“Joe, I asked you for the answer!”
Finally, turning in my direction, Joe just gave me a confused look. “Ummmm?"
The girls he had just been talking to burst out laughing. Joe turned back to talk
to them, and I tried to hold back my anger. In as calm a voice as I could manage, I
announced, “Office.”
Joe turned and looked back at me, confused again. Regaining at least a semblance of
my composure, I stated, “Go to the office now!”
Joe still looked confused. Then smiling he hooked his thumb over his shoulder
pointing behind him and announced, “But the principal is right here, why don’t I just–”
I saw the principal’s mouth begin to open, but ignored it. Getting angrier and
interrupting Joe, I loudly stated, “To the office. NOW!”
Finally, Joe shrugged his shoulders, got up, and calmly walked out of the room. The
girls he was talking to laughed as he walked out. I could kind of understand the girls’
interest in him. He was an attractive boy – tall, nice features, and a nice body from
having played football and basketball for years – but I was amazed any of them would deal
with the rest of him.
He was egotistical, obnoxious, and dumb as a doorknob. He wasn’t playing any sports
now as he had failed all of his classes last year, making him ineligible for school
sports. This, combined with failing fourth grade earlier in life, made him about two years
older than everyone else in the class. He was a couple months short of nineteen while the
rest of the class was full of fifteen and sixteen year olds. He was your stereotypical
example of a failure in life. Yet he still walked around like he owned the place and the
girls all flocked to him. I just couldn’t understand it.
When the door finally shut behind him, I turned back to the class and asked, “Does
anyone know the answer?”
I stared into the sea of confused and ignorant faces in front of me. Just about
everyone in the class either wasn’t paying attention or had no idea what was going on. I
saw a hand go up toward the side of the classroom and latched onto it, despite knowing it
was the cheap way out.
“Yes, John?”
“Negative three x squared plus five,” was the nervously quiet, yet confident
response from the boy.
I smiled, responding, “That is correct,” adding to myself, ‘and a much more
reasonable answer than seven.’ I then asked aloud, “And how did you get that?”
In the same meek voice that was clearly scared of speaking aloud, despite knowing
he was right, John responded, “I switched the sign of the variable as the parabola is
opening up downward and added five to move it along the x-axis.”
“Good,” I replied. Then again, I knew John knew what he was doing and was almost
always right, hence it being the cheap way out to call on him. I finally moved on to
another example, trying to continue the class while distracted by my thoughts.
I had been going over coordinate geometry for over a week now in my tenth grade
algebra classes. Today’s focus was on reflecting, rotating, and translating parabolas. I
knew it wasn’t the most exciting material, especially given that most students hate math
to start with, but all my other classes did well with it. It was just this nightmarish
ninth period class that was giving me hell. I should explain.
My name is Jeannine Warner, or Ms. Warner as the students know me. This is my third
year teaching in a rather large, semi-urban high school. I teach six sections of
tenth-grade algebra. My first two years went great. I enjoyed my job, the students seemed
to like me, and they got great scores on their end of year exams, showing they obviously
learned something.
This year has been slightly different. Or rather, one section is different. While
the other five sections are going great like they had the past two years, I have my first
real problem class. And of course it has to be my last period of the day, so that every
day I went home angry.
Most the kids in the class were either really low academically, really obnoxious,
or really didn’t give a damn about learning anything, not caring if they failed. And then
some were all three, like Joe. Out of the twenty-three students in the class, I’d say that
only five were really trying or understood the material.
One of those was John. He seemed like your stereotypical nerd. Quiet, did his work,
nice to the teacher, the whole ordeal. I feel kind of bad for the kid really. I tried
earlier in the year to get his class switched so he wouldn’t have to deal with that class
and so that he could learn more, but I guess with the other classes he was taking, that
was the only period he could fit into for math. Shit luck for him. But he had made it
through most the year without complaining. Which brings us back to where we are now.
It’s the middle of the second week of the fourth quarter. This being my third year,
I am eligible for tenure at the end of the year. As such, I’ve had several observations
from the principal and assistant principal throughout the year. Usually, I got to pick the
day and period for them to come and observe me, but for this last observation, I got to
pick neither.
The principal just told me that this was the only time he could fit me in – during
my horrible last period class that was so far behind I literally could not give up a day
to do an interesting lesson (what I usually do for observations) and have to cover
something boring – like coordinate geometry.
I had thought that the reflections, rotations, and translations of parabolas would
be the least painful thing to go over while being observed. Who knows? Maybe I was right,
but I can tell you it was still plenty painful, least painful or not. I had tried to be
fancy at the beginning of the lesson, using mirrors to demonstrate the reflections over
different lines, but I gave that up quickly as I lost practically the entire class for
whatever reason. Apparently mirrors were too complex for them. I went to straight notes
and examples. And while this ran slightly smoother, it obviously still wasn’t going well.
After sending Joe out of the room, I went over examples until there were only five
minutes left in the class. I probably had to call on John for about a third of the
examples as most the others were either not paying attention or didn’t get it. Upon
finishing the last example, I gave the students their homework and told them they had five
minutes to work on it in class.
While they got to work (or just sat in their seats and chatted as the case was for
most of them) I tried to make myself look busy at my desk, occasionally looking up and
telling certain students to get to work. Every time I’d look up, I’d catch the principal
writing notes at the desk he was sitting at in the back of the classroom. Each time I saw
that, I immediately looked down and tried to look busy at my desk again, though really I
was wondering whether or not I had just blown my opportunity to get tenured with the
horrible class I’d just run.
A couple minutes before the final bell rang, the principal got up and walked over
to my desk.
“That was,” he began, followed by a long pause before continuing, “interesting.”
I said nothing, just looking at him wondering what he was going to say next. “I
have a meeting I have to get ready for after school, so I’ll have to leave a bit early.
We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” And with that he walked out of the room.
I didn’t know what to make of it. The principal had been smiling the entire time,
but I couldn’t tell if it was a fake smile or not. I always found it hard to read the guy.
Of course, my mind was leaning towards believing he thought it was horrible and that this
would be my last year teaching in this school and the dreaded search for a new job would
soon be on. So for the last two minutes of the day, I just sat and stared off into
nothingness.
I somehow totally missed the end-of-day announcements in my daze and was jolted out
of it by the final bell ringing. Out of habit, I got out of my seat, went to the door, and
propped it open with the door stop.
I usually stand by the door as the students leave, but I soon realized I wasn’t in
the mood to wait around for them, so I just headed back to my desk to try and clear my
head. It also didn’t help that this class, unlike my last period classes from the prior
two years, seemed to take forever to get out of my room. It’s like they had nothing better
to do than hang out in a high school classroom. It wasn’t unusual for the halls to be
empty save for a handful of students by the time the last student left my classroom.
I was hoping to luck out with the students leaving quickly today. Usually Joe was
one of the last to leave, talking to his girls. I thought that without him there, everyone
might leave quicker. I wasn’t so lucky. Unfortunately, a couple minutes after the bell
rang, as those girls were walking out, Joe actually walked into my classroom.
They stood around talking in my room, halfway to the door. I decided against
arguing with them today and just went about my end-of-day routine, organizing my desk and
packing what I would need to bring home. All the other students slowly poured out around
them, but Joe and his girls just didn’t seem to be moving.
Finally, after another three minutes or so, they headed out of my room. Joe of
course had to kick the doorstop out and into my room in a demonstration of his vast
maturity. I watched the door close slowly on its hinges, thankful for once that there was
no window in it. I had initially found the fact that no doors in the school had windows
weird and slightly uncomfortable when I first started working here, especially as they
required doors to be shut while classes were going on. But I slowly got used to it, and
every now and then, at moments like this, I was absolutely grateful for it so no one
walking by could see my anguish over my observation.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, letting my head fall backwards and
let out an exasperated sigh. I was so nervous from the observation and about possibly
losing tenure that I could feel tears building up behind my eyes, though not quite there
yet.
“Ms. Warner….”
The soft voice jolted me out of the brief illusion I had held myself in. I jerked
forward in my seat, having thought everyone left. I opened my eyes to see John standing in
front of my desk, holding his books against his side in his right hand. I could feel my
eyes widen in surprise.
Trying to cover my surprise, as well as my anguish, I began, “John, what are you
still doing here?”
“I just wanted to apologize,” he began, then paused.
I was too confused by this statement to let him continue after his short pause,
wondering what one of the few good students in the class could possibly have on his mind.
“What do you have to apologize for?”
“Well,” he began, looking away, not even making eye contact with me, “I know they
won’t so I wanted to apologize for the way the rest of the class acts.”
I couldn’t help but release a quick chuckle, even in the mood I was in.
I should take a moment to describe John. I mentioned before he was your
stereotypical nerd. That’s pretty close to true. He turned eighteen at the beginning of
the school year, so he was just about the youngest kid in his grade, and you could see it
in the way he acted. He was very shy and reserved. Always did his work, always knew the
answers.
He had a small group of friends, and from what I saw, most of them were in ninth
grade, with only a few in tenth grade, certainly none in my math class. The way he talked
and acted made it obvious he was insecure about himself, but when he did talk, he was
always a pleasant conversation. And he could be funny too; he wasn’t one of those kids
that was awkward to talk to.
I thought a girl would be lucky to have the boy, but of course being the typical
nerd-type, the girls seemed to avoid him for such wonderful male specimens as Joe. It’s
not like John was an ugly kid, just tall and skinny, and the way he dressed definitely
enhanced the nerd image.
He was tall, I’d guess about six foot, and very skinny. In fact, I’d guess he
weighed less than my 135 pounds (and I’m 5’7”). His face wasn’t ugly, it wasn’t covered in
acne or anything. It was just plain. No movie star here. His hair was this wavy blonde
disheveled wad on his head.
I actually didn’t think it looked bad, he pulled off that hair pretty well all
things considered. He always dressed in khaki pants and some button down shirt and
semi-dress shoes. In his defense, he wore the shirt untucked and didn't wear a tie
with it, but when everyone else in the school pretty much just wears jeans and a T-shirt,
well, then what he was wearing became pretty nerdy looking.
John also made it apparent early on that he liked me as a teacher, and maybe more.
I actually ran into him at the mall once. Well, before I get into that though, I should
probably describe myself.
I’m 31 years old, have long brown, slightly wavy hair that I like to wear down,
dark green eyes, and long lashes. I have slightly puffy cheeks, possibly due to being a
little heavier than average, but I think it looks better than the concave cheeks of skinny
girls.
As I said before, I’m 5’7” and 135 pounds. Again, I have a little extra weight, but
I think I can pull it off on my frame without being anything close to fat, and I think it
gives me a nice ass. Also, if I didn’t have that weight, my body would look very
disproportionate with my large chest. I wear a 38DD bra. While they definitely were fun
when I was younger, they do nothing but get in the way now.
Obviously, I don’t want to show them off in school, so I have to wear all kinds of
baggy dresses and loose-fitting dress suits to hide them in. I also have to go to a
chiropractor every couple of weeks because holding those things up does a hell of a number
on my back. It’s actually so bad that I’ve decided to get breast reduction surgery, not
this summer, but the summer after. I don’t think my back will make it if I keep those
girls around. It’s not like I’m ashamed of them, outside of school I’ll wear tighter
T-shirts or low cut tank tops. But between them destroying my back and limiting the
clothes I can wear to work, I just don’t see them as something I need.
Back to John; I ran into him once at the mall. It was in November, but there was a
warm streak of weather, so I went to the mall in jeans and a semi-tight T-shirt. Not more
than ten steps into the mall, I saw John with his mother. He said hi, and I started
talking to him and his mother. I must’ve been doing a good job hiding my boobs at school,
because John was acting like he’d never seen them before.
He tried to be polite, but I kept seeing his eyes quickly bounce down from my face
to my chest, and I could see his face blush every time he thought I’d caught him. Trying
to be nice, as I did like the kid and he was doing a better job of not staring at my chest
than most guys, I acted like I never saw his travelling eyes. He still thought he got
caught every now and then though, blushing more every time.
After a couple minutes, the door behind us opened and a breeze blew in, blowing my
hair in front of my face. I decided to have some fun with that, and pulled the old
brush-the-hair-behind-your-ear-with-your-hand trick while slightly pushing my chest
forward. There was no mistaking where John’s eyes went, nor how red he turned after he
finally brought his eyes back to my face. I quickly said my goodbyes to him and his mom
and moved on.
Even before this incident, John had always been nice to me, talking to me in the
hallways briefly, joking around or asking about some math problem or whatnot. He still did
this, but I noticed his eyes always had trouble staying on my face after I had seen him in
the mall. Despite how hard he tried to always look at me, his eyes always took short,
quick trips down to my chest, as if to find out if the boobs he saw that one day were
still there, hidden beneath my loose clothing. As he was a nice kid, I did my best to
ignore his eyes, blaming it on hormones. And it’s not like I hadn’t had other students
ogle me far worse than him. It really was nothing to me.
Returning to the situation at hand, I had to chuckle when John apologized for his
classmates.
“John,” I told him, “you have no control over them, and their behavior is not your
fault, so don’t apologize for them. You’re a good student and have nothing to be sorry
for.”
Suddenly I felt a tear roll down my cheek. The quick laughing I had done must’ve
allowed the tears built up in the back of my eyes to roll around to the front. I quickly
turned to the side and brushed it away, abruptly remembering the horrible class I had just
had and the possibility of losing tenure, all of which I had briefly forgotten thanks to
John.
Hoping he hadn’t noticed my tear, I turned back towards him, trying to compose
myself and hide all the negative feelings that just flowed back into me. I felt, though,
like I wasn’t doing too good a job of hiding them. John started talking before I could.
“It’s just that some of us…” John paused. While his body was facing my desk, his
head was still twisted to the side, looking away.
Every now and then I could see his eyes turn towards me, then back towards the
wall. It was clear he was not comfortable saying what he was trying to say.
“Some of us,” he began again, “don’t think you should be treated the way you are in
here, especially when you are being observed.”
I had to fight back those tears again. What he said wasn’t much, but between
reminding me I had just been observed, which made me want to cry for obvious reasons, and
the kindness of him forcing himself in this situation where he was clearly uncomfortable
to say nice things to me, which made me want to cry for other reasons, I had a hard time
holding back.
“Thank you,” I responded in a shaky voice. John even turned his head to look at me
now. Then, knowing my voice wouldn’t last much longer, and I didn’t want him to see me
break down, I added, “You should probably go now, John.”
John looked at me for a few seconds, then nodded and turned to walk away. He got as
far as the side of my desk before turning around and looking at me again.
“Ms. Warner, I.…” He paused obviously having trouble again with whatever he was
about to say. “I think you’re….” Another pause. “You’re a really good teacher, Ms.
Warner.” Then he turned around and began walking away.
It was weird. I’ve had students call me a great teacher before, so this was nothing
new. I’m not even sure if that was what he meant to say, or if he wimped out of whatever
was on his mind and just said that instead. But given the situation, having been through
the hell of an observation period I had just been through, being uncertain of my tenure at
the school, and feeling like an absolute pile of shit at the moment, it seemed like the
perfect thing to hear. I could feel my spirits lift, and I felt incredibly better. There
was a sudden sense of gratitude in me.
John had only made it a couple steps away from my desk. I got up and took a couple
quick steps towards him and reached out for his empty hand. He stopped moving the second
my hand touched his. I said, “Thank you,” thoroughly meaning it.
John slowly turned around towards me. But his eyes never met mine. He was staring
at my hand that had just grabbed his and was in fact still holding his. This caused me to
stare at our hands also.
It was then that it had hit me what I’d done. I’d grabbed a student’s hand.
Touching a student at all is a big no-no, and holding their hand is probably the worst
non-sexual touching that can happen, judging by the meaning affixed to it. Certainly it
must’ve seemed bold to someone as innocent as John. Yet for some reason, I didn’t pull
away. And neither did John. I just stared at our hands.
John must’ve been in shock, judging from the look on his face when he’d turned
around, his staring at our hands, and the fact that he hadn’t moved his hand. His hand was
still wide open, my hand clasped around it. He didn’t close his hand around mine, nor did
he pull it away.
I’m not sure why, but it was right after I thought to myself that he didn’t pull
away, that I suddenly brought my other hand up to his face and tilted his head up to look
at my face, rather than our hands. And then I leaned in to kiss him.
I had never – and I do mean never – had any thoughts about hooking up with a
student. But the overload of emotion I was feeling – anguish over my observation, fear
over losing tenure, anger at the horrible kids in that class, thankful to the one student
who showed kindness – it all rolled over me at that moment urging me to press my lips
against his. I can’t explain it. I was probably just as shocked as he was. And I can
assure you he was shocked.
The books he was holding fell to the floor. I kissed his lips, brushing mine over
his smooth, young lips and letting my tongue graze their surface momentarily. He did
nothing however.
I pulled back and saw the shock on John’s face. He was staring at me when I pulled
back, but it might be more accurate to say he was staring through me. His arms were held
tight slightly away from his side like he didn’t know what to do.
I strangely felt no sense of wrongness. Suddenly there was nothing in my mind but
this innocent boy in front of me, scared of doing anything. I found it strangely… well…
cute. I wanted to guide this boy who was so nice to me. To give him anything he wanted.
And I was sure he wanted me!
“John,” I said. His head shook and his body loosened up a bit. His eyes appeared to
come into focus on mine, but he still said nothing.
“It’s okay,” I offered in the same comforting voice. After saying that, I closed my
eyes and leaned my head up towards him a bit, being sure not to go all the way, forcing
him to come to me if he wanted to kiss me.
I was in that position, offering my lips to him, for what seemed like ages, but was
probably only fifteen seconds or so. And then I felt his lips touch mine. I began to kiss
him again, slowly opening my lips a bit and brushing them together along his. John did the
same in response. I slowly increased the speed of my kissing, and John followed suit.
I started opening my mouth a little wider, allowing my tongue to snake out, and
John did also. He was perfectly mimicking my kissing style, and it was fantastic. If only
more guys would do that instead of trying to forcefully lead the kiss!
After a couple minutes, I felt a light pressure brush against my sides, then pull
back several times. I opened my eyes briefly, still kissing John, and saw his arms were
around me, but not touching me. His eyes were closed and he was moving his arms towards
me, then slightly away, as if he was unsure of whether he should hold my back or not.
Without pulling away from the kiss, I whispered into John’s lips, “It’s okay.”
Upon speaking those words, John’s eyes opened. He kept kissing me, and our eyes
briefly met during our kiss. As a stronger sign of reassurance, I reached my hands to his
skinny sides, holding him. I then closed my eyes again. It wasn’t long before I felt his
hands lightly brushing my back.
In ways, it was an awkward kissing stance. Whenever I had kissed a guy in the past,
our bodies had always been pressed up against each other. But John was clearly scared of
pushing into me, and I didn’t want to make him too uncomfortable by pushing into him. So
we stood with several inches between us, his head dipped down to mine, my hands holding
his side, and his lightly rubbing my back as we kissed.
A couple of more minutes passed like this, our positions unchanged and our kissing
unceasing, before I started to notice John’s hands starting to rub lower.
At first it was just my lower back. He’d slide his hands from my upper back to my
lower back, and then back up again. Then the next round he’d get a little lower. And a
little lower. Eventually, his hands were drifting until they met the curve of my ass, and
then back up. I expected him to continue until he was holding my ass in his hands,
especially as I was wearing a dress, meaning there was no pant-line to serve as a warning
not to go any lower. However, after five or six more times, I realized that he must be
scared to move farther down.
Not bothering to open my eyes this time, I again whispered into his lips, “It’s
okay.”
Having said that, I reached one of my hands behind me, grabbed his hand, and pulled
it onto my ass, then replaced my hand back onto his side, all the while continuing to kiss
him.
John was momentarily frozen. The hand on my ass stayed there, the other remained in
the middle of my back. I continued to kiss him, but his lips had stopped moving. Within
seconds though, he started kissing me back again, and his other hand slid down to my ass
also. He began rubbing my ass, dragging my dress lightly up and down with the movements of
his hands.
I couldn’t help but smile while kissing him. It was like he was enthralled simply
by touching my ass. I thought it was irresistibly cute, a guy feeling like touching my ass
was a major accomplishment and who clearly enjoyed it so thoroughly. Guys my age seemed to
expect the right to grab my ass, they didn’t treat it as a loving gesture. I hadn’t had a
guy so excited about my ass since high school (which I guess made sense given the
situation).
It wasn’t long before I started sliding my hands from John’s side to his nearly
nonexistent ass. His skinny ass was so small that I could cover each cheek with one of my
small hands. For some reason, this whole interaction did not seem sexual to me until I
touched his ass.
The kissing, and even his rubbing my back, and then my ass, seemed strangely
normal. Well, maybe not normal! But it didn’t seem like it was leading anywhere. The
second my hands grabbed his ass cheeks through his khakis though, I knew at that moment
where this was all leading. And, because we still hadn’t pressed our bodies against each
other, the space between our bodies felt suddenly awkward. Without thinking, I grabbed
John’s ass and pulled his body into mine.
Immediately my mouth broke from the kiss, gasping in light pain, though mostly
shock.
It felt like someone had just rammed a metal pipe into my lower abdomen. I didn’t
even have time to think before John pulled away from me. All at once, he had turned around
and bent over to grab his books off the floor, shyly shouting out behind him, “I’m
sorry!”
John had his books back in his hand and was heading for the door before I had time
to think. I nearly sprinted over to him, catching him when he was just out of reach of the
door. Again I grabbed his empty hand and tried to pull him around to face me, but he
wasn’t budging.
“It was my fault,” I began, “I shouldn’t have pulled you into me so quick.”
He didn’t respond. I tried to turn him towards me, but he wouldn’t budge.
“It’s okay,” I continued, “Turn around and come back.”
Still no response. But when I pulled his hand again, John started to turn towards
me. He was about halfway towards me and then…
“Oh my!” I gasped out. It was the first thing I’d seen as he turned. I wasn’t
looking at his face, I wanted to see what had poked me so hard. And boy did I see it!
There was a very sizable bulge pushing almost straight (actually up and to the left
a tiny bit) out of the crotch of his pants. His dick must’ve been hanging down and gotten
caught against his underwear or pants as he became erect. I had never seen such a straight
bulge in a pair of pants before!
After what was probably several seconds of staring, but seemed like a full moment
to me, I finally looked away from the bulge and up to John’s face. I could barely see it,
as he had his head hung down and to the side a bit. But I could tell from what I saw that
he was beet red, clearly embarrassed (though it appeared he didn’t have much to be
embarrassed about, if you know what I mean!).
I brought a hand up and placed my palm flat against John’s chest. There was no
immediate reaction. Deciding to be a bit bold, I brought my other hand up and started
unbuttoning his shirt. That brought about a reaction!
John’s head turned to stare at me. I looked up and met his eyes, seeing his still
deep-red face, and smiled at him, continuing to unbutton his shirt. There was a clear look
of shock on his face, but I was pretty sure I saw the hint of a smile behind that shock.
When his shirt was fully unbuttoned, I took John’s empty hand and pulled him back
towards the desk, and away from the door he had nearly gotten out from. I backed up to the
chair at my desk and sat down. I took John’s books from him and put them on my desk. Then,
I grabbed the now unbuttoned lining of the shirt, and pulled his shirt back over his
shoulders, letting it hang from his arms, eventually falling to the floor.
Underneath, John had a tight white tank top undershirt. While he was incredibly
skinny, I could see hints of shoulder muscle, and even slight hints of pecs through his
undershirt. He was skinny enough though that I could also see hints of his rib cage
beneath his pecs and his hip bones just above his pant line.
Again, I brought a hand up, placing my palm flat against his chest. I rubbed back
and forth a bit, and could in fact feel the hints of pecs I was seeing through his
undershirt. I could also feel, as well as see, his tiny hard nipples poking against the
undershirt.
Mere seconds after I had started rubbing his chest, I started to slowly drag my
hand lightly down the center of his body. I could indeed feel his rib cage, and his
stomach, which was flat with his rib cage, if not a little behind it.
John had what I thought was a strange reaction to me touching his body. As my hand
lowered, his hips slowly pulled back a bit, though his chest stayed in the same place. By
the time my hand had gotten to his pant-line, his hips were pulled back noticeably behind
the rest of his body. I ignored it though, and, even more slowly, started to trace my hand
down his pants, down the slope of the khakis, and finally lightly touching the peak of the
bulge.
As soon as my hand touched the end of his dick through his pants, John started
moaning loudly, and his hips jerked. Without moving my hand, I looked up to see John’s
head now tilted back towards the ceiling and could see that it was not just his hips, but
his whole body was in a series of jerks.
Before I could put together what was happening, I started to feel a warm wetness on
my hand through his pants.
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