Professor Dearest

My Dearest Professor,

I am contacting you on the advice of my psychiatrist who says that I have "unresolved issues" when it comes to you. On her advice I am going to write you this letter and then share it with her. A way of personal healing, if you will.

I am not going to tell you that you've ruined my life. You already know that, I'm sure you gloat on the fact that you've ruined a lot of things for me. You probably smirk and think I was well paid. My college education, my good grades, for your ministrations. You possibly even believe that you did me a huge favor in teaching me the ways of the world, preparing me for love or lust. A personal savior, if you will, a teacher who would show me not only the ways and will of Yeats but that of the common everyday man. And what an incredible teacher you were. You taught and I learned. I learned so many things.

I learned to hate. Oh not me as you are probably hoping. All of your type want the person they hurt, they rape, to feel as if their life is worthless, wasted. You want them to feel as if they are sluts and you somehow are immune to that label? We both know the truth. You are the slut. You are the whore. You are a rapist. I may not have fought each time. I may have knowingly returned to your clutches, how could I not? For the pain you dealt me you offered me also the chance of eventual escape from not only your clutches but all the other male whores of the world.

I've learned things about you. You think you are so very clever. You're not of course. In fact you are so fucking dumb it sickens me and delights me. You are an easy mark, My Love, My darling. A fucking easy mark. I know you. You still live in the same run down shack you did. A pathetic English teacher with no hopes and no real ambitions. Your life's ideal was to have a rape slave, which you of course found, but that was it. In fact, you are extremely boring.

You hurt me once when I was young, weak, powerless, and desperate. I am none of those things now. I am the powerful one. I have a new name, a new face, a new life, and you are still boring old you. The psychiatrist? She isn't the typical kind. She isn't here to listen to me sob. She isn't here to dry my eyes or wipe my nose. She's here to help me plan. To plan what I'm going to do to you. To plan how I am going to get my revenge. You see when you have my kind of money and my kind of power you can hire a person for almost anything. Her specialty is of course rape counseling and she loathes you as much as I do. Evidently seeing this kind of thing for 15 years you really look for a way to vent. A person to make pay for it all. In me she has found her chance and I have found mine in her. We are brilliant together. We are going to punish you, as you did me, and you are going to pay.

Why don't you go watch those tapes of yours. You know the ones. They all star you and me. Oh was that grammatically correct or not? Guess what. I don't fucking care and right now you shouldn't either. I noticed that you still walk to your office along the same route. You have new carpet in. That 20 year old girl who comes over, the red head? I see you're pulling the same stunt on her too. Hmm. I can't decide what will be better to turn you over to the jail or to wait and watch you stew over this letter. Maybe jail won't be so bad I know your penchant for ass rape and you'll probably get fucked 5 or 6 times a day in jail. How very nice for you. You'll probably even learn to enjoy it, because you are, after all, just a slut.

Something that surprises me is that you haven't had your lock changed in all this time. I know. I gave you back your key. After all you had me so well trained, your beck and call girl, your personal slave whore that you probably forgot I had a brain at all. But as you fucked me. I planned. As you raped me. I planned. As you called me names. I planned. As you cuddled with me, stroking my hair, and telling me that you loved me, I planned. The first thing I planned was getting your key. Do you recall? I told you that I would need it so that I could prepare a special surprise I had in mind for you. One that involved some supplies I had bought online. You were so excited and so sure you had me tame. You got a key made for me. I got a key made for me too. A nice little copy that you never knew about.

Why don't you go have your locks changed? I'm sure you will but of course I wouldn't even tell you this if it weren't too late. If I hadn't gotten everything I needed. Copies of your tapes. Copies of your hard drive. How silly of you to write and publish your little stories from your home computer. Those things are so easy to trace. There is a computer ID number all over those files. Destroy your computer, erase it. Mr. Nice and Ever Proper Professor, I have copies and so do the police. I wonder what they will think of all the pornography stored on your computer. Are those girls all over 18? Are you sure? Also you do realize that you admitted to rape numerous times online? Your silly little penname is hardly an effective cover. You are so easy to trace it's amazing that you are a well respected and purportedly intelligent teacher. I don't personally think you are very bright.

Of course maybe the police won't do anything, maybe that evidence is all inadmissible. That is a possibility. We know. That's ok. That's where the tapes come in. The police should at least begin an investigation, even if it turns out to be fruitless. Your higher ups in the school will not be happy. They will be even less happy when I send them my copies of the tapes, editted to show only the rape scenes. You'll be very happy to know, I think, that I have all your best moments. Not only the times your raped me or the time you took my virginity but the times with the others as well. The current red head, well she makes a fine debut.

You're an interesting specimen. You talk in class about the "human condition" and the "heart and soul of a work." I'm amazed you can even talk about a heart and soul; you obviously don't have one. When the little red head started crying and begging you "please, please stop, please." I'm sure you came so hard that you felt like God. Do you imagine the Dean or the President will think you're God when they see it?

I think they'll think you're fired.

Then there is my back up plan. I intend to send a letter to the parents who's children go to school, little red head included. Pictures too. I imagine that they will have enough power to ensure you never teach again. Not just at this school but any. Perhaps you will be branded and no matter where you go citizens will be alerted to watch their children, their wives, in fact anyone, because you are living in the area. You will be treated worse than a leper.

Perhaps you think I should feel bad about ruining your life? I don't. In fact I don't feel you really had a life anyway. You are not a real human being. I read what you wrote about me online. How you bragged. You're so very smart, aren't you? Tricking a college student, fresh out of high school, into believing that you had absolute power. You didn't care who I was. Whether I had dreams, or hopes, or aspirations. You had something you wanted and you used me as a means to get what you wanted. I was a thing for you. A toy. Something to be used however you liked because you thought you could get away with it.

Perhaps you're wondering whether you can strike a deal with me again. Something you could give me to let you continue living the worthless life that you lead. Let me think about it for a moment or two. Let me reflect on the many gifts you bestowed upon me. You took away that annoying hindrance that people refer to as virginity. You made me bleed from very uncomfortable places. You hurt my mind, my body, and my heart. You helped me pass school which led me to the position of power I am in now.

Perhaps I should leave things as they are because I am successful and what will people think when they see what's been done. After all people always blame the victim anyway. I'm sure a few will and I'm ready to deal with that. When I see headlines I will laugh because that will be one more person who doubts that façade you wear as you pretend that you're human.

I thought about all the lovely ways I could get you back. The things I could do to thank you for teaching me that fucking doesn't always involve loving. You also taught me to hate. You hate women. You want to see them subservient. You want to see them moan and squeal and tell you that you are a gift and they should be grateful to you as you abuse them and ridicule them. You are a man with no real power and no real means to get it. You're a waste of space. A waste of life. To make up for that you have to choose people you can dominate and humiliate so for once you can feel superior.

I'm going to let you in on a nasty little secret. You are inferior and all the little sexual power trips in the world will never change that fact. You are a small little man (And I mean that in all senses of the word) with tiny little ambitions and no sense of morality, justice, or dignity. You are beneath me. I would never even think to polish my shoes on you because you are below even the rug that sits in front of the door to your house.

So now I am going to go on with my life. Good luck with yours. I will leave you with the words you once said to me. "What you do is your decision and you will have to live with the consequences of it." Oh while I was in your desk I found the hand gun you keep, don't worry it's still there, I just made sure it still has bullets loaded. I am not so cruel as to take away all your options.

Never Truly Yours,

Susan