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Why, Of Course You Can!!

By: stfloyd56



It was a small town, so small that my new job there became something of a topic of conversation at Nan's Café, the Federated Bank, and the Quick Trip, which was pretty much the extent of downtown Fair Oaks.

I wasn't altogether comfortable with that kind of attention, but from what one of my new colleagues was about to tell me, the reviews were overwhelmingly positive. Still, that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Jeff Hackbarth was a topic of conversation himself. He went out his way to attract attention, mostly by saying provocative, obnoxious, and downright silly things to anyone and everyone who would listen. And when you're the varsity football and basketball coach in small town Michigan, anyone and everyone wants to listen.

I don't know why Jeff picked me out to befriend. I wasn't exactly the typical jock. But despite his burly frame and prodigious athletic talents, Jeff was not a typical jock either.

Like me, he was a teacher -- Physical Education, if that actually counts -- but at Fair Oaks Middle School, which was only a hundred yards from the front entrance to Fair Oaks High School, where I had just been hired to teach English. As I would soon come to learn, Jeff had his own eccentricities, as well as his own ulterior motives in seeking me out.

I found out later that he was looking for an assistant basketball coach for the upcoming season, and Keith Joyce, my principal at the high school, had told him that I had coached the year before at a small high school in Minnesota. That was true, but not because I had sought the position or even desired it. I basically didn't have a choice.

When I was hired at Madison High School, I was told that if I wanted the English position, I had to coach basketball and serve as the drama director. My former principal reasoned that since I had played basketball in high school and had also acted in plays -- one play, that is -- I was more than qualified to do both. The standards weren't real high at Madison.

I would probably have been better off telling the guy to get fucked. It was an awful school, and I hated every minute I was there. I told them I wasn't returning a month before the end of the school year when we had to turn in our contract offers for next year. I hadn't even secured another teaching job, but I was not going back to Madison, no matter what.

On the other hand, that one year of experience had earned me the position at FOHS (Our motto: Everyone's Friends at FOHS!). Mr. Joyce had essentially hired me over the phone. I drove east to Fair Oaks for an interview, but it became clear to me that I had the job after the first five minutes in his office.

I wish I had known -- I might have saved myself a six hour drive. But going to Fair Oaks was an excuse to go back home and visit my family anyway, so I wasn't complaining. My mother and most of my siblings still lived near Rochester, where I had grown up. That was another four hours east, but now I was back in my home state and a whole lot closer to family and friends.

And now Jeff Hackbarth was looking for me, and sure enough, one day he found me. It was a late afternoon about a month into the new school year. I was walking out the front doors of the high school when a young guy a year or two older than myself stopped me on the steps.

It was about 5:30 in the afternoon, and no one else was around. "You must be the new English teacher," he said smiling and sticking a meaty paw out toward me. "I'm Jeff Hackbarth. I coach here at the high school."

He had a pair of those idiotic looking coaching shorts sticking to his ass. You know the ones with about a two inch elastic band around the waist that bottomed out about two feet above his knees, the same kind that every numb-from-the-neck-up asshole who ever dangled a fucking whistle around his neck also wore. Jeff had a whistle dangling around his neck, so he had clearly just come from practice. It was one of the first days of October, so my initial impression was even worse -- he had just come from, god forbid, football practice.

As I would have suspected, he carried a clipboard under his arm, but then I noticed that on top of that clipboard, he had two books -- Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and The Light Around the Body by Robert Bly. Either this guy had just found somebody else's books laying near the football field, which didn't seem likely because no one else in Fair Oaks was likely to read such works, or I was talking to the most unusual football coach I had ever heard of, much less met.

I reached out to shake his hand, and his thick fist swallowed mine. "Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Jeff, too -- Jeff Miller."

"Yeah, I've heard all about you," Jeff said. "You're the talk of the town!"

I was a little taken aback. "I am, huh? How's that?"

"Well, you're a new teacher, and you're not old and crusty, at least, not yet. So, of course, they're talking."

"Well, what are they saying?" I asked, not sure that I wanted to know.

"Well, whose opinion do you want first?" Jeff asked with a smile.

"I don't know who's offering their opinions, so I guess it doesn't matter. So... what have you heard?" I asked. I was interested in how I was being received, no matter whether I wanted to admit it or not.

"Well, I was having breakfast at Nan's last week, and there were three or four parents in there that spoke really highly of you and were quite impressed with your teaching. Their kids were all boys, and they seemed to think that you not only knew your shit, but that you were keeping the boys, in particular, engaged. They said their kids had told them that you'd actually taught them a lot of really valuable things, and that you went out of your way to make class fun and interesting. Something about 'good discussions.'"

"That's nice to hear, I guess," I said with a smile.

"Then, I talked to a bunch of the guys on my team. They have the impression that you're a pretty cool, dude. That's not too hard to be here in Fair Oaks, considering how backwards it is, but it's still a ringing endorsement. High school boys usually eat English teachers for breakfast."

"I don't really know what constitutes high school cool anymore, but I guess I'd rather be cool than the alternative," I said. "Especially if the alternative means being served up to linebackers and offensive tackles. Who else is talking besides the football players?"

"Well, then there are the girls. I think you'll be happier to hear their opinions."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, they think you're cute," Jeff said with a huge grin. I felt like I had walked into some alternative universe -- a football coach had just used the word "cute" to describe a fellow male, and he didn't mean "smartass" and didn't appear to be gay.

"And that's the PG version," he continued. "I heard that in the bank from some of the girls' mothers, and the mothers seemed to concur with their daughters' opinions on that score. Looks like you've got two generations after you!"

"And what about the other version?" I asked with embarrassment.

"Well, there's Sandi Mortensen's -- I'd look out for her if I were you," Jeff said, completely entertained by spreading the gossip. "I was in the Quick Trip buying milk, when I overheard her talking to Lori Clark. She didn't know I was there."

"So what did Sandi Mortensen have to say about me?" I asked, thinking of the short, slender redheaded junior in my Novels class, who was also on my debate team. She wore really short skirts and tight, flimsy blouses through which the world could see her black and purple bras.

"She wants to get into your pants," Jeff said laughing out loud. "The thing is," he said becoming somber instantaneously, "if Sandi Mortensen wants to get into your pants, look out! That girl is 16 going on 26."

I was shocked that I was having this conversation with someone that I had met just five minutes earlier. "I'm not interested in jailbait. Besides, I've got a girlfriend," I said, half in anger.

"Hey man, I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. But I am serious about Sandi. Steer clear of her if you know what's good for you."

I didn't say anything. I was mad. For one thing, I had taken notice of Sandi Mortensen. It was hard not to. She was very in-your-face with her sexuality. Besides dressing as provocatively as she could, Sandi brought up something inappropriate every time she opened her mouth in class. I had tried to ignore her, thinking that if I said something, I would only draw attention to her and make matters worse. Now I was being challenged to change that strategy.

In addition, a few days ago, I had heard her whisper something to one of the other girls as they walked past me on their way out of class. I could tell that I was the subject of that whisper. Great! Now I had a 16 year old Lolita plotting something that would undoubtedly pose great risk to my job security.

But it was more than knowing that Sandi was talking dirty about me in public. I didn't like the idea that a person that I had just met was giving me advice about how to handle young female students. Hell, he wasn't much older than I was.

But what really got me was that my girlfriend Sharon had just moved in with me about three weeks before that, and I knew that those living arrangement could potentially get me in trouble with Mr. Joyce and the School Board if the word got out. I needed to have at least established myself as a competent teacher at FOHS, before anyone found out I was living in sin.

Prior to that moment, I had not mentioned anything about Sharon to anyone in Fair Oaks. We didn't live in town, so I figured no one would find out about her, at least not right away. So I was mad because I hadn't intended to bring up Sharon's identity to someone that I didn't know from Adam. And though we would soon become best of friends, at this moment, I didn't know Jeff Hackbarth in the least.

He could tell I wasn't pleased and decided to change the subject. "Hey, listen. Why don't you come over for dinner on Saturday night? Nothing fancy; we'll just grill up some burgers and brats. You can meet my wife Jacky. And bring your girlfriend. I'm sure those two will hit it off," Jeff said.

"Hey, you a baseball fan?" he continued. "The World Series begins on Saturday. I think the game starts about 7:30. Why don't you come over about seven? What do you say?"

He was the first person to invite me to do anything since I had arrived in Fair Oaks. Besides, I sensed that we really did have something in common. My anger quickly disappeared, and I looked at him and smiled. "Yeah, I'd almost forgotten about the Series, and I am a big fan -- Go Tigers! So, sure!" I said, "We'll be happy to join you. Can I call you later for directions to your place? Can I bring anything?"

"Just your sexy ass! And, more importantly, your girlfriend's sexy ass!" He laughed maniacally for a few seconds. I stood there shaking my head at him, smiling bleakly.

Jeff gave his me his number, we shook hands goodbye, and I went home to tell Sharon about my new acquaintance and our conversation about the local gossip. She was a little ambivalent about us get involved with Jeff. She wasn't sure that he could be trusted with the secret, and she didn't want to get me in trouble.

On the other hand, this town was now our home, and she thought that we needed to start thinking that way. Neither one of us knew anybody here except our landlords, so she thought it would be a good idea to start making some new friends.

My problem was that I was nervous about dragging Sharon into anything she wasn't fully into. I didn't want her to have to be friends with someone just because I was. That wasn't fair to her. Besides, I had already dragged her to Michigan, and that had seemed to change our relationship just a little. The change was subtle, but I suspected little things had affected it. Like the house we'd been sharing for the past three weeks.

Before Sharon had joined me in Fair Oaks, I had found a place to live in what I considered to be a spectacular setting -- a beach home on Shore Drive, fast to the southeast shores of Lake Michigan and only eight miles west of Fair Oaks. It was just a little one and half story bungalow, a little run down, and heated with fuel oil, which cost a fortune. But who could argue with the view, and considering the rent was a meager $375 a month, I was ecstatic at having found such a place.

The setting was incredibly scenic, and the back windows and patio of the house overlooked both the vast waters of Lake Michigan, as well as the sand dunes that hugged the coast to the south. And it was remote enough and in a different school district, so I figured that once Sharon came east, no one would find out we were living together.

Sharon! After the first day in Fair Oaks, I already missed her terribly. She was several years younger than I was, but she brought an energy to my life that I think I had always been missing.

We met when I went back to school to finish my final year. I answered a classified for someone looking for a roommate. Sharon answered the door, but I was ten minutes too late in arriving. Seated on the sofa of her new apartment was Layne, a girl I had known for several years who was dating an acquaintance of mine, Sal Tillman, a drummer who played in a band that I used to book when I was managing a club. Layne had answered the ad before me.

I had to find another place to live, but that chance meeting was fortuitous. Pretty soon Sharon and I were an item. We liked the same kind of music, and we enjoyed visiting a lot of clubs together. She thought I was someone special, because I had a huge record collection and knew the names of bands and musicians she'd never heard of.

She was an enthusiastic, little punk rocker, and I had fallen for her the moment she opened the door to that apartment. She never seemed to stop smiling the whole time I was there, and I knew that some sparks had been ignited.

Let me be more straightforward, Sharon was impossibly cute. Her short, straight brown hair was cut into a stylish, asymmetrical 'do, and she had these unbelievably high cheekbones that gave an angular quality to her otherwise plump, baby face. She was tiny, just over five feet tall, but her short, compact body was shapely. She had nice tits and a cute little butt, and making love to her was absolute heaven.

On a Saturday, a week after the school year had started, she arrived from Minnesota. She pulled up in her little, brown Chevy Citation stuffed with clothes, books, and records, and I came out to greet her. We hugged and kissed for five minutes before I helped her move her things inside the bungalow. She said she liked the place, but I couldn't tell for sure if she was being honest.

I had already bought a number of pieces of second-hand furniture from my landlords who lived next door in a massive, three-story house. John and his wife Terri were very nice people and offered me a great Queen-sized bed with a brand new mattress and box spring, two dressers, the longest sofa I had ever seen, and an assortment of chairs, end tables, night stands and coffee tables for next to nothing. I also bought a small dining room table and chairs at a consignment shop, and some new linens and comforters, and voilà, I had the place decorated quite handsomely. I thought that was a good thing. I wanted it to be ready for Sharon when she arrived.

I had brought a few paintings and pieces of artwork that I owned with me when I moved, but I didn't hang them up. I thought I would let Sharon pick out most of the décor, so she would feel like this place was hers too, since I had already picked out all the furniture.

After she got settled in, we walked next door, and I introduced her to John and Terri. They insisted on taking us out to eat at a very nice steak place just up the shore. We changed our clothes, and then we walked down to their boat slip. They drove us over to the restaurant in their vintage, woodgrain runabout.

Having lived on the lake for over 30 years, the two were veritable encyclopedias of local history, trivia, and information of all kinds. Even though they were 35 years older than we were, we had a really enjoyable evening with them, drinking bottle after bottle of wine and talking and laughing.

That night after dinner, we returned to the bungalow, high on wine, and happy and satisfied. Since Sharon had seemed a little ambivalent about moving in with me, I wanted to make this first night in our new place special. I found out later that she hadn't told her parents -- who I'd never met -- that she was moving to Michigan to live with her boyfriend. Now I felt the need to convince her that she'd made the right decision.

We climbed the stairs to our bedroom, and I lay Sharon down on the new comforter and sheets that adorned our new mattress. Crawling behind her, I began peeling her clothes off her while I kissed, licked and nibbled at the nape of her neck, her ears, and her shoulders.

I was really horny, and by the sound of it, Sharon was as well, but I wanted to go really slowly to show her how much I had missed her. Once I got everything off her except for her panties, I began working my way around her world: kissing her elbows and wrists, her lower back, the backs of her knees, and her feet, adding massages to my foreplay in addition to my oral worship.

I traveled back north and moving in front of her reclining body, I kissed and gently bit her upper lip; then worked my way down her neck to her sensitive tits. I touched her nipples ever so gently, while I kissed and licked around the sides and bottoms of her round breasts, and then I became more aggressive, pinching her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers, before I started taking them in my mouth. Sharon was aroused now. Her nipples were erect, and she was moaning, and grinding her hips against my leg positioned between the two of hers.

Now I moved that leg, and while I continued shifting my mouth back and forth from one pale breast to the other, sucking her areolas into my mouth and nibbling at her nipples, I moved my hand to the outside of her panties.

To my surprise, they were soaking wet, so I took that as a signal that Sharon's pussy required some attention. I slipped my hand inside her panties, down her mound and through her lightly covered bush to her wet pussy. Using my middle finger, I began stroking the length of her opening between her slippery lips. After my fingering had elicited more slick fluids from her hole, I entered her with my finger, producing an audible groan from deep in her throat.

After some gentle probing, I added my index finger to her slot, and after she adjusted to it being inside her, I spread my fingers apart to open her up wider. Now, I added the circular movement of my thumb on the outside to caress around her sensitive clitoris.

Sharon moved her hand to my jeans, and she could feel that I was hard now, so while I was working her magical pussy with my hand, and kissing, licking and biting her breasts with my mouth, she began unbuckling my belt, and then pulled my underwear and jeans down my legs.

Now she had my erect pole in one hand, while she massaged my balls with the other, and she was breathing really fast and groaning loudly when my thumb touched the shy pink knob that was emerging from behind her demure little curtain. "I want you in me," Sharon whispered into my ear.

I pushed my shorts and jeans off my legs, pulled my shirt off, and reached astride Sharon's shapely hips to drag her drenched panties down her short, but slender legs. Then, I crawled between those legs, and as she guided my stiff member to her wetness, I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the mattress as I entered her.


Why, Of Course You Can!!



I dropped my head to hers, found her wet lips, which emitted the warm, pleasant aroma of a lush cabernet, and while my chest brushed back and forth over her wet nipples, I moved my length in and out of her hot, dripping abyss. As I built my cadence, Sharon bent her knees and pulled them toward her breasts until they were wrapped around my hips, affording me a better angle to probe her depths.

I knew that we could both cum this way, and that in only a few more minutes, we would both be reaching thrilling climaxes, but I wanted to relinquish control to Sharon. This was her house too now, and if we were co-masters of our sexual domain, she might feel more like a cohabitant of this domicile as well -- rather than a guest in it.

So, I gently straightened her legs, and without withdrawing my hardness, I rolled to the side, pulling Sharon on top of me, "I want you on top, baby. Ride me, please?" This was her favorite position, and I knew that it excited her to switch places.

"Oh yeah, I love riding your cock!"

She bent her knees again, wrapping them around my hips as before, but on top of me now. This was the easiest way for her to cum; she liked leaning forward and then arching her back while she rotated her hips, twisting her ass toward me, so that she was grinding herself on me with every downward thrust. She was pushing her clit onto my pubic bone, and I could feel her release more juices each time her sensitive trigger rubbed against me.

Now Sharon put her outstretched hands on my chest so she could get better leverage when she jerked her hips downward over my swollen cock. I began to fondle her breasts as she rode me. She was building her own rhythm now, and the more frantic that pace became, the more imminent her climax.

"Oh I'm close," she moaned. When I moved my hands to her hips to pull them down harder onto me, she closed her eyes, and spasm after spasm shook through her body like an earthquake rolling over the terrain. Then, she threw her head back, and clinched my hips with her legs and held herself there until her shaking stopped.

It took her a minute to realize that I was still there, inside her and that I wasn't finished. When she came back to the world again, she returned to her rhythmic rocking. I hadn't lost a thing when she had climaxed on top of me, quite the opposite. So now I arched my back, and she began slamming herself onto my raised spear. I was penetrating her incredibly deeply now, and soon I went back to her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples.

Again, her pace increased, and I was slipping over the edge. "Oh, I'm there, honey. Can I cum inside you?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, yes. I want you there," she growled, as I shot eight or nine warm jets deep inside her. "Oh I can feel you; I can feel you cumming," she moaned and then she collapsed on top of me while I continued to push into her, lifting her ass off the bed before my climax waned. With my thickness still inside her, we kissed passionately.

"I love you," I said sincerely. "I missed you so much."

"I love you too, baby."

We lay together like that for a few minutes until my cock softened and slipped out of her, bringing a lot of my warm cum with it. She got up from the bed, went to the bathroom, and brought one of the new hand towels that I had just bought so as to clean us both up. Then, we fell asleep in each others arms.

Several weeks passed, and on the day after I met Jeff, Sharon found a job, writing for the Berrimann County Observer. She seemed happy. Now she had something to tell her parents, an explanation for why she had moved 600 miles to a different state. It was her first professional position, and she thought her boss was a really good guy. Now, maybe things would work out. She would have her own friends and her own life. I certainly had good reasons to hopeful. Now, I was less nervous about that dinner at Jeff's.

*****

On Saturday afternoon, I called Jeff and got directions to his place. He and Jacky lived in a farmhouse, about five miles outside of Fair Oaks. Sharon and I enjoyed the drive to their place; it was beautiful country. We had no trouble finding it, and pulled into a gravel drive, protected by four huge, walnut trees. The house was surrounded by two out buildings -- a barn and another smaller structure whose purpose was unclear to me. The outside walls of their house were covered in natural cedar siding that they had allowed to weather to a faded pewter gray, giving the place a rustic feel.

The interior of the Hackbarths' home was small, simple, but cozy -- the digs of domesticated, former hippies. In addition to the house and outbuildings, we soon learned that they owned ten acres of some really beautiful land that stretched from the county road that passed in front of their house to two miles west, deep in a lush woods.

When we arrived, Jeff introduced us to Jacky, and I introduced Sharon. Jacky quickly offered us each a beer, and we made small talk for a few minutes.

Jacky was a beauty -- a tall, lanky, German girl with dark auburn hair and big, brown eyes. I liked her. She was also a teacher -- high school biology -- but she was only doing substitute work at the time. When she wasn't teaching, she spent her time growing organic fruits and vegetables; canning; beekeeping; knitting blankets, sweaters, and caps; and now she had started making cloth, using her own loom. Jeff and Jacky were really into self-sufficient living.

Jacky was really hospitable to us both, but especially to Sharon, and that seemed to make Sharon happy. Without some new friends, I didn't think that was possible. So meeting two cool people was a good start.

We still had a half an hour before the game started, so while Jacky was showing Sharon her loom that she had set up in the dining room, Jeff asked me to step outside with him. He said he wanted to show me something. We wandered out to the barn that they had converted into a garage. When we got inside, Jeff pulled a small, cloth bag out of his pocket and looked at me with a mischievous grin. "You smoke dope?" he asked nonchalantly.

I laughed. "As a matter of fact, I do," I said. Then, I thought of Bogart and that line from the end of Casablanca, "Hey Louie," I said to Jeff, as he was sparking up a joint, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." We both laughed.

We sampled a spliff of Jeff's stash, and while we stood exhaling pungent clouds of smoke into the rafters of the old barn, I asked Jeff why we had to come outside to partake. "Does Jacky not approve?"

"No, she's fine with it. I just didn't want to say something awkward if the answer wasn't what it I thought it was. Besides, I wasn't sure about Sharon. I didn't want to get you in trouble with her."

"If you didn't want to get me in trouble with Sharon, you should have invited her out here, too," I joked.

"Oh, we'll take care of the ladies after we eat. Sharon will be okay with that, won't she?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she will," I answered. "So -- what gave me away? How did you know?" I asked, genuinely interested in what made Jeff select me to join him in such dissolute behavior.

"Your pants have pleats," he answered laughing. "You're the only guy in Berrimann County that wears pleated trousers!"

"Almost all pants made these days have pleats in them." I said, defending my wardrobe. "Anybody who has bought a pair of dress pants in the last five years knows that. Besides I'm just trying to fool people into thinking that I'm professional."

"But that's the point. Everyone in Berrimann County wears either Wrangler jeans or overalls, and if they do own a pair of trousers, no one has bought them in the last 10 years, much less the last five."

"Are you calling me a hipster, Jeff?"

"Yeah, I guess I am," he laughed. "Well, are you one?"

"By my standards, no, but I guess in the eyes of the locals, I might as well be Ralph freaking Lauren."

"Yeah, you're a hipster alright! No one around here knows who the fuck Ralph freaking Lauren is!" We both laughed. "I guess that's why all the girls want to fuck you, because you dress like you read GQ!"

"I don't fucking read GQ!" I said, pointing to my clothes. I was wearing a pair of straight leg Levis, a Sun Records T-shirt, underneath an oversized, unbuttoned flannel shirt. I was also wearing my signature shoes -- a pair of dirty, white Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars. "Does this look like GQ?" I asked, "And stop saying that all the girls want to fuck me."

"No, you're right, certainly not the Chucks. That's all punk rocker chic. But that's the reason the girls think you're a hipster, and girls want to fuck hipsters." I shrugged my shoulders. What could I say? Guilty as charged, I guess. We finished the joint and went in to join the ladies.

Looking back on that evening, it had only taken me a half an hour to figure out the first of Jeff's motives for approaching me earlier that week -- that was, adding another smoking buddy to his coterie of fellow potheads. The second reason would be revealed before the night was over.

We chowed down on burgers and brats and drank a few more beers. Then, we passed several joints between us, as we watched the closely contested opening game of the World Series, a contest in which the Detroit Tigers ultimately prevailed over the San Diego Padres 3-2. In the 5th inning, the Tigers regained the lead by that same slim 3-2 margin after falling behind in the first inning. When they did, I told Jeff that the World Series was over -- that the Tigers had it won.

Jeff looked at me like I was crazy. We were both Tigers' fans, so he wanted to agree with me, but it was 3-2 in the bottom of the fifth inning of the first game of the World Series. How could it be over? He wasn't even willing to concede Game One much less the entire Series. I told him that the Padres couldn't touch Jack Morris the rest of the way and that the remainder of the games would proceed similarly, with the Tigers' pitching dominating the Padres.

On the following Sunday, the Tigers took the Series four games to one. The Padres had scored more than two runs only twice in the five games, with Jack Morris winning twice, both complete games, giving up only two runs in the final 17 innings he pitched in the Series. Jeff later admitted to me that I had seen something that he had missed. In the process, I knew I had gained some jock bona fides with that prediction.

Two hours after the game ended, as we were standing around in the kitchen discussing books and other shit we liked to read, Jeff asked me to be his assistant coach. I was a recovering athlete, which in my book is kind of like a recovering alcoholic.

I knew sports were essentially meaningless and could even be harmful to the soul, not to mention the intellect. As far as I was concerned, they had ruined a good many relationships that I had had with women. I didn't want that to happen again. Sharon, for one, didn't give a shit about sports.

But for me, they were a guilty pleasure that I couldn't stop myself from enjoying. I pretended to be thinking long and hard about whether or not to say yes to Jeff, but I already knew the answer. A month later when the season started, we were sitting side by side on the bench together. For the next three years, we were all but inseparable.

When Sharon and I drove home a few minutes later, I asked her what she thought of both Jacky and Jeff. She liked them both, and thought it was great that we had found a couple that we had a lot in common with. When Sharon smiled at me, it made me happy and horny. She was a really nice-looking girl, and I knew I was lucky to have her. When we got home, we jumped into bed together and made love. She was particularly responsive that night, and I was on fire. We didn't fall asleep for at least three hours.

By the end of October, the first quarter had ended, and I had pretty well settled in to my new job. I liked the vast majority of the kids and the teachers at Fair Oaks, and they seemed to like me as well. But my relationship with Sharon was changing, and not for the better.

Pretty soon it was almost wintertime and snowflakes were beginning to fall. One of the things that I had failed to consider when I rented the bungalow was lake effect snow. It only fell within about a half mile of Lake Michigan, but once Thanksgiving rolled around, it snowed at the house almost every night. I would wake up and go out to my car to drive in to school at 6:00 in the morning and find it dusted with dry powder. I tried to sweep the driveway before I left, but more and more often, I was in too much of a hurry and didn't get it done.

It was only an inch or two at time, but it was kind of a pain in the ass, and because I wasn't around much at all, Sharon was left more and more to deal with the snow and other issues at our house. Basketball and all of my other activities were taking up a lot of my time, and so now things like sweeping the daily snowfall off the driveway or calling for another delivery of fuel oil were falling to her. I was beginning to think that Sharon was unhappy living there. She never exactly said that, but somehow I could tell.

The semester was flying by, and though I got along well with most everyone, I started wondering if some of the kids liked me a little too much. After the first few months, they started referring to my classes as "Miller Time," a clear and inappropriate reference to the beer commercials.

After a little while, "Mr. Miller" morphed into "Mr. Time," and then, once they were even more familiar with me, the guys on my basketball team changed it again from "Mr. Time" to the simpler, more abbreviated, and irreverent "Time."

Pretty soon, all of the kids called me that. At first, I didn't think it was a problem. It was just a nickname after all. But then an unpleasant incident made me reconsider -- maybe I had allowed them to become too familiar with me, and that familiarity might lead me down a road I didn't want to be on.

One morning in mid-November, I brought my Novels class to the library to do some research for a term paper I had assigned on The Great Gatsby. I had shown them where to look for resources, and the librarian Mrs. Reeves was helping as well, so after I got them started finding things, I sat down at one of the big tables near the reference texts where I had a view of all of them, and I started to correct some quizzes that I had collected that morning from one of my other classes.

After a few minutes, I looked up from my work momentarily to see Sandi Mortensen coming my way. She had some papers in her hands. Reaching my table, she said cavalierly, "Hey Time, this paper is supposed to cover some aspect of symbolism, right?"

"Yes," I said, with as much gravity as I could muster. It was winter now, so Sandi's short skirts and thin, transparent blouses and had given way to tight jeans and even tighter sweaters. The sweater she was wearing that morning was stretched so taut that it left nothing to the imagination. God, she was hot! As much as I tried not paying attention to her, she was impossible to ignore.

She was slender and not very tall, maybe 5' 2" or 5'3," but her slight frame was augmented with nice, moderately-sized breasts, statuesque legs, and an ample, round ass. She had a cute, thin nose, and soft, pink lips that were always enhanced with a lot of lipstick. She usually wore tons of makeup, especially around her eyes, which were bright and hazel-colored. She also wore a lot of nail polish and dangly jewelry to accent her outfits. But her signature was her hair. It was long, and light-red in color. It looked like it would turn blonde if she spent any time at all in the sun. But she didn't.

Unlike most of the other girls at FOHS, who spent hours working on their tans during bikini season, Sandi always had creamy, white skin and very pale freckles on her nose and upper cheeks. She usually covered them with blush.

I suspected that those freckles became a lot more conspicuous when she spent time in the sun, so I figured that was why she avoided it so religiously. She reminded me of someone I couldn't place, a famous actress or singer, though younger and with smaller breasts. There was no denying it, she was incredibly attractive.

"You can pick which ever aspect of symbolism you want to discuss," I began explaining. "It could be symbolic objects like the cars, the houses, and the billboard; or colors, like green, white, gray, red and blue; or you could talk about the symbolism of locations -- East Egg, West Egg, the East, Midwest, and Valley of Ashes. You can really choose to analyze any of things that we've discussed in the novel that are symbolic." I was trying to be very erudite and scholarly, not because I wanted to be some kind of stuffed shirt, but so Sandi wouldn't be encouraged to talk to me in any kind of promiscuous or sexy way.

Strangely, she responded to what I had said with a really serious thought. "I was thinking about narrowing down my discussion as much as possible. I wondered if I could talk just about time motif. You mentioned a lot about time symbols in class, like the clock that Gatsby almost drops when he's first reunited with Daisy. Do you think that would work?" I wasn't looking at her at the moment. Instead, I was fumbling through my copy of The Great Gatsby trying to find a particular passage that I wanted to read to her. But just as she asked the question, I could feel her hand on the middle of my back.

I froze for a second, deathly afraid of where she was going. We were right in front of everyone no less, including Mrs. Reeves. But in an instant, her hand was gone, and I looked up at her face which wore the most serious look I think I had ever seen there. I was really surprised. It wasn't that Sandi was not intelligent; she was probably the brightest kid in all of my classes, but for once she sounded genuinely interested in her studies, and she had a very good idea for her paper.

"Yes," I said, smiling excitedly. "Sandi, that's a great idea for a research paper, and the more narrow the focus, the better. Just try to find all of the references in the novel to the passage of time. Discuss those and talk about how the novel addresses all of the different time settings -- Gatsby, Daisy, and Nick's past; the present action; and then Nick's narration from years after the action ends."

"And then be sure to finish with why the passage of time is significant in this story. Be sure to use quotations. For instance, remember what Nick says to Gatsby after Daisy attends the first party at Gatsby's house," I started reading from the book, "'You can't repeat the past.' And Gatsby's response to that, 'Can't repeat the past! Why, of course you can!' That line is key to this particular motif in the story. Be sure to use it."

"Okay," she smiled sexily. "That's what I'll do," and she bounced off, like a little bimbo, back to her table of girlfriends, who I now realized were looking my way. I was trying to process what had just happened. For a little while, Sandi had been talking and acting really seriously, and more importantly, she hadn't said anything sexual to me. Maybe progress was being made. Then, again, when she walked away, she had returned chameleon-like back to her strumpet persona. Maybe she was playing me.

The bell signaling the end of class rang, and the students got up, gathered their things together and moved to their next class. I had a free period after that so I stayed where I was and finished correcting the quizzes I'd been working on. When I got up to return to my classroom, Mrs. Reeves stopped me.




Why, Of Course You Can!!



"Mr. Miller, there's something stuck to your back," she said, without smiling as she walked toward me. I reached over my shoulder and felt a piece of paper stuck to my shirt. I pulled it off my back. There were a couple of small pieces of Scotch tape stuck to it, and I realized that was how it had been affixed to my shirt. Then, I read the paper. It read: "Eat me. I'm Danish."

"Do you know who put that there, Mr. Miller?" Of course, I knew. "It was Sandi Mortensen. I think I saw when she did it. She walked over to your table, and I saw her with a piece of paper in her hand. I saw that it had pieces of tape on it. I didn't know what it said, but.... I think you better tell Mr. Joyce, Jeff. I don't think you can let this one go," Mrs. Reeves said, pulling two more pieces of Scotch tape from the back of my shirt.

"Sandi," I said, shaking my head, "is a bit of a handful. Do other teachers have problems with her?" I asked.

"Well you can see how she dresses," Gretchen Reeves responded, "but I have to say, Jeff, I think she has a thing for you, and I don't think that can be said of any of the other male teachers." Oh god, I thought. Now other people know.

I tried to imagine how I would have handled this situation if Gretchen Reeves hadn't been there to see what had happened. Would I have let it go if no one else knew? On the other hand, now at least I had a corroborating witness; it might make this easier to explain to Mr. Joyce.

I walked down to Joyce's office and knocked on the open door. He was seated at his desk, reading some forms. He invited me in, and I sat down and told him what had just happened. I explained that Mrs. Reeves had seen Sandi, and that I had felt her stick the paper to my back. I showed him what it said. He said he would take care of the matter, and I returned to my classroom.

I was still in my room correcting papers after school that day when I heard a knock at my door. "Come in," I said, loud enough to be heard in the hallway, "the door's unlocked." Five seconds later, I wished I hadn't said that.

As the door slowly opened, I realized it was Sandi, and she was alone. After she entered the room and closed the door behind her, I saw her flip the deadbolt. Oh no, I thought, I have to get out of here.

"Mr. Miller?" Sandi said demurely, "Can I talk to you about what I did today?"

"Yes, Sandi, but maybe we should keep that door open," I said grimly.

"No, please, Mr. Miller. Look, I'm really sorry. I'm here, in part because Mr. Joyce told me I have to apologize to you, but this is really embarrassing, and I'd rather that no one else heard what I'm going to say. I promise that all I want to do is to apologize."

"Okay, Sandi. I'm all ears," I said, relenting a little. She took the seat immediately in front of my desk.

"All right." She paused. "Well, first I want to say that I'm sorry that I stuck that piece of paper to your back. And I am really sorry about what it said. It was just kind of a joke, but it was wrong and disrespectful, and I should never have done it. You see, I was wearing that paper stuck to the front of my sweater most of the morning, whenever my teachers couldn't see me. I don't know if you know, but I really am Danish. It was a stupid joke, but everybody thought it was funny that I had it on me. And then in your class, I took it off and thought it would be funny if I stuck it on you." She was turning red explaining herself to me.

"Why did you think it would be funny to put it on me?" I asked timidly.

"Well, I guess because everybody knows how I feel about you, Mr. Miller."

"What do you mean, Sandi?" I asked, not entirely sure that I wanted to hear the answer.

"Mr. Miller?" She said, not really sure she should continue. I had never seen her like this -- as shy as a church mouse, but then I said the same thing this morning when I saw how seriously she was talking about her term paper. I knew Sandi could play me like a violin.

"Yes."

"I'm not really used to having a hard time talking. You know that. I pretty much blurt out anything that's on my mind. I know that I've been really obnoxious in your class, and I thought that's what I needed to explain to you. You see, I've wanted to talk to you alone for a long time, so I'm not just here because Mr. Joyce made me apologize. I mean, I want to apologize anyway, but I want to explain why I've acted so -- oh, I don't know if I should say this -- so... so... so slutty." I wasn't ready for that adjective.

"Mr. Miller. I have a crush on you," she divulged abruptly.

I paused. Of course, I already knew this, but I had to be careful about how I responded to this supposedly breaking news. "Well, Sandi. I'm glad you told me that, but you realize that I'm your teacher, and I can't be anything more than your teacher right now. You'll just have to accept that."

"I know, Mr. Miller. I do accept that. I just wanted you to know that the reason I've been talking all sexy and all is because I was trying to get your attention."

"I know you were, Sandi, and I was trying very hard to ignore you. I could have confronted you the very first time you said anything inappropriate, and I realize now that is exactly what I should have done. But I'm a lot like you, Sandi. I've got a lot to learn. The reason I didn't say anything to you is because I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your classmates, and because I thought it might even make things worse. But, Sandi, I can't let you talk that way in class anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Miller, but I promise you, you'll never have to say another word to me. It was enough for me just to tell you how I felt about you. I know you can't have feelings for me. I know I'm way too young for you. Besides, you have a girlfriend don't you?"

I probably shouldn't have answered that question, but I did. "Yes, I do, Sandi, and someday I suspect that you'll have a boyfriend who feels the same way about you that I feel about her. By that time, you'll have forgotten all about me and this rotten day."

"Maybe, Mr. Miller," she said, smiling so innocently that I didn't think I was looking at the same person. "I'm not so sure about that, but thanks for saying so, anyway. You're a really nice guy. I always knew that, but I can't believe how kind you're being to me, especially now after what I did to you. I'm so sorry. I want you know that you're the last person in the world that I would want to disrespect. I really, really like you a lot."

"Thank you, Sandi. I like you, too, but remember I'm your teacher, nothing more. Now, I've got some more papers to correct, so if you'll excuse me, I better get back to work."

She smiled and left the room, and that was the last time I had a problem with Sandi Mortensen. The next day she came to class, and she was a perfect little angel, and things stayed that way for the next year and a half. She never again called me "Time." From that point forward I was always "Mr. Miller" to her. I think she was the only kid in the school who actually called me that.

Right before Christmas break, she turned in a great paper entitled "The Element of Time in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby." She earned an "A" on the paper and an "A" for the semester. She also continued to be the best debater on my team, later earning a Superior in the State Debate Contest.

The following year, I had her in Writing for College, and she earned another "A" and another Superior in Debate. She was a natural, and I really thought she had the talents to be quite successful in college, something not many kids from Fair Oaks were. The only thing about Sandi that didn't change after that day was the way she dressed, but now I rather enjoyed seeing her flaunt her beautiful body, just so long as it wasn't going to get me in trouble.

Sandi graduated after my second year at FOHS, and she went on to Ann Arbor to study -- you guessed it! -- English. I was really proud of her; she was going to be one of our few success stories. After graduation, she came to see me to say goodbye and to thank me. I think it might have been harder for me to say goodbye to her than it had been for her to say goodbye to me. I was probably at the lowest point in my abbreviated life.

You see, just a week or two before Sandi's graduation, Sharon broke up with me and moved out of our house. I suspected that life in the Fair Oaks region was a little less exciting than what she'd bargain for. But that wasn't the whole story.

I knew that too much of her unhappiness was my fault. I had just been too overwhelmed with school and with coaching. I hadn't paid enough attention to her. More and more, I also began to think that I hadn't taken seriously enough her resentment about living in a house that she had no say in choosing to live in. If I knew that, why hadn't I suggested moving somewhere else -- anywhere else?

She packed up her Chevy Citation, which I had just paid $2000 to fix and drove to Seattle where there was a hot music scene burgeoning, moving in with Layne, her old roommate from back in our college days in Minnesota.

I was pretty much devastated about the whole thing. I was really in love with Sharon, and her leaving was a first for me -- no one had ever broken my heart before.

I was already spending a good portion of my free time at Jeff and Jacky's, but once Sharon left, I couldn't stand being alone in my house, so I was at their place all the time.

Jacky, in particular, was a godsend. She talked me through a lot my emotions. I came to learn that losing a girlfriend in a breakup was not unlike losing a loved one through death. The grief and the stages of that grief were really exactly the same.

Jacky and I talked a lot about those stages of grief, Kübler-Ross' theory. She gave me a copy of the book, and she explained how that book had helped her when she herself had gone through a period of profound grief when her father had died a couple of years before that summer -- right before I met her.

*****

I can't say for sure that Jeff and Jacky were responsible, but that summer one of their closest female friends started spending a lot of time at their place as well. She seemed to show up every time I called to ask if I could come over. Hannah had been married to one of Jeff's best friends in college -- a guy I didn't much like, named Tim Janasik. Hannah had divorced Tim the year before, moved out of their house outside of Kalamazoo, and got a job as a school counselor just up the Interstate in Scottsville.

Before I even knew what was happening, Hannah was at my house just as often, and pretty soon I was falling for her. I never thought I would rebound from losing Sharon, and though my relationship with Hannah wasn't the same, I couldn't believe how quickly I had accepted her into my life.

Hannah was a Southern girl from Georgia. How she found her way to Michigan is still a mystery to me, and I asked her that question so many times, you would have thought that I would have known for certain. I never got a real clear explanation.

She was a slender, pretty, short-haired brunette with a great intellect and really good taste in anything artistic -- music, literature, and art. It wasn't surprising that I would fall for her. She was also the best-read person I think I have ever met, and nothing short of voracious in her reading habits. She turned me on to so many great books that I would be eternally grateful for her influence long after we stopped dating.

Like me, I sensed that Hannah was beginning to tire of life in and around Fair Oaks. I had been so involved in the life of the school that I never really thought about how much time I spent there until Sharon left me, and I was forced to re-examine a lot of things about my life.

Besides being an English teacher, who quite honestly spent more time preparing for classes and correcting student homework and writing than any other teacher in the school, I also had -- get this -- nine co-curricular activities to direct! If someone asked me to do something, I simply couldn't say no.

In the fall, I was the videographer for the football program (that was Jeff's fault), and I directed the Fall Play. In the winter, I coached basketball with Jeff, and coordinated the talent show. In the spring, I coached baseball and directed the Spring Play.

And all year long, I oversaw the noon time recreation program, was the coordinator of the student newspaper, and coached the debate team. From late August until the end of May, I didn't have time to do much of anything, except occasionally drink beers and smoke dope at Jeff and Jacky's. That was the only thing that kept me sane.

It's no wonder that I took the summers off. But beginning that year I started using my summer vacation for more than relaxation. With Hannah, I journeyed to the South for the first time. We visited her family, traveled around to the see the sites, and stayed at her parents' beach home just outside of Savannah.

My sexual relationship with Hannah was a strange one. In some ways, we seemed a little bit incompatible, but then in other ways, she drove me wild with passion. She was unlike any woman I had ever been with in her willingness to experiment, but she also seemed to have trouble reaching orgasms, unless we were engaged in some new and novel form of lovemaking. So that's what we did, what we always did.

She started out by buying a lot of erotic literature, and asking me to read passages from it to her as we acted out the stories with our lovemaking. Then, she moved on to lingerie. She built a sizable wardrobe, and it turned me on a lot when she wore it while we made love.

We also tried things in bed that I had never considered doing with other women: exploring new positions, toys, and fetish interests. For instance, once she asked me to put a string of pearls into her pussy, and then very gently and slowly, I pulled it one bead at a time from her wet opening, dragging the pearls slowly across her clit as I pulled them from her. She climaxed before I had her necklace half way out.

Hannah was also the first and the last person with whom I ever engaged in public sex. She was incredibly excited doing that, despite my initial reluctance.

The first time was on a trip to Savannah. One day on a road trip, we found ourselves on a remote beach in a state park 60 miles north of the city, across the border in South Carolina. We had parked our car in a lot near the lighthouse, and then walked two miles or so south down the beach, where nothing but the sound of the surf and the steady ocean breeze could be heard.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and the hot sun was beating down on us, as we lay just up the beach from where the tide was lapping against the sand. We were both horny and started making out. Soon, we had stripped off all of our clothes, except for her skimpy bikini and my swimming trunks. There was no one around, but there was also no way of knowing if someone would come strolling down the beach at any moment.

When the sun and our passion had us overheated, we moved to the very edge of the water, where the wet sand received the gently cresting waves. I lay down in the sand, and Hannah pulled my trunks down to my knees and took me in her mouth. Her lips had me hard in a minute, and soon her sucking, the warm water that lapped around my balls, and the vigorous stroking that her hand was applying to my shaft had me close to erupting.

I pulled her bikini top to the sides of her small breasts and began to fondle her nipples while she worked my cock. But I didn't want to cum in her mouth, so I pulled her head from my hardness, stood up, pushing my trunks around my ankles, and lay her down with her back to the wet sand. Then, I pulled the bottom of her bikini down her legs and tossed it a few feet up the beach to the dry sand where it could not wash away.

I spread her legs out in front of me and lay down so that my erect cock was almost burrowing its own hole in the warm, wet sand, and started to eat her pussy. Her opening was already wet, a leaky combination of pussy juices and the warm ocean. I lapped at her hole, careful not to touch her sex with my hands, so as to avoid introducing tiny grains into her.

I had her groaning and writhing faster than I had ever seen her respond to my mouth and tongue. In a few short minutes, Hannah decided we needed to take things all the way. "I want your cock," she ordered, and I was not going to deny her.

I stood up and pulled my suit off me, and lifting Hannah's ass from the sand, I lay it down underneath her butt. Looming above her, I cast my shadow over her form, stretched out spread eagle and panting on the beach, while my stiff cock stood at attention, covered in fine sand. So, I took two steps backwards into the ocean, where I let the warm water rinse me clean, and then I knelt down between her legs.

I placed my head between her lips, and stretched my hands out in front of me on the wet sand, and began to enter her slowly. She groaned loudly. Once I was all the way inside her, I withdrew everything but my head, and then thrust back into her warm hole in one fell swoop. Then, I started pumping.

I couldn't stop myself from looking first up the beach to my right and then down it to my left to see if anyone was coming. But Hannah was so aroused, moving against me with such vigorous passion, that after a minute, I stopped caring. For those few moments, the whole world could have been watching; it wouldn't have mattered.

It didn't take her long to cum. After no more than three minutes, my long, even strokes had us both on the verge. Suddenly, she yelled, I mean yelled, so loudly that the strong ocean breeze must have carried her announcement hundreds of yards up the beach, "Oh god, I'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cum... ooohhh." If there was anyone near, they had to have heard.

But her vociferousness triggered more than the attention of potential passersby. Now, I had reached the point of no return. I closed my eyes, and grunted seven times, one for each rope I deposited deep in Hannah's sweet pussy, "Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... ooohhh!"

After 15 seconds my orgasm faded, and I opened my eyes. When I did, I saw something moving almost imperceptibly in my periphery. I turned to my right and a hundred and fifty yards up the beach, coming from the direction of the lighthouse, I saw two, tiny dark forms moving toward us.

"Hannah! Someone's coming!" I shouted with alarm. "Grab your bikini!" We both stood up instantly. She located the bottom of her suit, and I grabbed my trunks. "In the water!" I yelled, and we both took four long strides into the warm Atlantic.

The water was up to my waist now and almost up to Hannah's breasts, which she quickly slid back into her bikini top. I pulled on my trunks. Then, Hannah, slipped her slim legs into her bottoms, and we stood up straight, both of us splashing water over the rest of our bodies. We were standing only a foot or two away from each other.

Now the intruders were only 60 yards away, and we could see their identities. A tall, beautiful woman with long, blonde hair was holding a leash that stretched to a large, Chocolate Labrador, and both of them were jogging toward us on the sand. We stayed in the water, where my erection, buffeted as it was by the warm, ocean current, was refusing to slacken.

The woman reached the beach only three or four feet from where we had been making love, and still jogging in place, turned to face us. "How's the water?" she called out, smiling, her large breasts bouncing up and down in a sports bra that was failing at its job. Besides the bra, her gorgeous body was covered by only a tiny pair of running shorts, and running shoes.

"Great!" Hannah called back. "Care to join us?" I nearly choked on my tongue. We appeared to have barely escaped detection, and now Hannah was inviting further inspection from a woman who was not helping to relax my already excited cock. If she had joined us in the water, I would have had a very difficult time concealing my erection. Then, Hannah shocked me even more. Staring straight at the beautiful woman, she reached inside my suit, grasped my still turgid member, and began stroking me!




Why, Of Course You Can!!



"I'd sure like to! You two seem to be enjoying yourselves! But I need to finish getting Buster his exercise, or he'll be impossible tonight. Thanks for the offer!" she called out in a sexy, Southern drawl, as she turned, leading Buster back in the direction of the lighthouse. The two jogged back the way they had come.

"Jesus, Hannah," I said, after she was out of earshot. "Did you want us to get caught?" She was still stroking my cock.

"Maybe," Hannah grinned. "I thought that if she saw us maybe she'd want to join the party. Wouldn't you have enjoyed a ménage à trois? Anyway, wasn't she gorgeous?"

"Yeah, but... Jesus, Hannah." I shook my head. "Do you think she saw what we were doing?" I asked genuinely concerned that I might soon be facing a South Carolina magistrate on a charge of lewd and lascivious behavior.

"What do you think she meant by 'you two seem to be enjoying yourselves?'" Hannah responded.

"Oh my god," I said, shaking my head again.

"Relax, baby."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that? You're still jacking me off!"

"I thought maybe you'd be up for round two! Wasn't that exciting?"

"Yeah, exciting and illegal," I said, pulling her hand from my suit. Then, I cupped her face in my hands, and I kissed her. Sometimes, she drove me crazy, but our lovemaking was never boring. That was for sure. That was not the only time she talked me into making love in public, but it was the closest we ever came to getting caught.

*****

When classes started up again in the fall, something was different. I realized pretty quickly what it was. No Sandi. She was in Ann Arbor now, so there was less scenery when I was at school, and for some reason that I couldn't explain, I missed her -- a lot. When I got home, I still had Hannah to keep me occupied. She had moved in at the start of the school year, but both of us thought it would be our last one in and around Fair Oaks. We needed to add a little more excitement and culture to our lives.

We made a pact. We would both apply for jobs in a few select cities in which we wanted to live. If either one of us was successful, we would move together to the city. Then, the other person could take his or her time finding another job, or something else to do.

It didn't surprise me that Hannah found another job before I did. She was really good at what she did, and I figured pretty sought after, considering that good school counselors were not a dime a dozen. The job was in an affluent suburb of Chicago, just up the North Shore.

I turned in my letter of resignation on the first of April. At my request, Mr. Joyce wrote me a great letter of recommendation and told me that he was sad to see me go. He also said that if I ever needed a job again and wanted to return to the area, that I should give him a call.

Leaving FOHS would be bittersweet. On the one hand, I had grown tired of spending 70 hours a week involved in one aspect or another of FOHS life. On the other hand, I really enjoyed my time there, had learned a lot about teaching, and had met some great people that I knew that I would miss a lot.

First and foremost were Jeff and Jacky, but we promised them that because they were less than two hours away, and we were certain to want to get out of the city occasionally, we would come back often to visit. Besides, my family was still in the Detroit area, and I had to pass right through Fair Oaks to get there. I figured I would probably see them every Christmas and Spring Break at the very least.

The other person that I was already really missing, of course, was Sandi Mortensen. I don't know why she had had such a big impact on me, but she had. She was both incredibly sexy and intelligent, and there was no denying that I was attracted to her, even if I already had a woman in my life.

The other thing was that she was a kind of an interesting project for me, and so in a strange way, I wanted to find out if she was going to make it, not just academically in college, but in her personal life as well. I don't know why I was so sentimental, especially in her case, but I wanted her to be happy.

When that school year ended, Hannah and I packed up our things, said goodbye to John and Terri, and Jeff and Jacky, and moved to a funky neighborhood on Chicago's North Side. Late that summer, I found a job at a school in Westchester. It was a bit of a drive from our flat on the North Side, but it was a good school, and it forced me to really "up my game" as a teacher. I was still putting a lot of hours into my teaching, even if I didn't have all those co-curricular activities.

We made it back to Fair Oaks three times that first year after we moved and stayed at Jeff and Jacky's farmhouse twice. It amazed me just how much I missed the peace and quiet after the hustle and bustle of the city. But that's the point, isn't it? You can't have it both ways. But as much as Hannah and I had made those trips for our own mental health, it was Jeff and Jacky's mental health that was in question that whole year. It was a rough one for them.

On each of our visits, they seemed different. We spent one day with them over Labor Day weekend, and both Jeff and Jacky seemed unusually quiet and reserved. This was truly out of character for Jeff -- he had always been the most obnoxious and silly person that I had ever known, and normally, he rarely stopped talking.

Jacky's reticence made a lot more sense. She had always been a much quieter person, but now her mother was ill, really ill. During the summer, she had been diagnosed with Stage Four pancreatic cancer, and in late August, Jacky traveled to Mt. Pleasant to be with her for two weeks during her first rounds of chemotherapy. Jacky seemed unwilling to want to talk about her mother on that trip. It was probably a good thing that we were only there one day.

We saw them again at Thanksgiving, and Jeff seemed to be back to normal, but Jacky was in bad shape. Her mother's illness was completely devastating her; that was obvious. Her mother was not responding to the chemo, and Jacky had grown fatalistic about losing her. I remembered that her father had died four years before, also from pancreatic cancer.

I spent a lot of time with her over those four days. She had been there for me, when Sharon had left me, and I felt I owed her the same kind of care and concern. It wasn't that Jacky was unwilling to talk now. In fact, she spoke more to me over that holiday than in all the time I've known her, but there was something else, something wrong besides her mother's illness, and it seemed to have to do with Jeff.

I remembered the Kübler-Ross stages. Jacky was in denial about something, but it didn't seem to be her mother's illness. That she had already accepted. She just didn't want her mother to have suffer. But there was something that she not only couldn't accept, she couldn't even believe was real. Despite all of our talking, whatever it was, she wasn't willing to share it with me.

Right before Christmas, Jacky's mother died. Hannah and I drove to Mt. Pleasant for the funeral. It was sad. Thankfully, Jacky came from a big family, and she seemed to be getting a lot support from her brothers and sisters. We never really got to spend much time with either one of them, and funerals make everything awkward and difficult. They had family matters to attend to, and so we let them attend to them. Over the next few months, all four of us talked a lot on the phone, and for the first time in their marriage, there were problems in the Hackbarth household. For some reason, Jacky was really angry with Jeff.

We intended to visit again over Spring Break, but then Jeff did something I could never have believed he was capable of. He booked them onto a Caribbean cruise -- seven days on Carnival -- Cozumel, Belize, Grand Cayman, Mahogany Bay. What was baffling about this was not just that Jeff was notoriously cheap; in all of the years that I had know him, he had never set foot outside of the State of Michigan, so this was nothing short of stunning. Just as stunning were the changes that Hannah and I saw in both of them after they returned.

The next year Jeff got a new job, and he and Jacky left Fair Oaks. That was hard for me to believe; they just seemed so much a part of that community that it was hard to think of them as distinct entities. They were still in Michigan, that wasn't going to change, but they had moved pretty far north to Cadillac, where Jeff was teaching in the middle school, and only coaching the younger kids. He actually preferred that. And Jacky? By that next summer, Jacky was pregnant!

The following year during Spring Break, Hannah and I traveled to Cadillac to see their new baby girl, Carrie. She was a beauty, and they both seemed really happy, unbelievably happy, like their earlier troubles had vanished. But that was the last time we saw them for awhile.

After four years at Westchester, I enrolled in a graduate program at DePaul, and started working on my Masters. With all of that going on, my relationship with Hannah started to slowly deteriorate. We were still really good friends, and we continued living together, but the romance had lost its fire. We just didn't spend enough time together. So we came to a kind of mutual decision to free each other up, in case either one of us wanted to begin seeing another person.

The next year, Hannah got a different job and moved out of Chicago, so I was living alone now. I had some friends in the city, and they were trying to set me up with girls they knew, but so far nothing had come of it. Besides, between school and my graduate program, I was too busy to try to concentrate on a relationship. I was a little lonely and extremely horny.

*****

That Christmas I decided to drive home two days before the holiday. Just as I got out of the city, heading east on Interstate 94, it started to snow. I kept going; I figure it would let up, but instead it just came down harder. By the time I crossed the border into Michigan, it was a full blown blizzard, and I didn't know if was going to make it home that night.

Just before I reached the Fair Oaks exit, traffic slowed to a crawl and eventually it ground to a complete halt. People got out of their cars and started having snowball fights right there on the Interstate.

When the cars started moving again, we were going five miles an hour, and when I saw the sign signaling one mile to the Fair Oaks exit, I considered stopping. It still took me 10 more minutes to reach the off-ramp, and that clinched it. So I made an executive decision. Why keep going?

With Jeff and Jacky gone, I didn't have a place to stay, but there was a motel The Rafters, just off the Interstate, and it had a restaurant and bar that were pretty good. We used to go there every once and awhile when I lived in the area. It was only about three miles from our house on the lake, and the place was usually hopping. I figured that I would do one of two things: if it kept snowing, I would get a room and spend the night, otherwise, I would get a drink and maybe something to eat, and if it started to let up, I'd drive the rest of the way that night.

I pulled off the highway and into the parking lot of The Rafters. I got out of my car, and walked inside the bar. My eyes hadn't even had a chance to adjust to the dimly lit place, when I heard the word, "Time!" I turned my head, "Jesus Christ, it's Time! Time, what the hell are you doing here?"

Three young guys, all of them former students and basketball players of mine came rushing up to me, shaking my hand, and patting me on the back. I hadn't even said hello to each of them before one slipped a beer mug into my hand. They grabbed me a chair, and I sat down at a table with them.

I explained about the snow and that I was headed back home for Christmas -- that traffic was stalled on the Interstate, and that I was waiting out the snow.

The three were all real characters -- kids that I had taught in multiple classes and coached in at least one sport, so I knew them all well. I asked each of them what they were up to.

Steve Kohler was still enrolled in school at Western Michigan in Kalamazoo; he still had three semesters to go before he earned a degree in Ag Economics.

Bill Piontek, who was a pretty bright kid, was just about to finish up at Michigan. He would earn his BS in Biology in May and already had a job offer from a lab in Ann Arbor.

Lance Bachman, who was still living in town, worked for his father, the owner of the Fair Oaks area waste management company. As the only son in the Bachman clan, he would undoubtedly inherit the family business.

I asked them about girlfriends, and the volume in the room decreased considerably. None of them had anyone they dated on a steady basis. They asked me about Jeff, if I'd seen him lately. I told them about his baby girl, his job in Cadillac, his house in the woods.

"So how about you, Time? You still in Chi-town?" Lance asked, oblivious to the fact that no one other than truckers themselves had used trucker lingo since "Convoy" was a hit nearly 30 years earlier.

"Yep. Still there," I said taking a big swig from my beer. "City of Big Shoulders."

"You still teaching?" Steve asked. "I hope so, 'cause you were the best fuckin' teacher I ever had." He grabbed the pitcher and refilled my mug.

"Thanks, Steve, that's nice of you say that. Doubt that it's true, but it's nice to hear, anyway. Yes, I'm still teaching, probably will be until somebody offers me a lot of money to be a principal. I'm in graduate school right now."

"Jesus, Time, you don't wanna be a fuckin' principal, do ya?" Bill asked with surprise, apparently remembering an unpleasant incident with Keith Joyce.

"Not really, but it's about the only way to make any kind of real money in education. So I don't know, we'll see."

"You still with that same chick? The second one, what was her name?" Steve asked.

"Hannah. No, we broke up awhile ago," I said, embarrassed even though there was no reason for me to be.

"You got another girlfriend now?" Lance inquired.

"No. I don't think there are any girls interested in me. I'm a shitty boyfriend," I said glumly.

"What the fuck you talking about, Time? You know that's not true. Come on, what about Sandi Mortensen?" Bill challenged me.

"What about her?" I asked. Just the name made me sit up in my chair.

"Jesus, Time! She never stops talking about you," he said, like I was an idiot.

"Not anymore," I said dismissively. "That was a long time ago. I haven't seen her for over six years."

"Time!" all three said simultaneously, shaking their heads and looking at me like I was the most pathetic being on two feet. All three came at me at the same time.

"She talks about you every time I see her."

"You haven't seen her for six years? My god, Time. She is so fucking hot right now, and to the best of my knowledge, she isn't fucking anybody, at least not anybody around here. And you know why? 'Cause she still wants to fuck you!"

"What is she doing now? Did she graduate from Michigan?"

"No, man," Bill said. "She dropped out after a year. But even then, and that was four years ago -- every once in awhile, I would run into her in Ann Arbor; sometimes I'd give her a ride back home -- she literally never stopped talking about you. I shit you not. She's fuckin' in love with you!"

"She's got a job. She works for the county." Lance added. "Some office thing -- secretary or something."

"She's got her own place now, and hey, you know where she lives? Like two houses from where you did out on the lake," Bill said.

"And you know where she hangs out?" Steve asked, smiling. "You're sittin' in the place, Time! I'm surprised she's not here tonight. This is the closest bar to her house. She's here all the time!"

The whole thing had my head spinning. Sandi Mortensen. I just kept running images of her over and over in my head. Then, reality kicked in. What the hell was I doing? Was it still snowing? Was I going to keep going? Was I staying here? I still had a four hour drive ahead of me. I needed to make a decision.

I told the guys that I was going to step outside, and check on the weather. When I opened the door, there were a few inches of dry snow accumulated on the ground, but not a flake in the sky. I went back inside to the bar, and asked the bartender if he knew what the weather was like heading east on Interstate 94. He pointed to a trucker seated at the bar, who looked at me and said, "the roads are fine, not a problem all the way to Detroit. Most of the snow stayed to the south of here."

"Thanks," I said, and I returned to the table with the three young guys.

"It stopped snowing, guys. I'm gonna try to make it home tonight."

"Come on, Time, spend the night. You can stay at my house," Lance said, "I got my own place. I have an extra bedroom. Besides, if you stick around, I bet Sandi shows up. Then, you won't need my bedroom!" They all laughed.

"No, guys, I gotta hit the road. I'm only going to be home for a few days anyway, and my mother is expecting me tonight. But, I tell you what, I'll be driving back home on the day after Christmas. Then, I'll have plenty of time. I'll stop back in here. Maybe, I'll see you then, okay."

They said they understood. I thanked them for the beer, wished them Merry Christmas, and told them it was great to see them all. Then, I headed out to the parking lot and the long ribbon of highway back to my roots. I should have been tired, even exhausted. It had been a long day, but my heart was beating so fast, there was no way I could fall asleep.

Sandi Mortensen. Sandi Mortensen. I kept saying her name over and over again in my mind. Those kids never knew how much they were tempting me. I had concealed my real feelings from them, from myself, because I had never really forgotten Sandi.

I spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with my family. It was nice to see them all, but I was distracted throughout my visit. At one point on Christmas Eve, I was opening a gift, and all of a sudden I just stopped. Everybody was waiting for me to pull the gift wrap off the box, and I was just staring off into space. I was daydreaming about Sandi. They were all looking at me, and my mind was someplace else, on the other end of the state.

My mother turned to me and asked, "Jeff, what's wrong? Which one are you missing? Sharon...? Or Hannah...?" Hearing their names shook me from my dream state.

"No, Mom... it's not that. I... I... I was just thinking..." I paused. I wasn't really sure what I was going to say. I couldn't really explain, "... about a book."

"What book?" she asked.

"The Great Gatsby."

My sister looked at me, like I was insane. "Why are you thinking about The Great Gatsby on Christmas Eve? I mean it's a great book and all, but isn't it an odd time to be preoccupied with F. Scott Fitzgerald?"

"No, it's just that.... I don't know why, but I was thinking of that line of Gatsby's, about two-thirds of the way through the book. You know, when Nick says to Gatsby, 'You can't repeat the past.' And then Gatsby responds, 'Can't repeat the past? Why, of course you can!'"

"I don't know why, but I was just thinking what an incredible virtue it must be to really believe that. To really believe that you can remake your life. Do things all over again. Fix your mistakes. Have a second shot at everything."

"So you were thinking of Sharon or Hannah or maybe both of them?" my mother said.

"No," I said with complete honesty, "I don't know what the hell I was thinking of. I'm sorry." Then, I shook my head, and I remembered where we were and what I was doing, and went back to the package in my lap. "Now, where was I?" I said laughing at myself.




Why, Of Course You Can!!



"You're a strange dude, Jeff," my brother said, and we all laughed.

*****

The day after Christmas, I helped my mother with some projects around the house. All my siblings came back over to my mother's in the early afternoon, and she made us all a late lunch -- sandwiches from the Christmas ham that we had the day before.

After lunch, I shook hands with my brother, kissed my sisters and mother goodbye, wished them all a Happy New Year, and got back on the highway headed west. I figured I would get to Fair Oaks about 7:00 p.m., and I would stop in to The Rafters, have some drinks or dinner, see if there was anyone there that I knew, and then make my decision about whether I would drive the rest of the way home that night or wait until morning.

The entire way back I was thinking oddly enough about time. It was one of the themes that I had emphasized the most in many of the books that I taught. I had often asked my classes to analyze that theme in particular in detail.

Ironically, that's what they had called me back at FOHS. It was such an odd nickname, and it was even stranger how they had arrived at it. "Time" -- wasn't it weird that I was called that name, but that I, more than anyone I knew, simply didn't have enough of it, and even when I did, how badly my timing always seemed to be?

Like, if I had waited until Sharon had arrived from Minnesota before deciding on a place to live in Fair Oaks, so that she could have helped me pick it out. Or if I had just not taken on all that extra work at school, maybe I would have had the time to keep her interested and happy in our relationship. If either one of those things had been different, maybe we'd still be together.

Or if had just lasted for a minute or two more before cumming that afternoon in South Carolina when I was making love to Hannah on the beach. We would have gotten caught, which, I realized almost immediately afterward, was exactly what Hannah wanted to happen. Maybe that's what our relationship needed to keep it fresh. She seemed to think so. Or if had decided to wait to start my Masters program, so I would have had more time to spend with her. Would we have had a better chance?

And then there was Sandi. I remembered her term paper in my Novels class - "The Element of Time in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby." And how that afternoon when she had come to apologize to me she had said, "I know I'm way too young for you."

And of course, she was too young for me. I was 26 at the time, and she was just 16. Those 10 years represented an impossible chasm between us, one that had, not just practical, but moral and legal implications. But now I was 34, and she was 24, and those 10 years didn't seem to be such a big deal.

When I pulled into the parking lot at The Rafters, the place looked packed. It was a Friday evening, and the bar and restaurant had been closed for the last day and half, so a big crowd had apparently returned for some post-holiday revelry.

I thought that maybe Kohler, Piontek, or Bachman might be inside, but when I walked in the door, I didn't recognize anyone. At least not at first. It looked like I would be making it back to Chicago that night after all.

When I went to the bar to order a drink, there were so many people crowded around that I couldn't get near the bartender. So I pushed my way to the back of the bar, farther away from the door, to try to get the second bartender's attention. I was able to find not only a gap between customers, but an empty bar stool. I sat down.

"Mr. Miller!" I turned when I heard my name. Seated right next to me, and looking so incredibly hot that I think I started getting hard immediately, was Sandi! I guess I knew that there was a decent possibility I would see her there based on what the guys had said. Let's face it. That was the reason why I had told them that I would stop back in on my way back to Chicago. But it didn't diminish the suddenness and the immense pleasure in seeing her again.

"Sandi, oh my god! How are you?" Despite it being one of the last days of December, and 0° outside with eight inches of snow on the ground, Sandi was wearing a black, low-cut, silky, spaghetti strap blouse, revealing some frilly purple lace beneath it and cleavage that literally took my breath away.

I beamed a bright smile, and we both stood up. She was nearly a foot shorter than I was, so I had to bend over when I offered her a polite hug. When I did, she leaned her head back, so her massive bosom was rubbing against my chest. I could feel her hard nipples poking through her bra and slinky top.

Now that she was standing, I was able to fully appreciate the rest of her suggestive outfit. She wore a pair of unbelievably tight, black jeans -- bedazzled with a gaudy pattern of tiny, ornate rhinestones on the hips and back --the legs of which ended tightly around her ankles and featured on the outside of each leg, a six inch zipper that was the only thing that allowed their removal. In taking in her jeans, my gaze slid farther down her slender legs to a pair of silver, six-inch, stiletto heels that were augmented by a pattern of straps that rose to her ankles and the taut bottoms of those jeans. Under her heels, she wore patterned black, nylon stockings.

The bartender came over, and I ordered myself a Scotch and another vodka gimlet for Sandi. We sat back down. Before I could even say anything, the bartender returned with our drinks, and I paid him. We toasted to Fair Oaks High School.

It had been six years since I had seen her, and though I may have been prepared to see her again that night, I had no way of knowing what those years had wrought. That reality stunned me to my core. As she sat leaned back on her bar stool, a smile slowly washed across her face, and the diffidence of her earlier greeting -- "Mr. Miller" -- gave way to the uninhibited and licentious 16 year old Sandi, now physically transformed into a buxom, sensuous woman, who clearly had ill intent on her mind.

"I figured you would show up!" she said haughtily. "Kohler and Bachman told me they saw you the other day. They said you talked about me." I sensed that I was trapped.

"Yeah," I responded timidly, and with understandable evasiveness, "I asked them what you were up to. I understand you're working for the county. Right?"

Sandi tilted her head, as if she was measuring my rhetorical argument. "From what I was told, you talked about a lot more than where I work." This was an aggressive interrogation, for which I was ill prepared. I felt a little like I had just been called into the principal's office.

The only way to survive such a cross-examination with my dignity still intact would be to turn the tables -- to take the offensive. I fully realized that by doing so, I was, in all likelihood, catapulting myself full on into a potentially dangerous liaison with a sexual dynamo ten years younger than I.

"From what I've been told, you're the one that's been doing most of the talking... about me, not the other way around. I thought you said you were too young for me?"

"That was a long time ago, I was 16 years old, and you were my teacher." She said, moving her hand aggressively from my knee all the way up my leg until it rested on the very top of my thigh only inches from my thickening member.

"And, if I recall correctly, you said something to the effect that you couldn't be anything more than my teacher 'right now.'" As she said the last two words, she raised both hands, and bending two fingers on each hand twice, she flashed me a pair of air quotation marks that served to sting me with my own words. Then, she put one hand back on my thigh.

"If you were declaring yourself permanently off limits, why did you have to qualify it with 'right now'? Huh, smart guy? 'Right now' was eight years ago. I was jailbait at the time; now I'm 24. And how about you? You had a girlfriend then, right? I understand that's no longer the case. And finally, if you don't want me, what the hell are you doing here 'right now'!" She smiled at me with the self-satisfied knowledge that the debate student had just schooled her master.

She was a regular Clarence Darrow, and I was clearly no match for her rhetorically. "You know, Sandi, someone warned me about you once a long time ago. I should really have listened to him."

"You mean, Hackbarth?" She laughed. "I don't know what the hell he had to complain about. He seemed pretty satisfied." I nearly fell off the bar stool. Did she just say what I think she said? There really wasn't any other way that statement could have been interpreted, was there? Now, Jeff's repeated warnings about Sandi made a lot more sense, but I still couldn't believe that Jeff would have done such an immoral thing. And even if he was unfaithful, he wasn't stupid enough to put himself into that kind of legal jeopardy.

"You and Jeff Hackbarth? When?" I asked incredulously.

"The summer after I dropped out of Michigan," she said. "And if you must know, he called me, not the other way around. It was at the end of that summer, and it was just once."

I thought back to the problems that Jeff and Jacky had had that year -- their last in Fair Oaks. Now it all made sense -- Jacky's mother's illness; her leaving town; her anger with Jeff; their moving out of Fair Oaks that next year. I was still stunned by the news, but even if Jeff had done something that my conscience could not justify, at least it had been legal.

This was a lot to process, and my mind naturally drew comparisons between Jeff and myself. But Jeff and I were in two entirely different sets of circumstances. Jeff was married; I wasn't. And beyond his marital status, Jeff had a commitment to another human being, a commitment that I could only wish I would be lucky enough to have again. I finished my Scotch and looked into Sandi's eyes. I had to make a conscious decision. There was a 24 year old, voluptuous, sex siren with her hand on my leg, and one look from her made me forget entirely about Jeff Hackbarth. Still, we had a past.

"I know you had a crush on me, Sandi, but you know what they say, 'You can't repeat the past.'" I said it instinctively, as a cliché, almost without thinking of the literary significance of those famous words, and our own history with them. I didn't intend to sneak it by her, but if I had, I was a foolish man. Nothing got by Sandi Mortensen.

"Why, of course you can!" She smiled cunningly. I knew I deserved that, and Sandi was about to tell me so. "Christ, Time, did you really think you could divert my attention with some fucking Fitzgerald? You should have known better than that!" And as she said it, her hand found my cock, and she started stroking me through my jeans.

"Let's get the hell out of here," I said, just as the bartender spied my empty drink, and started coming our way. I didn't want anyone that I might have known to see what was about to happen.

Sandi threw back all of a fresh vodka gimlet, and I grabbed her coat from the back of her bar stool, threw it over her shoulders, and in an instant, we were walking out to my car in the parking lot.

It was really cold outside, but I hoped the interior of my car was a little warmer, since I had been driving for four hours with the heater blasting. I let Sandi in the front door, walked around to the driver's side, and got in. I was wrong; it was freezing inside the car.

But the weather didn't seem to deter Sandi. As soon as I was in my seat, she attacked me, kissing my face passionately, and rubbing my crotch until I was hard. "Jesus, Sandi, you are so fucking hot," I groaned, and now it was my turn to take the initiative. I kissed my way from her lips, to her ears, and down her neck, and I buried my face between the tops of her breasts. Despite the now sub-zero temperature, her skin was hot on my lips.

"You're not too bad yourself, Time! Now let me at that cock of yours!" Within seconds, she had my fully erect penis out of my pants, and was stroking it vigorously with both of her hands. It was so cold in the car that my moist dick and balls were literally steaming!

Though she seemed unconcerned with the temperature, I wanted to get someplace warm, where I could see her whole amazing body and ravish it. "So the guys told me you are living out by the lake, right by my old place, right? How do I get there?"

She looked up at me and made it clear that she had more important things to do than answer such uselessly practical questions. "I'm pretty sure you can find your way! Just get us close, and then I'll help. But right now, I'm a little preoccupied."

While she went back to her handiwork, I fishtailed out of the parking lot and onto Highway 12. I was surprised by the familiarity of the road. Everything came back to me.

When I turned on to Shore Drive, my car's heater was just starting to kick out some warmth, for which I was grateful. Otherwise, the pre-cum leaking down the head of my cock might well have been close to freezing.

When we approached the house which both Sharon and Hannah had shared with me, I let Sandi know. She stopped her stroking and looking up, told me where to turn. I entered a narrow drive, and pulled up to a small bungalow that looked remarkably similar to the house I had left five and half years ago. We were next door to John and Terri's huge house, on the opposite side of my old bungalow.

My cock was too stiff to be returned to my pants, so I just wrapped my thick, winter coat around it, and followed Sandi inside. Warm air bathed our shivering bodies as soon as we closed the door. We entered the back porch area, moved through the small kitchen, and soon I found myself in the living room. Once there, Sandi pulled off both her coat and mine, let them slip to the floor, and dropping to her knees on top of them, pulled my jeans and shorts to my ankles and took my still rigid dick into her mouth.

I was staring down at her impressive breasts and her purple, lace bra which pushed those milky, white tits together, producing the sexy cleavage that had taken my breath away for the first time less than an hour ago.

After only a minute in her hot, wet mouth, she moved to my balls, licking and then sucking first one and then the other into her mouth. The warmth in the house, along with her hot breath and saliva had my ball sack hanging loose, so she began using her finger to gently tap each of my gonads from the backside. Then, she slid her flat tongue all the way from the underside of my jewels up that crinkled sack, and holding my dick straight up, continued up my shaft and back to my mushroom head.

As she worked the head with her talent lips, her hands traveled back south again as she stroked, squeezed, and kneaded my nuts with both of her paws. Then, her right hand slid slowly behind my ball sack, where she used two fingers to massage the erogenous nether land between my scrotum and asshole. After she lightly caressed it for a minute or two, she began to apply intermittent pressure to it more aggressively, pushing into me and producing an incredible sensation that I had never before experienced.

Then, once she had generated enough saliva, she took me into her throat. As I looked down from above, I could see her lips slide half way up my shaft, as she buried my sensitive head into the soft recesses of her gullet. I could feel her undulating uvula caress the top of my engorged glans. She pulled me back out, but then drove it deeper into her, so that uvula was now tickling the ridge around my head.

She backed it out again, and this time, she went down on me fully, sliding her warm lips all the way to my pubic bone, enveloping the base of my shaft and my manicured bush. Then, she looked up at me with a few tears trickling from her beautiful hazel eyes and down her pink cheeks, while an excessive amount of spit was dribbling from the corners of her mouth, sliding down her chin and dripping into that sexy crack between her tits.

As my breathing began to quicken, and my balls started to tighten, her left hand replaced her right on my perineum, while she raised the right to the base of my shaft, gripping me as tightly as she could with her small hand. Then, after spitting copious amounts of saliva into that hand, she began to jack me ferociously. I was fast approaching a climactic explosion.

No, I thought to myself, not yet. I have to stop her. "Sandi, honey, I don't want to cum yet, please." She looked up at me, like she was a little hurt that she couldn't finish what she had started, as I gently pulled her head off my throbbing cock.

I was as hard as I have ever been in my life, and so close to the edge that I knew I had to hold myself back with a long Kegel to avoid blowing my load all over Sandi's gorgeous face. As I slowed my breathing and tried to hold on, Sandi instantly recognized my plight and deftly pressed hard on my perineum again, this time with both of her thumbs. Not only was disaster averted, but this edging left my balls primed to blow a huge load when I was ready.

"Can we go to your bedroom?" I asked.

It was a shy and submissive question, and it had the effect of unleashing a tiger. Sandi was in a zone now, and I soon realized that I was her plaything, fully under her control. "We can go anywhere you want, so long as you fuck me with that tool of yours," she said crudely. "Now, get your fucking pants off and follow me!" she commanded.

So I obediently stepped out of my jeans and shorts, and Sandi grabbed me by my erection and, pulling me by it, led me up the stairs to the master bedroom. The entire layout of the house was exactly the same as my old place, and for one strange moment as we climbed the steps, I thought both houses must have been designed and built by the same architect and builder.

When we reached the bedroom, she turned on the lights. It was bright, and even warmer in this room than it had been downstairs. "Lie down on the bed and get that shirt off," she ordered. I unbuttoned the shirt, and tossed it to the side of the bed. Then, I lay back with my head and back supported by an array of lush pillows and spread my legs, my stiff rod in one hand. "Start stroking yourself; I want that thing rock hard."

Now, Sandi began a slow striptease. First, she slid one of her spaghetti straps off her shoulder, letting it fall down her arm. Then, she turned, so her back was to me, and did the same with the other strap. Then, she shimmied, allowing it to slide down her torso and legs, until she was able to step out of it.

Now, she turned to me proudly, displaying a really sexy, purple lace, push-up bra that fully revealed that enticing cleavage. Her tits were much bigger than when she was in high school, and enhanced by the support of that bra, I couldn't believe how aroused I was by her tits alone. I continued rubbing my stiff erection.

Now, standing with her legs spread slightly and facing me, she unbuttoned her jeans and slowly slid the zipper downward, revealing the top of a purple, lace, garter belt. Once the zipper bottomed out, she began to slide her jeans slowly, tantalizingly slowly down her shapely hips and legs.

When she had them below her knees, she pulled one, then the other zipper up as far as it would go, and balancing herself with one hand against the footboard of the bed, she slide one, then the other leg of her jeans down and around her stiletto heels and off. While I stroked my hardness with one hand, I used my other hand to massage my loose ball sack.

Now, she stood again facing me in all her glory, legs even wider apart than before, displaying her incredible body and her sexy ensemble -- a matching purple, lace bra, thong, and a garter belt that was attached to her patterned black stockings which slid precipitously downward to her silver, stiletto heels.




Why, Of Course You Can!!



She sashayed around the side of the bed, and climbed onto the bottom of it facing me on her hands and knees, and began to crawl toward me with the most sensual look on her face and her big tits nearly falling out of her bra. When she reached my inner thighs, blocking her path, she lifted one and then the other knee over the outside of my widely splayed legs, and began to inch her way forward on her knees, over my erect cock, until she had straddled my head so her sex was pressed to my face. I inhaled deeply of her earthy, sensual fragrance. She pulled her thong to the side, revealing her pussy to me.

"Eat me, I'm Danish," she ordered with a lewd smile! This girl was a clever one, there was no arguing that, and she never passed up an opportunity to literally rub my face in it! Still, I complied dutifully, running my tongue all the way up and down the length of her overheated slit. I was ready to attack her pussy.

But there was something I had to do first -- for me. I pulled my hands from her hips, ran them up her soft stomach to her lacy bra, and pulled her big tits out of their cups. I like to leave a woman's bra on when I suck and fuck her, but I want the tits fully exposed.

She had soft, round natural breasts that had grown much larger than I could ever have imagined six years ago. They sported obscenely large areolas that protruded from the flesh of her globes and were a shade of pink that I had never before seen on one of my lovers. They were perfect.

Her nipples were aroused, erect and hard to the touch, and looking up from her erotic mound, I teased, pulled, and pinched those sexy rings, as Sandi moaned loudly. "Oh yeah, play with my big, fucking tits! That makes me so hot!" she screamed as she grabbed the headboard of the bed firmly with both of her outstretched hands.

I continued working Sandi's breasts with my hands, but now I focused my concentration on her pussy. Making a sharp spear with my tongue, I fucked her with it for ten tormenting minutes, as she rocked her hips back and forth.

Then, I moved my hands to spread her lips before me, and began to lap the length of Sandi's slit with my flat tongue. As I did, she unleashed a flood of arousal fluids and began grinding her sex all over my face. "Oh god, you eat my pussy so good." I resisted the urge to correct her grammar. Now was not the time to quibble with adjectives and adverbs.

Now her breaths came quicker and shallower, and her thighs on either side of my head started shaking uncontrollably. She was nearly there, and though it was our first time together, I instinctively knew what would send her over the edge.

I pulled my tongue from inside her pussy, and ran it up the outside of her wet lips to her clit hood. While I ran circles around it, her pink button started to grow, emerging from behind that slippery curtain until it stood front and center on her sex stage. It seemed to cry out to me, so I shaped my tongue into a dart, and ran that sharp tip back and forth across her sensitive nub. She went wild. "Oh, you fucker. You're going make me cum! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum."

She deserved what I was about to do. Instead of relenting and letting her ease into orgasmic bliss, I applied suction to her clit, pulling it into my mouth with my tightly pursed lips, using my tongue again to jab at it. She started screaming at the top of her lungs, so loudly I wondered if John and Terri could hear her. "Fuck! Fuucckk! Fuuuccckkk!"

Then, she released her grip on the headboard and collapsed on top of me, and grabbing my head with both hands and grinding her pussy into me, she spasmed violently on my face, contorting her body into unnatural positions as her climax shook her entire frame for a full minute. Simultaneously, her pussy unleashed another flood of juices on my face.

Then, her breathing slowed, and she seemed to be gasping for air. Finally, she spoke, "Oh my god, Time. That was fucking amazing! You can really eat pussy!" But her admiration was short-lived; she still wanted to be in control. "Now, you're gonna fuck me," she ordered.

This erotic session was headed toward an inevitable battle of wills, but for now, I let Sandi remain in charge. I was willing to play the submissive role, but only for a little bit longer. Soon, very soon, I would start fighting back.

"Do I need to wear a condom? I don't want any accidents." I said, trying to appear both considerate and responsible.

She looked at me again with the same expression that she had worn in the parking lot at The Rafters, as if being practical, conscientious, and careful was for chumps.

"Don't worry about it," was all she said.

That was it. I was done playing student to her master. "Get that thong off you," I said aggressively, "so I can have my way with your pussy."

Sandi seemed content to comply, but she was still Sandi Mortensen, and I should have known better. She slid backwards, across my stiff erection, until she was resting her fine ass on my upper thighs. Then, she straightened her legs in front of me, slid the purple thong down her slender, stocking-clad gams, and pulled it around her heels and off. Now her pussy was exposed to me, revealing a neatly trimmed, smallish, reddish-brown bush. "Not so fast," she seemed to say, staring at me again lewdly. "No, I'm going to have my way with your cock!"

She was on top of me still, so at least momentarily, she had the upper hand. Spreading her legs again, Sandi bent her knees and placed her spiked heels flat on the bed on either side of my chest, and balancing herself on me with one hand, she reached behind her with the other to grasp my still hard cock.

First, she rubbed it up and down the lips of her dripping, wet hole. Then, she placed my head inside the folds of those slick lips, and dropped her sweet ass on my length, impaling herself on it.

Sandi gasped loudly as it slid deep into her. Then, she leaned back, bracing her hands behind her on my outstretched lower legs, and began rocking back and forth on my engorged thickness which was bent toward her at 45 degrees, a deliciously unique angle by which to slide back and forth into her. It somehow managed to have the singular effect of maintaining the strength of my erection and simultaneously postponing my climax, while both of us had a bird's eye view of the action.

She started slowly, but as my dick repeatedly plumbed her depths, Sandi's tempo accelerated. Her passion was stirred anew. This was readily apparent by the amount of juices that soaked most of her mid-section -- her tiny rust-tinged bush, her mound, stomach, and the insides of her thighs. Even, her garter belt was drenched. And her pussy, my god, it was gushing with her arousal. Juices and saliva were leaking from her sex and down my shaft to my balls. I was determined to make her cum again, and it didn't appear that it would be very difficult.

All of those juices were the harbinger of another appearance from the bashful star of the show. For the second time, her pink knob shed its overcoat and moved upstage. I took that as an invitation, so I fully extended my arm in front of me and began to flick the tip of my index finger around it several times, and then down and across it, making direct contact with her sensitive button as if I was offering it my blessing. Sandi shuddered noticeably, and then her eyes widened, looking at me with haughty rivalry, apparently perceiving my clitoral caresses as a direct challenge to her control.

Sandi was unwilling to relinquish power, so she lifted her arms from my legs, leaned forward, and dropped her knees astride me, and began to ride me more conventionally. It didn't bother me. I figured she was more likely to cum like this anyway.

Now, she began bouncing her fine ass up and down on my spear again and in so doing was grinding that clit against me. If the point was to hold back and control her own climax, it was a strategic error, because Sandi was more excited now than ever.

Again, her pace increased, and I began to jerk my hips up to meet her downward thrusts. Then, I leaned in to her and began to lick, suckle and bite those magnificent pink areolas and pointy nipples. Soon a throaty groan issued from deep within her, and her face contorted to signal her impending orgasm.

"Oh god, I'm cumming. I'm cumming, damn it. Keep pounding that big cock into me! Keep fucking me! Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, ohhhhh fuckkkkk!" Again, she collapsed on top of me, but I didn't give her a chance to recover. I read that orgasm as a sign of surrender. And because of her orgasm, she was in no position to resist me now.

So, I pushed Sandi's knees back, straightening her legs, so she lay prone on top of me with my rock hard erection still inside her. Then, I pushed us on to our sides, and I rolled on top of her. There was real confusion, incomprehension, almost fear in her eyes now. The tables had turned, and I was running the show.

So, I spread her legs and then lifted them astride my upper arms. I braced the backs of her thighs on my outstretched elbows as I supported my arms on the mattress. Her beautiful body was now spread out in front of me in all its glory.

Her long blondish-red tresses fell around her shoulders and spilled across her pillow. Her pale skin, beautifully contrasted by her purple lingerie and black stockings, was glistening with sweat.

Her fat tits, pushed toward her gorgeous face by her bra, advertized those massive pink areolas, plump and as big around as the bottoms of soda bottles. Her nipples were erect and excited.

And then there was her pussy. Her slick lips, so overheated by our fucking, were spread wide open, revealing her clit that was again fully exposed and literally pulsating.

And her juices, they were everywhere -- soaking her lingerie and stockings, drenching her ginger bush. The dark comforter covering her bed revealed a wet circle at least a foot wide under her sweet, slender ass.

I began to pound my pulsing cock into that sopping pussy. I was slamming her as hard as I could, so that her tits were shaking up and down so uncontrollably that they were nearly slapping her face with every thrust. My balls began to tighten. I was really close.

But so too was Sandi. My aggression had never really allowed her climax to fade, so she rolled almost seamlessly from her second orgasm right into number three. "You fucker," she screamed. "Jesus Christ, I'm cumming again. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Aaaaaahhhhhhh.!" Again, her whole body convulsed, writhing and squirming beneath me.

Everything about her had always excited me, but her orgasms were something other worldly. And this one hurtled me toward my own, a climax that seemed deserving of a conclusion as lewd and lascivious as Sandi herself.

"Oh, I'm gonna cum," I announced, dropping her legs to the mattress. As much as I wanted this to end like the porn scene it had turned into, I couldn't stop myself from preserving some semblance of propriety and decorum. I guess I was still a teacher. "I want to finish on your face. Can I?" I asked, as politely as those crude words can be spoken.

"Why, of course you can!" she said slyly. They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but they didn't know this girl! She was downright deadly. Even in the throes of ecstasy, she never missed an opportunity to tease me. I guess it was my own fault; I had made her read Gatsby!

Immediately, I pulled my thickness from inside her and scrambled forward astride her fine tits. She leaned forward to accept my delivery, and I held myself a foot or so in front of her beautiful face.

Eight years of pent up lust exploded from my cock. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" My first surge struck her forehead with an audible splat. She opened her soft mouth to take my spunk, and another thick stream hit her upper lip, dripping into her open maw. I continued to coat her cheeks and chin with a seemingly endless number of syrupy spurts.

I came so hard that I was dizzy, almost disoriented, but as my orgasm slowly receded, I looked at Sandi's shocked and defiled countenance and wondered if I had gone too far. For a brief moment, neither of us moved.

Then, from her desecrated lips, I heard the sound of soft laughter. It grew and grew until it built into raucous mirth. And then came her amazed and excited voice, "Jesus Christ, Time! What a fucking load! It's so hot!" And she began to scoop my cum from her face, sliding it into her mouth, like she didn't want to lose a drop.

"Oh my god, you taste so good." She said as she swallowed my seed. "What a fucking cumshot! Jesus, Time, I had no idea you had that in you! I figured this was a one-time thing, but fuck no! I want some more of that sweet cock of yours. Fuck man! That was awesome!"

"Here, let me get you something." I said obliquely, as I crawled off her, my still dangling erection leading me on. I wandered out of her room and down the hallway to the bathroom and found a hand towel. I knew exactly where it was; it was as if I had lived in this house. I brought it back and offered it to her, but by that time, she had cleaned most of it off her face and swallowed it.

I leaned in and gave her a kiss. We hadn't done much kissing, except in the car in the parking lot of The Rafters. Then again, we were fucking, not making love. And Sandi would go on to make that point abundantly clear to me.

She had no interest in a boyfriend, and certainly no interest in me playing that role. I guess I should have been grateful. I realized quickly that Kohler, Piontek, and Bachman were seriously naïve if they thought Sandi hadn't been fucking anybody. No one talked like she did, much less fucked like she did, without a little practice, probably a lot of practice.

And as for their claim that she was in love with me? Sandy didn't love; she lusted. If she was in love with some aspect of a relationship with me, it was with the idea of turning me into her fuck toy.

That's what men were to her -- fuck toys -- that's what Jeff Hackbarth had been, and probably a lot of other men. A fuck toy was something she played with once, maybe twice, and then discarded. Apparently, I had proven myself worthy of additional playtime, so I had been promoted to a more selective list -- fuck buddy.

She explained all this to me back at The Rafters, where we had dinner and drinks after we had cleaned up. There we ran into Kohler, Piontek, and Bachman, and a half dozen other former students of mine. It was awkward, but at that point, I didn't care anymore.

Sandi invited me to spend the night with her. She said that she had a few new tricks up her sleeve. I certainly didn't doubt it.

But I politely declined, explaining that I had a Masters thesis to get to work on. It was supposed to be submitted for review before the Spring Semester started in late January. After dinner, I drove back to Chicago and my lonely flat on the North Side. I knew there would be many more opportunities for trysts with Sandi.

The next time I headed back home was over Spring break. I had a couple of free days. My thesis had been accepted, and I was nearly done with the last class I needed to finish my Masters program, so I stopped in Fair Oaks to see Sandi and to celebrate. We fucked that night for a few hours, and afterwards, I asked if I could spend the night.

I should have known better than to ask. I already knew the answer, before she said it, "Why, of course you can!"