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College Age-Gap Erotica

Author’s Note: It’s been too long since I published anything. Like 2 weeks! I’ve found that I switch between relentless writing and then feeling shitty about everything I write for a bit. Editing brain kicking in? Or burn out? I’m not sure. But here’s a preview of a story that I’ve been working on!

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

When Steven first whisked me away into a flurry of romance our first year of college, I never thought that it would end the way that it did. Surely a man who loved me that much, who showered me in love—and lust, every moment that he could would never do anything like that to me.

Of course, everyone else seemed to know long before I ever did. Before our wedding right after my 21st birthday, my best friend took me to the side, “Are you sure you want to do this? I’ll grab the bottom of your dress, and we can run. Right now.” But of course I was sure, I’d never been more sure of anything in my life.

But now, one year later, weeks away from graduation, I’m not sure of anything anymore.

I walked into his dorm that he shared with three other guys, ready to conquer the day, and start helping him pack his stuff. I heard moans as I approached his room, but I thought they were coming from his roommate Jason’s room, that guy has always been a stud, and always has a girl in his back pocket ready to go at his beck and call.

I walked into Steven’s room, and found him in bed, completely naked, with a girl from his calculus class on top of him. They hardly noticed me at first, and were furiously going at it, until he groaned, turning his head over, and seeing me in the doorway.

He tried to push her off, and jump up to ‘explain’ to me, but I just walked out, there was no explaining necessary. What’s done is done, and everyone was right about the fact that young marriages hardly ever work out.

I think I wanted it to work so badly because he was my first everything. We found each other our freshman year, and I’d had a strong resolve previously, but with him, it was easy to let it all go, and just go for it.

I’d built up sex so much in my mind. I believed that the first person I had sex with would be the only, that when he asked me to marry him 2 years in, I had to say “Yes, of course I will,” with tears in my eyes.

And now the only tears in my eyes are due to his betrayal, and the scene—watching them go at it was burned into my mind. Some nights I touched myself thinking about it. It hurt, but it was the only thing that could get me off for days.

Then, something clicked in my mind as I started packing up my own dorm. Instead of being let into the real world, and being shackled to a husband for life, I was free to explore. The whole idea of spending my entire life with ‘my first’ had gone right out of the window, so now I could be as slutty as I wanted and no one could tell me otherwise.

I tried the whole clean, and pure, young wife thing and it didn’t work out for me.

I went to a bar to try to get my mind off of it all. I didn’t even drink. If someone ended up taking me home, I wanted to be entirely clear-headed, I wanted to remember all of it.

For hours, I just sat there with a glass of water. Hardly anyone came in, which was to be expected on a Wednesday night before finals. Everyone was studying in the library, or packing up to go home. I stayed put, watching the ice melt and by divine luck, a handsome older guy walked in, taking a seat right next to me.

“Only sad people go to the bar on a Wednesday, what’s your damage?” he asked.

“Kind of a rude question to ask,” I said.

“That’s true. But I’m not wrong, am I?” he raised an eyebrow at me. He was curious about me. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was the only girl in the bar, so it was a deserted-island type situation. Or if he really thought I was attractive, and would happily take me home.

“No, you’re not. End of a relationship. You?” I was just as curious about him as he was about me. I wondered what would bring a guy who looked like that into an empty bar.

He was handsome, seemed well-put together, probably had money. Yet—he was hanging around here.

“Oh, no, not me. I’m the owner of the bar.”

I almost stood up out of absolute embarrassment. Of course he is. No older, rich man in his forties is coming to a college bar, unless he owns it. Or, he’s in a rock-bottom situation. “Oh.” Even worse, he isn’t even interested in me, he’s probably interested in why I haven’t bought anything.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked.

“No. I just want to sit here, if that’s alright,” I didn’t want to admit that I was sitting here, waiting for someone to fuck.

“Do you want to—uh—leave?” he cleared his throat, and he seemed a lot less confident asking that then I feel he should’ve. But I wanted more than anything to leave, with him.

“Yes,” the answer almost failed to escape me, I felt so nervous, I had to dig down to the bottom of my throat to force an answer out.

He led me to the apartment he had above the bar, which I would’ve thought was a small, storage-space, but it was instead a pretty spacious apartment.

It didn’t have the look of a stereotypical bachelor pad. He had male fashion magazines and literary books laid on the coffee table, and they seemed to be set down with intention.

He pulled me into the bedroom, and the bed was as well-done as his hair was. Everything was laid out perfectly.

“This is not what I was expecting to walk into,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me, “I like to shake up expectations.”

His lips planted firmly on mine, and the kiss alone showed me that experience does in fact make everything better. He knew exactly what he was doing. His lips planted on me, and his hands reached around, firmly gripping my ass.

It was the first time I didn’t feel like I needed to lead a man. I could get used to this. His body swayed with mine, and we collided onto his bed. For a moment, I thought about how many guests he’s probably had in his bed before me. But as his tongue made its way into my mouth, that thought escaped me.

I pulled back for a moment, “Before we go any further, what’s your name? I kind of have a rule about—” but he placed his finger across my lips to shush me out of my rambling.

“Bradley,” he said, letting out a small chuckle. “And, you? Although, I don’t have a rule about it or anything.”

“Vanessa.” I blurted out.

I’m not really sure why I said it. It’s not true. My name is Alexandria, and I could’ve just said Alex. But I guess now Vanessa is my slutty alter-ego, who sleeps with older men she just met. To be fair, Alexandria would never. She wouldn’t have even stepped into the bar, she would’ve gone come to snuggle up into blankets and mourn the loss of the relationship.

I guess an alter-ego appeared within the darkness of it all. And that part of me knows the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.

Without even noticing the name seeming new to my tongue, he just dove right back in kissing me and his hand exploring my body. His hand made its way to my hips, holding on tightly as if he’d lose me if he loosened his grip any. But I wasn’t going anywhere, not until he was done ravishing me.

As he touched me, it made my entire body relax. He already knew exactly how to touch me, of course he did, he’d probably had decades of experience with women just like me.

He kissed my neck and his excitement reverberated through my body. I could smell the whiskey and desire on his breath.