my professor, my obsession || cillian murphy

chapter four

   Staring at the screen before me, I sat at my desk and tried to continue to write my paper. It was difficult knowing all the distractions. But my determination to impress Professor Murphy was the only motivation I needed to finish the essay. I had been sitting on the uncomfortable chair for hours, I even set a pillow down under me to prevent my butt from getting numb. I promised myself to get as much done of this essay as I could. I revised over and over, trying my best to make it better each time I re-read it. By the end of the night, I was finished, and somewhat proud of the work I had accomplished. Afterwards, I pressed the submit button and shut my laptop.

As the night unfolded, a sense of accomplishment and pride swelled within me. With a final sense of satisfaction, I found the courage to press the submit button.

Following a refreshing shower and changing into my bedtime attire, I carefully settled into bed, allowing the soft embrace of my sheets to cocoon me. As I closed my eyes, my mind raced with thoughts of Professor Murphy. Each mental image of his face evoked a flutter in my stomach, a delicate dance of excitement.

***

   I woke up the next morning to an email from Professor Murphy about the cancelation of today's class, which immediately casted a shadow on my day. This only prompted me to linger in bed, immersed in gloom. The disappointment continued until the obligation to attend my pottery class reluctantly forced me to actually get out of bed. The day still seemed to lack any purpose at all.

I arrived to class far too early, before both Alexandra and Rufus, which was shocking to all three of us. The distractions were good, I could actually focus on something else other than Professor Murphy for once. But as the class unfolded, my impatience grew steadily. Engaging in conversations with Alexandra and Rufus did little to distract me from the persistent thoughts and images of Professor Murphy lingering in my mind. It dawned on me recently that my obsession had only escalated, extending its influence beyond Murphy's class to affect my performance in all my other courses.

I found it challenging to put a stop to all the thoughts of his face, his impeccably perfect features, or the allure of his voice – a smooth, low, velvety cadence that felt almost intoxicating to my ears. The mental image of his tall, lean body that moved with a captivating grace occupied my thoughts throughout the entirety of pottery class. Sensing a sudden warmth in my body, I discreetly shifted in my seat, becoming aware of the subtle moisture beneath me.

In an unexpected twist, my eyes widened as I realized I had never experienced such a physical reaction before. Never had I ever gotten actually 'turned on' by the thought of my professor, the only thing I've actually felt is the butterflies that dance in my stomach and the blood that rushes to my cheeks. Although this was a completely different feeling. It was far more intense, which was intriguing, yet also frightening.

I sat there, frozen in my seat, tightly clenching my thighs in an attempt to stop the sensation. The tension gripped my muscles, and I removed my hands from the lathe to find stability again.

"Everything okay, Clem?" Rufus asked.

My head swiftly turned in his direction, and I swallowed. "Yeah, all good," I lied. He shot me a skeptical glance but didn't press any further. I struggled with the intrusive thoughts about Professor Murphy throughout the class. It felt impossible to suppress the emotions inside me. I knew that this was unhealthy, but I had a feeling that I'm far too deep to stop.

***

   Later that night, after completing my homework and indulging in a shower, I reclined on my bed, fixating on thoughts of Professor Murphy – a recurring theme in my nightly routine. As I closed my eyes, his smooth, seductive voice echoed in my mind, drawing out the pronunciation of my name. Vivid images formed, with his face in close proximity, his tall, lean figure pressing against me. Sensations of warmth and his touch became palpable. Subconsciously, my hand traveled down my pants, feeling the return of the moisture in my panties. The intensity heightened as the fantasy of his touch stirred arousal. Attempting to stop the sensations, I crossed my legs, only to find the effect amplifying. Biting my lip, I opened my eyes and withdrew my hand, grappling with the heightened emotions.