Teach Me, Guide Me, Love Me

I've always had this thing for smart older men. When I was a teen, I was mad about Gil Grissom on the TV show CSI. He was intense, bookish, highly intelligent, quiet, articulate and protective. When I got older, I became enamoured with James Spader in the erotic movie Secretary for similar reasons. I never actually met anyone in real life that I felt that way about until recently. The new head of IT at my job scratches my every itch. He's in his mid-forties, bespectacled, somewhat shy, well-spoken, so smart, and possesses a strong, quiet authority about him. I love the bits of grey hair. I sometimes overhear him patiently encouraging his underlings when they are uncertain. "This is good. You're doing so well. Keep going." The man stars in so many of my fantasies saying exactly that. In all of them, he is a constant authority figure, guiding me sexually and through life. My favourite fantasy is when he is a priest and I am a catholic schoolgirl and he teaches me about my body. Then when I come he whispers "I am very proud of you. ". Other times he is a doctor, fondling me during our appointments, showing me what my body can do. He's been my step-father kissing me on my forehead for winning an award or spanking me for disobedience, and he's been my English teacher who loves to keep me after class. Nothing turns me on more than being the focus of a loving older man's care, intensity and lust. In all my fantasies, after we make love, he kisses my forehead, my nose, strokes my cheeks and chin, coddles me in his big, strong, firm body and tells me how proud he is of me.