The narrator of this story is a minor character in The Lake House Rules/Dana's Side series. It should stand alone, but you might want to read those stories, too.
The First Day of School
When I first saw her from behind in the hallway on the first day of school, I thought that she was a middle school student lost in the high school. She was tiny, and her long brown hair hung down to the top of her blue jeans. On continued viewing, I noticed that her butt and hips had curves that were not those of a pre-teen girl. And when she turned around, her full, jutting breasts made it clear that she wasn't a middle schooler. Her face was also mature looking, but I had no idea if she was 16 or 26. It was definitely a pretty face, open, intelligent, with pale brown eyes. I had no idea whether she was a new student or even a new teacher.
The bell rang, and I walked into my classroom, prepared to face another group of lazy students who didn't care about physics, and were only taking my classes because they had to, or because they thought it would look good to colleges on transcripts. Sure, every so often I would get a few motivated students, like Jack Davis last year, but they were few and far between.
I survived the first day without seeing any hope that it would be anything but another year of cramming physics formulas into the brains of disinterested students, failing lab experiments and seeing my students staring into their cellphones under their desks instead of learning. As I walked to my car, I saw her again in the faculty parking lot, opening the trunk of a beat up Honda with a sticker on the back window from a nearby college that turned out platoons of new teachers each year. So, she was a teacher. And because she was putting cameras into her trunk, I figured that she must have been the replacement photography and visual arts teacher now that Carlos Gonzales left for a better job in a private school two towns away.
She was bending over the trunk, moving things around, and I was appreciating the way her jeans hugged her small, tight butt when my reverie was broken by the loud honk of a car horn. I jumped and turned to see Sandy O'Hara, possibly the biggest bitch on the faculty, looking pissed off and waving me to the side of the road so that she could drive her big Beemer out of the lot. Everyone on the staff knew how fucking much money her investment banker husband made, and that she could stop teaching any time she wanted, but stayed on "because she loved the kids." All of whom hated her almost as much as the teachers.
When I looked up again, the Honda was gone and I was oddly disappointed. I walked to my old, but well maintained, Nissan and drove home. I used to have a nice, small house about 10 miles from school, but after my wife's affair with, believe it or not, the mailman, and the divorce, I moved into a garden apartment near school. It was convenient, had free parking, and I didn't have to worry about mowing the lawn or taking care of any maintenance.
The apartment was vaguely musty, and furnished like you would expect for a 45 year old divorced man—Spartan, with a comfortable couch and chair and a big TV. Nothing on the walls, and other than some books, CDs and DVDs, no decorations. I poured myself a glass of wine and went over my lesson plans for the next day, but since it was the first day of school, it wasn't exactly heavy lifting yet, even for my AP class. My mind kept wandering to that short teacher with the great body and I felt myself getting aroused. Being a high school teacher can be hard for a single guy—every day you are confronted with beautiful, nubile girls who somehow seem to dress more provocatively every year, despite the fact that our dress code hasn't been changed since I joined the faculty after college. And the knowledge that you could not ever touch anything you saw, or you would end up in jail, like Bill Thomas, a former history teacher at North who couldn't keep it in his pants.
I thought about that Dana Angelo girl from last year, as beautiful as any I had ever seen, who sat in my class with her tits sticking out and a blank stare for the entire semester as she failed test after test, and how she tried, amateurishly, to "seduce" me into grading her final right away just so she could find out if she passed. I'm still not sure if I was angrier about the fact that she thought that I wouldn't do it for her if she had just asked me without the Lolita routine, or that she ultimately got a good grade by cramming for a couple of weeks with Jack Davis after spending a whole year with me learning nothing. I hope Jack got some benefit from helping that bitch.
Sure, there were pretty teachers over the years, but until recently I was, I thought, happily married, or they were, so I never got involved with anyone at school. And now, I found myself one of the older teachers at the school. I finished my wine and my prep for the next day and turned on the TV. I watched for a while before throwing together a simple dinner, had a second glass of wine and watched more TV before going to bed. It was another day in my life.
TWO WEEKS LATER
I opened my eyes, and she was lying next to me, naked. Her petite body was pale, and her breasts were firm, round and tipped by the most beautiful round nipples I had ever seen. I rolled over and began to kiss them, squeezing them with my hands as she moaned with pleasure and writhed under my touch. I reached down, passing my hand over her smooth, flat abdomen while my tongue flicked at her nipples. I passed over her tattoo and reached her pussy, gently rubbing the sparse hair before tracing her lower lips with my finger. I could feel her moistening, and I reached a finger in to lubricate it with her thick juices, then spread them around her hole as she writhed under my touch. She was moaning and rubbing my head and chest until I brought her to orgasm with my fingers.
"Stick it in me now, Dan," she demanded, and I could not deny her my cock.
I rolled on top of her and thrust my throbbing member into her slippery hole.
"Fuck me," she panted, and I did.
I was like a man possessed. I pounded her pussy for what felt like hours and she was moaning and screaming my name as she came over and over again. Her body was quivering from our sex, and her face had a look of lust that turned me on. Just as I was about to release my load into her, the alarm rang, and I woke up, alone in bed, with a hard on. Again. I realized what a cliché I had become.
I threw the covers off and ran into the bathroom, turned on the shower and, when the water was warm, got in and jerked myself off to relieve the pressure. It had been like this almost every day since I saw her on the first day of school. I had only seen her once since then, briefly in the hallway surrounded by students, but it had only reinforced in my mind how beautiful she was.
After another dispiriting morning of my intro physics students reminding me why I never felt like giving more than the minimum effort, I made my way to the teacher's lounge, took my usual turkey sandwich out of the aging refrigerator and sat down at my usual table in the back of the room. It always amused me that the teacher's lounge was just like the high school cafeteria. There was the table where the "cool kids" sat—the young, attractive teachers who shared notes on their parties, dates, engagements, weddings and babies, and the outlying tables for the lesser lights. I don't remember exactly when I moved to my current location, but it was even before the divorce. And now, I was generally happy to sit alone with my thoughts, and the newspaper, while I ate the sandwich that I prepared that morning.
I was deeply engrossed in an article in the paper about new developments at the particle accelerator when I got a whiff of something new. A fresh, clean smell. My head snapped up, and there she was. I stared, for what felt like 15 minutes, at her pretty face, full breasts contained by a tight shirt, flat stomach and tight jeans encasing her short but shapely legs.
"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked, in a voice that was somewhat deeper than I expected from someone so tiny.
I feigned disinterest. "Sure, feel free."
She sat down and opened a bag, taking out a yogurt, a plastic spoon and an apple. It was clear how she maintained her figure. She opened the yogurt and started eating. She looked at me, as if waiting for me to say something.
Finally, she said, "I'm June, June Ellis, the new photo and visual arts teacher." She stuck out her hand, and I gave it an awkward shake.
"Dan. Dan Stone, the old physics teacher," I replied, making half a joke.
She chuckled. "Funny," she said, her face lighting up as she smiled. "You don't look that old."
It was my turn to smile. I thought about telling her how old I was, but decided instead to just say "thanks."
We ate silently for a while before I decided to ask, "why did you sit here, and not at the 'cool kids' table with the younger crowd?"
She looked at the other table, and replied, "I didn't realize there was a seating chart. That table was crowded, and there were seats here." She paused before smiling again and continuing, "And you looked more interesting staring at the paper than the rest of them chattering on about their families."
"Fair enough," I said. "How do you like it here, so far?"
"Pretty good," she responded. "This is my first real job other than some student teaching, so I don't have much to compare it to, but the facilities seem pretty good and the kids look like they are interested. Although I think most of the boys are just staring at my chest."
