. are all your stories about yourself? I mean, did you... do you write about your life... like... is it autobiographical?" I smirked. It's the questio... that always comes up, but I tried to be as courteous as possible. "Well, some of them are, some of them are not. I like to say I write about what I did, like to do or dream of doing and let my readers figure it out for themselves which is which. It's part of the appeal, I think, so I like to keep that a secret. However, some stories clearly are. On the way to her first class, Linda felt the buzz of the cell. She answered it, and learned of the meeting. She acknowledged the warning, then hurried to class.Her first two classes went largely without incident. She was quickly assigned a seat and given her books, and then class went on. She noted that neither teacher was among those the girls had rated as the worst or the best. They just seemed like teachers. They did not tolerate any misbehaviour, but they were not abusive.The third class. She hold me tight with her hands and kissing me hard n deep and passionate till our tongue touch. I too kissing and felt her tongue inside my mouth and our saliva start flowing. We kept on kissing deep and passionate for 10 minutes and hold tight each other.I kept my hand on her pussy and start massing slow. Her pussy still licking. I inserted my finger inside her pussy and pressing the clitoris slow. My finger moving inside her pussy and rubbing pussy wall. Her pussy is soft like butter. We. Then I went to the guest bedroom to relax until early morning when Id leave before any one awoke. My thoughts were on a letter I wanted to write to Stacy telling her how disappointed I was in her actions and how much she hurt me. In a letter to Stacy: I told her that I was leaving her in California and flying home. This week, Stacy, you have hurt me more than you could ever know! I now know that I can no longer trust you or depend on you in any way to be my wife! You had no right to have sex.