I was shocked at first. There was no message, nothing but a photograph of me on holiday in Greece, which he must have found on Facebook. Then I noticed the thick, white ropes of semen extending from my navel to my bikini top. I quickly turned around my computer monitor in case my co-workers saw it.

I didn’t recognise the email address; it wasn’t a university one, just a random Gmail address. What was this? A student prank? I knew I should report it to IT and take it to my boss. Someone had crossed a line, and sexual harassment on campus was unacceptable. Whichever student sent it risked having their studies terminated.

But that morning was busy, and I had bigger fish to fry. Fifteen undergraduates would arrive in the dance studio within minutes, and I couldn’t be late. So I closed the email, packed my trolley, and left the office.

Only when I returned home did I look at the photograph again. I had heard of cum tributes but never expected to be the subject of one, especially at work. Was a middle-aged Indian lecturer really considered desirable by the students? Whoever sent it must have thought so; he had worked out quite a load over me.

Again, I considered my options. I could alter my privacy settings on Facebook, and I certainly ought to report it. But I didn’t do either. Thinking of a young guy looking at my near-naked body as he finished himself off appalled me, but I couldn’t bring myself to act. So instead, I filed the email under ‘Confidential’.

The next day, it was a photo of me at a family wedding. This time, my green and gold lehenga had been coated in his creamy ejaculate. At the bottom of the picture was the tip of a thick, white cock, still leaking onto the iPad.

This time, I found myself getting wet. The extent of my arousal surprised me. It was strangely thrilling to be the subject of a stranger’s lust, to know someone still found me attractive, sexy even. I missed the student crushes, which had become much less frequent as the years passed.

So I began uploading more images to Facebook, one each day. It started with poolside holiday snaps and photos of me in Indian dress. I knew he liked those. Then I uploaded flirty selfies with generous cleavage to the fore. Every morning, they came back tributed, always without accompanying text. The pictures were enough, it seemed. His feelings spelt out in thick, white letters.

When the emails stopped coming, I was disappointed. Perhaps someone else became the object of the guy’s fantasies, or maybe he just got bored. But I keep the photographs in my ‘Confidential’ folder and occasionally I use them when I’m alone. Every woman needs to be appreciated, and in the years to come, I will look at them and know I was adored once too.