She was an uncommon beauty. One of those rare individuals that seem to have it all. Her name was Tiara, a senior in my British Literature class. She had recently moved to the States from her family home in Brazil. And I for one was glad. She moved down the hall of our high school like a dream, turning the heads of all the underclassmen and most to the male faculty. She wore the most proactive outfits, the shortest of skirts that revealed her milk chocolate thighs and tight half shirts that showed off her flat stomach and a very sexy bellybutton ring.
Despite all of her physical advantages, she still was struggling with my course and the English language in general and she was a regular visitor to my desk with questions about this author or that meaning of a word or phrase. I looked forward to these visits. I understood the danger of my infatuation but I could not help it, nor could I control it. I was under her spell. Her sensuousness was consuming me.
I found myself singling her out when I roamed about the room offering advice on some writing project or the other. Kneeling at her desk pointing out trivial mistakes. It was all a ruse to be near her. Her perfumed hair intoxicated me. It fell in washboard-curled waves over her shoulders, caressing her skin as it went. It aroused sexual feelings in me that my wife had not awakened in years. I found myself getting an erection as I knelt next to her. I had no control. None. I was lost. I had to have her. The job be damned.
I suggested that she come back after school for some extra help. I told her that she need to do well this term so colleges would be interested in her. She thanked me and asked if the next day would be ok for me. I told her it would. The idea that I would be alone with her was almost too much to bare. The next 24 hours dragged by.
She arrived right at 2:30. She was wearing jeans so tight that they had to have been painted on and a tank top blouse just as tight. Her nipples could easily be seen poking against the fabric, perfect, hard, seemingly in a constant state of arousal. I immediately grew hard. I dared not move from behind my desk. She pulled a students chair next to my desk, placing it backwards and sat astride it. I swallowed hard. Her cunt was only two feet from me. It was too much to handle. I started to mumble something about Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales and their meaning as she stared into my eyes. She seemed to not be listening. "Have you heard a word I've said?" I asked.
"Not really," she answered with a broad smile. "I was looking at your eyes. They are, how you say, very sexy."
