Adventures With Maria

A junior student in my Advanced Placement English Language & Composition class, Maria became a favorite of mine for many reasons. First and foremost, she enjoyed my class, and made every effort to let me know so (kind words, a nice Christmas letter, an end-of-the-year gift). Not the most gifted student, she worked extremely hard, took all suggestions to heart, and came to every tutorial session. When scores came back the following summer, Maria unexpectedly passed the exam and earned college credit. (It is so satisfying as an educator to see students exceed expectations through their own will power.)

I have been fortunate to teach many wonderful and appreciative students, but I might have forgotten Maria had it not been for two things: Her amazing breasts.

As a high school teacher, I meet many attractive girls, but--honestly--they are only girls to me. I don't find them sexually appealing. They simply aren't ready. Cute, yes, but not sexy. Maria, though, was different. She had that coy look in her eye--a burning, passionate vivacity. Her smile hinted at untold pleasures that awaited behind closed doors. And she was aggressive: She wanted to turn me on.

Other girls might show flesh by accident, or incidentally, but Maria insisted. And I found this terribly exciting.

She sat in the front desk of the middle row, by choice: The seat before where I generally stood. The others in her small class of 15 sat towards the back. No one else chose to sit in the front row.

There are 180 days in the school year. Maria must have worn a low cut top on at least 160 of them. By low cut, I mean to say that perhaps 50 percent of her firm young breasts were visible. Though extremely busty, she often enhanced her assets with a push-up bra, such that the visible portion heaved out of the top of her dress. No doubt that most outfits violated school dress code, but I gave Maria a daily pass. Her other teachers must have as well, since I had her last period.

So there she sat, Monday through Friday, shoulders squeezed inward, leaning lightly forward. Giving me all that I could bear to see.

You can't, of course, just look. I had to be stealthy. (Maria certainly didn't care, but there were other students present. I did have a reputation to uphold.)

Standing above her desk, reading a passage, I would quickly peer down between pauses. Her eyes would be deep into her book, allowing my glance to linger as long as possible in her full cleavage.

Passing out papers, I might accidentally drop one to the floor next to her. As she reached down to help me, I enjoyed the hanging softness created by gravity's pull.

But I really didn't need to be so discreet.

Working at my desk, Maria would bend over in front of me to ask a question. (She didn't have to bend, but she always did.) She would hold the position throughout my answer, never making eye contact, looking away, permitting me to gaze upon her white young breasts.

I realized that we had a game. A quiet, unspoken game. It was exciting to her, and exciting to me. But it was only a game. I never tried for more, though I felt my advances would be welcome. I am just not that kind of person, to take advantage of an adolescent girl's infatuation.

With sadness the year ended and I said goodbye. I announced to students that I would be leaving the school to work in another district closer to my home. That I would no longer need to make 60-minute, round-trip commutes. Many students were disappointed, but of course they understood. Maria was one of them. She wrote me a beautiful note, thanking me for all that I had taught her.

That fall came and I busied myself with my new surroundings. It generally takes two or three years to establish yourself in a different school, building a reputation among students, fostering positive relations among peers, becoming a known figure in the parent community. One morning I left my room to go down to the mail room. I turned the corner to take the steps and...Maria! She was coming up the steps. I was a bit shocked. It was a school day, and she should have been attending her high school classes 30 miles away. We had no meeting planned, and I hadn't even communicated with her since the end of the previous school year. It was random luck that I came across her. In fact, it was random luck for her that I wasn't teaching a class.

I don't remember my words, but I welcomed her, explaining my surprise. With a soft smile, she offered that she didn't have any classes that morning (a lie, I knew) and that she wanted to make her request in person, not through email. My mind, of course, instantly speculated on what this request might me. The answer was mildly disappointing and dull: College recommendation letters. The curse of a secondary teacher. After some small talk about college and plans, we went over what she needed. I was more than happy to write them, but I was disheartened that she wore one of her rare full tops that revealed no skin (although her skirt was excessively tight and her high-heeled shoes were meant to excite). She did give me a quick hug on goodbye--the first time I ever remember touching her.

Three weeks later, nearly the exact situation occurred. Again, I was surprised by her sudden appearance, this time after school. She had one more letter and a thank-you card, but I sensed something else troubling her. We hadn't talked more than five minutes before her cell phone rang. Her eyes were wide when she answered. I didn't follow the conversation, but I could tell it was her mother. When she hung up, Maria--without making eye contact--said that she had to go home. She quickly turned and hurried off without saying another word. The moment was strange and awkward. I could tell that something else was going on. I did note, however, that she wore an extremely low-cut blouse. Her breasts were beautiful.

Over the next year, Maria emailed a few times. Simple blurbs reminding me that she appreciated all that I had done and had been accepted at one of the Texas schools for which I had written a recommendation. But thereafter, I didn't hear from her again. It is a part of life. I concluded that she had had a crush on me. And I was honored to think that a girl--now a woman--with such an amazing body would find me attractive.

It is always a pleasure to hear from former students. I do get several contacts a year from former students who update me on their lives and remind me how much they enjoyed my class. It is these random appreciations that keep me going. Most simply write, but on a rare occasion I might meet one at school or a local coffee shop. I must say that I was excited to recently find this email in by inbox:

Mr. Duncan,

I am visiting my family next week. If you are not too busy, I would like to see you. More than any other, your class prepared me for college. I don't know if I would have made it without your help. I hope you're not too busy. I can drive to meet you anywhere.

Love,

Maria ------- (last name removed)

Usually, in such situations, I invite the former student to visit me in my classroom at the end of a school day. But I must admit that I hoped Maria still dressed as I remembered and--anticipating that--I decided it best to meet her at a coffee shop. So I sent a polite return email suggesting such a place not far from my school.

Please do not think that I expected anything to happen. I am married with two children. The marriage is a functional one, if not a happy one, but I am content with my life. My children are everything to me, and I would never knowingly do anything that would put our relationship in danger. They must sleep under the same roof as I.

But Maria.... Well, there are those that tempt even the strongest of us.

Upon entering the door, I glanced around the coffee shop. It was more an adult hangout than a student one, but I am characteristically paranoid that people I know are secretly watching me. Teachers are like celebrities. In their community, everywhere they go, people recognize them. There are many people who know me that I wouldn't know by sight. (It's why I drive quite a distance away if I plan a night of drinking.)

I didn't recognize anybody.

After ordering my usual bold, black coffee (like my soul, I like to joke), I settled down in a comfy chair in an isolated corner. I love modern coffee shops: The pleasing aroma of fresh ground coffee, the soft furniture, the dark mood lighting, the abundance of reading material. Before I knew it, I was relaxed and engrossed in the sports pages, losing all awareness.

"Mr. Duncan?"

The soft-spoken words, in a light mellifluous voice, aroused me from my readings. I gazed upwards. Maria loomed over me, hands on her hips. She looked stunning. Her body had strong womanly curves, accentuated by her tight-fitting clothing. She wore a pair of heavily washed bluejeans that hugged her wide hips. Her top was a small red blouse, buttoned down the center, stopping just above her navel, baring her lower midriff. A deep line of cleavage burst forth from the dropping V-neck. Her naked arms reflected the tight muscle tone of youth. I was frozen by her sight: She was beautiful. I had difficulty removing my eyes from her abdomen. I had never before seen this part of Maria. This area was not thin and muscular; rather, it was full and firm. Just the way I like it. The fact that her jeans rode low added to the appeal. There are, of course, good reasons why school dress codes restrict the showing of feminine flesh. For us guys, well, it's simply hypnotic. Even the mere hint of forbidden flesh leaps the mind to lusty places. Who knows how I stared at this flesh until Maria broke the spell.

"Mind if I sit down?"

"Oh, of course, of course. Please forgive my rudeness! I must say you look amazing. You're not the little girl from the front row anymore. It's always surprising to see high school students actually grow up and become real people."

For me, those words were unusual. When speaking to female students, I never compliment them on their appearance. I always carry myself with a professional demeanor. But, I had already convinced myself, Maria was no longer a student.

As she sat down, I stole a glance at her breasts. It was hard not to. Her red top dipped down between the breasts in a sharp "V." Deep cleavage peeked out. As she swing her shoulders to face me, I saw a generous jiggle. I was most certain that she was not wearing a bra.

"So tell me, what have you been up to the past few years?"

The small talk began. I will not bore you with the details of her classes, undergraduate degree, first job, and apartment. To put it simply, she did well, got a job in a small design company, and had an apartment in Austin (she had gone to the University of Texas). I listed intently and asked follow up questions with interest. Reassuming a gentlemanly posture, I kept my eyes focused on hers. Of course, to this point, I haven't described her face. Perhaps its the curse of a woman with a great body that her face becomes an afterthought. Maria's? I would have to say plain or average. I know that seems to be a criticism, but it is not. Her face was neither striking nor displeasing. She had high cheekbones, a sloping nose, and full lips (which today bore a deep red lipstick that matched her blouse). Her hair was somewhere between blond and a light brown. It hung to her shoulders, twisting and curly towards the bottom. She looked fine. Not the type of face to grace magazines covers, but certainly the type that a person could fall in love with.

What I liked most about Maria's face were her eyes. They were a common brown, but as she gazed at me, they burned with a passionate interest. I felt my own eyes returning the same vibrant energy. Is there nothing more thrilling than a man and a woman who want to be together? I saw in her eyes that she wanted something beyond words. I had already decided: If an opportunity was given, I had to take it. Boldly, I began to test the waters to see if my intuition was right.

"Well, I guess that covers the business end," I said. "Now tell me: What about your personal life? I bet an attractive girl like yourself has several boyfriends now, right?"

She smiled coyly. "I don't keep boyfriends. Too much commitment. I guess you'd say I like to keep my options open."

"Too bad. I feel for those young men who have failed to catch you."

"Oh, I let them catch me. They just can't keep me." Her light brown eyes sparked as she said this. I felt a warmth in my groin. The conversation had taken a dramatic turn. We were euphemistically talking about sex.

"You do a great service, then, to mankind. A gorgeous woman who willingly shares herself." Extremely risky, I know. But I felt fearless. Her face beamed passionate excitement.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a service. That makes it seem like I'm doing charity work. I always get something in return. You might even say that I'm pretty selfish." She seemed to lean towards me as she spoke. My eyes briefly raced down to glimpse at her cleavage before returning to her gaze.

"Selfish? Tell me: What do you get?" I couldn't wait for her response.

She paused briefly, then answered with a broad smile: "I get them. For a short time, they're mine. I own them. Control them."

"But why don't you keep them then? Put them on your wall? To play with later?"

"It's no fun playing with old toys. New ones are more exciting."

This was the moment. Things were moving quickly. I chose to set her up so that her response could direct me. "So what kind of toys do you like to play with?"

"Well, it depends."

No good. I tried again. "If you could pick a toy off the shelf today, what would it be?"

"Hmmm," she rolled her eyes upwards in mock serious thought. "I have been looking for something, say, a little older, more mature. Extremely smart, well-dressed. And, well, something that might also be a little naughty to play with. Something once forbidden...."

She never looked at me as she said this. But it had to be me. Had to be. I felt a growing nervous excitement. Her voice cracked a few times as well, indicating that perhaps--despite her boldness--she was a bit unsure of my reaction.

There was a long pause between us. We didn't look at each other. I groped for the right words.

"Uh-oh!" It was Maria. She looked at her watch. "I'm afraid I have to be somewhere by 5:00."

My heart sunk. Had I picked up the wrong feelings? Or had we gone too far and she felt the need to escape? Disappointment flooded through me. I felt my entire body shrivel.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Duncan. And I had intended to bring you something. I brought you a gift all the way from Austin, something that I'm sure you would like.... I don't know when I can see you again to give it to you."

There was something odd about her voice as she spoke.

She continued: "I left it at the hotel I'm staying at. It's too far for me to go and get it and then make it to my appointment. I really want to give it to you. The hotel's not far. It's just five miles down the highway. Do you think you could follow me there so that I can give it to you?"

It was a bald-faced lie. She couldn't even look at me as she said those words. Her voice cracked with nervousness. The entire premise, of course, was absurd. (Why would she even have a hotel room?) But her wish was clear, and the warm feelings in my loins reignited. I knew what I wanted. Equally the bad actor, I responded: "Oh, sure. I don't mind driving down there. I have some errands I can run near there anyway. Wouldn't be a bother, and I'd love to see this gift. I don't get too many presents!"

We looked directly at each other again. I smiled; she smiled.

We clarified the location, and she gave me the room number: 243. Awkwardly, we both stood up. I wasn't sure what to say as we walked out of the coffee house. When it became clear that we had parked in different locations, I simply said, "See you in a few minutes!"

Getting to my car quickly, I stole one more glance at her. She was walking away from her. Her tight jeans hugged her full, pear-shaped hips. The surreal thought that--within the hour--I would lay my eyes on the flesh beneath that fabric enhanced the dream-like feel.

I turned my car on and waited with surprising patience. Maria came around the corner in a mini-van (a dash of reality--she deserved to be in a fancy sports convertible), waving as she passed. I did not follow immediately, deciding that I should give her time to arrive before me. My mind sparked with varying thoughts and emotions: Morally, I felt that there was nothing wrong. Maria would have to be about 22 years old; certainly old enough to make her own decisions. I had been one of her teachers, but that was long ago. I was married and in a committed relationship; I did have young children. This bothered me, but I had been working on these thoughts for many years. I would never leave my family, but I had previously decided that an adventure only for the sake of adventure fit within my moral scope. And I would allow my wife the same. We all need escapes. This experience was about sexual thrills. Nothing more. I had to do it.

And, so, with no real hesitations, I left the parking lot and drove to the hotel.

Maria had picked a perfect location. The site was perhaps 10 miles from my home territory and set back off the road behind other commercial property. I had no fears of my car being recognized or students from my school mingling nearby. As an extra precaution, I did park behind the building and entered through the back door. There were only two floors, so it took no time to come before Room 243.

Taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm rising nerves, I knocked. Maria opened the door immediately, a broad smile upon her lips. "Come in!" she said, as she turned and walked inside.

The room was rather dark, with only the lamp beside the bed turned on. It was a simple room: A double-bed, nightstand, bureau, and desk with chair being the only furniture. A sink, counter top, and mirror were on the far end of the room, next to a door that surely opened to the toilet and shower. I did not see any suitcase. It occurred to me that Maria must have been fairly certain that I would follow her here. Clearly, she already had the room. The thought that she wanted this--and planned in advanced--excited me further.

When I reached the bed, near where Maria stood, she said to me, "I'm sorry. I thought I brought the gift with me. I must have left it back in Austin. I hope you don't mind if I give you something else." With that, she reached towards me and wrapped her hands behind my neck. Instinctively, I put my own hands on her hips. And so it was to come quickly. Of course, there was really no reason to delay. We were here for a reason.

"I don't mind at all," I said. "Spending time with you is a fine gift in itself."

Perhaps I should have leaned down and kissed her there, but instead I gazed deeply into her eyes. I felt a broad smile upon my lips, and Maria returned the same. Her light brown eyes sparked with vibrant energy. It was the same face that I had seen so many times in my classroom long ago. Time had changed nothing.

There are times when you lose all inhibitions.

I was with an extremely beautiful, buxom young lady, who idolized me. For one year she had sat in the front of a classroom fantasizing about me, teasing me. I had apparently never fully left her mind. Now a woman, she had returned to fulfill her fantasy. I doubted that I was the person she dreamed of, but I wanted that body. When would I ever have the chance to touch, to caress, to hold such a soft, full figure?

It might be only this one time. I had to do it. She wanted a teacher. I would be her teacher. I would play the role she wanted. Uncharacteristically, I gave directions: