Author: letskeepsomesecrets

M4F – All Grown Up, part two (link to part one in the post)

(Part one is [here](https://ud.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/4dnllx/mf_all_grown_up/) so, you know… Read that first)

After my hot, wet, sticky encounter with Marisol’s enthusiastic little lips, I knew this couldn’t go any further. It could ruin my career and, frankly, I was still sure that this couldn’t be healthy for Marisol. I drafted her an email. I won’t copy and paste all of it here, but this is the relevant stuff:

“Dear Marisol,

It was great to see you the other day. In more ways than one, obviously. Unfortunately, we really, really, really shouldn’t do that again.

You’re a smart kid, and I know you understand what could happen to my career if–you know–anyone found out about it. But also, and maybe more importantly… Marisol, you’re in college. College is a time to grow up, to explore, to have fun, to meet kids your own age–I’m afraid that if you get too hung up on me, you’ll miss out on the best that college can offer you socially.

I hope you understand, and I hope you know that I’m always here for you–both for the next four years, and beyond.

Sincerely,
Professor [REDACTED]” Read more »

[M/F] All grown up…

“The fact is,” Marisol was saying. “A big reason I came to this school is because I knew you were here…”

I laughed, swirling my coffee. “That means a lot to me.”

Autumn. The perfectly manicured East Coast campus was just starting to turn golden with the chilling weather. Marisol was eighteen, and a gorgeous little waif of a girl: wavy hair that naturally seemed to move between black and light brown; dark, quick eyes; and dusky skin. She wore a short skirt that showed off the goosebumps on her dark legs, and a thick, woven sweater.

I had tutored her as a kid: it was one of those *Freedom Writers*-type stories. I volunteered to teach creative writing at a mediocre inner city school, to a group of spectacular eleven-year-olds. The smartest, the funniest, and the most charming, though, had been Marisol–she practically had a novel written by the end of the year! At eleven!

I kept in touch with her and her family–not really even her family, but her grandmother, with whom I communicated in broken Spanish, with Marisol’s help–for a few years until I moved away. I went to graduate school, got married, lost my wife, and got a job teaching literature and writing at a major, prestigious university. A lot had changed. Read more »

All You Can Eat (m/f)

Though you wouldn’t know it to talk to her, if you paid attention, Jessica betrayed all the tell-tale signs of a military brat. She spoke with a vague Southern twang, the kind of dialect that only military generates and that all our grandfathers once spoke, decades ago when they were called up, before dispersing once more to home states and the clipped vowels of the mid-atlantic, the lazy Polish consonants of Chicago. She was slightly tanned at all times of the year, even when the sun hadn’t been out for months—this wasn’t the result of a tanning bed habit, but of a childhood spent playing soccer on deserted airfields in Nevada and North Carolina. And she had a nervous, awkward energy about her—friendly enough to make friends fast, but unwilling to get too invested, in case you were wrenched away from her by a new deployment.

She was gorgeous with her round face, almond-shaped brown eyes, and curvy bottom when she walked into our first college seminar together, when we were eighteen. Read more »