My Diary 02 - My Old Teacher

On what had started out as a dull and uneventful Monday morning, and a week and a half after returning from my Grand's, an email with an unrecognised email address plopped into my inbox. Penny MacGregor was arranging a school reunion.

I did well at school, but I can't say it was the most enjoyable time of my life. When you're shy and not too self-assured, you tend to prefer to fade into the background a bit. That was my path anyway. I had friends, of course, there were 5 of us who would get together at break time, lunchtime etc. but all 5 of us were happy to not be part of the 'in crowd', the 'cool' set.

Penny MacGregor was one of those destined from day one to be a school prefect, and in our last year, 'Head girl'. Everyone liked Penny. She was in the 'cool set'.

I found school life pretty tedious, to be honest. I did my best while I was there, but sometimes sitting in dinghy classrooms, listening to grey and dusty old teachers' wittering on about subjects that didn't hold any interest for me, well it all seemed a bit of a waste of time.

Although I left only last year, I'm 18, do I really need to be reminded so soon after? So a school reunion? Umm, no thanks.

Now this may sound unbelievable that such a coincidence could possibly occur, but believe me, it really did.

Two days after receiving that 'school reunion' email, I was out shopping, I needed a new pair of jeans and some new underwear.

After an hour of shopping, and with underwear already bought from another shop, two bras and two packs of 3 panties, to be honest, I was over looking for the right jeans, I was after Levis Lapis Maui 311's and could I find a pair anywhere? No!

Sometimes when I'm focused on something like shopping, anything that's happening around me doesn't really register. The building could be falling down around my ears and I'd probably still be feeling the texture of the cloth or looking at the label for washing instructions.

Out the corner of my eye, however, whilst looking at what felt like the 100th Levi label that morning, I saw a man in a wheelchair trying to navigate between racks. I instantly recognised my old French teacher Mr Thomas. What a coincidence, I hadn't thought about school for months and months, and then just days after getting that school reunion email, there was Mr Thomas.

And it was like a double-take for both of us, that moment when you see someone, turn away then your mind in a split second has recalculated and straight away you look again, and it seemed to be the same for him too.

"Emily Harrison, well as I live and breathe."

"Wow, hello Mr Thomas, I never imagined I'd bump into you again, and certainly not in a women's clothing shop." And we both laughed.

"This is my first foray into buying clothes for a female Emily, I think I need help big time."

It was lovely seeing Mr Thomas again, of the few teachers I liked; he was one of the nicest. He always looked old, a full head of white hair, glasses, quite an old-looking face and that dusty academic look about him. He had always been in a wheelchair as my teacher, and despite speculations, no one ever knew why.

Maybe that was a reason why he was so well-liked, he never posed a threat, and he was always very approachable too.

On cross-examination, he revealed that he was attempting to buy a pair of jeans for his Granddaughter for her 16th birthday. Apparently, they lived out in Canada, so a pair of jeans bought in the UK, would go down really well with her school friends.

"I've got my instructions," he said, "her mother emailed me the size and a number and some other gobbledygook, but to be honest, I haven't a clue."

"Well if you need a hand, I'd be happy to help," I said, and I was too. I had no plans for the morning apart from shopping, so helping Mr Thomas was a small price to pay for all the effort he put in trying to teach me, French.

"You're an angel sent from heaven," he said smiling up at me, "I was beginning to give up and about to head off to the book department, a Harry Potter would have been far easier to send off to Canada anyway."

"Ok, let me see what your daughter wrote down and we'll find what your Granddaughter was after."

It wasn't rocket science, although, to a 75-year-old retired French teacher, rocket science would probably have been easier than looking for jeans for a fashion-conscious teenage girl.

311 Levi's, 26W, 30L ripped skinny Hawaii Ocean Blue.

"I haven't a clue what any of that means," he said, handing the piece of paper to me.

"Your Granddaughter has good taste," I said, "and the same size as me too, right let me find them for you."

And with that, we navigated around the hundreds of different makes, styles, colours and sizes until I was holding up the correct pair for Mr Thomas' approval.

"Those won't do," he said, "they're faulty, look they're ripped."

"That's the style Mr Thomas," I said, trying my best to stifle my laughter, "she'll love them."

He looked them over for what felt like ages, he couldn't quite get his head around the rips at the knee. But after some internal debate, his decision was made.

"Great," he said, "I'll go and pay for them, if that's what she wants, that's what she's getting."

We made our way to the counter and as Mr Thomas paid for his acquisition, the assistant handed me the bag.

I was done with shopping, I had bought my new underwear, I'll have another try in a few days for the jeans.

We navigated our way out of the shop, I never realised how difficult getting around in a wheelchair would be, until I saw what Mr Thomas was going through just to get outside. I guess he was used to it.

"I'd love to repay you for helping me with those jeans," he said, "let me get you a coffee."

"That's very kind of you, but there's really no need, it's been my pleasure."

"I insist, if it wasn't for you I'd probably have come away from that shop with something completely wrong and my Granddaughter wouldn't have been a happy bunny."

We both laughed and set out to find a suitable place for coffee.

As we made our way down the high street, the first coffee shop seemed to be full up and didn't look at all wheelchair friendly anyway, the second that we both knew about seemed to be closed when we arrived. I think at this point we were both over trying to find somewhere.

"Well look," he said, "I only live a few streets away, what if I make you a nice cup of tea back at my place."

As I didn't have anything else to do that day, why not? At school, Mr Thomas was always approachable and easy to chat to, and I was enjoying his company. So with me by his side, his motorised wheelchair trundling along at a modest speed, we headed for his home.

From a busyish high street, and after a few turns here and there and down a few quiet roads, we eventually reached a lovely quiet cul-de-sac of bungalows. It really was a lovely little oasis, gardens immaculate, each bungalow slightly different from the one before, but equally as well maintained.

Mr Thomas' wheelchair turned into the driveway of the 5th bungalow along, and by the little ramp at the front door, it was obvious this was his.

"Come on in," he said as he opened the door and drove into the hallway. It was a lovely house, beautifully decorated, neat and tidy.

As I entered and closed the door behind me, I noticed another wheelchair in the hall, a much lighter and more basic model. Mr Thomas could see my quizzical look and as he started to decamp from the motorised one to the other, it became obvious.

"This one is my house chair," he said, "much easier to manoeuvre about the house and I get fed up with that engine buzzing when I'm in that other one too."

I could see what he meant as he expertly moved from one to the other; it was like he'd done this a million times before, which he most probably had done.

"Come on through," he said, as he led the way in his chair to the lounge, "I've been here for 35 years, ever since my wife died." Well that answered that question, I did wonder as he had a wedding ring on, but I guess him looking for jeans in a women's clothes shop, hinted at her not being around anymore.

"Now is it tea or coffee?" as he motioned me to sit.

"Tea would be fine thank you Mr Thomas, one sugar please." And with that, he was off to make tea for us both.

It gave me a chance to take in the room I was now in. It was a large room, lovely furniture, a small baby grand piano in one corner, with lots of photos of who I assumed to be family members sitting on the lid. It was a nice comfy room.

A few minutes later Mr Thomas was back, a tray with two cups balanced on his lap. I took the one indicated as mine while he placed the tray and his cup on the floor, then with no effort whatsoever he had lifted himself from the wheelchair to one of the armchairs.

"Much better," he said, "no matter how comfortable they try and make those things, you can't beat a comfy armchair."

We sat and chatted for what felt like only minutes, but was in fact over two hours. We talked about school, he only retired at the end of last year, they had kept him on well past normal retirement age, but as he said, it was getting harder, the new technology the school was bringing in every year was getting beyond his understanding and he just felt it was time to go. He missed the old days too much and felt pupils now got away with murder. He missed it already, but he knew it was the right time.

We talked about his family, well his only daughter and her family who now lived in Canada. His Granddaughter who I could tell, he idolised.

He asked me a lot of questions about myself, my life, how I was looking forward to university etc. Our chance meeting, what I had been in the shop to buy, which brought him back to his Granddaughters jeans, as he took them out of the bag which had been sitting at his side.

"I do hope they fit," he said, as he raised them up in front of him, "they look a bit small to me."

"They're skinny style," I said, "they stretch into your shape."

He didn't look convinced, but as he was holding them in front of him, trying to gauge what they'd look like on his Granddaughter, a thought flashed into my mind, which got instant approval from the 'naughty' part of my brain.

"They're exactly my size, would you like me to try them on, and then you can see what they'd look like on your Granddaughter."

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," I said.

I had already warmed to my old teacher. He had lovely manners; he was interesting and funny but seemed quite lonely. I felt sorry for him in many ways, but my naughty mind was also thinking about other things. I wonder if he would ever find me attractive.

My mind was already two steps ahead and the naughty part of me had decided it would be fun to give my old teacher a flash of my panties. Others might have gone into another room, taken their own jeans off and put the new ones on and returned for inspection.

But as Mr Thomas handed me the new jeans I stood up and began to undo the button and pull down the zipper of my own jeans.

I wanted to see his face as I did so, so some unnecessary conversation just so I could keep eye contact while I took my jeans off. He seemed momentarily struck dumb, watching his former pupil pull down her jeans in front of him.

"They should fit, "I said, as I watched the expression on his face as I stepped out of my own jeans. I'm pleased I had put on one of my favourite pairs of panties that morning. Small white ones, quite tiny, creeping between my bum cheeks just a little. I'm sure he wasn't expecting this.

As I pulled on his Granddaughter's new jeans, "What do you think?" I said.

"I think they look fantastic."

I let him view them from every angle and when he seemed happy enough, I pulled them off again. As I handed them back to him, it appeared he was definitely more interested in seeing his former pupil in her panties.

As soon as I was back in my own jeans and sitting back down on the couch, we continued our conversation. It felt nice being so casual with him. I was enjoying being in my former teacher's company and I could see he was enjoying our chat too.

I mentioned my parents were now living in France, and being a French language teacher, this opened up a whole new topic of conversation.

"When travel restrictions ease up a bit and things settle down, I very much want to go back out to France and visit them," I said, "I'll need to brush up a bit on my French though, I wasn't the best pupil you ever had I'm sure." We both laughed because we knew it was true.

"Ah, well maybe," he said, "but definitely the prettiest." I could feel my cheeks go red; I always blush when someone compliments me like that.

"Well you've helped me out with those jeans," he said, "If ever you do want a French refresher just shout, I'd be happy to help."

"Wow, really? That'd be wonderful, you really wouldn't mind?"

I'm not sure if he was expecting me to welcome his offer as enthusiastically as I did, but when he saw that, it seemed to spark his enthusiasm as well.

"Whenever you want, it's not like I have much to do these days and helping to polish up your skills would be a treat for me."

"That'd be brilliant," I said, "when can we start?" Mr Thomas couldn't hide his amusement at my keenness.

"I wish all my pupils had been as keen as you seem to be." We laughed at such a true statement, although at school I always tried to look interested, French language wasn't my favourite of subjects while I was there.

After chatting about France and our impending lessons for a little while longer, we agreed to reconvene back at his house in two days' time to begin.

As I left, with a wave and both proffering mutual thanks, I headed back home.

It was so nice seeing my old teacher again, I do so like gentlemen. That word rightly describing Mr Thomas, a gentle man.

Now I cannot lie, from the moment when I so casually changed into those jeans with my panties on show, to now, I had been getting those nice sexy feelings again. What is it about me and older men?

That night as I lay in bed, I just couldn't help myself. Mr Thomas was in my mind. I very much enjoyed being so casual about him seeing me in my panties, I liked his kindly ways, he was funny and charming, but he still seemed to retain that school teacher air of authority. Mm, my mind wandered as my fingers crept down to my rapidly moistening vagina. I wondered if I could get him to finger me like this. With my eyes closed, I had his face in my mind, his old fingers burying themselves deeper inside my vagina, my thumb and forefinger pulling at my nipples, feeling them harden as I gently squeezed and twisted them. My hands were on my bum, my titties, my vagina and it didn't take long, with some rubbing of my clitoris to feel that lovely warm sexy wave come over me, those sexy moments when everything suddenly arrives together, in its wet squirming itchiness and ooh out it gushes.

As I lay in the dark, my heartbeat and breathing gradually returning to normal and my vagina in need of a wash, I just knew that Mr Thomas was going to feature very soon in my adventures.

Over the next day, my thoughts were very much on Mr Thomas and my forthcoming lessons. Possibilities were flying about in my brain as I tried to walk myself through different scenarios. As you will know, if you've read about my past few encounters, I plan things. I like to have a strategy with end goals in mind, but try as I might, I really couldn't think of anything this time.

The morning of my first lesson arrived. I always bath twice a day, morning and evening, and as I lay in the tub with a bright new day shining through my bathroom windows, my outfit for the day was being decided upon.

White bra and white panties. I don't know what it is about white underwear, I do have other colours, but the pureness of white reflecting the pureness of my innocent virginal mind. Panties, or knickers as we sometimes call them in England, have to be the right kind too. I mostly prefer to wear thin cotton, bikini briefs, and small ones too. I like the feeling when sometimes they creep up my bum a bit as the day goes on. Some days I might enjoy wearing a thong, again it's the nice feelings they can provide and good to wear also if you don't want a VPL. Now for a few days every month, I will also have to wear my more 'sensible' panties. But for today, it's going to be my thin white cotton bikini briefs.

As I got out of the tub, I went through my routines. Body dried, hair dried, coconut oil applied, application of minuscule makeup, again I'm not big on lots of makeup, just subtle, but enhancing. Brushing my hair into a ponytail and then getting into my clothes. Bra and panties, my floral print mini skirt and my lemon v-neck cardigan. Bare legs definitely today and my white sandals. I was ready.

It was a twenty-minute walk from my flat to Mr Thomas' bungalow, a beautifully sunny summers day just enhanced the nice feelings I was having, not only about the possibilities, but I was also genuinely excited about becoming more adept and fluent in French.

It was nice seeing Mr Thomas' smiling face greet me at the door, and after pleasantries and a cup of tea, it was on to work.

'Now I've been thinking about this Emily," he said, suddenly back to his teacher persona, "if you really are serious about learning and wish me to help, we need to set up a proper schedule and structure."

"That's fine by me," I said, "I'm really excited and will do whatever you think is necessary."

"Well, there need to be rules, just like back in school. If I set you homework, then I expect it to be done. And please be on time, I can't tolerate lateness."

"I fully understand," I said. And I did too. I was more than happy with that, although I didn't like the thought of homework, if it meant that much to him, then that was fine.

Now I'm not sure if my subconscious mind instigated this next topic of conversation, but it certainly worked. I was just joking really, but as the conversation evolved, I was obviously getting more excited by the prospect.

"Can I just ask though, if my homework isn't done on time, or if I'm late for a lesson, please can we have a different form of punishment than more homework? With Uni coming up I wouldn't be able to spare the time for additional work."

"That sounds acceptable to me Emily, in the good old days we used to be able to give pupils six of the best, which soon got their minds focused." And we both smiled at the thought and of the changing times.

Ooh, but finally a chance to have some fun, I was thinking. Don't let that thought just disappear.

"Well that would be fine by me," I said smiling, "I'll take six smacks on my bum rather than extra homework any day of the week."

We both laughed, but Mr Thomas seemed unsure whether I was joking or not. So I thought I would just reinforce it a bit.

"Seriously," I said, "I'm happy for us to agree on that, there's no way I could do more homework."

"Agreed then," he said smiling as if it was just a joke.

But anyway, back to the lesson. It was a lovely two hours, with Mr Thomas probing my linguistic mind and teasing out the words and phrases I'd learnt, and still just about remembered from school.

Now a couple of times, sitting opposite Mr Thomas whilst trying to get my tongue around even the simplest of phrases, I did notice him looking at my legs. I guess the mini skirt I was wearing gave him an excellent view, and with the summer months being so sunny, they were looking at their best too, tanned, toned and smooth. It felt rather nice.

It's not only being surreptitiously looked at, it's now knowing that my old teacher was interested in not only my mind but also my body.

The two hours were soon up and after some further chat about nothing in particular, we said our goodbyes, and I was on my way back home.