If Professor Old, Then Why Sexy?

It’s a Tuesday afternoon. You make the hajj to the fourth floor of College Hall, devastatingly winded by the act of walking up more than one flight of stairs. You are so eager to learn whatever it is this class is about that fulfills the history & traditions sector.  The moment you walk into class, you are greeted by your certified DILF (or GILF, if we are being precise): Dr. Albert Bernard, who is flicking the lights on and off in an attempt to turn on the projector. 

But ultimately, you are plagued by one trying question: if professor old, then why sexy? 

How do I concentrate on revolutionary ideologies when all I wanna do is cause an uprising in his lower class?  How am I to learn about the 20th century wage gap, when all I can think about is our age gap?  What is it about his strong and authoritative voice when he talks about how very naughty it is to plagiarize and says how very, very angry he’ll be if he catches me? What is so deeply erotic about the way his tortoise shell reading glasses slide down his nose when he reads off his printed lecture notes because he physically cannot operate a computer?  

Only a professor’s combination of graying hair, softly wrinkled skin, and comments that make you say, “Wait, is he a Republican?” could so perfectly satisfy both my sapiosexuality and my Oedipus complex.

You snap out of an erotic dream sequence, realizing you knew the answer to your question all along: professor sexy because professor old.