All boys have a teacher they fantasized about during their teenage years. Mine was Ms. O. She was hot - long hair, nice breasts, and an ass that was just gorgeous. I sat in the front row during my sophomore year for her web design class. She always had my attention, whether she was facing me - though I only about half the time was I looking above the next - or she was turned around, writing on the board where I could watch her ass move. I didn't do that well in her class, in part because my mind was otherwise distracted and not paying attention to the scholastic subject matter. The other reason was that I was deadly afraid of being called upon. As a horny teenage boy, I perpetually had an embarrassing "problem" that had me deathly afraid to stand up.
I joined the yearbook team my junior and senior years just because Ms. O was the staff person in charge. It allowed me some occasional one-on-one time with her. I know, she was an upstanding teacher and she'd never think of doing anything inappropriate with a student. And in high school I wasn't exactly the most attractive boy. I was tall, about 6 foot, but only about 150 pounds - lanky, zit-faced, uncoordinated, and no experience with girls.
Fast forward a couple years. I matured, put on over 30 pounds, mostly of muscle, my complexion cleared up. And of course college women gave me some practical experience - not to mention confidence. While home on break from college, I was driving by my high school one day. It was after school hours, nobody left in the parking lot except for the familiar vehicle of Ms. O. I decided to stop in and say hello. She was at her desk, working on her computer. She was as captivating as ever. I stood in the doorway staring at her. The feelings, the lust, came back to me rather quickly. I didn't move until she finally looked up, puzzled.
" Ms. O.," I said. She didn't recognize me. "John. John Wilson."
"Oh! Hi." She said with a smile. "My, you've, uh, changed. College has been very good to you, I see." She was looking me up, with a bigger smile. She just stared for a second – and I swear I saw a little lust in her eyes – before snapping herself out of it. "So, how have your studies been going?"
"Pretty good. I made the Dean's list this past semester and expect to graduate with honors if I have a good next semester. You know, I owe a lot of my success to your class and your guidance," I replied.
She walked over and started erasing the board. "John, if I recall you were just an average student. You had the ability but just didn't seem to have the desire in class. You seemed a very willing participant in the yearbook. I was always glad to help you but again appeared distracted, out of focus. It's good to see that you've improved." I swear I heard her add "in more ways than one" under her breath.
I stared at her the whole time she was talking, at her body that is. Those old feelings were as strong as ever and with my new confidence and the positive feedback, I decided to take a chance. I walked up behind her and leaned my body against hers. I whispered in her ear, " Ms. O, I think you know why I was distracted. You were always my favorite teacher." I pulled her hair to the side so I could kiss the back of her neck.