I [F]23 matched with a former student [M]19 on Tinder, had sex with him in a public bathroom, and almost got caught by his parents

Let it never be said that I live a boring life.

I have stories to spare. From the time I spent as a ‘Frat Rat' in college to the regular, sleazy motel rendezvouses with a cadre of older men to the bisexual roommate who challenged my sexuality, I catalogue and am surprisingly open about my sexual exploits. I've never been ashamed of my body or my sexuality; never felt, even in my dirtiest, sluttiest moments, like I was ever doing anything ‘bad.' Even with Brock and the hesitation I sometimes had over engaging in a sexual relationship with a former student, I still managed to calm down and allow myself to have fun. In a lot of ways, I felt good about our relationship.

But that doesn't mean everyone else felt the same way.

The school district I work at made it clear to us on day one that sleeping with students was unacceptable, and under no circumstances would a teacher keep their job if they were found engaging in relations with a current or former student, regardless of context. For that reason, I had been keeping Brock's and my association under wraps and close to the chest. It was a Monday evening, and Brock was toying with my nipples in bed after an intense lovemaking session, when he first asked the question that caused so many problems.

"Are you ashamed to be seen in public with me?" he says, tracing circles around the erect, naked points of my breasts.

"What?" I laugh, my arms wrapped around him, my bosom pressing up against his side. His head is turned so he can plant kisses on the top of my head, which is nestled in the nook of his neck. My own hands run up and down his chest, toying with what little chest hair he has and occasionally teasing a nipple. I give one a playful twist as I giggle again. "Why would I be ashamed to be seen in public with you?"

Brock winces at the sensation and returns the favor, causing me to shiver, before he shrugs. "I don't know," he says despondently, and I can tell something's eating away at him. "All we ever seem to do is meet at your place and fuck. Not that I mind coming over and fucking my former literature teacher: it's usually the best part of my day."

"Usually?" I say, mock offended, and I claw gently at his chest. I feel the muscles in his face form a smile, however I've heard his words and I sense there's a ‘but' coming.

"But I kind of want… more, you know?" he says, his free hand taking mine and squeezing between my fingers. "I want to take you out on dates and go around telling people, ‘This insanely sexy woman, she's mine.' I want to kiss you in public and make other people jealous. I want us to be… I don't know. I want us to be—"

"Boyfriend and girlfriend?" I say, squeezing his hand in return and pulling back my head so I can look up at him. I push myself forward and kiss his jaw, which is set hard and sad. "Everything you just described is us going steady. And here I thought you were just using me for sex," I tease, trying to lighten the mood without addressing the elephant in the room. I can be good at that. Sex is often times messy, and not just ‘I have cum on my face' messy. People catch feelings from it. I had some of the same thoughts Brock was describing, though I was doing my best to push them down.

"I would never just use you for sex. I always thought, hoped, this would lead somewhere a little more permanent. But we're four weeks in now and there doesn't seem to be much… movement," he says, a twinge of frustration in his voice. "I want you, Chloe. All of you, all the time."

I chew on his words for a minute, lying there in silence. He wants all of me, all the time? It's funny, because the times I'm with Brock I feel like I can't get enough of him; I'm fawning all over his body and his words. And the times I'm not with Brock I have a giant hole in my chest. I don't usually catch feelings from sex like normal people do. I've always felt stunted in that regard. But I'll be damned if I wasn't catching something now.

"I want you too Brock," I say, nuzzling his jawline and feeling the warm prickle of stubble against my skin. "I think, maybe for the first time in my life, I'm on the same page with somebody regarding what I want, but there's a problem that has to be addressed. A problem I don't see a solution to."

"The fact I was your student," says Brock, ticked off. I can hear it in his voice.

"Yes, that fact," I say. "Don't get me wrong, it doesn't bother me. Most of the time, at least. But let's think this out logically."

Brock takes his arm and lays it over his forehead. "Ughhhhh, don't talk logic," he moans.

"Stop being a crybaby and listen," I say, freeing a hand and slapping him on his abs. He tenses up and I'm so tempted to reach down just a couple of inches and grab his cock, but we're in the middle of a serious conversation. Save the hanky-panky for later. "If we go out like we're both longing to do, and somebody from school—a student or a teacher or faculty—sees us, I'm out of a job. No second chance. No appealing the decision. No getting another teaching job. It's over for me then, Brock, and I know you don't want that to happen."

"Of course I don't!" he shouts. I know he's not yelling at me, just the situation. "I want you to be happy, but I want to be happy too, and I don't know how to reconcile it!"

"Brock," I say, stopping everything at his words. "Are you saying you're not happy right now?"

"I'm… I'm not," he says, frowning. "You probably think I'm nuts. Here I am, lying in bed with my beautiful former teacher, having just had an amazing bout of sex, and I can't muster up enough energy to be happy about it. I'm a fucking freak."

I reach a hand up and cup his cheek, running my thumb down his face. "Hey, you're not a ‘fucking freak,'" I say. "You like me, and you want to take our relationship to the next level. There's nothing freakish about that."

He tries to move his head away from my touch, but I stay with him, holding onto his face. We lay there in silence, and I have the sudden fear that this might be the end. I don't want it to be. I don't want this fling to end with a disagreement over the bounds of our relationship. And so I consider what I can do. Christ, I think, Brock must feel a little like the slutty hunchback of Notre Dame. The only time he can see me is when I've hidden him away in my apartment to fuck his brains out.

And then it dawns on me, and I smile. Brock's still turned away so he can't see it, so I poke him on the cheek until I catch his attention and he looks down at me, still upset. I grin. "What if we went away someplace?" I say, pushing myself up off the bed and pillow and propping my head up with a hand. "Someplace sufficiently far where there would be little to no chance anyone would recognize us?"

"What," says Brock, giving me a little smile, "like a vacation?"

"Nothing that extravagant. I get paid a teacher's salary, dear," I tease. And then I'm on my phone, pulling up a tab I had been looking at prior to Brock's arrival that night. I turn my phone to show him the page and his eyebrows go up.

"An arts festival?" he says.

"South of here. Far enough south of here that I'd feel comfortable kissing and touching you in public without fear of attracting the wrong pairs of eyes." Brock looks at me and gives a wicked grin.

"I like the sound of that," he says. "I like the thought of that, taking that pretty mouth of yours in public and making it mine." He pushes the phone away and gets up on an elbow, grabbing me by the back of the head and pulling me into a kiss, biting my lower lip. I melt into him; he knows how to push my buttons too well.

"Oh?" I say. "How much do you like it?" I say as my free hand tickles his belly before going south and grabbing his cock. His eyes open and he stares at me with so much lust and want that I feel like he's going to go rabid, pin me down, and fuck me. Wouldn't that be a shame.

He grows hard in my hand, and I start to stroke him slowly, teasing his mouth with my tongue. "Be careful, little girl," he growls, taking a handful of my ass and spreading my cheeks. "I bite when I'm teased."

"And I bite right back," I say defiantly, crawling down the bed until his cock is in my face. He's still lying on his side as I take him in my mouth, cradling his balls in my hand. It's no more than a few seconds before he's thrusting into my mouth, his hands finding the back of my head and forcing me to take his cock. I lie there, my legs dangling off the end of the bed, sucking on his cock, his hands tangled in my mess of red hair.

"Yeah," he laughs, "we'll see how much bite you have with a mouthful of my cum."

I want to say a witty retort, but it's hard when there's a cock in your mouth, so I just mumble something through the dick that's clogging up my throat and he laughs again. He pumps a few more times before tapping my head to let me know he's going to burst, and I tug on his balls as they release in my mouth. He grunts and I suck, taking every last drop until he rolls over onto his back, his cock popping free from my lips. I look over to him and stick out my tongue, the remnants of his orgasm plain to see before I close again and swallow.

He sits up and grabs ahold of my shoulder, guiding me back up the bed and cuddling me. "Good girl," he says to me, and I smile at the words. Who doesn't like getting praise? I mean, it helps if you have a praise kink, but still.

*****

The weekend comes, having been preceded by fitful bouts of passionate lovemaking in the evenings after school. Ever since we agreed to go out on a proper date, Brock's been even more energetic in bed, and I'd be a damned liar to say I didn't love every second of it.

We drive down to the festival together, Brock taking the wheel, and neither of us really thinking about the art as we cruise down the highway. I reach over and grab at his crotch mindlessly as we're driving, and he gives me an ‘are you serious right now?' kind of look to which I grin and stick out my tongue. I unzip his jeans and wrestle with the stupid opening in the front of the underwear men have before getting his cock freed and starting to jerk him off. He's surprisingly surehanded, me beating him off as we hit seventy on the highway, and I'm unsurprisingly surehanded as I spit on my hand to get some lubrication and make the experience more pleasurable.

"You're going to make me cum, darling," he says in a sing-song voice, and the word ‘darling' sends prickles through my body. I lean over and take him in my mouth, finishing the job and catching his seed so it doesn't mess up his car, though I don't think he honestly would have minded if I had. When I'm finished sucking him dry, I take his cock out of my mouth and tuck it back into his jeans. He shakes his head. "You're an insatiable woman, you know that?" he says.

"Some would call me a slut," I tease.

"My teacher, the slut," he says, smiling. And then he corrects himself. "My teacher. My slut."

We chat about non-sexual topics for the rest of the drive. We are capable of maintaining a conversation that isn't all about dicks and cunts. Finally, after about forty minutes, we pull into the parking lot of the arts festival. I say ‘parking lot,' but it's really just a field. I'm not super familiar with the town we're in, but the festival is being held in a greenspace on its outskirts. Tents have been set up in rows as far as the eye can see, and people have put out their artwork for display along the inside and outside of the booths.

I spy in the distance a small building that likely houses restrooms and is used for small gatherings. People are crowded throughout the grass, slipping into and out of tents, observing the artwork and, occasionally, coming away with a piece they absolutely had to buy. I feel giddy at the thought of walking through and seeing all the exquisite art, so giddy that I don't notice for a moment Brock staring at me, a warm smile plastered on his face. When I do, I turn to him and smile back.

"What's with the wry smile there, hotshot?" I say, grabbing one of his hands in mine and bringing it up to my mouth to kiss.

"I just can't believe we're doing this," he says, shaking his head and chuckling. "That we're about to go out on our first real date. It feels like a dream."

"Most guys would say simply sleeping with their teacher is the dream, but you dream bigger I see," and I laugh. "I'm lucky you were my student, Brock Graham. I'm lucky I met you when I did."

"Chloe Smith," he says, brushing my cheek, "you are an incredible woman, and I can't imagine where I'd be right now if I hadn't taken that literature class my senior year. I know you're worried about us getting caught, but today, let's go have some fun. Fuck the faculty at your school. Fuck their archaic rules. Fuck everyone else. It's just you and me right now."

He brings me in and kisses me, pushing his tongue into my mouth and swirling it around mine, and it takes us a good minute to finish and separate, both our heart rates up.

"Well then," I pant. "Let's go see some goddamn art."

We exit the car and walk hand-in-hand to the festival, stopping at a booth to look at some of the landscape photography the man sitting behind the table has taken. I'm a sucker for great photography, so I'm sucked into the pieces, and Brock rests his arm around my shoulder, me holding onto his wrist, as I pass from picture to picture, taking it all in. The man smiles at us as Brock kisses me on the lips in front of him, and I feel a flush of heat rising to my face. I'm not shy to public displays of affection, but I feel so naughty kissing my former student in front of this stranger who probably thinks we're a normal couple.

"Come on, honey," I say, pulling him along by his lips, turning toward the next tent. "There's so much more to see."

As we're walking, he leans down and whispers in my ear. "Call me honey again and I'm going to have to find a secluded spot to take that pretty little pussy of yours." I give him a mock slap.

"In public? For shame, Brock. For shame. And here I thought you wanted to get away from the mindless sex for a while."

"I don't know when I ever said that," he laughs. "I just said I wanted to take you out. Sex was never off the table for today."

"Noted, honey," I tease, and I race ahead of him, trying to outrun his pursuit, laughing. He catches up with me and wraps his hands around my waist, picking me up and twirling me in the air before setting me down again. People are staring at us, but I ignore their gazes as I turn and wrap my arms around Brock, locking lips and passionately kissing him. We break off and I rest my forehead against his chin as people pass us by.

We walk through several more tents, Brock resting his hand on my back and ass as the mood takes him. We kiss so much that I feel like my lips are going to chap, and we receive more than a few looks, some disgruntled at the PDA, others softer and more accepting.

In time, we find a secluded tent where the artist has stepped away, and Brock pulls me by the arm into the empty room, pulling the cloth closed behind us. I giggle as I back up from him, my hands behind my back. Whipping around, Brock stalks toward me, raising his hands and making grabbing motions for my breasts as he walks. There's a mischievous smile on his lips. As I try to dart around him, he latches onto me. I start to playfully shriek, and he clamps a hand over my mouth, his other hand reaching down and pushing between the skin of my hips and my pants, snaking beneath my underwear. His fingers find my clitoris, and he starts to make little circles with his fingers as my hands grab at his arm.

I try to moan, but it comes out muffled from underneath the palm of his hand. My body sags and I rest back against him as he slips a curious finger inside me. I tear his hand away from my mouth and lean my head as far back as it will go so that he can kiss me. His index and middle finger push inside of me, deeper, causing me to gasp, as his thumb brushes my clit. He works away at me until I'm weak in the knees, starting to shudder. His free hand manipulates my left breast from over the top of my shirt, pulling and torturing my nipple.

"Fuck, make me cum on your hand," I whisper seductively as he kisses the top of my head.

"Cum for me, baby. Cum for daddy," he grins, blowing air into my ear to send me over the top and force an orgasm. Fuck, he knows too much about my body. Too much about my turn-ons.

I bend forward and start gasping for air as his fingers continue their unrelenting assault on my pussy. As I come to climax, he licks the back of my neck and kisses me, and it feels unbelievably good to have him so close, to have his hands be the ones that finish me off.

Brock pulls his hand out of my pants and licks his wet fingers, savoring every last drop as I look back at him, adjusting the waistband of my pants so it doesn't look like I've just been fingered to completion. Before we leave, he spins me around and puts one of his still wet fingers in my mouth, and I taste myself on him before giving him a deep, loving kiss. As we're kissing, the artist whose booth we're in comes back and tells us off for closing the tent. We giggle our apologies and blush as we push our way out and run down the aisle of tents, hands clasped together.

We see more of the art, and Brock's arm is around my waist as we come close to the building I had spied in the distance, worming our way through the series of tents. He removes his hand for a while as we walk and talk.