[FM] My philosophy professor and me, a stick of dynamite

This has to be a multi-part posting I think, sorry that it moves a bit slowly, but it’s up there with the hottest things that have happened to me, so enjoy!

I have always had a thing for older men. I first noticed it in high school. Actually, my mom first noticed – she realized from my facial expressions while I watched CSI that I was in love with Gil Grissom, the oldest, most intelligent character in the series. She kind of hinted to me that that was an unusual thing for a 16 year old.

Really, I was attracted to experience, and that translated into a raging professor fantasy during my undergraduate years. I fell in love with most of my professors, including some female ones. I was most attracted to the philosophy profs. Philosophy is filled with quirky super geniuses. Most people aren’t that socially fluent, but that just made me all the more into them. Since philosophy was one of my majors, I’d have to guess I was actively turned on both mentally and physically about 75% of my college experience.

Wow my professor knows a ton about Leibniz. I wonder what she looks like when she’s coming….wow, he just blew my mind with that conclusion, could the world really be completely different than I assumed? I wonder how he’d like fucking me in front of the whole class?

Senior year, I started dating someone my age, and it got pretty serious. He was really perfect for me in most ways, but he and I didn’t match up in terms of sexual fantasies, or even the way we think of sex at all. To him, sex is a mechanical motion fueled by hormones. For me, it’s a language, something to explore, get good at, and to use to express yourself with someone else. Truth be told, we still face this mismatch today (we’ve since married).

Senior year, I also developed a huge crush on one of my philosophy professors, Sam. I had him twice, once for language and later for metaphysics. I asked him to be my advisor for my senior thesis. He kept pretty buttoned up about his life, but once mentioned that his “partner” liked a few of the arguments I had put forward to support my thesis. +1 He was talking to his partner about my work. -20 he’s with someone else. -100 he might be gay? It was just a fantasy like all the others anyway, right?

I was learning though that the term “partner” was getting pretty popular in the academic and professional world. A more mature way to say girlfriend when you’re in your late thirties, I suppose.

At some point, a classmate mentioned to me that she’d heard that Sam had a thing for younger women. That he’d hit on a student in the past. Hmm.

As the spring warmed up, and graduation got nearer, Sam said we should start having weekly breakfast near his house so we could get a move on with the paper. I was on cloud nine, I felt like I was being treated like a grad student, and adult, almost on Sam’s own level. So for weeks we ate fancy breakfasts near his fancy downtown apartment, while chatting about philosophy. And I tried to bend the arc of the conversation toward the personal. What did I learn? Sam likes romantic comedies. He could speak French and missed living in Montreal. That was about it.

A week before graduation, I defended my thesis in front of a panel of other philosophy professors. Sam walked out of the exam room to let me know that I had passed. “Great job. I was surprised how well you tracked the questions. Not even all grad students do that well.” That praise meant a lot to me, coming from him. I would soon be the first in my family to finish a college degree, and he knew that too.

Graduation comes and goes, and senior crawl commences. Senior crawl is a bar crawl that goes from one end of our school’s Main street to the other to celebrate graduation. I paced myself pretty well, like I could walk and talk. But my inhibitions were nearly completely gone. Toward the end of the evening, a classmate slipped mentioned seeing Sam at the next bar over. Without even coming up with an excuse, I left my boyfriend and friends and made a beeline over. I’d have precious few minutes alone with Sam before the rest of the group caught up.

I sauntered up to Sam, who was for some reason standing off to the side by himself. I can barely remember what we talked about that night, except that he congratulated me, we exchanged phone numbers, and I let slip that I was bisexual, after he let slip that he was bi. “Really, me too!!” What am I talking about with my former professor? Would he think this is inappropriate?

I was pretty naive back then. Really really naive. I was hot, but didn’t recognize that other people can see me 24/7, not just when I’m seeing myself in the mirror. I’m a brunette, 5’4″. I’d often show up to class in tank tops and shorts to highlight my tan, full yet perky 20 year-old breasts, and fit ass.

Anyway, Sam and I went and got drinks together one evening. Living within walking distance from each other made this arrangement seem, to me, more innocent than it was. We drank a couple of gin an tonics, talked about almost nothing, and then decided to go for a walk. We had almost nothing in common, nothing but the tension growing between us. It wasn’t until we stopped in front of the steps to his door that I realized the feeling was mutual.

I gave him a quick hug in the cool night air. “Would you like to come in?” he ventured.

Oh my god. My professor just invited me into his house. I get it. I can’t believe this is happening.

“No, I can’t, I have to go home. Uh, I’ll see you later!” Too much, it was too much to think about. He’s into me? Actually? How can this be happening? What do I do? What about Alex?

Thus began my months long internal dialogue, searching and searching for a way to rationalize cheating on Alex with my philosophy professor. Basically, what it came down to for me was, if Alex and I are meant to be, we’ll eventually get past it, but I’ll never get this opportunity again. I should have just broken up with my boyfriend, I guess, but I still loved him, and I was selfish, and 20.

I went on a walk one day with Sam. We never had much to discuss, but a walk through a city gives you plenty of material to chat about while covering up the truth of why we were really hanging out with each other. We stopped in a coffee shop, and I ordered cup. Some liquid had spilled onto the rim, and then onto the breast area of the white tank top I was wearing. I looked down. Sam looked down.

“Can’t. take. you. anywhere,” he half growled, half joked as his eyes made his way back up to mine.

I shuddered, felt my nipples get hard then shook myself off and smiled at him, back to bubbly. “Oops!”

We headed back to his place. He told me he had discussed the “situation” with a friend. It was the first time he had been direct about this, besides openly texting about the subject once. He felt like keeping me around was like keeping dynamite in his house. But he couldn’t help it. As we moved to his couch to continue the discussion, I told him I felt bad, and I didn’t know how he felt about me dating Alex. He assured me that Alex was the farthest thing from his mind. We were running out of conversation. I stared at the floor, trying to process what had been discussed. *God it was warm, wasn’t it. What should I do? What should I do? Sam’s leaving for his sabatical, could I really wait so long just to keep thinking about how bad I wanted him?8

“Umm, may I, uh, can I kiss you?” I stumbled. He put his hand on my leg, squeezed, and pulled me toward him. I was on fire, the bomb inches from explosion. I straddled him. He felt so warm, so filled out and manly. Sam wasn’t all that special to look at. It was that giant brain I was into. I even liked that I was the younger more attractive one. He offered that manly presence, that genius intellect which I could not hope to match. I offered my body. Fit, young, and ticking away.

We went so slow. Our mutual engagements with other partners made each of us hesitent to go too far. Do you have to tell your SO that you kissed someone else? Is it necessary to tell if you just…merely…only sat on someone else’s lap? Probably it’s okay if I just kiss his neck, right?

Fuck, I can feel my professor’s hard cock. How can this be happening? This is a dream come true. Holy shit this is happening, and it feels so, fucking, good.

I could feel electricity flowing through my body, pulsing at my finger tips. I could feel everything at once – the material of hos couch brushing against my skin, the little bit of stubble on the back of his head, his lips on mine, his tongue against mine, the stiffness of him against my jean shorts–my pussy getting wetter and filling with an aching need.

I grinded up and down on him, just a little. Our need for each other drove us forward, but so many things held us back. So slowly testing our limits. We made out like guilty high schoolers. I removed his glasses, and kissed him so slowly and sensually, trying to communicate my desire for him with my tongue, trying to tell him about what kind of touch I needed with gentle bites on his lower lip. I rubbed my hands over his shaved head, pulling him closer. He really did seem experienced, like he knew hat I wanted. The chemistry was real. He kept his hands on my ass, giving me gentle squeezes. I whimpered softly in his ear as I ground on his cock. I pressed my breasts toward his face. He breathed into them, and then hesitated.

Our advances toward each other slowed, and slowed. And finally, someone halted the experiment. “We shoudn’t.” “Yeah, I can’t.” “Okay.” “Um.”

I left, still blazing hot, with my head swimming with his scent. I’m sure I masturbated furiously that evening. Sam left town for his long-planned sabatical that week. But that is far from the end of this tale. Which is not a tale. Hence the awkward start, and the ridiculously long wait for me to try again to fulfill this fantasy- because this really happened to me, and I get to have it whenever my married sex life cools off too much. Lucky, lucky me. More this week, try to be as patient as I had to be!

Edit: I’ll add pics next time : )

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/939xy7/fm_my_philosophy_professor_and_me_a_stick_of