When I was a senior in college, I took this really difficult English literature class. The only good thing about it was that my 35-year-old professor, Peter (not his real name), was so hot. And smart. Yeah, he was pretty much the sexiest man ever. At first, I tried to keep my cool and stay away from him, since he graded my papers and all. But after a particularly flirty one-on-one meeting, I couldn't hold back. So I asked him if he had time that night to discuss the grad program he'd completed ... over wine ... and off campus. He said yes!
I spent the rest of the afternoon in panic mode. I paced around my room for hours, trying on a thousand different outfits (seriously) and wondering if our "meeting" would end up just a meeting. It didn't: Peter slept over that night. And the next night. And the night after that. We secretly dated for the rest of the year.
Peter and I both knew he'd be in major trouble if word got out, so we did our best to keep our sexcapades stealthy. But our best was still pretty sloppy — we had lots of close encounters. One time, during a reception for English majors, Peter and I were standing in a corner, quietly plotting where in the building we'd go to rip each other's clothes off. Then, out of nowhere, he started talking about Romeo and Juliet, so I responded sarcastically, "Yeah, Shakespeare so makes me want to strip." Turns out, another professor had come up behind me, and Peter had busted out the Romeo reference in an attempt to cover up our true convo. Fortunately, it worked: We spent the next hour chatting with the other professor about the crossover between intellectual and sexual stimulation. I know.
Another night, Peter came to pick me up from a senior event to go see a late-night movie. But while he was waiting for me in the parking lot, some of his students spotted him and asked him why he was there. Panicked, he told them he'd volunteered to be a designated driver and give seniors a ride home from the event...so instead of cuddling at the movies as we'd planned, I spent the next hour crammed in the backseat of his car with three other students.
But perhaps the worst almost-busted situation of all happened toward the end of the school year. My roommates told me they were going out with their boyfriends, so I invited Peter over to my off-campus apartment to get it on. But to our utter horror, my girls came home early with their guys—one of whom had Peter as a professor. Freakout! I told them I was holed up in my room with my ex-boyfriend, making sure to flash them a knowing "It's a long story" look. Luckily, they bought it and never found out who was really between my sheets ... although my ex was pretty confused when all his friends asked him about his throwback night with me.
Peter and I ended our fling soon after I graduated. I know it wasn't right, but hey: My school prides itself on cultivating close student-professor relationships. Let's just say it succeeded. Oh, and I got an A in the class.