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Creative Writing

By: rj_mcdonnell



Miss Anderson had only been teaching high school for a couple of years. Upon graduating college with her education degree she actually considered being a flight attendant. She had always wanted to travel - who doesn't, but the economy wasn't great and the airlines weren't hiring. There was, however, a huge demand for teachers. The district where Dawn grew up in Florida was in desperate need of teachers at all levels and actually offered her a job almost a full year before she graduated. "What the hell, I might as well take it. At least I have a job and I can always do the flight attendant thing when the airlines start hiring again in a few years." She told herself when deciding to return to her old hometown. The problem was, she had hoped to get away from her hometown and go somewhere else. But it was familiar ol' sunny Florida and the money was good. She got lots of offers from other districts but they wanted her to sign contracts saying that she would teach in these 'disadvantaged' schools in some inner-city project somewhere. This wasn't exactly her idea of fun, so back to Florida she went.

Dawn wasn't bad to look at. Five feet ten with blondish brown hair, her best asset was her nice ass until her mom gave her the money for a boob job as a graduation gift. She had always complained about the way she looked, especially when all of her friends filled out and she didn't follow suit. The operation not only transformed her from nearly flat-chested to having two firm round grapefruit size tits, but also from someone who wasn't satisfied with her own body to someone who loved it. She wasn't exactly Pam Anderson, but she felt just as sexy. Then the irony set in. She looked better than she ever had yet there were no guys around. They were either all married or they were rednecks or she just wasn't interested in them. Save for one guy in six months, she hadn't dated anyone since she was in college almost three years ago.

It was late in the school year and Miss Anderson was teaching english composition. The class was made up of seniors who were getting ready to graduate. They were your typical high school students. Sometimes attentive, but mostly concerned with their social lives, members of the opposite sex, and getting out of school. They would do the work, but at this stage in their school careers, couldn't really see the point of english comp. Their work was about what you would expect from eighteen year-olds with this attitude, just good enough to get a passing grade. However, occasionally someone would stand out as a good writer. Miss Anderson, doing what a good teacher always does, would lavish encouragement upon the student hoping that someday they would do something with their talent. The assignment to be turned in this Thursday afternoon was a two-page composition using a writing form they had been studying. They had five days to write the paper - including the weekend - to prepare it. Miss Anderson doubted it would matter, but the kids insisted on the extra time. When everything was turned in Dawn packed up her grading work and headed for home. 

She was a third of the way through the compositions when she picked up the work by a student named Steve. He was eighteen and off to college a few months after graduation. So far the works had been what she expected: nothing great. Steve's was starting out that way, but page two shocked her. It was a very rough draft written on the front and back of a single piece of paper. Here and there whole lines were scratched out and rewritten. Entire paragraphs were written in the margins with arrows pointing back into the text indicating their intended location. The whole page was filled with text not related to the assignment and, as she read it, obviously not meant for her eyes. 

Dawn began to read a story about how Steve had hidden behind bushes in the woods behind her house and watched her on the weekends when she was laying out in the sun on her back patio. She lived out on the edge of town where neighbors were very few and far between. Then it struck her. Sometimes she was topless! But only when she was sure nobody was around--or so she thought. She had even been horny and masturbated once. Did he see that too? It didn't seem so. Though he apparently had seen her during one of her topless times because he wrote about 'how hard [his] dick gets when [she] takes her top off and massages oil across them'. Dawn was shocked to learn that someone had been watching her but oddly flattered by the glowing review of her figure and beauty. 

As she continued to read, the text got more and more sexual. Steve fantasized that he would show up when Dawn was lying out in the sun. She would ask him to rub oil all over her body. Then she would remove her top and tell him that he 'forgot these'. He would rub one tit while sucking on the other. Then he would remove her bikini bottom lick her clit. When she could no longer control her excitement he would spread her legs apart and shove his cock into her while she screamed, "Oh, yes! Yes, Fuck me!" He wrote that he 'wanted to fuck her for hours', and 'to hear her tell him to come inside her'. The story went on to describe how she was straddling him so she could ride his cock, moaning in ecstasy while he squeezed her tits. There wasn't a definitive end to the story, however the last paragraph had with him straddling her, sliding his dick between her tits and coming all over them.

Dawn finished reading the rough draft and caught herself returning to reality as though she were in a trance. It was then that she realized just how startled she was by what she had just read, but not because she just learned that a student had been so bold as to watch her lay out when she was topless. Nor did the explicit description of his sexual fantasy about her bother her either. At least there was none of that "Miss Anderson, I love you" crap and subsequent crush and/or stalking. And it wasn't like he was making unwanted advances or even googly eyes at her in class. This kind of unadulterated lust was the last thing she would've expected from Steve. But what did startle her was how lucid and engaging the story was. She had been drawn into the story and could visualize each scene like she was having an out-of-body experience. Few of her students ever had been able to organize their thoughts and write as clearly as Steve had done in this rough draft. Granted it was an arousing sexual fantasy about her, and an exceptionally well written one. Then she caught herself. Arousing? She was aroused by the story.

The revelation of being clandestinely watched by someone while laying out almost naked gave her an idea. Realizing that the element of surprise was in her favor, Dawn smiled. "So, he likes watching me, does he?" She muttered to herself, and began to think of ways to have some fun playing with Steve's mind. Knowing that her body could motivate this young man to such a level of lust gave her an erotic feeling. Maybe this coming weekend she would lay out facing the woods making certain that Steve would have an unobstructed view of her body. Then the show would begin. She could spend extra time oiling herself up. Then take her top off and spend time massaging her tits well after they were oiled. Maybe, if she were horny enough, she would take everything off and lay out in the sun naked. "That would drive Steve nuts." She mumbled to herself as she glanced over the paper again. Then she wondered if she would be able to go a step further and masturbate while he watched. Maybe she would do that with her bikini bottom on, she thought to herself. The sexual images the story had implanted in her mind along with the thoughts of masturbating and/or being naked in the sun on her patio was making her horny and wet, but it was getting late and there was more grading to do.

The next day Dawn chose her outfit carefully. To everyone else she was Miss Anderson, dressed like she was every other day. But, in a way, she wasn't. She taught her english classes and then her english comp class. She gave back the papers without letting on what she had read. However, she didn't give him a grade, she simply wrote 'See me about this assignment' in red ink on the front.

At the end of the day Steve knocked on the office door that Miss Anderson shared with another teacher. It was Friday afternoon and the other teacher had left for the day. He found her alone in the room sitting at her desk entering grades into her record book. 

"Um, you needed to see me about this paper Miss Anderson?" He said with bewilderment. He didn't understand why he didn't have a grade and what she needed to see him about.

'Yes I did." Motioning to the chair in front of her desk, she began. "Have a seat. Steve, last night while grading your paper I found something very unusual." Steve swallowed hard, and she suspected that he knew what she was talking about. She got up, walked around in front of Steve and leaned back against the desk looking down at him. Then she held up the sexual fantasy paper he had written and turned in by accident with his assignment.

"This was with the paper you turned in." She turned the front of the paper to her and spoke while glancing across it. "It is a paper about me and it is laced with sexual references. Worse yet, it would appear here", she raised her voice as she pointed to the top of the first page, "that you've been spying on me at my home! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Steve just sat there stupefied, looking for words that wouldn't come, or even matter if they did.

"Steve, I should turn this in to the principal. He'll probably have you suspended. You should be suspended!" Her tone became more stern and angry with each sentence. Dawn just crossed her arms and stared at Steve, a look of disappointment on her face. But then she backed off.

"Did you write this?" She asked matter-of-factly.

Blushing and embarrassed he said in a deflated tone, "Yes. But I turned it in by accident, I swear."

"How long have you been watching me from the woods?" She asked.

"About three months, since spring."

"Three months!" She said with a disgusted snort. Throwing her hands up in the air she asked, "Have you done anything else that I should know about?"

"Oh, no ma'am." He replied in the most reassuring tone he could muster.

"You do realize that if they suspend you - and they will when they read this - getting into a university will be much more difficult if not impossible?"

His future threatened, Steve began to panic. "I didn't mean it. Nobody was supposed to see it. It's just something I wrote. I didn't mean anything by it."

She glanced back down at the paper and stopping him said, "Oh! It sure reads like you meant it. This is very graphic." 

There were a few moments of silence in which Steve simply stared at the floor.

"What am I supposed to do here?" She asked him rhetorically.

"I don't know. I'm sorry." He replied.

She sighed, looked at Steve then at the paper, and said in an upbeat tone. "It is very good writing though, clear and well thought out." Steve didn't look up.

Then Dawn fired off some questions in a very matter-of-fact, business-like tone. She looked at the paper and asked, "It says here that you like watching me when I'm laying out. Is that true?" She could see by his blank stare at the wall that she had blind-sided him with the question, so she waited a few moments and demanded, "Well?"

"Uh, yeah." He said timidly, trying not to let his answer get him into more trouble.

"So you must really like looking at my body?"

Still not knowing where all this was going Steve, a little embarrassed by the question, replied as though he were answering a trick question, "Yes."

She pointed to the graphically sexual text and asked, "And how long have you wanted to - what were the exact words you used. Oh, here it is, 'fuck me for hours'?"

Embarrassed and not wanting to get into it, Steve paused for a moment, "Last year, I guess."

She looked down at the graphically sexual text in her hand and asked in a very serious tone, "Do you think that, given the opportunity, you would do all this?"

Her matter-of-fact way of asking didn't strike Steve as a come-on, rather he was embarrassed again by what he had written. He simply shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't know!" She said with astonishment. Holding up the paper as exhibit A she added, "Because it sure seems like you know." 

As Dawn set the paper down on the desk behind her and quietly began fidgeting with something. Steve, filled with embarrassment, returned to staring at the wall. The unusual pause prompted him to a glance at what Miss Anderson was quietly doing. To Steve's astonishment she was unfastening the buttons that ran down the length of the right side of her dress. Once unbuttoned, she made sure that Steve was watching then let the garment slide off of her shoulders to the floor. She stood there in front of Steve wearing the light blue bikini that she wore when she went to lay in the sun. It was an ordinary bikini except that the bottoms tied together at the hips. Dawn could tell that Steve was quite taken aback and had no idea what was going on. Glancing back down at the paper she continued in her business-like tone. "You didn't answer my question. Would you do this or not?" 

Still preoccupied with the threat to his academic future and perplexed by the interesting turn of events, Steve let out an indecisive "I guess."

"You guess?" She asked trying to qualify his answer. Changing the subject she leaned back stuck her chest out and peered down at her breasts as though to judge them. "You certainly seem to like my chest quite a bit. Correct?" 

"Um, yeah."

"And you like it when I'm laying out without a top on?"

"Yes." Steve was trying hard to hide it, but Dawn could tell that the sight of her body and the subject of the discussion was getting the young man aroused.

Dawn smiled, reached behind her and untied the bikini top. She moved the covering back and forth for a few moments; then slowly pulled the top off over her head. She was now only wearing her shoes and bikini bottom. 

"How do they look close up?" She asked with a smile.

Steve's eyes became nearly as big as saucers at the sight of his teacher's bare chest. He sat upright, unable to avert his stare. He squirmed in his seat and Dawn suspected that his dick was becoming rock hard. Distracted from the question she refocused his attention.

"Well?"

"Uh. They're nice."

"Just nice?" She asked, not believing the answer. "Because it seems to me that you liked them enough to want to - how did you put it?" She reached for his paper and scanned it for a second, "Here, 'cum on my tits'."

"Um, sure." Steve replied, nearly overwhelmed by the erotic bizarreness of what was happening.

"Um, sure?" She confirmed. Leaning forward she smiled and squeezed her tits together with her arms. "What do I have to do, beg you?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?" He said. All the while his eyes were riveted to her body.

"Are you getting hard watching me undress?" She asked, glancing down at the obvious hard-on in his jeans. 

Embarrassed that she knew, he squirmed a little and said, "Yes."

Dawn leaned forward a little and uncrossed her ankles. 

"Prove it." She demanded.

The demand was as unexpected as her disrobing in front of him. "Prove it?" He asked as though he was unprepared.

"Yeah, show me how hard I make you." She smiled and leaned back to watch. 

Not entirely comfortable with this request, he paused. "Come on." She urged with a smile. "I showed you mine." Still not too sure about the request, he slowly stood and unzipped his pants. Removing the clothing he looked up at Dawn, his rock hard cock pointing straight out at her.

She looked over his cock from afar, and only uttered, "Hmm."

Steve had no idea what "Hmm" meant. But before he could dwell on it, she smiled, bit her lower lip and pushed herself away from the desk in his direction. She took his rock hard cock in her hand and ran it up and down and around his length. Steve had no idea what to expect, all of this was so surreal. Then Dawn lowered herself to her knees. Steve watched as his teacher stroked his length for a few moments, then took his entire cock into her mouth. Over and over she ran her mouth up and down the length of his shaft. He couldn't believe how good her mouth felt. Already highly excited by the sight of his busty half-naked teacher, it didn't take long for him to cum. 

Sensing this, she stopped sucking and rose up on her knees. Stroking his cock vigorously she held his dick close to her cleavage. No longer able to contain himself he fired his cum across her tits and into her cleavage. When he had finished she stood up and leaned back against the desk, smiling. He couldn't believe what had just happened, and simply stared at the milky cum slowly running down between her firm tits. Dawn smiled, letting him admire the sight and ordered, "Take your clothes off." 

"Uh,' Steve said as he glanced back at the door. "Are you sure?"

"Its alright, nobody's going to come in."

Steve was horny has hell as he undressed. He had seen her half naked from a distance, and wanted to cum on her--in her. But he never imagined that she would want him to do it. Naked after stepping out of his pants, he just stood there, not waiting for instructions, but needing them.

She looked him up and down, then leaned forward taking hold of his wrists and placed them on the side of her tits. 

"Rub it in." She said. Her nipples became hard as he transitioned from smearing cum like it were finger paints to feeling her up.

Sitting back on the desk, she pushed her chest out while pulling his head forward. He stepped closer and began to lick, suck and squeeze her tits. Steve was gradually getting a little more aggressive with her, exploring more of her body with his hands and tongue. Dawn watched with satisfaction that she could give this pleasure to someone who so passionately lusted after her. She could feel his cock rub against the inside of her thigh and she wrapped her arms and legs loosely around him while he explored her. She knew he thought about it, but wondered to herself if he ever suspected that he would actually be in this position. Dawn could feel his cock between her legs and smiled to herself, enjoying both being the object of his intense sexual desires and giving her body to him like this.

Already seated on the desk and leaning back with her legs apart to give her student access to her chest meant that Steve's cock could press directly against her pussy. In fact, the only thing keeping Steve from entering her were the bikini bottoms, now soaking wet from her juices. Every now and then Steve would push his dick against her and the sensation of his hands exploring her body and his cock pushing against her clit made her hotter and hotter. Almost instinctively she held him tighter while encouraging his hips with her legs. 

The thought that someone could walk into her office crossed Dawn's mind. She reasoned that it was unlikely that anyone would walk in at this time of day, especially on a Friday. How would she explain this if they did? But Steve's dick pressing against her pussy brought her back to the heat of the moment. 

Her breathing got heavier and heavier as Steve ran his hands and tongue up and down her body. He had pushed the straps to her bikini bottoms down over her hips as far as he could. Even though Dawn was leaning back, she was still sitting on the desk, meaning they would only go down so far. Unable to push them down any further, Steve slowly pulled on one of the knots to untie it. Not meeting with any objections he pulled a string until the knot was undone, then began working on the other knot. The front of the bikini bottom fell away and he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy. Her seated position prevented him from entering her, which he desperately wanted to do. Keeping one arm around his neck she put her other hand behind her and leaned back. She kept leaning back and widening her legs until Steve slid into her. 


Creative Writing



Amy knew Steve's face pretty well, in a "small town" kind of way. This wasn't unusual; having lived there all of her life she recognized most of the town's residents by sight and knew Steve from before High School, where he was a year ahead of her. It wasn't like they stopped and talked across shopping carts for hours at the grocery store, more that Steve was "just a guy" who seemed to be around—someone she always enjoyed exchanging a friendly smile with him at the gas station or the post office, but nothing more than that.

That summer she signed up for a creative writing class, one evening a week at the high school, and when she walked into the classroom on the first evening Steve was the last person she expected to see sitting in the front row, but there her was, smiling "hello" to her. Despite the mild anxiety she felt at starting the class, it was comforting to see a familiar face. She settled into a desk at the other side of the room from him and lost herself in the teacher's words.

When the class took its first coffee break Steve walked over to her. "Hi there. It's Amy, right? Tommy's sister."

She nodded and sipped at her soda. "And you're Steve, unless he has a twin. Isn't it funny what you learn about people you've known for so long? All this time I've seen you around... I never imagined you for a writer."

"I'd hardly say I was 'a writer'." He smiled, a little bashfully this time. "Can't say I had you down for a writer either." He indicated she might like to sit and they sat opposite each other at a free table. "So, what do you write?"

Amy gave a slight self-deprecating laugh. "Nothing... yet. I just thought I'd like to try something new. It was either this class, or macramé."

Steve's mischievous blue eyes softened further. "I guess getting tied up in words was more appealing than tying knots then?"

Amy laughed and explained that she was thinking about writing some travel memoirs or maybe just amuse herself by spending a few afternoons in the countryside, writing about her surroundings.

It wasn't the first time she'd noticed his quiet good looks, but this was the closest she'd been to his clean features and content manner. Steve's movements were assured and comfortable as he explained how this was the first formal writing course he'd taken, despite the constant output of words from his keyboard and printer. She was unexpectedly mesmerized by his conversation as Steve talked enthusiastically about how she would enjoy learning about the colors of words, and the pictures she would find herself creating.

Amy found herself smiling and leaning across the table as Steve's hands constantly moved with a grace not normally expected form someone who spoke with such quiet passion. However long she'd seen him around, this evening was the first time that she truly "met" Steve, and she found herself enjoying his company.

Steve was enjoying Amy's company also. It was easy to be captivated by her quiet confidence and stealthy good looks—they snuck up on you. As the break ended it was with a reluctant sigh that he stood and said, "Come on," he motioned that they should leave the break room, "better get back to class."

*****

The following week, Amy made a point of sitting next to him.

Steve smiled as she took her seat, elated and excited at her choice. He was more active than her in the class, his experience meant he had opinions on a lot of the curriculum and he was having fun with the subjects they discussed.

She was glad to have him close, and their glances to each other were comforting to Amy as she tried hard to combat her natural shyness and get the best out of the class.

He liked her. She was average build and height, but had a vibrant face that shone when she smiled, usually with an impish overtone. He found her increasingly attractive.

Steve was doodling on his notepad at one point, writing down a short description of Amy that he wanted to use for one of his characters sometime. "Blonde," he wrote, "strong, silky hair that sweeps away from the pale, pure, skin of her face. Glistening eyes, happy smile, not forced. Understated features, you only catch the beauty at second glance. She's the new friend you want to have and the girl you want to talk to at a party."

As they left the school building that evening she followed him out to the car park. "Hey Steve." He turned to see a quizzical look on her face. "You never did tell me... what kind of stuff do you write?"

He paused a few seconds before answering. "Oh, lots of things really. I like essays, short pieces on local buildings and things like that. Usually there's some social commentary in there as well. I'm six years into a novel that will probably take me twenty years to write," he laughed. "But I guess I have more fun writing erotic stories than anything else. Mostly that's what I've done lately."

Amy let the words sink in and tried not to look surprised. "You mean..."

He shifted a little uneasily. "Yep."

"Oh." Amy smiled wryly and started walking slowly towards her car again. "That's interesting."

Steve drove away disappointed that Amy might not be as likely to sit next to him the following week. Maybe he shouldn't have told her?

*****

Steve's stories, even though she'd never read any, were never far from her mind the whole of that next week. Amy couldn't get away from the thought of Steve, sitting at his desk, writing the kinds of things she imagined he would write about. She just knew those stories would be good though. Something about the way he talked about his writing, the passion he obviously had for it... she just knew she would like them, and that they would be hot.

The night before their next class Amy couldn't sleep. She started up at her ceiling, thinking about Steve's stories, imagining what it would be like to be one of the women in them, what it would feel like to be his girl and live out that fantasy.

She thought of the smile on his face as she kissed him, undressed him and massaged him. She could almost feel the power of him as he entered her and filled her. Thinking about the climax she would have with him made her dizzy. It was so real. When she found she had been stroking her wet pussy while she thought of him she realized the dizziness was real and moments later she exploded.

"Oh... my... God. Fuck me gently," she breathed as her orgasm finally began to subside. Steve had a lot to answer for, and he hadn't even touched her, let alone heard her ask him to fuck her.

*****

She was sitting in what had now become her usual seat when Steve came into the classroom and sat next to her, happy to find that his erotic writing admission had not alienated her.

They spent that evening's class talking about and practicing descriptions of one-street towns, but Amy was thinking about another subject entirely. She watched Steve's hands as he made notes on his pad and tapped at the keys of his laptop. It was easy to imagine those fingers undoing her zipper and pulling away her clothing. It was becoming all too easy to imagine her hands reciprocating on his jeans and shirt.

When the class was dismissed Steve hung around while she packed away her things and started to walk out of the building with her.

"You know," Amy was unsure how to ask, "I've been thinking about what you said, about your... other writing..."

"Yeah." Steve swallowed. "I, well... maybe I shouldn't've said anything."

"No, no, it's okay," she gained confidence. "It's just, well, I was thinking that I might like to try it."

"Oh," he considered. "You mean the writing part, don't you, not reading?"

"Yes." Amy nodded eagerly. "But I guess I wouldn't mind reading some also, if you think that would help me make a better job of the writing."

Steve conceded that it would, but stopped short of offering his own work for her review. He offered to help in any way he could though, and assured her it was not as difficult as she might think. "How would you like to get together sometime and throw an idea or two around?"

"I'd like that." Amy smiled at him and felt an immediate temperature increase in her panties. "Maybe not here though. I'm not sure the other students would approve."

He suggested they go for a coffee but Amy reluctantly declined. She was still thinking about discussing the intimate topics of the story she was beginning to visualize in public. It was a story Steve was starting to feature prominently in but being overheard in a coffee shop wasn't high on her agenda. She looked at her watch. It was just after nine.

"Are you rushing anywhere? I could make you some coffee at my place, if you have an hour?" She giggled self-consciously. "At least I won't worry about being overheard."

They agreed on the plan, and then Steve asked if she had eaten. When she shook her head he offered to pick up some food while she made the coffee. Amy gave him her address and they set off on their separate journeys, both of their pulse rates considerably higher than normal.

*****

Amy barely had a chance to perform an emergency tidy-up around her lounge and dig some coffee cups out of the dishwasher when he arrived at her door with a large bag of Chinese food.

As they worked their way through as much of the food as they could, the conversation was a little lighter and more expectant than they were used to. Neither of them was anxious to bring up the subject of writing and it was only when Amy was stuffing the empty cartons into a trash bag that she finally broached the subject.

Steve was sitting on her sofa, cradling the mug of coffee she had given him. "So," she started hesitantly, "how should I look to start my story?"

"I guess you need to work out what position your characters are in." He thought about what he said and his cheek reddened a shade. "I mean... what situation they're in, you know, how you want them to get together. Yes, you need to have that before you start to worry about positions."

Amy giggled. "I see what you mean." She walked over and sat at the opposite end of the sofa. "So, let's just say... my hero and heroine... they're in a class together. Macramé, say." She felt a flush in her own cheeks and also a tingle of excitement between her legs. "I guess I just need to engineer a way to get them together, and then get into describing what they get up to outside of class."

"Exactly," Steve agreed, happy that she'd taken the initiative, on her story at least.

"Now," Amy looked away from his eyes and looked demurely down towards the carpet, "what about when I want them to... you know, have sex?"

Steve stifled a small but understanding laugh. "Well," he paused, noticing a rising excitement and carefully finding his own words, "you need to find a way to describe things to a reader in a way that they'll be able to picture the... sex, but enjoy the images at the same time."

"How do I do that?"

Steve thought about the question for a few seconds, realizing that he'd already become highly aroused discussing this with Amy. He shuffled to ease the pressure on his erection and advised her, "You need to describe things the way you experience them. Write what the touch felt like, what the tongue was doing, how wet... well, you get the idea." He felt his cheeks flush. "And remember, it's not just about what they do physically... a key part of this is conveying to the reader what they are feeling inside... emotions."

Amy could barely believe how hot things had gotten between her legs, and was very aware of just how wet that part of her was, at least. Her heart was pounding as she wondered how bold she would let herself be as the electricity between them grew. She tried to casually glance at Steve's lap, wondering if he was in a similar state. She thought there might be an extra bulge there, but wasn't sure. God, how much would she like to find out?

"Maybe what you should do," Steve continued with his advice, "is that next time you, well... next time you're in that situation yourself, you should make some mental notes of how things feel. Then you'll be in a good position to describe them in your story."

"I think I know what you mean." Amy sounded vague, but that was because she had to drag her thoughts back to the conversation and away from the bulge Steve might be concealing.

"I mean like this." Steve shuffled along the sofa, closer to her, and gently ran his fingertips along her thigh. "Tell me what that feels like?"

Amy felt the brush of his touch through the denim of her jeans and as he drew his fingers towards her knee the sensations ran in the opposite direction, up her thigh and into the bubbling cauldron of her aching pussy. She swallowed and tried to speak without betraying herself.

"It feels like a feather being dragged along my bare skin. It makes my skin come alive. Feels like a lover's touch." She smiled at him. "It's kinda nice actually."

"See?" Steve withdrew his hand but stayed close on the sofa. "That's what you do. Just describe what you already know."

"I see." Amy leaned over a little. "And the same goes for what it feels like from the other side, how my fingers feel, and what they feel." She reached out and ran her hand slowly and gently up Steve's thigh, pressing a little harder than he did on her. "Like, how firm your... leg feels beneath the cloth."

"That's it." Steve managed to get the words out, feeling firmer than he had in a long time. "Certainly looks like you're getting the hang of it."

Amy continued her hand's journey much further up his thigh than he expected until, her fingertips were no more than a half-inch from his erection. She looked down and could easily see that the situation was having the same exciting effect on him as it was on her. The urge to just stretch out her touch a bit more and feel him was incredible, but somehow she managed to resist, looking up to see the mixture of relief and pain cross Steve's face as she drew her fingers away.

Her hand remained on his knee though, making no attempt to break the contact that had been established.

Steve's body suddenly felt like it was boiling over as the anticipation grew within him and he began to see the possibilities of the evening with Amy. He watched her chest move with each breath then looked up to see her eyes, still uncertain but definitely inviting.

"I'm still curious about translating those... more intimate, moments into a story," she said meekly. "I mean, I don't always remember those kinds of details when I'm... with someone." This time she was able to avoid looking away.

"I think I know what you mean." Steve allowed his arm to come around her and slowly started to move his hand over her back in large circular motions. "Do you think there's anything I could help you with there?" He leaned forward, closing the gap between their faces.

"Maybe." She disguised another swallow. "How would do you think you could help?"

"Well," Steve leaned over and pressed his lips softly to the base of her neck and worked his way up it with small kisses. "Maybe the first thing I should probably do is tell you how your lips taste."

Amy nodded, but Steve was already on his way to bringing his lips to hers. Their first kiss was tiny but electric. He barely let their lips touch but immediately allowed his tongue to dart out and taste her. "You're warm." He smiled. "You taste wonderful, soft lips but very exciting." He kissed her again, this time parting her lips and allowing their tongues to meet. She pulled him close and he felt the temperature rise everywhere.

Her hand found its way to the bulge in his pants before even she was expecting it. "You're hard," she breathed between kisses.

"Very," he replied, cupping her face in his palm as he kissed her over and over. "You're taking all of this in, right? For your story?"

"Yes." She gasped as he brought his hand up to firmly cup her breast. As he moved his hand and pushed against her she felt her nipple harden inside her clothes. At the same time her hand was moving slowly along his straining erection and wondering at how powerful it felt, even in its restricted confines. "I'd like to take notes on how it feels to get naked with someone for the first time."

Steve didn't need a second invitation and he immediately started to pull at the buttons on her shirt. As it slipped from her shoulders he caressed her newly exposed skin, running his hands over her upper arms and around her cleavage. Her heart was reaching new speeds when he reached around and pulled apart the clip on her bra. Amy actually closed her eyes and concentrated hard on how it felt as the bra fell away in front of her and allowed her breasts to slide forward and into Steve's hands.

Her nipples were hard and sensitive as he rolled them in the palms of his hands, through his fingers and then pulled on them with a teasing touch. "Oh," Amy almost moaned, "I definitely have to remember how good that feels."

As he continued to massage her nipples with one hand, his other started to gently work between her legs. She opened them willingly and his fingers pressed hard against the denim crotch that felt damp and was radiating heat. Amy couldn't believe how wet she felt as Steve's hand probed at her with a growing urgency. Her hands started moving again, pulling at his belt and easing the zipper down as far as it would go in their sitting positions. He shifted a little to help her, but the zipper was fully undone, so she thrust her fingers down the front of his pants to grasp as much as she could of his thick and hard cock.

"I'd forgotten how warm a cock feels," Amy panted. "This is definitely helping me with my story. Stand up. I want to see you too."

Steve pulled his hands away and stood up so she could kneel before him and pull away his jeans. He stood there for a few moments, mesmerized by the concentrated look in Amy's eyes as she took in every inch of the throbbing cock that was right in front of her eyes. Without a word she reached out with both hands and gently started to explore him.

At first she touched him lightly all over with her hands working in tandem to cover the pulsing head of his vertical cock, the hard shaft and the soft balls that felt full of more than promise to her touch. When she took a slightly firmer grasp and stroked him a few times Steve's body gave an involuntary shudder as waves of pleasure and relief flooded through him. Amy smiled at the reaction and held him tighter, squeezing around the rim of his cock, her thumb pressed under the tip. Then she licked lightly at him a few times before taking the head into her mouth and sucking on it hard, her hand still squeezing as she sucked.

Amy smiled as she recognized the familiar salty taste of pre-come as it oozed out from him. Still smiling, she loosened her grip on Steve's cock and stood up, falling easily into a deep kiss with him. While she adjusted her grip on him, and resumed some light stroking, she unbuttoned and pulled his shirt away with her other hand.

The feeling of Amy's hands working him, one stroking and one running all over his bare chest, was incredible for Steve. He reached down and found the waistband of her panties, almost as much to distract his own rising feelings as it was desperation to feel her. Pushing his fingers inside the sides of her remaining underwear, he started to ease them down, his whole body slipping to the floor as they eased down her long legs until they were low enough for Amy to step out of. Steve let one knee rest on the floor as he studied her newly exposed pussy.

She was neatly shaved all around her outer lips with a thin line of very sexy trimmed pubic hair reaching straight up from the top of her slit as far as it would go. Steve had seen girls trimmed like that in pictures before, but this was the first time he had been with a woman sexy enough to shave and trim herself that way. "Wow." he whispered through a smile as he brought his hand up to run over her belly and down through the line of hair. "You look so beautiful. God, you're sexy."




Creative Writing



"We have to stop!" she said. She said it very sharply.

"Um, okay," I said. "We can stop."

I held her by the waist and tried to make eye contact, but she wouldn't look at me. She pulled my hands off and flung them away.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, withdrawing arms. "Have I hurt you?"

"No," she said, her voice breaking. She buried her face in her hands in obvious anguish.

"Oh God, I have," I said. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

When she didn't reply I started to get up, but she wouldn't let me.

"I'm okay," she said, finally making eye contact. "I mean we can't keep doing this. You and I. You understand that, don't you?"

I did. We had pushed things too far for too long. I remembered our "easy out" agreement: just say those two words and the relationship dissolved, no questions asked. But I didn't want it to end.

"I'll go," I said, starting to get up again. 

Once again she placed hands on my chest and pushed me slowly back down.

"Not right now," she cooed, caressing my pecs.

One moment in anguish, the next with the sultry voice? I didn't understand her, but I understood her dilemma. 

I drew a deep breath and exhaled, afraid to touch her. Reading my face, she reached out and took my hands. At the same time she moved her legs till her knees met on my chest. Her feet cupped my hips, her soles soft and warm. She sighed and I felt her squeeze me inside her.

"God you feel so good," I said. "You are so very beautiful. So kind. So warm. So perfect."

Her eyes sparkled above her smile while our hands played the equivalent of footsies. I was manipulating her and I knew it. Unable to accept the fact of her own beauty, she liked being complimented on her looks; she had once said holding hands was more intimate than anything else; and in her opinion, a man who maintained eye contact had nothing to hide. At that point I used all three on her, trying to keep her from saying those two little words.

"This has to be the last time, the absolute last time, okay?"

"Okay," I replied, not believing it. Each of the last three times she had said exactly the same thing, but kept initiating contact, wanting another rendezvous. Fine with me.

"I'm serious this time. Really."

"I haven't forgotten our agreement," I said. "I won't stand in your way and this will be our secret forever. I promise."

"I... I can't see you anymore," she sighed.

An alarm went off in my head. She never made "I" statements when speaking of our affair. She used words like 'we' and 'us' and 'our' and 'this', but never "I" anything unless she wanted something specific.

"You've met someone!" I said, almost happy for her. "You wouldn't believe the kind of men I pick up in bars," she once told me, then shared some of the more colorful (if not sexual) details. "It's the worst possible way to meet men." I got the picture: she was looking for Mr. Goodbar in the bars when she needed one who didn't hang out in bars.

"I don't have time to meet anyone," she sighed. "You're eighteen. I'm twenty-five. You're a student. I'm your teacher. If they find out I'll lose my job. I'll never teach again. That's what's wrong. We have to stop."

At that point she tilted her hips back a bit, changing the angle of me inside her sex. A pleasurable sensation, it made her eyes close and her breath catch. Her grip on my hands tightened a little, but she didn't start moving. Her breasts jiggled for one brief moment, stopped while she held her breath, then began swaying as she breathed again. I loved watching her and discovering these subtle responses. For an eighteen year old neophyte, every moment in her bed was extraordinary.

I hoped she'd get lost in the passion and forget what she had just said, but she opened her eyes and resumed the look which said, "we have to stop doing this before I get caught."

"There's no way I'll ever testify against you or cooperate in any investigation," I said. "This is your private life. And mine. We're consenting adults. It's no one's business but ours. If anyone asks, we deny it. If we're accused, we remain silent."

I loved that little speech. I didn't have to use it very often, but it must have been less reassuring to her as time went by. I can't even take credit for it. She brought it up two months earlier when we first began seeing each other, wanting my full cooperation. After that I played it back to her whenever she wavered or panicked. We even discussed scenarios of being dragged to a police station and questioned separately they way they do on TV, where police say different things to suspects in different rooms to coerce confessions. We decided that, since police are allowed to lie to us but we aren't allowed to lie to them, we would say nothing at all. Let them make their case.

"They'll think we started when you were underage," she said.

"We didn't. I turned 18 before we started."

"Either we'll hang together or we'll hang separately," she sighed, which was THE joke of my alma mater, Benjamin Franklin High. She spread her legs, moving her knees off my chest and onto the bed. I loved the way she hooked her feet over my thighs and moved the smooth skin of her legs against mine. When we were naked together, it seemed like her whole body became prehensile.

"Listen. You are not going to lose you job or get into any trouble for this," I whispered in my most reassuring voice. "Ever. It'd kill me."

She lowered my hands to her thighs and let go, but I took hold of hers again, readjusting my grip, liking the way she smiled when I did. We had had the usual fifteen minutes of foreplay on her couch, but now I was on my back in her bed with her mounted on my cock and I if could keep making her crazy by holding her hands, so be it. We smiled at each other and she shifted her hips again, exploring small movements I knew would soon lead to much more athletic ones.

"You don't have to worry," she said, closing her eyes. "I'll take the fall for this if I have to. I deserve it anyway."

"No you don't," I said, almost panicking inside. She never spoke like this. We had never talked about it during sex before. In fact, we rarely said anything while coupling. I had to do something. I drew a breath.

"I love you and I'll never do anything to hurt you. It'd kill me."

"You don't know what love is," she replied, eyes closed, still making slow, tiny hip movements. "You're too young."

"Tell me," I said, "is the love you feel at twenty-five any different than the love you felt at eighteen?"

That stopped her. She opened her big brown eyes and looked into mine. Coupled or uncoupled, we hadn't ever spoken of love before. Forbidden subject. 

"No, but it's more informed," she said. "There's a big difference between love and infatuation I didn't know about when I was eighteen," she replied.

"I know the difference," I said. "It only took a couple crushes to realize infatuation is a projection of my own desires. Real love takes time, but mine has begun. For you."

With that she let go of my hands and lowered herself to me. For the millionth time I loved her soft breasts flattening against my chest as we kissed. She laid her head next to mine on the pillow, looking point blank in my eyes. Her fingers traced my brow, jawline and lips, then explored my hair. My hands moved slowly up and down the length of her back, over her butt and down her thighs to her knees then back up over her shoulders again.

"I can't get over how mature you are for eighteen," she said, still moving her hips a little.

I couldn't get over the fact that I was eighteen and coupled to my writing teacher for the twelfth time. Thirteenth? Fourteenth? It happened often enough I had already lost count. 

"I can't get over how beautiful you are," I replied, sweeping luxuriant dark hair off her face with one hand while caressing her back with the other.

"God I love your hands," she said, pressing her left hand to my right, matching fingers. "You make me feel like a girl again."

I cupped her jaw in my hands to pull her in for a kiss, loving her tongue in mine. Then she pushed herself up and began the athletic movements I loved so well. We had plenty of time before my Friday night curfew.

Later I pressed her against the inside of her front door, kissing her goodnight. She loved it when I pinned her to things like doors, walls, refrigerator, couch, shower stall and her bed. She held onto me for a long time because as soon as we opened that door and left her house it would be a week before we'd touch again. Neither of us wanted to let go.

"We really need to stop seeing each other," she said again, still pinned to the door, my lips on her neck.

So it was back to "we" again. Good.

"Just say the words," I whispered in her ear, gambling she wouldn't. Two words and it'd all be over.

She opened her mouth, but held her tongue, then did it a second time. It felt like I was standing on the very edge of the world.

"I can't," she said, burying her face in my chest. "I think I love you, too."

There it was, the first time she ever said it. My heart leapt. Was this why she kept taking me back to her place and pulling off my clothes week after week?

"I love you, too," I said. I was eighteen and already knew to say it right back or face dire consequences. But it wasn't a lie. I really did love her.

"Can we meet again?"

"I'd like that," I said.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Whoa. In a little more than two months we had managed to meet more than once a week only twice and had never risked two days in row. Was it because we had spoken of love for the first time?

"Okay," I said. "Meet at the mall again?"

"Sure. Only let's use the entrance down by Sears this time."

Meeting at the mall was the way we got together without drawing attention to ourselves. Just a few miles from home, I'd drive over at a prearranged time, go inside and find her where she sat waiting on a bench. Without saying anything, I'd make eye contact as I walked by, then go out and get in her car, which she parked in one of two rows, and she'd follow a few minutes later. It was all very James Bond, and like him the secret mission involved a high-speed drive in a sports car to a destination where we pulled each others' clothes off. 

The next day I found her on the bench by the fountain near the ground floor entrance to Sears, right on time. She looked so perfect sitting there and her face lit up when her eyes met mine. I walked past, went outside, and sat in her car. Several long minutes later she opened the driver's side door and climbed in. She had stayed on the bench a little longer than normal, then went inside Sears and used a store exit instead of a mall exit, just in case. Investigators look for patterns, she said, so it was important to vary our movements from time to time. Doing it two days in a row heightened the sense of danger and adventure, which revealed itself in her bed. Our first-time expressions of love spilled over from the night before, also contributing to heightened passions. We met an unprecedented third day in a row. Then a forth.

***

She taught grammar, lit, composition and creative writing and, at twenty-five, was one of the youngest and prettiest teachers at school. An attractive, petite woman of five-four who had gone to college on a soccer scholarship, she had a fit, athletic body and coached the varsity girls team. Fourth generation Italian-American, her long dark hair was cut to feather in the style of the late 1970's. Her hourglass shape, luxuriant hair and large penetrating brown eyes made high school boys squirm in their seats. And her smile? God! It could knock you out at fifty yards if you weren't careful.

She rarely wore a dress, choosing instead an array of attractive casuals which suited her athletic frame. On days she did wear a dress I was half out of my mind. It wasn't common, but occasionally teachers wore jeans to school on Fridays and seeing her in tight Levi's made me even more crazy. Every time I interacted with her as a student, I had to work hard to maintain eye contact. She was a fox.

There were rumors that someone asked her to senior prom the previous year, but I didn't believe it until she confirmed the story one afternoon while we rested in her bed. She politely turned down the guy who asked, confiding that she still felt some regret flirting with him so much in class. It wasn't that kind of flirting, she said, but of course he didn't know the difference. "No one ever knows the difference," I said, until one flirter asks the other out."

Modern enough to support the Equal Rights Amendment for women, she maintained some traditional ideals as well, preferring Miss over Ms and believing a wife should take her husband's surname. Like many Catholics she was morally opposed to abortion, but supported a woman's legal right to choose because no one should be put in prison for it. With the sexual revolution in full bloom, she certainly embraced her own liberation with me.

My interest in her began when I had her for creative writing at the start of senior year. I discovered immediately that she liked flirting with male students, especially jocks. I didn't know why she singled me out. I wasn't a jock, but she called on me regularly to read aloud in class. Second week into the semester, she smiled and interrupted me to gush about how much she loved my voice, admitting that she called on me so frequently because of it and would continue to do so. Surprised and embarrassed, I thanked her and continued reading. 

I liked her extensive eye contact and the way she smiled at me, which seemed to say so much more. I even caught her looking at me a few times during class when everyone was bent over their desks writing. When we passed in the hallway, she waited until I made eye contact before letting her eyes run down my body. If it had happened only once, I could ignore it, but it happened several times.

Emboldened by her attention, when I turned 18 at the end of September I decided to do something about it. I wrote a note asking if her interest was more than academic. If so would she meet me at a certain restaurant at a certain time that weekend. If not, no reply was necessary and I wouldn't bring it up again. Sealing the note in an envelop, I attached it to the back of a short story assignment and left it on her desk.

A whole week went by without a reply. Each time I made made eye contact with her in class I wondered if she had read my note. She even graded and returned the assignment without comment. It was torture. I assumed she had read my note and had decided to ignore it. I felt like a fool for thinking she'd go out with a student. I was just glad she didn't embarrass me by mentioning it in front of class, or worse report me to the administration.

After last period that Friday I stood organizing my locker in the crowded, noisy hallway when she walked up and handed me an envelop.

"I was hoping I'd catch you, Mr. Flynn," she said. "You left this in my classroom."

"Where did you find it?" I asked, feigning surprise. "I've been looking everywhere."

"Someone found it in your desk."

"Thanks. I thought I had lost it," I said, still feigning. "You are a Godsend. Thank you."

"Okay, okay, you're welcome," she smiled. "Take it home and keep it in a safe place, okay? Have a good weekend."

"Thanks. You, too," I replied.

"I will," she said, walking away.

One look at the envelop and I knew instantly she had responded. The one I left on her desk had her name on it. This one had my name neatly typewritten in the middle. My heart jumped in my throat. A response and her warm smile must mean yes! My optimism waned as I realized it could be a rejection and enough demerits to finish me. Either way, I couldn't risk opening her letter at school. It had to wait until I got home. 

"What did you lose?" asked Beth-Ann, from her locker to my right.

"A letter of recommendation for college applications," I lied. "I'm lucky someone found it."

"Which schools are you-"

"God, is she a fox or what?" blurted Cliff, from his locker on the other side of Beth-Ann.

"She's an attractive woman," I admitted.

"She's a total babe," Andy said from the locker to my left, lowering his voice and adding: "I'd like to get into that."

A look of irritation creased Beth-Ann's face. Never mind the interruption, she was put out that Clifford and Andrew weren't talking about her, their eyes on the body of my departing visitor. I turned back to my locker, pulling books required for weekend homework.

"We're surrounded by beautiful women," I said, giving Beth-Ann a sideways glance. Her frown melted into a smile. She was a fox, too: the kind who dated only seniors even though she was only a sophomore. Younger boys were, she often said and I quote, way too immature for me, unquote. Don't ask me why I bothered to inflate her ego at that particular moment. Oh wait, I remember now: to get her off the subject of the letter in my hand. It worked. 

The bus ride home seemed like an eternity, as did the walk down the street of our suburban neighborhood with friends. They teased me for being lost in my thoughts again. 'Space cadet' was the moniker they liked to use. Or just 'cadet'. I laughed with them, but returned to my thoughts. Even with the possibility of a rejection waiting in the envelop, my mind raced a thousand miles a hour, wondering if I could pull off the rendezvous I had suggested in my note to her. Once home, I poured myself the usual after-school glass of milk and disappeared into my room. I wiped the mustache on my sleeve, opened the envelop and pulled out a formal, typewritten letter on Franklin High stationery.

"Mr. Flynn, 

Yes, I would be happy to tutor you. You already have excellent study habits, but I'm glad you realize how important it is to take advantage of every available resource to get the most from my class. It takes courage to ask for help and to push yourself to excel. No one succeeds alone and I know I will help you prepare for the SAT and your college entrance exams. I realize it's short notice, but I have an opening in my schedule tomorrow if you can make it. Be at my house at 3 PM Saturday. Bring pen, paper and your text. We will focus on creative exercises. Please call me today to confirm or to schedule a different time. My rates are in the student handbook.

It is a joy to have you in my class."

Confused, I read it again. Had she mistaken me with someone who wanted help? Or was she saying yes and her letter a cover? Encouraged that she wanted to meet me the next day, I hoped it was a cover. A second page had a hand-drawn map with directions to her house, her address and phone number. Wait. A third slip of paper hid in the fold of her directions. It was handwritten.

"Tell no one where you are going or what you are doing. I am relying on your complete discretion. Call me. Destroy this."

I could not believe my eyes. Was it really that easy? Dropping a note on her desk asking if she was interested and suggesting a rendezvous? I tore up her handwritten note and dropped it amidst egg shells and coffee grounds in the kitchen garbage. I had caught Mom fishing through the contents of my trashcan before, but she never inspected the kitchen trash.

I dialed my teacher. No answer. She wasn't home yet. She wouldn't be. I lived a mile from school while she lived the next suburb over, some ten miles distant. I dialed three more times in the next half hour without making contact. Answering machines had just come on the market, but were hugely expensive and only a few people had them. For the rest of the world a ring-no-answer meant try-again-later. Then my folks came home from work and I could no longer risk calling from the house, not with mom's habit of listening on the extension.

After supper I borrowed dad's car, stopped at a nearby greasy spoon called the Firebird Inn and reached my teach from a phone booth in the lobby. She arranged our first mall meeting, but was most relieved to learn I hadn't told anyone that she would be "tutoring" me. That would be our cover story. Still, she gave me instructions to bring schoolbooks, making double sure I understood this was purely a physical thing. We couldn't ever be a couple. I agreed and pledged absolute discretion. We said goodnight and I slipped into the men's room and bought two ribbed, lubricated condoms from the machine.




Creative Writing



The next afternoon I drove over to the mall, arriving a little early. I knew what her car looked like—everyone at school knew she drove a sporty little yellow Datsun 240 with tinted windows and fog lights because she had gone to school in California. We hadn't arranged a standard place where I could find it, so I followed her out at a distance. A warm Saturday in mid-September, she wore nylon running shorts, a sleeveless sport top, and running shoes. We talked as she drove and it helped that we made very little eye contact as she concentrated on the road.

"Hi," she smiled when I climbed in. "How are you?"

"Good," I said, buckling in. "How are you?"

"I'm great," she said, revving the engine and backing out of the space. "Are you ready to do this?"

"I am," I said. "How about you?"

"Most definitely. Mmmm, you smell good. Is that aftershave?"

"Yeah. I shaved and showered just before I came over."

"So did I," she giggled.

"It's not too much, is it?" I asked. Not being used to wearing the stuff, it seemed a bit overpowering.

"I like it," she replied. "You know, I wondered if you were ever going to ask me out."

"Really?" I said. "You mean all that attention was deliberate?

"Yes. You really do have a great voice, though. It's so musical and resonant, like the perfect Irish tenor. I love listening to you read. I can't believe you don't sing. Sometimes I hear your voice at night when I dream about you. I've been hoping this would happen."

"Why not just ask me?"

"Whoa. Teachers can't ask students for dates. I'd get in big trouble if you objected and reported me. You had to make the first move. All I could do was encourage you. It took a couple weeks, but I'm glad you did."

"Me, too. Um, do other teachers really date high school students?"

"It's more common than you might think. I can give you the names of a half dozen girls and the male teachers they've slept with. And those are just the ones I know about. Haven't you ever noticed how teachers flirt with their students?"

"Yes, but I always thought it was harmless fun."

"Most of it is."

"So what's going to happen?" I asked. "I mean, how are we going to do this?"

"I sometimes tutor by the hour, so it's not unusual for anyone to see students come and go from my house. Anyway, we're going to drive to my place, go inside, sit on the couch, and if we like each other we'll take off our clothes and get into my bed."

My mouth fell open.

"Does that answer your question?" she smiled.

"Yes."

"It IS what you expected, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied, unable to believe things were happening so fast.

"I apologize for being so direct," she said, "but we don't have much time. I'd like to keep you longer, but we have to get you back before anyone notices. If we're gonna do this, you have to promise me you'll keep it an absolute secret. No one can ever know, okay? Not even your closest friend or confidante. Not even a priest in the confessional."

"Okay," I said, shifting in my seat to relieve some of the pressure in my pants. She saw this and glanced at my crotch. Smiling, she reached over and rested her hand on the bulge in my jeans.

"Mmmm," she said. "Is that for me?"

I rested my hand on hers over my erection and soon we were holding hands between the seats except when she needed both to drive. During those intervals she placed my hand on top of her bare leg, but eventually left it so far up the inside of her thigh that the heel of my hand rested against her crotch. A couple times she squeezed it between her legs, but after a few minutes of this teasing, she just held my hand between her legs while we talked. Later I realized she did this to give her consent, moving my fingers with hers. When we encountered traffic, we shifted back to holding hands. Her nipples stood out through the lightweight fabric of her sports top. I could not believe it: this really was going to be all about sex.

"Okay," she said. "We have to have a health talk. Do you have any venereal diseases like herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea or genital warts?"

"No."

"Have you ever had sex without a condom?"

"No."

"Have you ever given or received oral sex without protection?"

"No."

"Ever kiss a girl?"

"Just one."

"From school?"

"Yeah."

"Did you sleep together?"

"No."

She beamed. "Are you a virgin?"

"Yes," I replied. "Is that all right?"

"Absolutely," she smiled.

Her eyes twinkled so violently it looked like they were on fire.

"What about you?" I asked. "Any, um, any VD?"

"No. I got tested this year and am clean, and I always use condoms."

"I brought two."

"You did? Good. I won't do it without them."

"Do you use anything else for birth control?"

"I have an IUD. Know what that is?"

"Yes. Intrauterine device. An implantation disruptor."

"That's it," she said, glancing at me. "Thanks for asking. About birth control? No one ever asks in advance."

"Really?"

"You're the first ever."

"Is it okay to ask? Or should I be minding my own business?"

"No, it's a good thing. Definitely, definitely, definitely. Women love it when a guy cares enough to ask and be prepared. Birth control and protection takes the pressure off so we can relax and enjoy it. I don't know if you know it, but it's really important for a woman be able to relax."

"My last girlfriend was terrified of getting pregnant," I said.

"You just said you're a virgin."

"I am. But that's because she was terrified of getting pregnant. Mortified. We never did anything but kiss."

"Mortified," she chuckled, changing the subject. "You have a good vocabulary. I checked your records. Ninety-fifth percentile in English on your last Ames. College level vocabulary. It shows in your schoolwork. By the way, I read your sci-fi story last night, about the teen boy who loses his foot in a farming accident? So they install a bionic foot, but instead of super strength, his prosthetic contains a supercomputer with a personality all it's own that only the mad scientist creator and the boy know about. The computer is linked to his brain and able to read the boy's thoughts and communicate with him, leading to many dilemmas and misadventures. Very clever. The title you chose made me laugh out loud: My Foot."

"I'm glad you like it"

"I loved it, especially the advice his foot gives him about dating girls. Could not stop laughing. Couldn't put it down, either."

"Thanks."

"So anyway, did you breakup with your steady because she was mortified of sex?"

"No," I sighed. "She dumped me for another guy over the summer."

"Do I know this girl?"

"Yes. Angela Somerville. You had her for intro comp last year."

"Angie? Sure. I remember her. She's big in drama club now. There's another great voice."

I didn't say anything, trying not to remember.

"The word is you don't have a girlfriend. I don't remember seeing you with one in the hallways. Why is that?"

"The other girls I've asked have said no," I replied. It was true, but the whole truth was that I still had a thing for Angela.

"You're not the kind to just pick someone, are you?" she said. It wasn't a question, but she had me pegged.

"I want you," I said. "You're extraordinary."

We fell silent. She still held my hand between her legs, but let go, pulled a jacket from behind her seat, dropped it over her lap, and put both hands on the wheel. I moved my fingers, feeling the softness of her sex through thin nylon shorts. In response she spread her legs as far as the narrow bucket seat would allow, moving her foot from accelerator to brake as required. Suddenly it dawned on me that we were already engaged in foreplay, hands in each others' laps and talking sex.

"God you smell good," I said. "Intoxicating."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It's Chanel."

"I can't wait to kiss you," I said in my best, rich resonant voice. "You are a beautiful woman. You haunt my dreams every night."

"Really?" she said. "Who's on top in your dreams, you or I?"

"Sometimes you, sometimes me," I replied.

"I like being on top the most. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure."

"It's just that some guys always have to be on top. It becomes a control thing and I don't want to fight about it."

"Teach me," I said, sweeping my hand to her knee and back again. "Teach me what you like and what turns you on. Teach me everything."

She rested her hand on the lump in my jeans again. We weaved through traffic.

"Do you like it when I'm on top in your dreams?" she said.

"Very much."

"When did you last dream about me?"

"Tuesday night."

She smiled and stopped at a traffic light, still making no eye contact. I slid my fingers further down, tracing the soft flesh of her labia all the way under her. She slouched in her seat to give me more access, her legs still far apart. I moved my hand inside her running shorts. Only the thin layer of her panties separated my fingers from her sex and that layer was damp. With gentle fingertips I felt the contours of her sex and rubbed her hard little clit. Her breathing changed and she gasped a few times, resting her hand on my erection while we waited for the light to change. Tinted windows helped hide us, but I have never been so glad to be alone at a stoplight.

"I have sex dreams about you, too," she said, "but mostly you're my fantasy."

"Me? Wow. I never would have guessed."

"Do you ever fantasize about me?" she asked. "Or do you stick to high school girls?"

"Since school started I've fantasized only you. With your eyes and attention focused on me? God. I get hard every time you look at me in class."

"God that feels good," she sighed, pushing against my fingers a bit. "Sometimes I start to get hot when I see you in class and have to cross my legs."

"Really? Me? Wow."

"You're a handsome young man. You have such long arms. How tall are you?"

"Six-two," I said.

"Tall, dark and handsome," she smiled, turning into her driveway. "Here we are. I'm going to pull her into the garage."

"Does she have a name?"

"Becca. As in Rebecca. Don't tell anyone that, okay? I don't want anyone to know."

"This is all secret," I said. "You have my word."

"Thanks," she said as the automatic garage door wound down behind us. "Are you nervous?"

"Yeah. A little," I replied.

"Just relax, okay? It's a lot of fun and it feels really good. No one will interrupt us here."

As soon as the garage door closed behind us, I turned and kissed her, just a soft, gentle kiss with no tongues involved, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her flat tummy. It was our first and I'll never forget it because she lifted my shirt and ran a warm hand up my chest. In response I cupped one of her breasts on the side. Her other hand still rested over the lump in my pants. We made serious eye contact for the first time after the kiss. I hadn't seen that particular look before, but soon came to recognize it as her "I want you" look, or perhaps more accurately her "take me" look. 

"A couple ground rules," she said. "I don't do blow jobs and no anal sex, okay?"

"Okay."

"Do you know what those are?"

"Yes."

"And if I tell you to stop, you stop. Got it?" she said firmly.

It sounded strange coming from her mouth while she stroked the lump in my pants and my fingers continued to work between her legs.

"Understood."

"Same goes for me. If you tell me to stop, I'll stop."

"Fair enough."

"It's about feeling safe," she gasped, "so we can relax and enjoy each other."

"You're safe with me," I said. "Always."

We kissed more passionately. Our tongues met and our hands abandoned each others' sex to pull at each other.

"Come on," she said, gathering purse and jacket and opening her door. "Don't forget your books."

Once inside I dropped my books on a chair by the door and pulled her into another kiss. At the time I didn't know how much she liked it when I took her in my arms and controlled her. The kiss started gently, but her tongue soon invaded my mouth. We were both minty from chewing gum. Tired of stooping, I lifted her and pressed her against the door. A little gasp escaped her lips, a sound I soon learned meant she liked what I was doing. She wrapped legs around my waist and squeezed. We left a trail of clothes to the living room couch, arriving in our underwear. I sat down and she straddled me, kissing, her hands all over me. I caressed her back, neck, shoulders and breasts, moving on to her belly and legs. 

"You like to touch," she said.

"Is that okay? Is it too much? Am I doing it right?"

"It's wonderful," she sighed. "I'll tell you if you do something I don't like, okay?"

"Okay."

"And you tell me if I do something you don't like, alright?"

"Alright."

She unhooked her bra and I pulled it away, kissing her breasts and tonguing her nipples. Then we settled down for what seemed like a long session of kissing and petting on the couch, but it lasted just fifteen minutes. It only seemed longer because I thought my dick was going to explode from all the blood being squeezed into it. As in the car, she really liked my fingers between her legs. When she knelt with knees still straddling me and pushed her boobs to my mouth, my lips and tongue obliged. I soon swept underwear off her butt and she stood over me on the couch to remove them. This left her sex at eye level and I immediately pulled her to my mouth.

"Oh my God!" she gasped as I practiced cunnilingus for the very first time. I held her firmly in place with hands on her butt, caressing it and her lower back and legs while I worked. She didn't like giving oral sex, but said nothing about receiving it and did nothing to stop me.

It all seemed pretty straightforward. After licking and pulling on her labia with my lips for a while, I popped her clitoris out of its hood with my tongue and began working it, amazed that it looked exactly like a tiny penis. I had read that it was the female equivalent of the male member and that no other female animal had one. Nor did any other female animal experience orgasm. Only women.

She collapsed against the wall above me, her throat issuing quiet gasps and moans, one hand in my hair massaging my scalp and guiding my head gently against her. I could feel her butt muscles squeeze together as she pressed against my tongue. For the first time ever, I opened a woman with my tongue and tasted her sex before returning to the little nub which gave her so much pleasure. Taught with tension, her legs began trembling and she gasped for air until she couldn't stand anymore. Crying out, she collapsed in my lap, burying her face in my neck. I wasn't sure if she had come and I was afraid to ask. After recovering a few minutes, another passionate kiss joined our mouths. 

"Have you ever done that before?" she sighed, coming up for air.

"Um, no. Was it alright?"

"Are you kidding me? You just made me come."

"So I'm doing okay, then?"

"I don't really have to teach you anything, do I?" she sighed.

"I still don't know what you like in bed."

"Come on, then," she said, getting up and taking my hand.

I scooped my jeans off the floor and she led me down the hall to her room.

"You won't need these," she said, trying to take them away.

"Condoms," I said. They were in a pocket.

"By all means, then," she said with a sultry smile.

I watched her cute, athletic butt roll as I followed her to her room. God she was cute, beautiful, sexy and stunning.

"God you are cute. Beautiful. Sexy. Stunning," I said.

She closed the door behind us, her eyes twinkling violently and her smile blinding me. I pulled her close. She stripped off my briefs while we kissed. I stepped out of them and climbed onto her bed, pulling her along.

"Come teach me."

It didn't me take a minute to lie back, apply a sheath and for her to slide onto it. She paused and closed her eyes once she had me inside. I could only guess it felt really, really good—almost as if she wasn't used to it or couldn't believe it. Arching her back deeply, she slid up and down on me a few times as if to test me. Then she kept on sliding up and down and round and round while I caressed every inch of her body my hands could reach. At one point, she pulled my hands up and held them to the sides of her breasts.

"Keep them here while I move," she instructed, "and move them like this. Mmmm... God it feels so good. Mmmm... a little harder... okay, that's too much... do this... like this... Mmmm... that's it... just like that. Oh, God, you're killing me..."

I massaged her breasts and brushed fingertips lightly over her nipples while she rocked away on me. I did very little else, laying as still as possible, breathing heavily, watching her, responding to her and feeling my heart pound in my chest as she moved with more and more abandon. Was she squeezing me? She took my hands and held them palm to palm for the finale, moaning, gasping, crying out. For a second I thought my erection was pulsing, but it was her orgasm. Lost in it, eyes still closed, she let go of my hands and stretched her arms high overhead dropped her head back, then leaned forward and rested palms on my chest. I gently caressed her thighs and belly then moved my hands up her arms, unable to believe what had just happened.

"You are so incredibly beautiful," I whispered.

She opened her eyes and looked in mine, but didn't say anything. I caressed her wrists and palms, then something happened, like a lingering orgasmic contraction, and she stiffened, closing her eyes again. I didn't know anything about the female orgasm back then or how long it could last. Content just to be there with her, I moved my eyes over her body, trying to remember every curve, every contrast, every eyelash, every small detail, certain I would never see her like this again. Soon her breathing slowed and she lowered herself to me. We kissed, and I began making small thrusting movements.

"God. You're still hot," she said. "I know how to remedy that."

She pushed herself up, squeezed me tightly, and made a few quick thrusts in rhythm with me. Suddenly my hips were out of control, almost bucking her off as I came, crying out. She continued to squeeze and I knew she had to feel me pulsing inside her. It felt so good. Suddenly it all became crystal clear to me: this is why we live. This is why there were four billion humans the planet. This is our purpose. This is everything we live for. Sex. Whatever its consequences or outcomes, we live for sex.

"Did you like that?" she whispered in my ear.

"God yes," I said, panting. "You are amazing."

We shared a long, post-climactic kiss. Looking in her eyes, I caressed her back for a while before she spoke.

"Okay," she said, "I'm going to get off now because you have to take off the sheath before you completely lose your erection. You don't want to lose your condom inside and spill its, um, contents."

With that she rose and squeezed me out of her, which made me gasp. I stripped off the latex, tied it in a knot and flushed it.

When I returned from the bathroom she had climbed under the covers. Her eyes raked my body as I approached, making zero eye contact until I stood by her bed. I never felt more assessed in my life.

"Come here," she said, holding the covers up.

I climbed in and she snuggled up immediately, resting her head in the crook of my shoulder. I held her in my arms, unable to believe how warm she felt. I kissed the top of her head, loving her fragrant hair. She planted a kiss on my chest in response.

"What do we do now?" I said.

"We rest a little while just like this."

"Should I be doing something?"

"Just hold me for now, okay?"

"Okay."

After the frenetic activity and stimulation of foreplay and sex, she no longer seemed like an authority figure I associated with teacher and elder. Instead she was vulnerable, less an object of lust and sex and more a real human being. I found myself wanting to care for her, watch over her, and protect her. Was that natural? I could feel her pulse in her arms. Strong and steady, it slowed gradually as she recovered. I pressed my hand between her breasts. Her heart thumped powerfully beneath. She put her free hand over mine and linked fingers.




Creative Writing



"I can feel your heart," I whispered.

"Amazing, isn't it? Being this close?"

"Yes. I just can't get over how soft you are and how good you feel. You have the most beautiful eyes."

"You're going to make some girl very happy someday," she sighed.

Yes, I thought. You. Today. 

I wondered if she said that to harpoon any expectations I had about her because at that moment I couldn't think about any other girl. The only future I wanted was with her, but I didn't say anything since this was supposed to be just a physical thing. 

"Are you sure you're a virgin?" she asked.

"I'm not anymore."

"No," she smiled, "I mean it seems like you have some experience."

"I read some erotic lit and a few sex manuals, so I'd have some idea what to do."

"Okay," she almost whispered.

I ran fingers into her hair and began a gentle scalp massage.

"God that feels... so... mmmmmm."

"You have the most beautiful hair. It's so fragrant."

"I knew you'd be this way. I could tell you're a really nice guy, a good guy. Everyone knows that. Your reputation precedes you among the teachers, especially Mrs. Hoffman."

"That was a year ago. It's no big deal."

"You stood between her and an male student who attacked her. It's huge deal. She was terrified. He could have killed you. You were the talk of the teachers' lounge for a month."

"I had to protect her. I could tell by his eyes he was high on something. Lucky for me he was on a mellow acid trip, laughing and teasing her, but when he took hold of her I had to take his hands of her and put myself between them to protect her."

"There's a history of abuse in his family. Don't tell anyone I told you that. It's confidential."

"This is all secret."

"All the women want you in their classes now."

"Really? Wow. Do you really sit around talking about students?"

"Sure we do. Usually we complain about difficult students and all the trouble they cause. We seldom talk about good students. We expect all kids to behave and take you for granted when you do. I know it seems wrong way round, but no one on the faculty knew your name or spoke of you until then, not even with your grades. Now you're a hero."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"This is all secret," she whispered, making me smile.

"I had a huge crush on her all last year. Mrs. Hoffman."

"Really? She's in her mid-thirties."

"I know, but math is my weakest subject and she made it so interesting I aced all four quarters. First time I ever got straight A's in math. First time I ever enjoyed it. I was really taken with her. That's why I was standing next to her talking between classes when the incident happened."

"I'll tell her you said so."

"No, no, please don't. It's embarrassing. She's married."

"And happily married, too. A rare thing among teachers at our school."

She must have noticed the look on my face.

"Don't worry," she said. "This is all secret, remember?"

"Thanks."

"So. Were you scared when you stepped in and defended her?"

"Mortified."

She giggled at that, got up and straddled my belly. I felt her wet against my navel.

"You are so charming," she said after kissing me.

"You are drop dead gorgeous. What a beautiful woman you are."

Her smile exploded.

"I knew you'd be this way," she said. "I mean I could tell you're a nice guy who's not all stuck on himself the way so many guys are, even high school boys. My problem is that I'm a jock who has always dated other jocks, but the ones I'm attracted to are jerks. They all want one night stands and the few who stick out a relationship want to sleep around. They're confident and successful, but vain, selfish and egotistical, in and out of bed. That's why I chose you. I wanted to try a nice guy for a change. A decent guy untouched by cynicism. I find you... irresistible."

"So it's not just my voice," I teased.

She laughed. "See? You have sense of humor, too."

We shared a long, deep kiss, and before it was over my erection was pressing against her again.

"You're back," she whispered, her eyes so close to mine I thought I'd die. 

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Why sorry? We're going to do it again."

"We are?"

"You brought two condoms, didn't you?"

"In case one broke. I thought... I thought..."

"You thought we'd do it just once. No way, stud. I want more. Did the sex manuals tell you that?"

"Sure. I just thought you, um, wouldn't want more."

"Well I do. A lot more. By the way, most condoms break in the heat of the moment when it's too late to do anything about it. Did you know that?"

"No," I replied. 

"And guess what?" she whispered. "It gets even better the more times we do it." 

She handed me the second packet I had left on her nightstand and for some reason I turned away from her while rolling it on.

"God you have a cute butt," she said, squeezing it. "I love it. And this long back. And shoulders. I love your body."

She ran warm hands up my back and squeezed my shoulders. I wasn't a jock, but used the weight bench enough to have some definition.

"Thanks," I said.

"And this belly," she said, caressing it. "Flat as a pancake. I can see your six pack. Do you work out?"

"Sometimes with free weights. I run everyday."

"I remember asking you in class. Explains your legs and butt. You have a runner's body. And broad shoulders"

"Your body is to die for. And these legs? God," I said, caressing them. "You played soccer in college, right? All that training? What perfect definition."

"Thanks. My thighs are too big, though. Too much muscle. That's why I rarely wear dresses to school."

"No way. You have beautiful legs. You should hear what the guys say on days when you wear a dress. Everyone in the room has a hard-on. There's a rumor going around that the administration told you not to wear dresses because it's a major distraction to male students when you do."

Her smile exploded again. I have never met a woman who liked her body and she was no exception. She didn't like her thighs or butt even though they were perfectly sculpted and devoid of fat. But she did love being complimented on her looks.

She ran hands up my legs and caressed the contents of my groin. I did the same to her.

"So," she said, raising an eyebrow, "what options do the sex manuals say you have for being on top?"

"Well, they say that the missionary is not very stimulating for a woman unless she raises her legs against the guy's torso and-"

"Let's do that," she interrupted. "I want you on top."

"I may not last long on top."

"There are ways to remedy that. And you'll last a little longer second time around. C'mon."

We stretched out next to each other, kissing and caressing until I pushed her over and laid on top of her, still kissing. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around me, squeezing so hard I thought she'd break my hip.

"God I love you on top of me," she exhaled. "Girls love the weight and strength of a man on top, but the key is to control yourself. Start slow and stay slow, okay?"

"Okay," I said, pushing into her.

She hummed in pleasure. Then to my amazement she shifted her legs from around me to where her feet were planted on my upper chest and shoulders as I held myself over her. She looked in my eyes.

"That's good," she said. "Feel how it changed inside?"

"I went in deeper," I whispered.

"Your eyes just went big," she smiled. "Doing this tips my pelvis up to you, same as when I am on top, okay?"

"Okay. God you feel good."

"So do you, stud. Now look down. See how you're pressed against my clitoris?"

"Yeah."

"That's the key. That's where I need to be stimulated when we move, okay? Now give me just one slow thrust."

"Mmmm," I vocalized. A fire burned in the small of my back and I had to resist an almost overwhelming desire to begin moving with abandon.

"Did you squeeze your buttocks together when you did that?"

"God, yes!" I gasped.

"Don't do that. Relax your butt muscles."

I did. She put a hand on my chest.

"God, your heart is absolutely pounding. Take a few deep breaths. That's it. Just relax. Breathe deeply and slowly. You can do this. The key to lasting on top is to begin slowly and not to squeeze your butt muscles when you move. Instead you're going to use your arms, legs and torso to move, okay? Try it.

I tried it once and stopped.

"Just let your weight push you back into me, okay? Try it again. Slowly. Breathe. No butt muscles."

"Wow," I said, "that really works. I'm not thrusting at all."

"Mmmm, good," she said, "but I can't tell that. It feels like a full body thrust to me. God."

"Where did you learn this?"

"I've been doing this a while."

The fire in my back subsided and I began moving my hips in circles at the same time."

"Mmmm, my God, Flynn, so you know about screwing."

I did. But so did she.

"Come down here and kiss me," she sighed as we slowly screwed, her face contorted by passion again.

Our kisses soon became broken as we gasped and tried to breathe, moving together.

"A little faster now," she exhaled.

I slowly increased tempo at her behest until she began vocalizing continuously, each thrust an explosion of delight for her. Then it occurred to me that she was doing most of the moving. Or was she? I loved the way her body rocked and her breasts moved each time I slammed into her. Her soft hands caressed my arms, shoulders, chest and neck as I held myself over her. A warm afternoon, I felt sweat bead on my face and chest. She positively glistened. Tired of holding her feet flat to my shoulders, she straightened her legs completely, first with ankles then her calves around my neck. I could not believe how flexible she was as I pressed down on her.

I brushed my lips to hers, trying to kiss her, but we were moving too much. Still, it seemed like a nice tease. I tried to last as long as I could, but eventually my body went out of control, moving on its own until I came, driving wildly into her. She slid her legs out of that intense stretch and wrapped them around me, rocking me from side to side, which only intensified my orgasm. Then it was time to get out and get the sheath off before I lost it inside her. I tied it off and set it aside, but she was still panting, obviously close, so I put my tongue on her clit and finished her off, flat on her bed, my shoulders between her knees, her hands in my hair, her ecstatic gasps telling me what she liked.

"You read about that, too, didn't you?" she said as we cuddled afterward.

"About what?"

"Bringing me close during sex then going oral. You read that, right?"

"Yes."

"You always come to class prepared," she sighed.

After a short interval, she wanted to go again, hanging onto the headboard and romping above me. Having used my two condoms, we used one of hers. Until that day I had a prejudice that any woman who had her own condoms was a slut, but it died that afternoon. It made perfect sense and I was glad she did. I also learned that while it was taking me longer to climax each time, it was taking her less. In fact, she did it twice more before I filled the third condom.

Then it was time to go. She made me shower off the smell of sex, sweat and perfume, wanting to send me home with a neutral body odor that wouldn't arouse suspicions, only she climbed in the shower with me. While the water poured over us I pushed her up against the tiles and fucked her one more time.

***

Driving back to the mall after our first tryst, she swore me to secrecy again and we spoke of how we'd behave around each other at school. After all, I'd be in her class an hour a day for five straight days beginning Monday and we could not risk anyone finding out or even suspecting anything between us. We agreed to act normally as before, and if we found it difficult to do so we were allowed to ignore each other.

"Have you ever taken student lovers before?" I asked.

"That's not your business," she replied without any edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just looking for tips on how to... to... um, do this."

"I know. Don't worry about it. Just act normally. You're not the kind of guy who expects preferential treatment, so that won't be a problem. You're not the kind of student who acts out or causes trouble and you're not a braggart, so just relax and be yourself. It won't be a problem if you don't make it one."

"If it is a problem I won't bring it up at school. I'll deal with it."

"Good. I will still call on you, challenge you and critique your work in class, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now. I want to see you again next weekend. Is that okay?"

Damn! I thought. "Sure. Saturday afternoon again?"

"I was thinking Friday after school or Friday night. Can you arrange that?"

"Yes. Better make it Friday night because the folks like the family to have an early supper together before we all disappear."

"What's a good time for us to meet at the mall?" she asked.

"Seven. Any earlier will be a problem."

"Okay, I'll be at the bench outside JC Penney at seven. If you can't make it or need to contact me, you'll call me at home, right? No contact at school except student-teacher stuff, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be there at seven on Friday."

"Good. Remember, I can't contact you at school or home, so I want you to call me a couple times during the week in case we have to change our plans. I also want you to call me the night before we meet so we can confirm each rendezvous."

Each rendezvous? Damn! Was I her lover already? Had she decided already?

"Okay, how 'bout I call you on Wednesday nights and again the night before we meet at the mall?"

"How about Mondays, Wednesdays and the night before we meet?"

"Agreed," I said.

"And you'll call from a phone booth instead of home?"

"Always. If you need me to contact you, why not leave a mark on the chalkboard like in the spy novels?"

"What kind of mark?"

"Draw a small diagonal in the upper right corner of the front board like this," I said, drawing on a sheet of notebook paper.

"Okay," she said. "God, now that you say it, I do feel like a spy, sneaking around like this."

"Don't let anyone see you make the mark. People get suspicious."

She drove the last mile to the mall. We held hands all the way from her house and I thought she looked a bit sheepish, which I would soon learn to recognize as post-coital bliss. She had done it five times that I could tell, but I had no idea if that was good or not. I needed feedback.

"Did I do okay today?"

"You were excellent. If you get any better I'll be dead by next week."

"Thanks. You were awesome, too. Thanks for being patient and kind and non-judgmental. I'll never forget it. I'll never forget you."

"My pleasure," she smiled. "God, you really are a gentleman, aren't you? I didn't know there were any of you guys left. Don't ever change, okay?"

I raised and kissed her hand. She hadn't put on a bra and her nipples stood out beneath the tight knit top she had pulled on before we left her house.

We had agreed not to kiss when she dropped me off. She would stop well short of a side entrance, I would jump out and she would speed away. No lingering. We kissed goodbye before leaving her house. This was back in the day when malls were new and school kids didn't hang out there like they do today. Nor were there many restaurants or movie theaters. Food courts hadn't even been invented. Malls were considered upscale shopping centers and did not have the kind of foot traffic they do today where people go just to hang out or exercise. So even though we were only a mile from the high school and two from my home, we knew we were unlikely to be seen by anyone we knew during brief drop offs and pick ups.

"I want to be lovers, Brendan," she said as she pulled up to the curb. It was the first time I remember her using my first name. In class it was always Flynn or Mr. Flynn and even during the most intimate moments of our first day together she hadn't used my first name.

"I want to be your lover, too, Anastasia," I replied. Then I took her face in my hands and kissed her there in the car in violation of our agreement. She did not protest.

***

When I walked into her class the Monday after our first tryst, we made eye contact briefly before looking away, but it felt like our whole lives passed between us in that look. Only the second month of school, she was still learning names and took attendance by roll. She made eye contact again when she called my name.

"Flynn?"

"Present," I answered, crossing the t, tired of saying "here" seven times a day and hearing everyone else saying "here" seven times a day. It's like they were paranoid they'd lose one of us or something. God forbid anyone cut a class. Someone laughed because I said "present" and my Teach cracked a little smile, but quickly finished roll and began class.

She was the same as always, engaging her students, handing back papers, and making us read excerpts of our stories aloud, inviting critique. I remember sitting there thinking, "I'm sleeping with her, I'm actually sleeping with her!" I felt supremely self-confident and happy to be near her again, but did my best to act as if all were normal, watching her while she lectured, taking notes when appropriate and scanning my paper for red ink. I looked for some secret note she might have left. Nothing. Just corrections and comments. She was playing it cool.

For the first time ever I realized teaching was acting, and this was her act. Yeah, I know: Shakespeare said "all the world's a stage," but it never hit me until then. This was her professional role. Two days before I had the privilege of experiencing her private, passionate role in the most intimate way possible. I couldn't wait to do it again.

Those were the good old days of phone booths, back when conversations were so sacrosanct that each public telephone was enclosed in a box large enough to hold a human being. The entryway of the Firebird restaurant/lounge had a row of three plush, custom-built phone booths, each paneled in wood with an bench upholstered in red leather upon which one could sit. It felt like a sin just sitting in one, let alone using the phone. Monday night I crept out of the house and called her from one.

"I miss you," she said.

"You saw me today at school," I replied.

"I know. But I missed you Saturday night and all day Sunday and now it's Monday night and I still miss you."

"I miss you, too," I said. "I wish I were there with you right now, holding you in my arms. I miss your amazing smile and your stunning eyes and your soft, sweet lips on mine."

"Mmm... I wish you were here, too. If I didn't have all these papers to grade, I'd come get you right now."

I lowered my voice. "Mmm, then you could squeeze me between your legs where I belong."

"I don't know if I can wait till the weekend to see you again," she said. "Can we get together sooner?"

"If you think it's safe."

"I do. What's your schedule like?"

"Open. How about Wednesday after school?"

"How about tomorrow after school?" she said.

"I have to be home for supper."

"School's out at two-thirty and you eat at six, right? That's plenty of time. Most tutoring happens in the hours right after school, anyway."

"Okay. Meet at the mall?" I asked.

"Let's meet somewhere closer. Do you know where Terry's is?"

"The dry cleaning shop? Sure," I said. It was just a few blocks from school.

"I'll pick you up behind Terry's after school, okay? Go straight there."

"Okay."

"Do you have any more of those ribbed condoms?"

"Yes," I said, hoping the condom machine in the men's room at the Firebird hadn't run out.

"Bring some."

"Okay."

Sparks passed between us when our eyes met in class the next morning. In a few short hours our roles would change from student-teacher to lover-lover. Still, I spent the rest of the day focused on the classwork in front of me, wondering if any of the students around me came to school knowing they'd get laid after sixth period.




Creative Writing



As Steve's hand inched lower with every swirling motion over her skin, Amy looked down and gloried in the excitement of being looked at so close and so intently. Steve's gaze didn't leave her pussy as he gently massaged all around her with his fingertips, building her heat in a way she had never experienced before. And my, was the heat building.

To Amy it seemed like he had been down there for hours by the time his finger finally crossed that invisible line of intimacy and ran up the length of her pussy lips. She sighed in relief and Steve smiled widely as he felt her heat and slickness wash over his finger. It required no pressure for him to push inside a little and see his digit disappear into her. Amy opened her legs in further invitation and Steve watched as his middle finger slipped all the way in. While his finger was easing in and out of her wet heat Steve brought up his other hand and used his fingers to ease her lips apart so he could watch his finger penetrate her shiny pink skin.

"You getting all this?" He smirked and stood up again, his finger still deep inside her.

"Sure am," Amy gasped as he came face to face with her, "but I can use all the help I can get right now."

"What do you suggest?" Steve kept pushing insider her and dipped his head to lick around her nipple and suck on it hungrily.

"Maybe..." Amy struggled to get the words out as Steve's finger found her clit and sent a searing blast of pleasure through her nervous system. "Maybe I should take some notes on how a cock feels inside me?"

Without another word, or noticing that her breathing was more like panting now, Amy turned away from Steve, bent over and took hold of the sofa's arm. Steve watched in awe as she spread her feet apart and displayed her swollen pussy lips for him. Heaven was glistening below the twin white mounds of her ass cheeks. He couldn't resist running his hands over the smooth flesh, allowing his fingers to slip down and test her soaking sex once again. This time he slipped two whole fingers in while he positioned the head of his cock against her, ready for entry as soon as he pulled his fingers out of her.

Amy felt the rush of his hardness penetrate her and slip swiftly and deeply into her. Her eyes were closed as the fronts of Steve's thighs settled against the backs of hers. His hands rested easily on her hips as he slowly withdrew until his granite-hard cock almost popped out of her. Then he started another slow stroke that seemed to expel the breath from her as he pushed the rim of his cockhead the along her pussy walls. Opening her eyes, Amy looked down between her breasts to where his shaft was working her and his balls were swinging with their motion.

As the speed of his thrusts increased steadily, Amy pushed up on the tips of her toes, eager to allow him as deep inside her as she could. She could hear the slapping of his skin against her wet pussy, see him, feel him and was altogether more alive in her sex than she'd ever known. She heard herself whisper, "Come for me baby", before she realized she said it and felt Steve's answer in an extra hard thrust and the first grunt of his approaching climax.

As he tried to resist his urge to thrust ever harder, Steve held tightly onto Amy's hips and pumped into her with a pounding rhythm of deep strokes that pulled him relentlessly up and down the tunnel of pleasure as her tight but slick pussy held him in an exquisite velvet grip. He heard her encourage him again with a simple, "Come baby" and he knew it would be impossible to resist further.

He lost feeling in his thighs first, quickly followed by the rest of his legs as his balls pulled tight to the base of his cock and readied for detonation. His body tensed with a slow creep that he couldn't fight. He closed his eyes momentarily, and then opened them again for one last look at his shaft disappearing between her welcoming pussy lips. That was the image he took into his enormous climax, waves of electricity flooding him and forcing his body onto autopilot. He no longer controlled the thrusts or the rhythm, his body simply moved as it needed to prolong the pleasure.

Steve's orgasm continued as he closed his eyes, pulled on Amy's hips and lost himself in the mesmerizing sensuality of his partner. Finally, his come shot out of his balls, along his shaft and out of his cock; the first spurt accompanied by an uncontrolled grunt. It felt like he was shooting bullets, such was the volume and speed of the eruptions. The intensity of the moment started to recede as the fourth and fifth spurts shot into her already soaking pussy. Gradually everything became more lucid, his nerve endings returning to something like normal as some feeling started to return to his legs.

He reached forward and held both of Amy's dangling breasts, her nipples still hard and alive when his fingers found them. He pushed hard into her one final time, an almost symbolic gesture that indicated his climax was finally over. The look of pleasure on her face was wide and bright as she looked over her shoulder at him. "I love the way you come." She reached down to massage his balls.

No time was wasted now—he simply needed to repay the debt. I owe you one huge orgasm, he thought. Slipping out of her, Steve took her in his arms when she turned to face him and kissed her deeply. Instinctively he guided her to the arm of the sofa and eased her downwards to sit there, on the edge of the cloth with her legs wide apart. Amy sat and watched as his head disappeared downwards until he was kneeling between her thighs and looking at her again. She was flushed now, her pussy lips swollen and glistening after their coupling.

"Still taking notes?" He joked as he brought a hand up to ease her pussy lips apart. His other hand started to slowly move around the slick pink areas he had exposed with tiny circular movements. Amy felt the sensations start immediately, warming her pubic area, and starting to spread along every nerve. She looked down and saw Steve watching his work closely, his eyes no more than a foot from her pussy. He continued to massage the insides of her lips, feeling that she was building and judging the moment when he should stop the growing tease. When he felt her hand come to rest on the side of his head he knew it was time, and slowly but firmly pushed his finger into her.

The movements of his fingers, both inside and outside of her pussy were driving Amy wild. She threw her head back and sighed as Steve helped her excitement to the next level, as slowly as he could. The finger inside her was curled upwards and was rhythmically pushing up towards her navel. The fingers working her pussy lips and up towards her clit traced small circular rubbing movements with an expert touch. At all times Steve gave his full attention to her pussy as he squelched his way around her excited sex.

He waited until he knew she was on the edge of orgasm, and then he slowed down his fingers and swiftly moved his face closer to her. He got close enough to allow his darting tongue to find the swollen bud of her clit and make her gasp in surprised pleasure.

Almost before she realized what was happening, her climax burst deep inside her. Immediately her breathing was reduced to irregular gasps, each exhaled with a guttural but feminine cry of, "Oh."

Steve watched as her whole body appeared to rise and tense for a moment before descending hard onto his finger again. Her pussy contracted four times as he continued to apply a feather touch to her clit with the tip of his tongue. It was only after Amy's breathing started to calm a little that he realized his hand was literally soaked in the juices that had run from her. As he withdrew his finger he took care to massage her pulsing pussy as her descent continued.

When he stood up and flopped down on the sofa, Amy's exhausted form joined him, straddling one of his thighs so she could exchange tongues in a deep post-orgasmic kiss. Then she sat back next to him, working his arm around her and her hand to relax between his thighs.

"Now that," she giggled, "was a spectacular way to get to know a little more about each other."

"Sure was," Steve agreed as her head came to rest on his shoulder. "I'm looking forward to learning even more about you now though."

"I agree." Amy's fingers wrapped around his damp, semi-hard, shaft and started to stroke him idly. "But when do you think I'll be ready to write my first erotic story?"

"I think you're ready now." He squeezed her arm and smiled. "No question."

"I'm not so sure." Amy's face looked quizzical and playful. "I was thinking that I should probably make a few more notes." She looked down to see that her fingers were bringing some life back to him. "I was also wondering if you'd mind... you know, continuing to provide this novice erotic writer the benefits of your experience?"

Steve sighed and smiled as he rested his head on the sofa back while she worked him. "Of course I'll help you." He laughed. "After all... it's pretty damn good research for me too."



Creative Writing and Short Skirts



Selene was a high school senior, freshly turned eighteen, gorgeous as any Hollywood "It" girl, not quite a social outcast, but definitely not a member of the "in" crowd. Peter – Mr. Sohn – was the new English and creative writing teacher, just out of college, every girls ideal kind of man and smarter than a lot of his college professors. He considered the high school classroom to be his calling, but having been out of high school for at least six years, he also did not know quite what he was getting himself into. 

The first day of class had been hectic for Peter. Since lunch he had been looking forward to his last class of the day, but it could not come soon enough. During the brief five minutes between classes, Peter stepped outside the door to his creative writing classroom to greet the students as they grudgingly walked in. Most of the students seemed to be nothing more than typical high school stereotypes. However, Selene caught his eye from the far end of the hallway. She did not quite fit in with the rest of the students around her. She looked like a college student, black purse over one shoulder, a couple of folders and notebooks in her arms, her hair was long and dark brown, her skin was pale white from spending her summers inside an animal shelter instead of at the beach like the rest of her peers, she was wearing a full knee-length skirt and a wide strapped tank top, her bare skin seemed to illuminate the entire hall. 

As she walked closer and closer to where Peter was standing, he could feel his heart quicken in his chest. Surely this gorgeous girl was not going to be one of his students, for all he knew she could be a young looking teacher at the school! Selene walked right up to Peter, he towered over her 5'8" frame, he must have been at least 6'5". 

"Mr. Sohn?" she asked, her doe-like blue/green eyes sparkling. 

"Yes?" he asked, his heart beating quickly, hoping and praying deep inside that she was not a student. 

Selene smiled brightly, Peter smiled nervously. "I hope that you're better than the last creative writing teacher we had here," Selene said as she walked past Peter, her skirt flirting upwards slightly as she skipped into the classroom and took a seat in the front row in the middle of the classroom. 

"Oh god, I'm so fucked," Peter thought to himself as the bell rang and the last few students in the hallways rushed into their respected classrooms. Peter turned into the doorway and closed the door shut behind him. 

Peter did well hiding his affections for Selene for the first part of the semester. She made no indication that she had any feelings for him, though whenever she wore button-up shirts, Peter noticed her fidgeting with the top couple of buttons and every once in a while one or two would come undone giving Peter a prime view of her ample cleavage. There were other occasions that Selene would wear skimpy or sexy underwear that Peter would often be able to see from under her skirts. He was never sure if she was doing these things on purpose or if they were just coincidental, but he often liked to think that she had the same sort of feelings for him that he had for her. 

Peter also began to notice that Selene's grades in his class were starting to drop. At the beginning of the semester, her grades had been perfect, she had a gift with words and structurally, she was an amazing writer – college level without a doubt. Lately, her topics were weak, her writing was getting poorer, Peter did not know anything else that he could do except talk to her after class. 

It was an October afternoon, it was cold and rainy outside and Peter had been nervous and in a bad mood all day. The last class of the day could not come soon enough. Peter sat in his desk as the students in his last class grumpily filed into the classroom. Selene was the one exception. She walked into the classroom, black skirt on, blue sweater, hair up in a ponytail and a permanent smile affixed on her face. She sat in her usual seat and folded her hands neatly on her desk in front of her and spread her legs apart slightly. Peter could easily see up her skirt and saw that she was wearing a pair of pure white underwear. He licked his lips, inadvertently. He had her most recent paper sitting on top of the stack to hand back, a thick red C right next to her name with a small "See me" written next to it. 

The bell to commence class rang and Peter stood up with papers in his hand. He started going around the room passing back the papers. He gently let the C paper float down in front of Selene. She smiled sweetly at Peter as he passed by and looked down at the paper in front of her. She gasped sharply and the smile immediately disappeared from her face. 

"Mr. Sohn," she said quietly, under her breath as she quickly stuffed the paper into one of her folders so none of her classmates would see her bad grade. 

After class, Selene lingered in her seat; she slowly packed her things away in a small shoulder bag until all of the students had left the room. 

"Can I help you with anything?" Peter asked, standing in front of Selene's desk. She shook her head, 'no'. "I apologize about your latest grade, but there really isn't a whole lot that I can do. I'm a bit disappointed by your recent drop in your usual immaculate performance." Selene shrugged. "Is something going on?"

"Not really," she said. Peter wanted to reach out and touch her hand or shoulder in reassurance, but decided against it immediately. 

"What's wrong?" Peter asked, instead. 

"I'm trying to get into Brown," Selene replied quietly. "I keep getting letters from them saying that they need to think it over and they're not sure..." She sighed. "I don't know what I'll do if I don't get in." 

"That's all?" Peter asked. She shrugged. "Well, if you need any help with any of your papers, I have no problem with helping you out some. After all, that is what I'm here for."

Selene nodded and sifted through the few papers that were still left on her desk. Peter walked back to his desk and started to put his things away in his briefcase as Selene sat despondent in her desk chair. 

Peter was thankful that his creative writing class was a year long class. This meant that he would be able to teach Selene both semesters instead of just the fall. The first day back from the holiday break, Peter was nervous, he was not actually sure if Selene would still be in his class, she could have very well dropped the class, she could have gotten accepted to college early – she had been accepted into Brown – or something that he had not even thought of yet. 

He stood outside his classroom door and watched far fewer students filing in – he guessed that the class had been a bit too difficult for some of the students. His heart skipped a beat though when he saw Selene round the corner, she was even prettier than she had been the previous semester. He wished so hard that she was not a student. 

Selene sat in her usual seat and pulled out her notebook and a couple of pens. Peter walked into the room, smiled at Selene and turned a sudden, bright color of red as he realized that he had a sudden, growing erection in his pants. Selene looked up and smiled at him, that smile could stop a million men in their tracks. He wanted her like he had never wanted another woman before in his life. Little did he know, she felt the same way about him. 

As Selene sat in her seat, she stared deep in Peter's eyes. He had deep blue eyes that she could get lost in just while watching him lecture during class. She leaned over her desk; her low-cut blue sweater hugged her cleavage just right. She propped her head up forward from her elbow and fluttered her eyelashes seductively. She brought her pen to her mouth and started to chew on the end, rolling her tongue over it from time to time. She noticed the growing erection in Peter's pants and she could only assume that it was from her. 

Selene brought her long fingers to the front of her desk and began to brush her fingertips along the edge. Peter stared right at her, captivated by this small, yet extremely seductive gesture. Selene did not notice his stare. However, she and the rest of the class noticed a minute later when Peter made a slight whimpering noise and completely stopped mid-lecture. 

"Mr. Sohn?" two students asked simultaneously. Everyone in the class looked around at one another curiously. 

"Mr. Sohn?" Selene asked, stopping the brushing of her fingers. Peter blinked a couple of times, gulped the hard knot in his throat and coughed nervously. 

"Sorry, what?" Peter asked looking around nervously at the rest of the class. 

"Dude, what's your deal?" one of the guys in the corner of the class asked, tapping his pen impatiently on his desk. 

"Sorry everyone," Peter said rubbing his left temple slightly. "Uh...I think that I'm done lecturing for the day, write a one-page paper about your winter break and turn it in at the end of class." 

All of the students tore out sheets of paper and began furiously writing about their winter breaks as there were only twenty more minutes left in the class period. Peter went and sat down at his desk, trying to ignore the raging boner between his legs, but kept looking over in the direction of Selene. Strips of loose hair kept falling over her eyes, just this small little incident made Peter all the more distracted. Peter looked down at the work laid out in front of him, trying to concentrate on that instead of his attractive student. 

Twenty minutes later, the bell rang, all of the students – except Selene – jumped from their seats, papers in hand and dropped them off on Peter's desk as they filed out of the room. Selene sat finishing her page of writing – Peter noticed. 

"Selene," Peter said, Selene did not acknowledge him immediately, "Selene, are you almost finished?" Selene looked up this time. 

"What did you say?" she asked. 

"Are you almost finished with your paper?" Peter asked. Selene looked around at the empty room. 

"Oh," Selene replied. "Yeah, can I have a couple more minutes?" She fluttered her eyelashes. Peter sighed and nodded. He walked over to the door and closed it, then closed the door window shade as well in order to say that he would not be willing to see any more people for the rest of the afternoon. Selene furiously wrote the rest of her paper and leaned back in her seat once she was finished and waited for Peter to acknowledge her. 

"How was your break, Mr. Sohn?" she asked quietly, he looked up from his desk. 

"It was pretty good," he said, "I spent time with the family, ate a lot of good food, rest a bit. Nothing too exciting."

"No girlfriend?" Selene asked, realizing how obvious the question was. Peter shook his head. 

"Nope," he said. Selene stood up with her paper in hand and set it on Peter's desk and as she stood back up she made sure that he noticed her full breasts next to his face and very softly brushed her fingers across the top of Peter's hand. Peter breathed in sharply, taking immediate notice of her very light spraying of Calvin Klein perfume and the soft touch of her skin. His raging erection returned immediately. 

"How was your break, Selene?" he asked, trying to ignore the distraction. 

"Decent," she replied. "Pretty much the same as you. I went to Brown for a weekend though, scoped out the campus, I'm really excited to go." The bright smile returned and Peter could feel himself melting from the inside out. 

"I'm sure that you'll love it," he said, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

"So what do you have lined up for our small class this semester?" Selene asked. 

"Lots of fun stuff," Peter replied with a weak smile on his face. Selene smiled earnestly and Peter wanted to jump up out of his seat and pin her against the window or blackboard and cover her in head to toe with kisses. Selene shrugged and went back to her desk where her book bag and books were. She bent over, ass facing Peter; the longer skirt that she was wearing wasn't long enough to give Peter just the slightly fleeting glimpse of lacey pink underwear. He coughed loudly and looked down at the sheet of paper that Selene had just handed him – she was a daring girl. In her paper she had mentioned that during her winter break she had missed seeing Mr. Sohn on a daily basis. This sent Peter over the edge. He looked over at Selene, still bending over slightly, putting things away in her bag. He stood straight up, walked briskly over to where Selene was bent, lifted her skirt in a quick sweep, raised his right hand in the air and thrust it downwards against her ass – hard. Selene bolted straight up and jumped around, looked up at Peter straight in the eye. Her face was aghast, her mouth dropped open and she looked like she might actually cry. Peter gasped – what had he just done? 

"Sel..." was all that he could manage to say before Selene picked her bag up in a quick swoop and ran out of the room. 

"Selene!" he called at her as she ran down the hall. Peter dropped his head. She could be doing any number of things – tell the principal of the school, she could tell her parents, hell, he could go to jail for what he just did! He was worried, really, really worried.

Selene did not show up in class the next two days. Peter had not heard from any of the higher up people at the school about the incident either, so he was very unsure about what was going on – it was literally plaguing his mind. 

Finally, that Friday, Selene arrived back in the classroom. She was wearing an even shorter skirt than she had the day of the "incident", she had plans to get Peter to repeat what had taken place the previous day. She had hoped that her absence would have riled Peter up into a state of mind where he needed to relieve his tension out on her. The initial spanking had been extremely surprising, a bit humiliating, but it had worked Selene up in a sense that she had never been before. She had never thought of herself as a person who would like spankings or anything of the sort, but she had and she truly wanted more. 

Selene took her usual seat in the front center of the room. Once she sat down and settled in, she began to slowly and gradually spread her legs apart. Her multi-colored thigh-high stockings were held up by a red garter – clearly visible once her legs were spread apart – and she was wearing a pair of silky red underwear. 

Peter took his lecturing spot in the front of the room; Selene popped the end of her pen into her mouth and looked up at Peter, her eyes twinkling devilishly. He looked down at her, smiled nonchalantly and began lecturing. He looked at every student in the room, but avoided eye-contact with Selene. When he finally did look in Selene's direction, he stopped mid-sentence. He had a clear, full view of Selene's crotch and it was at this moment that he knew his spanking had not been entirely detrimental to his career. He tried to ignore Selene's obvious call for attention and continued to lecture, ignoring his arousal, but Selene did not give up. 

Peter doled out the day's assignment to the students in the classroom and then retreated to his desk, where he still had a perfectly clear view of Selene. Selene broke down and went to work on her daily paper, her skirt hiked up to about the top of her thigh, the straps of her garter in clear view. Peter could visualize himself bending Selene over the edge of his desk – her face pressed up against the window looking outside – drilling her from behind like he did to that one kinky girl that he had hooked up with for a night back his junior year of college. He visualized himself wrapping his fingers around in her dark brown hair and pulling her head towards and away from him as she earnestly sucked his cock. He could only imagine what her mouth and her pussy would feel like wrapped around him. Peter wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure and pain, to have to cover her mouth so that others would not be able to hear their cries of passion. 

Peter's thoughts were disrupted by the final bell of the day. The students of his classroom jumped out of their seats and scurried out of the door, throwing their papers onto Peter's desk in front of him. Selene remained in her seat; she was not done writing yet. Peter stood up and went to close the door and the window shade once all of the students – except Selene – had left the room and returned to his desk and started to go through the student's papers. Selene stayed still. 

Ten minutes passed. Selene was still sitting in her seat writing. 

Fifteen then twenty minutes passed. Selene remained in her seat. 

After a half hour, Peter realized that she was still writing, and she was well beyond her page and a half for the day. 

"Selene," Peter said. Selene did not look up. "Selene, are you about done?" She shook her head. "I'm going to have to ask you to turn in your paper soon, I really need to leave." She nodded, did not look up, continued to write. Peter shrugged and immersed himself back in the student's papers. 

"Mr. Sohn," Selene said, Peter jumped and looked up at Selene standing in front of his desk – multicolored stockings, short, short skirt, and a low-cut sweater top that proudly displayed Selene's ample cleavage. "I'm finished." She let the papers float down in front of Peter. Peter stapled the papers together and started to flip through them. 

"Thank you," he said. She nodded and went back to her desk, bent over, and slowly began putting her things away. 

Peter ignored her at first, he had promised himself after her absence in class that he would not repeat what he had done just a couple of days earlier. He read through her paper and was immediately taken aback. Though the assignment for the day had been to write about desires, he certainly was not expecting to read five pages from Selene about how much she wanted to be tied up and fucked by him.

"Selene," he said, with a hint of reservation in his voice, "I can not accept this." She stood up and faced him. 

"Why not?" she asked.

"It's inappropriate," Peter replied.

"But it's my desire," she said and Peter sighed. A few long seconds passed and Selene smiled sweetly. "Isn't it yours?" Peter coughed nervously and turned back to his papers. Selene smiled, turned around again, bent over and continued to put things away.  

Peter looked back over towards Selene and immediately, seeing the silky red panties barely covering her ass made his dick stand up in immediate attention. He had to have a part of her.

"Selene, come here," he said firmly. Selene stood up and walked over to Peter's desk and stood next to him. 

"Yes?" she asked, innocently, her eyes big and doe-like. 

"Why do you say these things?" he asked. "You know that entertaining these ideas could get me fired. I love teaching high school; I would like to continue doing so."

"Do you like students like me?" she asked. 

"If you mean students that are very smart and do their work the way they are supposed to, then yes," he replied. He looked back down at her paper. "What does this say right here?"

Selene leaned over in order to have a better look at what he was pointing out to her. Selene cleared her throat and propped herself up on Peter's desk with her elbows and read, "I would most desire for Mr. Sohn to tie my arms up with the pull-string that raises and lowers the blinds to the windows in the classroom. While in this position I would most desire for Mr. Sohn to pleasure me with his long fingers and tell me how much he desires to fuck me." 

Peter rolled back in his chair so that he was directly behind Selene. He stared her right in her silk-clad behind, raised his hand up behind him and directed it right into Selene's left ass cheek. Selene lurched forward slightly and made a slight whimpering noise. Peter could clearly see the mark that his hand had left behind and he noticed Selene shaking a bit on her elbows. 




Creative Writing and Short Skirts



"Not quite what you desire?" Peter asked. Selene remained silent. Peter gingerly brought his hand to Selene's ass; she jumped slightly, but remained silent. Peter gently rubbed the spot that he had just slapped, relishing the soft touch of her skin and the very faint smell of perfume, soap and an underlying feminine odor. 

"Again," Selene barely whispered from under her breath. Peter's heart jumped. Again, he brought his hand up and with one swift swoop, brought it crashing down against Selene's bare, creamy white skin, leaving a red-purplish mark in the shape of Peter's large hand. Selene made another faint whimpering noise as her head fell slightly, her gaze falling to the edge of the desk. 

"Again," she whimpered. Peter brought his hand firmly against Selene's ass five more times before her elbows gave out and she fell, face forward onto Peter's desk, her ass protruding towards Peter's face. Peter inhaled sharply, taking in Selene's scent and then blew against the red silk of Selene's panties. Selene shook and fell back, landing in Peter's lap, dangerously close to his protruding boner. 

Peter was not quite sure what to do. His hands were on either side of Selene, but he felt bad somehow about touching her anywhere – even though he desperately wanted to do so. Selene's head fell back into the crook of Peter's neck and she exhaled deeply. Peter took his right hand and gingerly touched Selene's hand. She made no reaction – he touched her stocking-clad knee and she slightly opened her legs. Peter did not know what to do. He wanted to grab her breasts in his hands, he wanted to run his fingers along her pussy and he knew from the couple of pages that Selene had written that she wanted it to. He did not though, he sat still. 

Selene took one more deep breath and stood up without saying a word, walked back over to her packed book bag and walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Selene did not make any further advances for nearly another month. She turned in all of her assignments as directed and as Peter had expected her to. Her grades were the best in the class, she dressed modestly, she wore a lot more pants than she had in the past, and all of her shirts hid her cleavage. Despite her attempts to be modest and a good student, Peter could never get his mind off of her, if anything his desire for her only grew. 

It was a Friday afternoon, a lot of the students in the school were quite sick, and with the small class size of Peter's creative writing class, the only student that showed up to class on that Friday was Selene. 

She walked into the classroom seconds before the bell rang wearing knit red stockings that went all the way up her thigh, a black skirt and bright red long-sleeved shirt that was low-cut and showed off her cleavage. She sat down at her desk, pulled out her things for class and neatly folded her hands on the desk in front of her. 

"Good afternoon Selene," Peter said, standing in front of the class. Selene looked around her at the empty room. 

"Where is everyone?" Selene asked.

"They must be sick," Peter replied. "How are you?" 

"Fine," Selene replied. Peter walked to the door, closed it and locked it, then pulled down the window blinds next to it and came and sat next to Selene and leaned in close to her. 

"Listen," he said, "I know how much trouble I can get into by saying this to you, and for everything else that has happened in the past month or so, but I would be lying out of my ass if I told you that I never thought about you outside of class." Selene simply stared at Peter, her bright blue/green eyes twinkling, her juicy red lips slightly parted. "I can't get you out of my mind. You're all that I think about...ever." Selene nodded and pursed her lips together. The two of them were silent for a minute, they stared at each other. Peter had a look of longing in his eyes and Selene was emotionless. 

"I broke up with my boyfriend last week," she said. Peter's voice caught in his throat, he coughed nervously once more. 

"You...you had a boyfriend?" he asked with a slight squeak. 

"For two years," she replied. Peter looked at her incredulously. 

"Really?" he asked, she nodded. 

"He was boring," she replied. "And I think he was getting busy with some poor girl off at college." Peter nodded. Selene turned her attention back to the notebook in front of her and began to doodle on the blank page. Peter watched her, stealing glances at the bare white skin between her black skirt and red stockings and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts poking out from the 'v' in her shirt. 

"Did you ever tell anyone about...what happened?" Peter asked nervously. Selene shook her head 'no'. 

"Did someone find out?" she asked. 

"Not that I know of," Peter replied. Selene nodded again, and then continued to doodle.

"Why did you decide to teach high school?" Selene asked. 

"I don't really know," Peter replied. "I guess it's an interesting part of life, I wanted to be a part of it for the rest of my life." Selene nodded.

"Did you ever expect to meet someone like me?" she asked. Peter looked her straight in the eyes and sighed. 

"Never," he replied.

"I apologize," she said. 

"Don't," he said. She turned back to her doodles, parted her legs slightly and began to hum to herself. "Selene?" 

"Mmhmm?" she said in reply. Peter moved his chair closer to Selene so that he was only inches away from where she sat. He leaned in close to her, brought his hand to her cheek and cupped the back of her head in his hand. Selene turned to Peter and her lips parted slightly. 

"Forgive me, please," Peter said quietly as he moved in and kissed Selene on her bright candy red lips. He closed his eyes slowly and pulled her head closer to his to deepen the kiss. He slipped his tongue inside of her mouth, she tasted like strawberries and pineapple and her mouth was like silk. 

Selene herself, though taken aback, made no move to jump away from Peter. She dropped the pen and it rolled slowly into her lap leaving a black line on her thigh. She moaned slightly and felt as if her body was melting away. Her hand went to Peter's thigh in order to hold herself up from the dizzying kiss and this immediately sent Peter's cock into a launch sequence of sorts and Peter knew that he would have a hard time backing away from this one.

Selene pulled away and stared into Peter's deep blue eyes and smiled, Peter did not return the smile. His heart was racing, he knew what he wanted, but he also knew that getting what he wanted could get him fired and expelled from teaching for the rest of his life. Selene stood up and walked around to the front of her desk, bent over the front and looked Peter in the eyes. 

"What could I do that would get me in the most trouble?" Selene asked. 

"Write something bad on the board I suppose," Peter replied. Selene smiled devilishly, stood up, turned around and walked to the blackboard. She flashed Peter a quick glimpse of the black lace of her underwear and picked up a piece of chalk. Slowly, stealing quick glimpses over her shoulder at Peter, she wrote out, "F-U-C-K" in large, neat letters across the blackboard. Peter stood up, walked around Selene's desk, grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back to the front of her desk. He stood squarely behind her and shoved her over, face forward towards the desk. Peter lifted up Selene's black skirt and put both hands squarely on either side of her behind. He could feel the heat radiating from it and could also tell that she was nervous or excited as he could feel her pulse racing through her entire body. 

Peter raised both of his hands at once and brought each down, full force, against either side of Selene's buttocks. Selene whimpered in pain and dropped her head. Peter raised his left hand, slapped her left side, raised his right hand and slapped her right side. He continued this over and over again until her entire ass was flushed red, and showed the very slight beginnings of bruising. 

Peter grabbed both of Selene's wrists and pulled her up against him, his erection poking her mid-back. He spun her around to face him, lifted her up and placed her sitting on her desk. He looked down into her eyes, tears were forming in the corners of her eyes and she was breathing heavily. 

"Take off your top," Peter said in a low growl. A tear rolled down Selene's cheek, but she did not refuse. She reached down, linked her fingers around the bottom of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. Peter stared at her breasts, lightly covered by black lace. He spread her legs apart a bit more and positioned himself between them, grabbed the red shirt from her hands and threw it out of reach. 

"Unbutton my shirt," Peter said slowly looking down at the top of Selene's head. Selene obediently reached up and began to unbutton Peter's shirt from his collar to the very bottom button. Peter began to softly rake his fingers up and down Selene's back, causing her to arch her back, pushing her stomach further against his erection. Selene buried her face in Peter's chest as Peter brought one of his hands between Selene's legs and began to ever-so-lightly brush his fingers around her cloth-covered mound. Selene's breath quickened, she began kissing Peter lightly below his pecks and down just above his navel and back up. Peter moaned, his erection growing painful. He withdrew his hand from between her legs and pushed her away from his body. 

"I can't do this," Peter said quietly looking Selene in the eyes. Selene did not listen. She hiked her skirt up around her waist and inched herself closer to Peter's crotch. Peter pushed her away once more, but instead of turning around, he grabbed both of her breasts and squeezed both of them until Selene squinted and winced in pain. Peter twisted one and Selene whimpered and started to try and twist herself away from Peter's forceful grip. 

"Sorry," Peter said quietly, pulling his hands away from her chest. Selene took a sigh of relief and leaned back as Peter stepped away and started to pace towards his desk. Selene took this opportunity to put her top back on and then walked over to where Peter was standing. 

"Don't you want to fuck me?" she asked, touching his shoulder. 

"It doesn't matter," he replied. "I've done far more than I should ever do with a student..."

"So what are you going to do?" Selene asked. "Sit in awkward silence for the next forty-five minutes of class?"

"I could send you to the principal," Peter replied. 

"And have me tell him what has gone on here? I don't think that you would do that," Selene said. "After all, I can't imagine how he would react knowing that the new teacher is doing these sort of things with the senior class' valedictorian." She was not trying to be evil about it, but it certainly came off that way. Peter was stuck in a corner, he could not ignore the continuous boner in his pants and he could not ignore the gorgeous eighteen year old girl sitting in front of him.

"I...I...just..." he stammered. Selene pouted which did not make matters any better. Peter bent forward and kissed her gingerly on the lips. Selene took Peter's hand in her own and then slowly began moving his hand towards her pussy. She deepened the kiss and closed her eyes slowly as Peter began to prod at the wet spot between Selene's legs. He pushed the silky and lacey material away from her skin and prodded at her clit, rubbing it softly, sending her body into a heated fury. 

She pulled away from Peter and looked into his eyes, this time, he was the one who whimpered, his deep blue eyes pleading for more but at the same time hoping and pleading that he would not have to deal with the guilt that might come from fucking this student. 

"Fuck me," Selene whispered seductively nearly under her breath. Peter could not hold it back any longer. He picked her up from where she sat and sat her up on the ledge of the window against the glass pane. He hiked up her short skirt and yanked her panties down to her ankles. He left her shirt on; he imagined that he would feel less guilty about the deed if she kept her clothing on. 

Selene made a move to unhook Peter's belt and unbutton his pants, but he slapped her hands away in order to do it himself. His belt was undone and his hands were on the zipper to his pants when he briefly stopped and looked at Selene. Her legs were spread far apart; the brick underneath her was slightly moist. Peter looked her in the eyes, there was nothing she was doing to stop him, and she definitely wanted him to do this. 

"What will you do when this is over and done with?" he asked. 

"Nothing I suppose," she replied. 

"You're not going to tell your friends, the principal...anyone?" Peter pleaded. Selene shook her head 'no'. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that." Selene looked up into his eyes and smiled. 

"I will not tell a soul," Selene said quietly staring in his eyes the entire time. He nodded and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. His dick popped out of his pants instantaneously and Selene drew her breath in sharply. The only person that she had ever been with had been her ex-boyfriend, and he had not been a large man – as a matter of fact, he had only been endowed with about three and a half inches of penis. Seeing Peter in front of her was quite a surprise – he was large – around ten inches long and who knows how wide.

Peter kissed her softly, inching closer to Selene's open legs. 

"This isn't your...first time?" Peter asked quietly. Selene shook her head, unable to take her eyes off of his large dick. He nodded and moved closer to her yet. He tilted her pelvis towards him and inserted a finger inside her. She gasped slightly, the touch feeling a bit foreign to her. He inserted a second finger and she closed her eyes in a hint of pain – Peter started to feel even more apprehensive. He moved his fingers around inside of her a bit and her face immediately went from a bit of pain to pleasure. Her eyes closed happily and a smile started to form on her cherry red lips. 

Peter looked down at his popping erection below and knew that he needed to be inside Selene immediately. He withdrew his fingers from inside of her, rubbed her juices on the tip of his dick and hovered just outside of her entrance. She looked him in the eyes and smiled slightly then nodded. Peter hunched over, buried his face in Selene's hair and looked out the window as he plunged into Selene. 

Selene muffled a scream while biting Peter's clothed shoulder. She felt ripped apart from the outside in. Peter groaned as he closed his eyes tightly and tried to plunge all the way inside of her. She was as tight as a virgin, and had a hard time believing that she had even had sex before. Selene drew in a sharp breath and kissed Peter just under his jaw line making him feel like he never had before. He picked Selene up by the buttocks and shoved her against the window with a loud thud that could probably be heard in the neighboring two classrooms. 

Selene wrapped her legs tightly around Peter's waist and bit his earlobe. Peter growled from deep in his throat and set her back down on the brick ledge, scraping her ass against it, tearing some of the skin.

"Harder," Selene whimpered under her breath. Peter scraped her ass against the bricks again and slammed her against the window. "Again..." Peter did it again and again once more. In his deliriously sex-crazed state, he remembered the paper that she had written about her desires and he looked upwards for the pull-string for the window blinds. He pulled on it and pulled out of Selene. Selene looked at Peter with confusion on her face. He pulled her up to standing and turned her around, back facing him. He tied the pull-string around her wrists and pulled her far enough away from the window so that she had nothing to prop herself up on. He pulled her ass upwards, towards him, threw her skirt up around her waist and plunged deep inside of her once more. She groaned loudly, her eyes closed tightly and Peter could feel her pussy close tightly around his cock. Peter spanked her a few more times on her red and scraped up bottom. He buried his head in the back of her neck, kissed her a couple of times and then dragged his tongue from the collar of her shirt to her hairline. Selene shuddered and moaned. Peter was relentless. This, for all he knew, could be the last time that he'd ever see Selene, who knew whether or not Selene would tell someone. Someone in the next classroom over could probably hear them – either by the muffled moans and screams coming from Selene or the banging against the windows. 

"Harder," Selene said in a quiet pant. Peter thrust himself deep inside of Selene; he made it all the way inside of her this time. Selene screamed a deep guttural scream and Peter quickly clasped his hand over her mouth and she bit down on his palm. 

Selene's body quaked and shuddered, Peter could not take it any longer, he knew that he was going to explode sooner than later. He spanked her again, the crack of the slap against her skin set off Selene. She screamed into Peter's hand and he could feel the muscles inside of her shaking uncontrollably. 

Her orgasm was not quick like Peter had been used to in most women; hers continued and continued and continued. Peter could not control himself any longer, he had thought that maybe he could last long enough to finish in her mouth, but at this rate, there was no way. He thrust inside of Selene two more times and erupted. He groaned loudly, grabbed a clothed breast with his free hand that was not covering Selene's mouth and pulled her deep into his body, lifting her up off of the ground and breaking the window blinds that held up Selene's arms. Peter caught Selene before she fell forward onto her beautiful face and he finished inside of her, holding her up in his arms. 

Peter did not pull out right away and instead fell down to his knees, bringing Selene with him. Her hair fell in disarray around his hands and he buried his head in the crook of her neck. The both of them were breathing heavily and Selene was shaking uncontrollably, Peter was afraid that she was crying. 

"That...oh man..." Peter said in heavy sighs. "Are you okay?" Selene nodded and added a meek "yes". "I apologize if I hurt you..." 

"No, I'm okay," Selene said quietly. Peter kissed Selene's neck and slowly started to pull out of Selene, as much as he did not want to. He pulled out of her with a pop, followed by a thick stream of cum that dripped onto the carpet below them. Peter stood up and tucked is sedated cock back into his pants, zipped himself up and fastened the belt. He picked Selene's panties from the window sill and threw them down to Selene. 

The bell rang loudly throughout the empty room. 

"Class is over," Peter said. "I suggest that you probably go home." Selene propped herself up on her hands and knees and slowly slipped her underwear back on.

Peter walked away, towards the door and put his forehead against the wall. His mind was reeling. He did not have sex with a minor, so that was a plus; at least it had not been completely illegal. However, he had broken one of the biggest cardinal rules of high school teaching, the one thing that he had promised himself would never happen. Why did he not wait a couple more months? She would have graduated; he could be in the clear. Granted, he knew that three or four months from now he would definitely try and date her exclusively, but for now, he would have to try and hide the fact that he had just fucked this student of his. He looked over at Selene sitting on the ground, looking down at the floor between her knees. He walked over towards her and held an outstretched hand. She took it somewhat reluctantly and he pulled her upwards. 

"I'm sorry, Selene," he said quietly. 

"Don't be," she said quietly in return. She cleared her throat and walked over to her desk in order to put her notebooks and folders in her book bag. She was bent over, her scraped and red ass in plain view of Peter. He walked over with a smile on his face and playfully slapped her behind once more. She stood up straight and giggled slightly. She pulled her bag up over her shoulder and turned to Peter. 




Creative Writing and Short Skirts



"Have a good weekend," he said. Selene raised herself up on her tip-toes and kissed Peter gingerly on the cheek. 

"Thanks," she said, "you too." He nodded. "I'll see you Monday." 

Peter could have sworn that he saw her wink before she turned. She flounced away, her skirt rising up and down ever so slightly with each step as she walked out the door of the classroom. Once the door had closed behind her Peter took a deep sigh, sat down behind his desk and prepared to go home.