Is it normal to fantasize about one of your teachers for over 30 yrs.?

For 36 years, I have been absolutely and seriously obsessed with the woman who taught me English in my freshman year of high school. Her name was Barbara; I've thought of her ever since as "Barbie Baby." Barbie was a plus-size woman back in the 1970's, when it was apparently more difficult to find such sized clothing. Every day, Barbie wore clothes that were so tight, you could see her panty line right down to the "V" of her crotch. When Barbie walked away from you, her ass cheeks bounced back and forth as though they were winking at you.

And then there was Barbie's chest. Her huge breasts bounced and shook every time she did something as simple as walking across the room. Most of the time, you could clearly see the outline of Barbie's brassiere, and it was quite obvious that the bra wasn't up to the task for which it had been made.

Sometimes, Barbie would stand at a podium at the front of the classroom to give us a lecture, and she would often wear a suit jacket. The routine was always the same: The jacket remained unbuttoned, and before long, Barbie's huge tits would give way, pushing the jacket aside. When Barbie saw some horny student (usually me) staring at her bounteous chest, she'd quickly pull her jacket over it, as if to say, "I'm just not that kind of woman!" Then before long, her chest would bulge out, and the game would start all over again.

Needless to say, I had less interest in concentrating on English than on Barbie. Every day of class, I would stare wide-eyed at her full figure, my cock at full staff, me feverishly wishing I could be inside Barbie's big, beautiful body. If Barbie didn't know I was horny for her, it's only because she didn't want to know.

One day, Barbie left her suit jacket on a table at the other end of the classroom. While the rest of the class was working in groups on some project, I sauntered over and felt up the jacket for as long as I could. I knew it was a pointless exercise, but I just wanted to touch something that had been so close to the body of my dreams. At one point, I look across the room and saw Barbie staring at me with a sickly smile on her face. I wasn't sure if she was really smiling at me, or if she was just hoping I wouldn't do something sick.

I remained at that high school for two years afterward, and long after I got out of freshman English, I used every excuse I could to saunter up to Barbie and make conversation with her, just so that I could be a few inches away from that big, beautiful body. That I resisted every temptation to reach over and give her a squeeze, I chalk up solely to divine intervention. Sometimes, as Barbie walked away after talking to me, she'd even give me some flirtatious gesture, such as lightly poking me on the nose or winking at me, before I watched her bulbous ass cheeks sauntering away, and I'd wonder if she wanted to fuck me as much as I did her.

I'd have thought I'd have forgotten her long ago, but the photographers who did our high school's yearbooks always printed nice full-figure shots of Barbie for me to jerk off to. So for over three decades, I've been masturbating to Barbie's yearbook photos, my adult fantasies growing ever more elaborate about how I would like to fuck this woman's brains out.

Barbie is now 75 years old. I know this because I phoned her a couple of years ago. I had every intention of telling her how obsessed I've been with her lush figure over the years. But at the last minute, tact prevailed, and I simply exchanged school memories with her.

I'm sure Barbie probably doesn't look a bit like she did in her early forties, if only because gravity must have taken its toll on her. Nevertheless, I still fantasize furiously about this woman's gorgeously full physique, and I find myself wishing I could still go to bed with her, as a senior citizen or otherwise.