This is a new chapter in the saga I started here: https://old.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/u33z2w/f_i_f45_had_a_secret_affair_for_8_months_it/, but it’s pretty different now, less a story than a dive into various memories.
So, my plan for the next few instalments is to do a series of snapshots from my sexual education, if that makes sense. It’ll be like a bunch of portraits of my most important experiences with key lovers. This is all part of the same project as the story of my affair with Keith, about exploring my own self, my desires and thoughts and so on. But it’ll be less of a story and more of a series of portraits, in nor particular order. Most of this stuff has already been written in one form or another, but I’m re-writing them one by one for this ongoing saga.
I said it’s an account of my sexual education, so what better place to start than Professor P? He wasn’t my first lover and he wasn’t even the most important or memorable (before I met my husband Scott, that would have been my most serious high school boyfriend Graham, but more on him later). But he was still a very important step in my growth as a sexual being.
Professor P (as the women in his classes used to call him) was the first lover I had who was significantly older than me. I was 20, midway through my undergrad. He was 39 and a Spanish language professor at the small liberal-arts college I attended. He was married to a former student, rumor had it they had hooked up when he was her professor and it had broken up a previous marriage. He had a reputation, let’s say. In those days, professors in consenting relationships with students was still considered tolerable, though people were already skeptical about what consent really meant in those situations. Everyone knew about Professor P’s special interest in young, dewy-eyed (and of course pretty) students, and it wasn’t unusual to see him at one of the local bars with one of them.
At the time I thought of myself as a very experienced, mature and open-minded person. Looking back I’m amazed by how naive I was. But I knew what I was doing when I started responding to Professor P’s interest. I found it thrilling to be pursued by this older, Argentinian intellectual who wasn’t especially good looking (he was short, with pasty skin and he was starting to look not young) but who I found incredibly attractive. Everyone did. His reputation was a bit scandalous, but that added spice to the whole thing. He was gentlemanly and very polite and suave, but at the same time he did not hide the fact that he liked the look of me and wanted to act on this desire. I kidded myself into thinking that the other students who had been with him were immature groupie types who didn’t know what they were getting into. Of course I was much more aware!
Our first date, if I can call it that, was very no nonsense. One day after class he asked if he could over to my place. I wondered how often he did this with students and how often it worked for him. Anyway, it worked this time. He obviously couldn’t host me at his place, and the fact that I shared a duplex with two other girls was not a problem for him, or for me. My housemates were pretty excited and a bit weirded out when he showed up, they acted strange and nervous, knowing his reputation as well as I did. One of them was also in his class, and she stammered and blushed when he spoke to her about the latest assignment as if he wasn’t there to fuck me.
Eventually we got to my room, just the two of us. I shut the blind, partly for privacy, partly to darken the room because the situation was a bit awkward. He walked over, put his hands on my hips, and kissed me. I felt myself melting at his touch, which seemed so natural and confident compared to the boys I was used to. The main difference was that he was unhurried, as if he wasn’t horny but just concerned with me and my pleasure. He undressed me without getting undressed himself, and said nice things about my body. They would have sounded cheesy if it wasn’t for his accent and my knowledge of how smart he was.
Professor P guided me gently to the bed and arranged my body on the mattress, on my back with my arms along my side, my thighs apart but not too wide, my lower legs hanging off the side. He nuzzled me with his face, kissed me up and down my chest and belly and legs, and stroked my limbs and face. Unlike boys my age, he seemed to have all the time in the world. He didn’t seem impatient or out of control. When I tried to reach for him, he would let me cup his crotch or pull his butt toward me, but he would slip away and focus on me. He knew exactly what he was doing. His patience and control was making me impatient and frantic for him. It wasn’t just that he was making my body feel incredibly good. He was also letting my body do most of the work. By holding back, he was making my desire grow and grow until I couldn’t do anything but take control. This was amazing to me. No one had ever made me feel so in charge of the sex, while at the same time making me feel so completely out of control with arousal.
He made everything seem like it was my idea. His hands avoided my breasts until I couldn’t take it anymore, grabbed his hand and placed it on my tit. Then I had to pull his face down so he would suckle my nipples. He didn’t kneel on the floor between my legs to eat me until I had to tell him to do it in so many words, basically begging him to eat me. He had me cumming within a few seconds. By then all I wanted was to make him feel good, so I told him to take his clothes off and asked if I could suck him. He obviously wanted me to, but he was so casual about it, that I felt like I was pressuring him into it. I was ravenous for him.
That was a first. I’d wanted men before, but no one had made me discover how much I could want someone. I blew him for a long time before I rolled onto my back again and said he had to fuck me. I liked this new demanding me that he was bringing out in me. He insisted on a condom even though he was “snipped,” which made me want him not to wear one, so he smiled apologetically and said “maybe next time.” Whatever, he felt amazing. There was nothing special about how we did it, it was just missionary the whole time, but when he came after maybe five minutes I was basically a puddle.
I was in awe. After he left, I tried to explain to my housemates what he had done and how it seemed like a kind of magic or hypnosis. Like I said, he knew exactly how to make someone else do all the work of desiring and wanting everything he wanted. As soon as he was gone I knew I had to sleep with him again, and he basically just had to sit back and let me come to him.
Readers of reddit stories will be surprised to hear that Professor P never fucked me in his office, and no he didn’t give me an A+ for the five or six times we got together. I was an A- student and that didn’t change. He didn’t push me against any bookshelves or do any of the other things professors do in erotica involving students and their profs. What he did do was teach me that sex didn’t have to be this mad dash, that men could go slow, and that I liked taking charge sometimes.
I think I made him seem like a passive or lazy lover, but Professor P knew exactly what he was doing. His withholding approach to our first encounter left me ravenous for more, and by the time I saw him again, about a week later, I was so riled up I would have agreed to basically anything he asked. He must have known this, but he didn’t ask for anything particularly unusual the whole time we were together (just a few weeks). He let me talk him into not using a condom, as if he wasn’t angling for it all along. I’m making it sound like he was manipulative. Maybe he was, but at the time I was just so impressed with his almost magical ability to control the situation by making me demand what he wanted.
Strange to say, apart from asking if I’d consider a threesome with another one of his students, Professor P didn’t ask for anything particularly kinky. He was very traditional in his moves, but he was so good at them that I guess he didn’t need to try anything else. Who knows. I said no to the threesome, by the way. Despite what I said earlier about being up for whatever he wanted. I wasn’t into women, and even if I had been, that seemed like a recipe for disaster. When he told me he found my housemates attractive too, I was not encouraging. Soon afterwards we were done. I started seeing other guys my age again, and he moved on. I finished his class, and never talked to him again. But that brief fling gave me new confidence and greater expectations for future relationships.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/uq5czv/f_portraits_of_my_f46_past_lovers_part_xi