Authors Note:
I don't know if anyone knows this, but Denise Richards is still a very sexy lady. I chose her for the role of the teacher because I think her sexuality (prevalent in most her movies) is very upgradeable.
*
"That performance was a great," the voice came at me forcefully through the din of the bar.
"Yeah?" I smiled, not bothering to turn around, "Was it enough to make you want to throw your panties on stage?"
It was a bold line, and it had worked once or twice on the young club-goes that sometimes spilled over into the bar.
"Yeah, made we wish I hadn't left them at home,"
That got my attention. I spun towards the mysterious, flirtatious voice and was struck dumbfounded.
"Ms. Richards? Holy shit!"
A look of confusion clouded her face, then dawning surprise, then finally reproach. She had been my twelfth grade Phys-ed instructor.
"Oh my god," she put her left hand to her face, trying to hide her embarrassment (no ring), "I can't believe I just told you I'm not wearing any panties."
"Hey, hey" I widened my arms in a distant greeting, "I'm not wearing any either. My psychic tells me it messes with my mojo."
A second of stone, then a breathless smile.
Oh god, she still had it.
Two years ago, back when I was eating paper bag lunches and playing Grand Theft Auto on my PSP when I was supposed to be doing math problem, Ms. Denise Richards had been my sexual fantasy. I don't feel weird to admit it now; I'm not even ashamed to admit that I also had a crush on my second grade teacher either. At the time they had both seemed very foxy.
Denise was different however, for she aged gracefully. I blinked, doing quick math. She was now 30. Very young. She had been twenty eight when she first came to our school, put on that school t-shirt that stretched tight across her tits and rod up her waist whenever she bent down to pick up a basketball.
Two years doesn't add a whole lot of ugliness to a person, especially if they know how to take care of themselves. And Ms. Richards really knew how to take care of herself. Her hair, which had always been one of the sexiest facets of her body, was still the same sort of sun bleached blond muted with darker strands. It fell from the part on her head like a great golden rush of softness, all the way down her shoulders and mid way down her chest. It had grown and as I gazed at it now I couldn't help but think back, like I was reviewing my favorite episodes of Friends.
Any style she wore (and she changed the as regularly as an ADD sufferer flips through channels) had driven me wild. On great days she blessed my eyes with what I called the cascade of loveliness, as she was wearing it now, and of coarse there was the 'off to the side part' with the hair tied up in behind her head. Sometimes she would go with a strait bun, and other times she would fan the hair out, making her look like a radiant wild bird. And of course there was the huge range of styles in between the two, but I don't want to get carries away.
Her bangs were teasing me now, letting me get just a glimpse of her dewy blue eyes. I always liked it when she pulled them up back over her forehead so I good get a perfect look at her face, with it angular, vibrant zeal. I always loved to see her eyes flash with excitement at either watching or participating in a competition. She had the kind of face which committed itself completely too every expression. When she smiled the stars shone and the moon radiated, when she was thinking hard storm clouds formed in her eyes and her thin and arching eyebrows furrowed like the edges of the Grand Canyon. And when she was mad lighting coursed and catapulted around her face.
In this awkward moment her embarrassment was so utterly total that I couldn't help but empathize.
"Do you want a hug?" I still had my arms open. She nodded, moving into my embrace.
"When did you get so tall?" She asked into my chest.
"I was always this tall," I made a point to put some hurt in my voice to carry on the moment. It worked. She didn't let go for another extra second.
It was more than her hair that looked radiant tonight. She had wrapped that knock-out body of hers in a little navy blue dress, the kind that hung loose and frilly but had a sash that hugged tight underneath her breasts. It was shoulder-less, strapless and quite almost butt-less.
Her breasts had still not gone out of style. In their pushed up and squished together state they looked fit to be a coffee table, or at the very least a soft and sexy shot glass holder.
"So you like Frank Sinatra?" I asked, putting my best smile on my lips.
"You were great, really." The flush of embarrassment was disappearing from her cheeks and chest. She was wearing a set of those really big loop wrist bands that looked like it was made out of plastic. It was blue and gold and matched the dress she was wearing and large hoop earrings that poked out of her hair. It also slid up and down her forearm as she kept reached to adjust that wild, temperamental mass of hair. Her smile was easy coming, as it always had been, beautiful white teeth behind wide nude colored lips. She had the kind of lips that were meant to suck cock, being large and soft looking, tight at the corners and melding perfectly into small, playful dimples.
My mind began to wonder if she was into sucking cock or if god's gift had been wasted.
"You look great," I appraised her with my eyes, "Gives 'Hot for Teacher' a whole new meaning."
"Solomon!" She gasped, but the gasp was not sharp that it implied she didn't like the compliment. "What are you doing these days?"
"I'm retired," I had to make my face serious when her eyes began to laugh at me. "I'm telling the truth, I've put a couple million in the bank and I'm set for life on investments."
"How?"
"I'm a master thief," I laughed, "what does it matter?"
"If you say so." She leaned against the bar, her hip swung out just so to appear cocky and seductive at the same time.
"Let me buy you something." I said, "To prove I'm not some desolately poor college drop-out."
"I could use a Ferrari."
"With legs like that, woman, you were made to walk everywhere," I scoped out her slender calves and the bits of her thighs that I could see. They were freshly shaved and as glossy as a playboy magazine. "I was thinking more along the lines of a drink."
"A drink." Her eyebrows raised and her lips straitened slightly at my forwardness.
"We're defiantly not in high school anymore, Denise, that's right, I said Denise; and in this place when a guy thinks a girl is hot and tempting he buys her a drink to see where his luck will end."
