I had a mad crush once on an art history professor. I was a seventeen-year-old freshman and he was twenty years my senior. I had gotten laid exactly once before we met—a disappointing experience that took place the first weekend I went away to university. I did not bother repeating it for months until I found myself crushing on...let's call him James.
I turned into a madwoman. From where had all this passion come? I didn't know, but what I knew was that I wanted him more than my next breath.
I made my interest clear and he did the same. But he didn't seduce me until his class was over, so it wasn’t until the next semester that we finally got what we both wanted—sort of.
One memorable night, I found myself thoroughly fucked in a cozy bed aboard a houseboat—very romantic. He was great. I felt as though I was flying, in total bliss and joy.
Then he said, “So, you have trouble coming?”
I crashed to the earth and couldn't fly again for years.