An anonymous Staff Writer describes the horrors of having a sex dream about a professor with half the semester still remaining. (Sorry, no real-life sex mishaps—this is all from the depths of one delusional, touch-starved little pea brain.)

I woke up in a cold sweat, slamming the alarm off. For once, I did not attempt to fall back asleep; I sat straight up in my bed, a look of horror on my face. Was that…who I thought it was in my dream? I wondered with a grimace, already hating myself. Unfortunately for me, the answer to my questions was yes; it was, in fact, my CC professor that had starred opposite me in what was a sex dream. 

I don’t have a thing for DILFS or daddy issues (I swear!!!), and yet I was almost positive that it had been my 40ish-year-old professor whispering sweet nothings in my ear in that terrible, terrible dream. If there had been a shred of doubt in my mind upon waking up that morning, my suspicion was confirmed when I had to go to a very empty office hours Zoom with him. Alone. Less than five hours after I had awoken from the jarring dream.

Absolutely mortified, I tried way too hard to overcompensate for my discomfort by comporting myself with a level of professionalism that I can hardly muster for scholarship interviews. Honestly, that 30-minute office hours session was the worst part of the whole experience. The dream itself I maybe could have forgotten or laughed off. But having to look into that man’s eyes in an empty Zoom as I sought approval for a paper topic immediately after the dream? That shit will be seared into my brain forever. 

I’m honestly a little peeved that my subconscious wasted such a good headcanon on him of all people, too. Sure, he’s attractive enough, but he’s also semi-useless, excessively pedantic, and assigns way more reading than we ever actually discuss in class. At best, he deserved a hate-f*ck dream. But my subconscious went and gave him an illicit-moment-in-an-empty-corner-of-the-Met dream. 

Such erotic masterpieces should be granted to young, hot, prospects only! The idea not only soiled my mind but also tarnished my relationship with an acclaimed New York City landmark I had once revered. A completely tragic misuse of my very limited creativity made even more devastating by the fact that he got an absolutely awful haircut two weeks later. The haircut crushed any ounce of morbid curiosity I may have once harbored and replaced it with nothing but disappointment and regret.

My last two brain cells giving me that cursed dream via Wikimedia Commons