Columns

It was my first semester at Otago, and it could have been The Greatest Story Ever Told. My first paper, my first class – there you were. I arrived to class early and you were already waiting, preparing for the lesson. I chose a desk, sat down. Then I saw your face – and I was a believer. As you spoke about the Old Testament with fiery passion, the sexual tension in the air was undeniable. Like the forbidden fruit, you were the apple of my eye, drawing me in with your juicy appetite for the Hebrew Bible. The way you lit up that classroom convinced me that I had found a little piece of heaven on earth.

After staring at the cover of my lecture pad that night, I couldn’t help but wonder how many pens I had gone through writing “Mrs James Harding” on the front. They say that God doesn’t give with both hands, but your academic brilliance turned me on almost as much as your manly physique. The Bible tells us that you should “love thy neighbour as thyself”, and Dr. Harding – it’s only fair that I confess, that I feel especially neighbourly towards you. Like the animals on the ark, we are two of a kind.

Now I know that the old saying goes “two wrongs don’t make a right”, but if you and I both decide to be very, very wrong, I think it could be oh-so-right. While you carefully critiqued the abundant literature on Genesis, I couldn’t keep myself from speculating on the age-old question: WWJD? (What Would James Do?) Would he run his fingers through my hair? Clear off his desk in one fell swoop and throw me on it? I was in desperate need of salvation, and you were just the man to deliver it.

Now perhaps sensual daydreaming may come across as inappropriate, given the nature of your field, but Romans tell us we are all sinners, right? If my only crime is allowing myself to be bewitched and beguiled by the way the top of your head reflects off the projector, then I subject myself to you for a punishment of biblical proportions – on the condition that I can wear my thigh-high leather boots while you inflict it.

I hope you realise that even if these feelings can go no further, and I never get to show you my Garden of Eden, or see your snake, then at least I can count my blessings that I got to spend that semester with you, whilst still dreaming of the day that I can be your Mary Magdalene. Until then, I’ll be Livin’ on A Prayer.

Signed,

Easy Like Sunday Morning.