough people know I do cybersex researchand offer to help me outthat I can be picky about whom I sleep with. He changed my mind with an e-mail. It read: "Ms. Ruberg, I write this out of what I hope is mutual concern As your instructor, I can no longer ignore some troublesome developments. While past work indicates your ambition as well as your intelligence, present work does not I strongly suggest you schedule a conference with me to discuss how we might collectively refocus your efforts toward more stimulating ends. Dr. S."
Yes, it was an invitation to a cybersex role-play disguised as a reprimand from a professor. As my fiancé said when I showed it to him, "Wow, that's perfect for you. You eat that shit up." And I do.
Dr. S and I got together that week on Gchat and acted out a scene: I come to his office for a stern talking to, only to seduce him into throwing me over his desk and taking me from behind. It lasted almost two hours. When we finished, he asked, "You know I really am in my office, right?" Here I was, living out my fantasy of sleeping with a professor, and all the while he was actually sitting behind his desk, a stack of papers waiting to be graded, just like I'd always imagined.
Maybe it goes without saying that I came back for more. Dr. S. and I have met online four or five times now. We even have regular "office hours": Fridays at 10:00. Sometimes I'm the tease. Sometimes he dominates me. On Halloween I dressed up as a flasher and he ravaged me with my trench coat still on. We e-mail casually throughout the week. When we miss a meetingfor a real-life doctor's appointment or whateverwe inevitably seem to find ourselves tempting each other away from work the following Monday morning. Most recently we had sex in his college's library, which he described in detail before pushing me against a bookshelf and taking off my pants.
That's all hot. Here's the part that's weird: I actually like this guy. The other day a reader wrote to me to ask if two people can fall in love online without ever meeting. "No way," I thought. Now I'm reconsidering. Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love. But I do feel a palpable connection to this person I've never even spoken with on the phone. Despite the power play, he's only six years older than me, and we share a lot of interests. The sex we have is kinky, rough, but it's not without affection. While pressing me against a wall, Dr. S. might kiss my cheek. Sheepishly, while I curled up in his lap after a particularly heated session, he admitted, "I'm really glad things have turned out like they did. I wanted to approach you for a while but couldn't work up the nerve." And at the end of our next meeting: "I know we've only been hanging out a little while, but I already feel really attached to you. I hope you feel the same way, too."
Maybe, to the outsider who hasn't been getting naked weekly inside those imagined office walls, what he's saying sounds silly, or sad. It sounds that way to me, toobut because I feel the same way. I have no plans to stop seeing my naughty professor (I'm writing this on a Friday, and already we've firmed up our get together for next week), but I have been thinking a lot about our "relationship." No, we're not together in any traditional sense. We're not even together in a sketchy, internet girlfriend/boyfriend way. But it's hard not to ask myself what I'd do if he showed up in town, let's say for a conference. Who am I kidding? I know what I'd do. The question is what would he.