I'm a high school French teacher. I have been for a few years. For quite a few years before that, I was a portrait photographer.
I have photographed literally thousands of teenage girls. And today, I deal with them on a daily basis. Long ago, I got over the fact that they are very sexy and dress very provocatively on a daily basis. When I did portraits, they wanted to be especially sexy. I had to show less than they wanted to show in order to please their parents.
No matter what their hormones are doing to them, they are still kids. No matter how well developed they are physically, they open their mouths to speak and you know they are still kids. They lack the mental maturity to correspond with their physical maturity.
My buddies wonder how I can deal with these sexy, tight-bodied girls every day. Most say they couldn't do it. They'd get in trouble.
When I was younger, I kept a distance because I wanted to keep my business. As time went on, I began to realize that these sexy girls could easily be my daughters, age-wise. That takes a lot of the appeal away.
As a teacher, I deal with them on an intellectual level. I see that and the maturity level. Those things take away any sexual appeal, no matter how skimpy the outfit.
I have had to ask several girls to put on a jacket to cover the cleavage, or sweat pants because their butt cheeks were hanging out of their shorts. If I can't bend over your shoulder to help you with your worksheet without seeing your belly button, much less your nipples, you are not dressed appropriately for school.
As a 50-something man, I don't need the hassle. Cover up!
But I can't control my dreams. I have awakened many times from a dream of fucking one of my students very hard and having them suck my cock after until I fill their throat. This is wrong, but I have had these dreams since my photographer days. I just dismiss it, since I don't even have jerk-off fantasies about my students.
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Last year, I lead my first spring break trip to France. Nothing can captivate foreign language students more than a visit to the country of origin.
For my group, I chose a 14-day trip that comprised three days in Paris and Versailles, three days in the Loire Valley (magnificent castles), three days in Provence (Avignon, Nimes and Marseilles, land of history and art), three days in Nice (the French Rivera), and ending with a final two days again in Paris. It was a small group, just eight students with two additional adults (parents of two of the students). We were two freshmen, three sophomores, two juniors and one senior. The parents were parents of the freshmen.
We had a wonderful experience. In spite of our small group, the timing dictated that we weren't combined with another group. We had our own guides and busses. We felt like royalty.
The company I had hired to conduct our tour is one of the best in the business. We ate in three-to-four star restaurants and stayed in three-to-four star hotels. My sales rep was a guy of my age, a former teacher. He respected my career change and my enthusiasm for my new profession. He anticipated that I would lead many such groups in my career (and I intended to do so). So, he made sure we were happy.
My kids and parents got a full dose of France. They ate, drank and lived France for almost two weeks. Everyone was happy and tired when we got back to Paris.
Our return visit was designed for students to choose what they wanted to revisit or to explore anew. It was self-directed. Students had to create their own plan and to commit to it.
My rep had set us up in a wonderful four-star hotel, on the right bank of the Seine River with a great view of the Hôtel des Invalides and the Eiffel Tower. My room was on the top floor (the fourth, the highest permitted in Paris). It had large windows and a balcony encompassing the view.
This was day 13, and I was exhausted. I had breakfast with the group and sent them on their chosen projects. I had not signed myself up to accompany any of them just because I wanted some down time. Day 14 was going to be intense, so I wanted to be well rested.
When everyone was gone, I retreated to my suite, stripped off my clothes and crawled between the soft poplin sheets. I intended to sleep a few more hours, have a wonderful lunch, and spend my afternoon in the Petit Palais museum – alone. I would return to being a responsible high school teacher at dinner.
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I fell into a deep sleep engendered by 13 days of being responsible for 10 people in a foreign country, having to think in two languages simultaneously, and being old enough that hours of walking on cobblestones was crippling.
I awoke sensing another presence. I had no idea what time it was. Gradually, I realized that a warm body was pressed against mine. It felt good, so I closed my eyes and descended into sleep once again.
When I awoke again, it slowly dawned on me that someone was kissing me – my face, my neck, my ears, my shoulders. It felt wonderful.
When I could open my eyes, I saw Elle. Elle was my senior student on the trip.
She had been with me since freshman year. Then, she was a skinny, gawky girl. Puberty had been good to her. She had developed nice hips and good curves. I never could tell how big her breasts were. Some days they looked small, other days large. I had chalked it up to fashion, and hadn't thought about it much.
Elle favored tights and short shorts with low cut camisoles with see-through cover ups at school. Winter was tight knit dresses and leggings. I had spent two years trying not to notice.
She had beautiful, long, wavy auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She was obviously a natural redhead, but with only a smattering of freckles. Her skin was pale as is expected, but with a note of warmth underneath, which is not.
As she kissed my neck, I realized that Elle was just as nude as I was. Fashion had made her breasts appear large. They were small and tight, maybe 34" Bs – just the kind I found the most sexy. Damn!
As she kissed me, she began to stroke her own breasts, letting out small sounds.
As my mind cleared, I realized that I was naked in bed with my senior student, who was naked as well, kissing and caressing me. My erection was growing and her nipples were hard.
This was bad. All I could see was the end of my teaching career.
"Ah, you are awake. That's nice. I've been snuggled up with you for a while. But I am hornier than ever. Now, I want you," she said.
I was still groggy from sleep. I tried to gather myself. "Elle, this feels so good. You are so beautiful, but we can't do this. I'm your teacher. If we have sex, I am violating a trust not to abuse my students. We will ruin your life and mine."
"Non, Monsieur. When I started your French I class, I was so backward. You showed me that I was a valuable person, with a lot to give. When I started to develop physically, you didn't ever look at me that way, the creepy way Mr. Cramer did. You gave me the courage to become a real person," she said, "not because I'm sexy, but because I'm a real person. The confidence I have to do all I have done in high school has come from your belief in me."
"Elle, you are one of my very favorite students, but I try to do that with all of my students."
"Monsieur, you helped me find in myself what I need to succeed. I want you to help me with one more thing."
"If I can," I answered as her fingers trailed over my stomach.
"Our guide told us that the only way to understand the French is to fall in love with a Frenchman. Monsieur, I don't love a Frenchman, I love you. You are as French as they are."
