Another new story, another new series. All
characters are over the age of 18. I hope you enjoy!
+++++
Mike Nicholson was forty four and had been a teacher for 19 years when he became the type of person he had always looked down upon. He had always considered teachers, men and women, who got romantically involved with students to be the worst kind of people. People who lacked self awareness, self control, and a basic sense of decency.
He taught English and, by every measure, he was good at his job. He engaged his classes and, if he didn't impart a love of writing and literature to all of his students, it was rare that he was not able to at least elicit a grudging respect out of even the least interested.
He had friends who teased him; joking that they did not understand how he could be surrounded by young women every day and not see them as the budding sexual objects they often presented themselves as. 'Mike,' they would say. 'How can you control yourself?' He had to shake his head. It was not, he insisted, and believed, that difficult.
It helped that he was a happily married man, an adult and a professional.His students were too young and too immature to catch his eye. Sure, once they turned 18 it was more difficult not to see the girls as women. They knew they were reaching adulthood, and made efforts to let everyone know. Dressing more provocatively. Flirting more openly with everyone including male teachers like himself. Mike had, however, always been able to resist.
It probably helped that he had a daughter of his own. June had gone to the school where he taught, so it was hard to view the girls differently than he saw his own daughter. He was not comfortable with other men looking at June in a sexual way, so he did not do that to other men's daughters.
That year, however, June was no longer a highschool student. It was hard for Mike to believe but she was already 20, graduated, and living in a dorm at college a half day drive away. This left only Mike and his wife Paula alone in their small house in the city.
Paula and Mike had gotten married young. He had been 24, starting his first job. She was only 21. They had been dating for a while, madly in love. When she told Mike she was pregnant he immediately asked her to marry him and never regretted that decision. Even all these years later, he thought she was beautiful with her black hair, dyed to hide the greys, and brown eyes. She exercised regularly and kept in shape, maintaining, as best she could, her college athlete's body. While their sex life had gotten more predictable and sparse, often an afterthought rather than something they prioritised, he was still attracted to her.
Mike had tried to take care of himself as well. He did not like going to the gym and working out with weights, but he did enjoy running and going for rides on his bike. He liked hiking, and would often go paddling in his kayak in the lake. He stayed active and kept himself from developing a huge gut like a lot of guys his age. His hair was blond, kept neat. He wore a beard that grew in darker than the hair on his head. The chin, however, was going grey. He had light crows feet around his very blue eyes. By any accounts he looked good for his age.
Paula, after June entered kindergarten, had gone to school and studied to be an interior designer and had made a fine career for herself. She was highly sought after, making beautiful spaces for the wealthy. She earned much more than Mike's teacher's salary and together they had a comfortable life.
The two of them had talked about what they would do once June left home and had grand dreams of early retirement and travel. When faced with the reality, however, they discovered that we were not quite ready to stop working.
Paula had reached a height in her career that she was loath to give up. Not then, when she had the opportunity to travel for work, take on high budget contracts and even get featured in the best magazines. She was at the absolute peak and to walk away now, after all these years of hard work, seemed insane.
Mike, it turned out, was also content. He was good at his job and while it was long hours during the school year, he was able to spend the summers relaxing in their immaculately designed home in downtown. He was in no rush to change anything.
With June gone, however, Mike was a bit lonely. Paula travelled quite a bit for work, which left Mike on his own. He did not mind that too much. He was always a bit of an introvert, preferring his own company to that of others. He did miss regular sex, however.
Paula's sex drive had seemed to wane as the years went on. She thought she might be starting menopause, early, but not unheard of for a woman who was just forty. Mike's libido, however, did not seem to let up, and at forty four he was still as horny as a teenager. He made do with porn and masturbation.
To kill the time when he was alone in the house he did a lot of reading, puttered around in their back garden, and watched a lot of movies. Still. It was a pretty solitary existence. Perhaps that is why he really threw himself into the school play that year.
This is where he got in trouble.
+++++
Mike's favourite class to teach was advanced creative writing. It was only offered to those in their last year of high school and it was difficult to get into. Mike always had dozens more applications than the twenty spots he had for students. You did not have to have the best grades to get in, in fact several of the students he admitted were considered slackers or losers by other teachers, but they did have to prove they would take the class seriously.
They would have to do some creative writing. It could be an essay, a short story or a play. He would read them all and the ones who showed the most promise got in.
They worked on different kinds of writing throughout the year. Some of it was prep for college. Mike knew that most kids were not ready for the step up required for writing at the higher level and he did his best to prepare them.
The parts of the curriculum that he enjoyed best were the creative writing assignments. It always amazed him, the variety and quality of these kids' writings. It was a joy to guide and advise them, helping them craft better stories.
Every year the final project was to write something of their choice. They submitted drafts and Mike gave feedback until the final project. Some wrote stories. Some used it to prepare their entrance essays for college. The form Mike loved best, however, was those who chose to write a three act play.
Mike was lucky. He only had one extra-curricular activity he had to supervise. Some of the teachers were coaches of multiple sports, but Mike got away with only being in charge of the drama club. They put on a couple plays a year but the last one, the big one, was always a production of the best play written by one of Mike's advanced creative writing students.
The competition for that coveted acknowledgment was always fierce and each year Mike had several good plays to choose from. Once he had chosen one they would spend a month or so doing set design, practice and finally, at the end of the year, put the play on.
Mike's daughter had always loved drama and that was why he had originally chosen to supervise that club. If he had to shuttle her to and from practices he figured he might as well have more of a reason to be there. It turned out he really enjoyed it, acting as a producer and co-director to the kid who wrote the winning play.
That year, the year he was forty four, the winning play had been written by a girl named Ella. Mike knew her well. She had been around the drama club since she was a freshman, and had been a good friend to his daughter despite being two years behind her in school. Drama did that. Creating bonds across the grades.
Ella was a very good student. She had always gotten high grades, and was attentive and sharp in class without being a suck up. She was not the most popular girl in school. June had been several ranks higher in the tiers of school cliques, but Ella was not a loser either. When Mike saw groups of girls from her grades she was always on the edges of things, quietly hanging out. Likely she would have been alone much of the time if it was not for her 'twin,' Mia.
They were not actually twins. They did not even look alike. They just shared the same birthday and were always together, so people called them that.
Ella was pretty, Mike had to admit. She was only about 5'4. She had auburn hair that she wore pulled back. She had glasses but they were stylish and suited her face, the dark rims standing out against her pale skin, dusted with freckles. She usually wore leggings, covered by a hoodie that was overly large, hanging down to her mid-thighs. Unlike many of the 18 year old girls in the school, Ella chose not to flaunt her young body, hiding it away under layers.
Mia, her 'twin,' looked nothing like her. She was around the same height as Ella but the similarities stopped there. She would probably describe herself as a goth, a sub-genre that Mike was always amused to see survive from even before his own time to now. Her hair was dyed black with an ever changing rotation of neon colours streaked through it. She wore heavy, if very well done, makeup every day, and her outfits were usually complex, involving lace, black satin, corsets, fishnets, and more. She was, if you could look past the elaborateness of her fashion sense, just as pretty as Ella. Her cheeks were full, giving her a rounder face. She was not skinny but she was not overweight either. She had full breasts, often with her cleavage on display due to the corsets and low cut tops she favoured, wide hips and a nice plump ass.
Mike knew the two girls well. They had both been involved in the drama club since they came to the school, putting in the work, acting as extras, helping with set design and painting. They were both part of the group of girls who would come to sleepovers at his house that his daughter would hold. He liked them both, but did not spend too much time directly with them until their senior year.
Both Ella and Mia applied for Mike's advanced creative writing class but he was only able to admit Ella, her application with a short story about a ghost girl being very strong. Mia's essay about the online beauty influencer culture was good but not quite enough to gain her access.
That school year, as they all seemed to after teaching so long, sped by, and Mike found himself announcing the contest for writing the final play. As always there were a few students who piqued up their interest at the announcement. It was never all of them, but this year Mike guessed he would get four or five to choose from out of the class of twenty.
He noticed Ella's interest and smiled to himself. He was hoping that she would attempt an entry. She was a better writer than most students and he guessed that she had a real shot.
Sure enough, two weeks later, when it was time for students to hand in their plays Ella was one who walked up to Mike's desk at the end of class, a sheath of paper in her hand.
She was wearing her auburn hair back in a messy bun and looked tired. Mike suspected she had been writing until late the night before, finishing up. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt over leggings.
Mike smiled as he took the papers from her hand.
"Good to see you trying out, Ella," he said. "I'm looking forward to reading this."
"I hope it's good enough," she said, quietly. "I had to rush a bit at the end."
"Let's hope that doesn't hold you back," he said, unable to resist slipping into lecturing teacher mode. "You know that rushing isn't the way to do this stuff."
"Oh," she said, looking down at her feet. "I know! It's just... It was my and Mia's birthday the night before last and I lost a whole day and a half writing."
"Oh, yeah," Mike said, with a reassuring tone to his voice. "I understand. And happy belated birthday."
"Thank you Mr. Nicholson," she said and smiled at him. "It's weird to be 18. I feel... older but exactly the same."
"It's like that," Mike said. "Eventually you stop noticing birthdays. At least I did as I got old."
