I took the late afternoon flight into Philly for a job interview the next day. I was nervous and wanted to let off some steam before meeting my future boss and potentially exploring my new city.
I knew Willow loosely in college – she was the type to focus all her time on being pre-med and getting good grades for medical school. Glasses, skinny, unconcerned with her appearance and dress.
Conversations with her were bland and focused on academics. I found her one note and boring. She told me later that she hadn’t enjoyed our encounters either – I was tweaky and jumpy, spread too thin among too many things. Not exactly your average, meet cute love story.
After freshman orientation, we kind of drifted apart – with all the interesting people around there was no reason for us to stay connected.
Willow got us reservations for an Italian restaurant in a nice part of town. For near-strangers it was a safe, unassuming choice. My expectations for dinner were low: we would talk about college, share a couple stories about the people we had both known, catch up on what had happened in our lives after graduation. I would have a glass of wine and head back to my hotel room to study for my interview the next day.
My eyes caught as she walked in. I had never before thought of Willow sexually or as a romantic interest. But here she was, and I couldn’t recognize her. There was something about the way she looked at me, the flirty way she touched my arm every so often as we talked.
Our first year of college was also the first year Facebook got big. I imagine it has to be tougher for women, for the way you looked at 17 to be forever memorialized no matter how much you try to untag.
Some people fall off a cliff – but Willow had gotten hot. Moderate makeup, tight, sheer black mesh over a low-cut tank. Still skinny, but instead of her having nothing up top as I remembered, she now had a sultry S-shape.
Narrow waist, and curves. Underneath that outfit she wore to see me, were at least 34Cs, if not more.
The conversation was pleasant but I spent the rest of dinner distracted, trying not to look. All I could think about was what was under her top, where she had gotten them. I wanted to get my hands on her tits, to feel for myself whether they were real.
Willow told me that the years after college had been difficult – she had taken a teaching gig down south and the kids she taught were rough. She had gained a bunch of weight and lost it again, but some of it stayed.
Now in her first year of med school, Willow no longer had to focus on getting in. She knew she had “gotten hot,” but was exploring just exactly what to do with it in ways she hadn’t thought of before. I got the sense she was trying to catch up on all the fun she had missed in college.
As much as I wanted to take off her top, I didn’t think dinner would lead anywhere, with my interview the next day and how little we knew each other before, the lack of ground work between us.
But sometimes divine intervention works in the most clichéd ways.
After dinner, Willow asked me where I was staying and whether she could come study. Flashcards. For her anatomy final.
And I couldn’t resist telling her there were better ways to study for it.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/br13cn/tutoring_sex_mf_pt1
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