The Student Teacher

All my time in school, I never cared much for math. A lack of interest, a lack of maturity or a lack of smarts, whatever the cause, Math was always the subject I struggled in. I remember tears and embarrassment at my fraction failures in grade school slowly devolving into apathy and resignation as Math dragged down an otherwise respectable report card. A succession of bespectacled school marms and wizened computational wizards failed to make the slightest impact on my mathematical aptitude, and then the love of things mathematical, or more precisely the interest I had in 1+1 blossomed in high school.

The test involved a number of formulas and we would be allowed to use calculators was the pre-exam announcement. Now I’m a smart fella, and even if I couldn’t memorize all of the formulas for the test, I could copy all of them in to the little instruction booklet to my multi-function calculator. I diligently copied the formulas in to the booklet in seemingly casual places, as if they were notes taken during class. Thus prepared for the challenges ahead, I spent the evening in restful slumber.

Arriving in class the next day, I sat in my assigned seat and smiled as the student-teacher passed out the exam. While the teacher of the class was a 58-year-old man who looked as if his dedication to public education had deprived him of both food and hope, she was young, vivacious and exceptionally pleasing to the eye. Her last name and her sweet face confirmed her ancestors’ Polish origin, not uncommon in that Midwestern college town. Her face was soft lines and gentle curves lit by sparkling pale blue eyes. Her hair was lightest blonde and shoulder length, worn in the style of those late eighties glory days.

Where her supervising teacher had a fondness bordering on fetishist for plaid flannel, corduroys, and comfy loafers, she was mesmerizing in short professional skirts that clung and embraced her slim college-girl form. Earlier in the year she had matched the skirts to blazers and blouses in the attempt to make a good impression in pursuit of the elusive teaching position, but as the Spring wore on and the temperatures rose in anticipation of blessed summer, she had shifted to clinging sleeveless tops, which showed off the sweet, pale skin of her arms, lightly covered with tiny blonde hairs that would catch the light from the overhead projector as she taught. The lack of the blazers also allowed a clearer view of the adolescent boys most cherished aspect of female anatomy, her petite but mesmerizing breasts.

Today the skirt she wore was black and the top was a white v-neck sweater, not cut low enough for cleavage, but still giving the attentive the view of milky skin and delicate collar bones. Her smile was genuine as she gave me the test, the smile of an initiate who still believed she could educate all of her students. She moved around the room as we began taking the test, keeping an eye out for the cheaters and making herself available for any questions. Her dedication and interest are quite endearing in retrospect, but the most obvious effect of her circulation through the classroom was not the clarification of difficult concepts or the prevention of cheating, but instead the sideways glances and riveted stares of boys trying to catch a glimpse of her intoxicating shape.

When the student teacher was the one providing help, far more boys were willing to ask questions hoping to draw her near enough to catch a scent of her fragrance, or get an encouraging pat on the arm. She really was quite captivating. Despite all this, I tried to keep my distance this day. My test success was predicated on stealth and concealment, and the closer she got, the more dangerous for me.

My strategy was a success, as the class neared its completion, I knew that the possession of my disguised formulas had given me the edge I needed to successfully answer the test questions. Just as I was handing in my test at the front desk, she moved in behind me, close enough to whisper and touched my hand, still gripping the test, ever so lightly.

“I would appreciate if you could stay after class, I have a concern to discuss with you.”

Excitement and dread in the same moment as her touch registered with my most basic urges as something so blissful, while my brain swirled as I felt the clutch of shackles as my crime was discovered.

I returned to my desk, scrambling to formulate deceits and justifications. My anguished contemplation was broken by the sound of the lunch bell. The chaotic melee of students expelling from the class whirled by as I sat still, awaiting my exposure.

The teacher paused with a puzzled look, seeing me still in my chair, but the student teacher quickly told him I needed some extra help, and he should continue on to lunch. This brought a brief smile to his perpetually sour expression as he quickly made his way out of the class to queue up for the tasty fish-sticks being served on today‘s menu. I had no time to contemplate the tragic life that could express such joy at reheated cod-lets, for as soon as the door swung closed , I was in the middle of an interrogation.

She had seen my furtive attempts to check my calculator book and had not been fooled. No one used the instruction book on a calculator that much, and so all my grand designs had been for naught. I pleaded ignorance and rationalized that I had still done the work, only needing a bit of assistance in getting it started. At some point, in our discussion as I danced and swerved the accusations and attempted to charm my way out of the situation, I knew exactly what I had to do. Just as she began an impassioned pronouncement on ethics, I leaned forward and I kissed her. I pressed my lips against her rapidly moving lips, and she suddenly stopped in shock.

Not really all that certain of what I was going to do next, I decided to continue kissing her was better than stopping. I had watched her move and admired every little thing about her for the semester, but now, being this close, actually kissing her, I felt euphoric, damn the consequences, damn reasoning, I was kissing this beautiful woman ,and no matter what, I was going to enjoy it.

Her speech was interrupted by my kiss and it was like her entire system had failed. She stood there, arms still locked in a gesture meant to emphasize a point, but now looking oddly placed, as she failed to react for what seemed an eternity. My lips pressed firmly to hers seemed to provide the spark and the direction she needed because after that awkward instant, her arms encircled me, and her lips moved in concert with mine as we turned and moved, lips touching, parting and touching again as the kiss moved from tentative to insistent. I placed my arms around her waist, feeling the softness of her sweater with my fumbling fingers.

The kisses were so passionate, so all-consuming that we lost ourselves in them. I moved from lips to cheeks, touching her face softly, sliding my fingers through her soft hair. I turned her head ever so gently and kissed along the side of her neck. I was not experienced, my only knowledge of how to kiss a woman was a combination of cinema and instinct, but that combination seemed to be creating a most wonderful response, as her lips parted and she let out wonderful sounds, sounds that we all long to hear from a woman, sounds so pleasant and encouraging that it urged me to continue and dare even more. I was a brave explorer into new territory. Although a Senior, I had led a sheltered life, more of fantasy than reality when it came to sex, and now I wanted to make that fantasy real.

I don’t know how, but there was never a moment of hesitation in our passion, no consideration of stopping. We kissed and caressed, and then inevitably, hands began sliding under clothing, fasteners unfastened, and zippers unzipped. I could not tell, even at the time, who was the first to take the next step, it all flowed like a wave, coordinated, purposeful and so very tender. I moved my left hand to cup and stroke her breast, delighted at the softness as I caressed and held it. I had pushed her sweater up and she had deftly unhooked the back, and now my hands had an opportunity my eyes and mind had only dreamed of. I bent to lightly kiss her nipple, and her hand fell to the back of my neck, cool fingers pressing my kiss longer and harder against the rose-pink areola.

As we had kissed, our feet had guided us up against the teacher’s desk at the front of the room. Feeling the wood pressing against the firm roundness of her backside, she sank back to a sitting position on the edge of the desk, both of her hands now imprisoning my head against her heavenly breast. She oohed with delight and aahed with appreciation as my lips and tongue devoured her soft feminine flesh. I began to move back and forth between her two breasts and she reclined further on the hard wooden desktop, papers and books trapped beneath her or cascading onto the floor. As I stood beside the desk, along her left side, I dropped my right hand down to the hem of her skirt, lifting the fabric as I ran my hand up the silky nylons on her inner thigh. I found a delightfully wet surprise at the end of my manual exploration. I began to pull away from her breasts to look at the wonder that waited, hidden beneath that skirt, but she whispered to me

“There’s not much time, and I need you …”

Without finishing her sentence, she guided me into the chair behind the desk, yanking down the shorts and underwear that had been loosened in our passionate fumblings, and dropped her full lips over the head of my cock. She slid her lips and tongue as far down the shaft as she could go and then back up and off.

“Something for another time.” she said,

Then she spread her legs wide and dropped both of her hands under her skirt. With a quick rip, she split the fabric of her nylons and then tugged her pale blue panties to the side. I caught a brief glimpse of blonde hair, glistening in the fluorescent lighting, as she straddled the chair and lowered herself onto my throbbing hard-on. I felt a tight, moist grip wrap around me as she lowered her sweet pussy down the length. My arms encircled her waist and my lips crushed hers as I reveled in the joy of being inside this extraordinary woman.

She began to slide up and down on my lap, grinding the top of her slit against me, making the most wonderful little gasps and exclamations against my lips. Her speed up and down, and the intensity of the impacts at the bottom increased as she grew closer and closer to her climax. Her face was glowing crimson, the combination of her excitement and her energetic efforts. I lost all control, the kisses , the sounds and the delicious friction combined to overwhelm me, and I began to come, my whole body twitching and bucking. My face must have revealed my concern, which she quickly dismissed.

“Don’t worry, I’m right there with you.”

Her head flew back, and she began to slam so hard down onto me that I could feel the backs of my legs bruising. Three, four, five times she drove herself down with tremendous force, and on the fifth she flopped forward with a tremendous gasp and a stifled yell that she muted further by burying her head in my shoulder. When she lifter her head, I could see the wild delight in her eyes, and I had to kiss her again.

We held each other on that wooden chair for what seemed all too short a time, me still embedded deep in her, never wanting to move. Then she slowly pulled away, and attempted to clean up the results of our passion, tissues for us and scrambling to collect debris scattered from the desk.

As the bell rang announcing the end of the lunch hour, we made plans to meet again. For the first time in my life, I really wanted extra help in Math.

I had a teacher, that I wanted to do that too. Damn, you are lucky.