That night, twelve of the male teachers at Camilla's school got together for drinks at
Chuckie's
, a small pub that was several blocks down the street from the school. Grisham, Hanson, and Pierce were among them. Each of them had already drunk several beers, so all twelve of them were quite tipsy.
"So, in a month, another group of girls is graduating and leaving us forever," Mr. Leroy, a French teacher, said before sipping on his beer. "Who do you think will be missed the most?"
"I'd say Akemi Hamasaki," said Mr. Grisham. "She's made great strides with her English, and she isn't as shy as she used to be. Good for her."
"Well, my vote goes to Camilla Mennon," Mr. Fulson, a math teacher, slurred: everyone froze at the sound of her name. "She's one of the brightest girls at our school, and...well, she has other interesting qualities, too..." He took a gulp of beer while smirking.
"Indeed, she does," said Mr. Burgess, a physics teacher. "And she's easy on the eye."
"Yeah," said Leroy. "Bit of a flirt, too, isn't she?"
"That's putting it mildly!" said Mr. Williams, a chemistry teacher. "I don't think I'm spreading any wild rumours when I say she's the school tramp." Grisham, Hanson, and Pierce were completely silent while all the other men laughed.
"So she's flirted with you, too?" Fulson asked Leroy. "I didn't think I was the only one."
"What did she do with you?" Leroy asked Fulson after belching.
"Yesterday, she stood by my desk," Fulson began explaining, "and bent over to show me two of her answers to some math questions I gave the class. She held her notebook under her boobs, with her back to the class, so the other girls had no idea what she was doing--I assume this was deliberate. Anyway, while she was showing me her two answers, she also showed me a generous amount of cleavage:
no bra
--I saw about a millimetre or two of each areola. As she spoke to me in a high-pitched voice, her eyes and mouth were wide open, like those of a dumb blonde: we all know she's a very smart girl, so this ditziness seemed to be affectation, intended to turn me on--it certainly did! As I was saying, with her tits hanging just inches in front of my face, she asked me in that titillatingly ditzy soprano voice, 'Are these two any good?' In a trance, I just stared at them--not her answers, of course--and replied, 'They're both perfect.'" Everyone laughed.
"She's shown off tit like that to me, too," said Mr. Johnson, a biology teacher. "But not with that kind of voice. With me, she giggles and talks in a slutty voice." Hanson could relate to that completely, but he didn't dare say so.
"With me, she talks breathily, like Marilyn Monroe," said Burgess. "But she talks normally among the girls." All the other teachers nodded in agreement.
"Of course!" slurred Williams. "The voices are an act to turn us on. For me, she does the slutty voice, too, and I love it! It's like she can read our minds, and know our fantasies to the minutest detail!" As did the other teachers, Grisham totally agreed, but he timidly kept his thoughts to himself. "I'm telling you guys, she wants to fuck every teacher in our school--the men, anyway. You know what I keep hearing her sing, supposedly to herself? Y'know that new song by...what's the singer's name? She's like the new Madonna, or another Lady Gaga,...Oh, yeah, I remember now: Trampauline. You know her new song?"
"I wanna get gang-banged!" Burgess, Johnson, and Mr. Langella (an art teacher) raunchily sang together while hitting their hands on the tables to the rhythm of the song. Then Williams enthusiastically joined in: "I wanna get gang-banged!" They all laughed.
"I've heard her sing that song, too," said Burgess.
"So have I," said Johnson.
"Same here," said Langella. "I'll bet she'd really like to be gang-banged, and by us. The way she wiggles that beautiful ass of hers as she sings that song, I'm sure she's trying to tell us something." The other three agreed.
"My sister-in-law, a neighbour of one of our teachers, told me she saw a beautiful naked blonde girl, Camilla's build and age, walk out of the teacher's house late last Sunday night," said Fulson. Hanson froze at these words.
"Which teacher?" asked Burgess.
"Not one of us," Fulson lied. Hanson appreciated Fulson's discretion. Before Burgess could inquire further, Fulson told more anecdotes: "Yesterday during our math class, after she flashed her cleavage, I had the girls get in groups to do math problems together. They were standing in their groups, and I walked behind Camilla and gently squeezed her buns. When she looked back at me, with no disapproving look on her face at all, I asked if the girls were having any problems. My hands were still squeezing her ass when she said in that ditzy voice, 'No, sir.' She acted as though I hadn't touched her. After school finished and just about everybody had gone home, I saw Camilla in a nook in the hall by a water fountain. She had changed out of her uniform and into a sexy, skin-tight black outfit. Her back was to me, but she had a compact: she was powdering her face, which was made up like a prostitute. I'll bet she saw me in her mirror as I came up behind her, and this is why: I scooped those beautiful tits of hers in my hands, and wasn't at all shocked;
