Part Nineteen: Barriers to Learning
It's a cliché, but not an untrue one, that teachers learn as much from their students as their students learn from them. In the five years I'd been teaching, I'd taught English at all four high school grade levels as well as an introductory speech class. Vocabulary, literacy skills, critical thinking, self-expression, rhetoric, culture, along with all those aspects of the hidden curriculum like self-esteem, creativity, punctuality, discipline, and self-respect.
As to what I'd learned? Too much to name. How to make a friendship bracelet. Local restaurants to avoid on principle. How to recognize abuse. The right way and the wrong way to dab. Which teachers didn't carry their weight, and which ones carried more than I could imagine. Some rudimentary Spanish. A whole lot of things about leadership and teamwork. And patience. Never enough patience, but so much more than I'd had.
Tabitha and I learned a lot from each other that weekend.
I learned that she'd been a dancer in her earlier years, pressured into it by her parents. It was one of those formal styles that didn't translate very well into the sort of dancing I might someday help her study, but she'd learned balance, grace and flexibility. She performed a few maneuvers for me, admittedly elegant, but also confirming that it wasn't especially sexy. She could do the splits, though. I didn't know what that was good for, but it was easy on the eyes.
Tabitha learned that deep-throating did not come to her as naturally as licking. She resolved to practice when she got home.
I learned that she was very self-conscious about men seeing her naked. Evidently some creep had walked into her bedroom at a party her dad had been throwing a ways back when she'd been in middle school. Not traumatizing, she insisted - her father had found unrelated grounds to fire the man not long after - but that anxiety around being seen and looked at had stuck. Even when she'd been amorous with her boyfriend, she'd never let him get farther than the underwear, and then only in the dark. Per her insistence on honesty, I shared that I understood but was indeed disappointed. She made an exception that night, slowly undressing for me with obvious embarrassment. Her whole body turned crimson, but I didn't look away. She'd demanded I not. And I was glad for it, because she was stunning. Her fair skin was dusted with tiny freckles, even across her pair of cute, perky breasts and all the way down to her densely furred pussy. Skinny as she was, I could hardly believe how round her butt was. Still, once undressed, she crawled into bed beside me, and after a brief reassurance that she was beautiful, we both fell asleep.
Tabitha learned, as Cassie had not long ago, that I am very gropy in my sleep. It wasn't something that had ever afflicted me with past lovers - not that they'd told me, at least, and I had to imagine they would. Must just be the company.
I learned that some Christians always kneel when they pray. I'd assumed Tabitha was a Christian from the gold cross necklace that had been revealed by the removal of her sweater, but sometimes jewelry is simply jewelry. When I woke up the next morning, it was to the sight of my naked honors student kneeling beside my bed, eyes lowered, lips moving silently with her hands in her lap.
Tabitha learned that trying to cook eggs while I played with her pussy took more coordination than I had eggs. Luckily there was some cereal on hand, too.
I learned that it was possible for a girl going on nineteen, one who had been at least somewhat sexually active with her boyfriend, to not know what her clitoris was for. Sex ed had apparently failed her in that regard. I washed down my Cheerios with a half dozen of her orgasms. That wide-eyed shock on her face when I laid back down beside her, now having realized why people made such fuss about sex and sexuality, was priceless.
Tabitha learned that I did not want her to insert a finger or any foreign object in my ass. Ever. (She assured me the same went for her, unless I disapproved.)
I learned that not only did she really expect me to grade her on her sexual performance, but she thrived on it. I felt a little uncomfortable doing so at first - even what I'd done with Isa and Candy felt less dickish than telling the girl who'd spent half an hour massaging my back that she got a C- for it on account of long fingernails and a tendency to pinch. She made damn sure I didn't withhold criticism, though. Really, why would I? She meant to practice, and she wasn't going to get better if I didn't give her some guidance.
Other results were more promising. We mutually agreed that her attempt at getting me off with her tits alone was a plain F, though we'd both said we expected as much going in. With her curiosity satisfied, we accepted the limitations of her petite build. Her twerking routine earned a solid B, a talent she'd honed during its brief fad workout status and had quietly enjoyed practicing. The skirt flashed me her panties on the regular, which was appealing, but would have been better if she'd simply gone without. Makeout skills were at a C+ first time out. Good kisser, but didn't know what to do with her hands and had a few too many of those "gosh I can't believe I'm doing this with a teacher" moments out loud.
When implored to grade individual parts of her body, I assured her she was an aggregate A and insisted that there was no sense assessing her on things she couldn't improve. (Then we argued about whether or not she should be allowed to cut her hair to my preference, explore extreme diet and exercise techniques, or get a boob job.)
(Then we spent an hour looking at an app that showed us what her augmented boobs might look like, and I promised to at least consider it before I dismissed it out of hand.)
As a dedicated pupil, Tabitha preferred empirical results, however, monitoring my reactions like a hawk with a mouse. Every sexual interaction was followed by a review process that even involved her taking some notes on her phone. She let me look over her list before she went home. It included things like:
talk like slut
lap = 4 flirt, not hang out
eye contact!!
float tit job 2 mom, ham up insecurity
don't touch nipples :(
swallow then back off → sensitive after comes!
likes dramatic orgasm (no prob)
what R his tastes? → fashion show? (underwear?)
DON'T MENTION JUSTIN
That last one was aptly capitalized.
I did receive a text from Taylor early Saturday afternoon.
What, not even gonna bitch and moan?
No, I answered.
lol the fucking silent treatment are you kidding me???
1st time in your life you didn't look for an excuse to lecture me
Half an hour later came
oh come on don't pout
, but I didn't respond and that was as far as it went.
A few hours later, it was time for Tabitha to be getting home. We both had plans for the evening, and wanted time to rest and prepare for them. The afternoon had been spent helping teach Tabitha to be more comfortable being naked around me, and I was sad to see her get dressed. She looked ravishing nevertheless in a thin white summer dress she'd packed in her overnight bag, her hair still wet from her shower, where I had personally supervised her cleaning herself. (Her request - she'd called it "tutoring.")
"It's going to be so trippy in class Monday, seeing you and knowing that we... and that we're going to..."
I nodded. "You get used to it."
I'd meant it lightheartedly, but the offhand reference to Taylor made her scowl instead. "I suppose you would."
Topic shift time. "I'll have more structured material for you next time. Had to sort of wing it today, but I think you made some progress."
"Good. I definitely felt more confident this afternoon than I did last night. Sore, though. But a good sore, I think?"
"It'll pass."
