Being Stalked

Oh, the many plights of being a hot chick!

In 2007 I was teaching at the English course at the University; I'd been there for quite a while, and I liked the job - it had been my first, actually.

On the first day teaching a Tuesdays and Thursdays class, I introduced myself to the students, asked them their stories, pretended I was nice, etc, and then, something I used to do a lot back then, I gave them my e-mail address, telling them they could e-mail me at any time should any problems or difficulties arise.
Next morning I was checking my inbox, and found an e-mail from one of my students. "Already?" I thought to myself, slightly amused. Had I known what was to come, I wouldn't have been amused at all.
On said e-mail, the student (who was very ugly and weird, BTW) went on and on about how he'd loved my class and my personality. "Wow, isn't that an ego booster". Then he proceeded to ask me for my telephone number, suggesting that we go out someday after class. Very politely, I replied saying I didn't give my number to students, but that he was welcome to e-mail me with his doubts about any subject taught in class. Besides, I added, I didn't have time to go out after class, but thanks for asking, very flattering of him.
Naive me.
I received another e-mail after the second class. He insisted on our going out, still very nicely, I must say. Since he'd also e-mailed a question about something taught the previous day, I replied, answering the question and simply ignoring the invitation. Also: as there were many Portuguese mistakes (absurd mistakes) I showed my fellow teachers his e-mail, and we all made fun of him. We were, after all, majoring in Portuguese and English. And we were very very cruel.
The following week I saw the guy there, at the University, before class. WAY before class. Like 2pm, 3 hours before class. Just... walking around. Strolling, perhaps. Pacing could work as well.
But stalking is the word we're looking for.
And henceforth, this student will be referred to as "the stalker".
He kept pacing up and down the corridor in front of the teachers' room. Just pacing. Up and down.
I taught my class; that day I was wearing a tank top, and my black bra straps could be seen. Well, no biggie:  it WAS summer, and every other girl dressed in the exact same way.
Again, naive naive me.
Next day, of course, I received another e-mail, which went something like: "I loved the color of your underwear, it really had an effect on me. Black is just so pure."
"WHAT THE FLYING F***?!?!"
I regret to have to tell you that one of the things that bothered me the most at first was the "Black is just so pure" line; I mean, seriously, in what land or planet is the color black used to symbolize purity? Weirdoland?
Probably.
But of course, then it hit me that the stalker had brought my underwear into the conversation, and that it had "had an effect" on him. Eeewwww.
Hope you'll pardon my French, but: wanna put it in your spank bank, fine, but don't announce it, freak.
My reply: "For future reference, comments about my underwear are NOT welcome."
You'd think it was clear enough. But obviously, I was being too polite. The e-mails kept on coming for the rest of the semester, always inviting me out, telling me I was beautiful and funny, offering me rides home and whatnots.
It had stopped being flattering and moved on to creepy a loooong time before. He continued pacing up and down the corridor from 2 to 5 until the very end of the semester - whereas I'd pretend not to see him there. As if! The guy scared the bejesus out of me.
To my great joy, the classes were finally over; I flunked the stalker, and I wouldn't be seeing him anymore (did I mention he had horrible English? He made mistakes like "you is" - in an advanced class. He'd probably stalked and terrorized his previous teachers into passing him). As soon as vacations started, I flew to my grandma's house, in the south.
One fine day, there was another e-mail from the stalker in my inbox. I sighed. "Will I have to change my e-mail account? Goddamn it...". It said: "I really enjoyed your classes, too bad you're not gonna be my teacher anymore. I'm sending you a picture of me, to remember me by."
I scrolled down the e-mail annoyed, thinking:
"When you think you got rid of it... man... the Internet left us no safe havens... I mean, why send me a pict...
HOLY MOTHER OF GOD IT'S A PENIS!!!!"

Yep. The fucker sent me a picture of his penis.
Well, a picture of a penis.

I was still staring at the screen, completely schocked , when my grandma passed by:
"My dear, what's wrong? Are you well?"
"Yes, grams, very! It was nothing, absolutely nothing!"
While grams went away, muttering about my strange ways, I deleted the creepy e-mail. Since then, I've received no others from the stalker, thank the gods.
I mean, what did he expect to achieve with that? Did he expect to achieve anything? Was that really his penis? Wouldn't it be too much trouble to pull down your pants and photograph your own crotch? You'd also have to connect your camera to the computer... Wouldn't it be much, much easier to google "penis"? Or some of its dirtier synonyms? Does he have a collection of pictures of penises?
I keep asking myself these questions, and then I keep slapping myself in the face BECAUSE I HAVE NO DESIRE TO KNOW THE ANSWERS.

As I said: oh, the many hardships of being pretty!...

P.S.:  I'm guessing that googling "penis" or any of its synonyms would not yield good results.