It doesn't say so on the brochure, but my university seems to have a penchant for hiring really hot teachers. There is Mr. Hitchens, the Latin teacher. Most of the girls are turned off by his beard, but I enjoyed it. I love a good beard. All my boyfriends had beards. Bearded for my pleasure, I like to joke. Of course, this was not the case with Mr. Hitchens. I mean, he was my teacher. And yet when my roommate was gone, I whispered his name as I played with my clit. I wanted him to view me as sophisticated, and womanly. Not just another one of his students with a crush.
Then there was Mr. Kendell. I loved his class: psychology. I had studied psychology before and yet still found myself learning lots. The only thing I took issue with were some of his "classroom policies". Today, Tuesday January 10
th
, I was mad at his stupid bathroom policy. During tests, we were not allowed to use the bathroom at all. Now, I understand why this makes sense. Otherwise, people would be cheating right and left. But the stupid part is that we aren't allowed to use the bathroom even after we finish the test! What is the point of that? And the thing is I like Mr. Kendell. He's young, attractive (even though he is clean shaven) and sarcastic.
So there I was clenching my thighs together, trying not to listen to the sound of rain outside or think of the extra-large coffee I had consumed prior to class. Well, that had been idiotic. No matter. I was 24. I could hold it a few minutes longer. The bell rang and students groaned as they hastily scribbled B.S. answers to the last few test questions. I was halfway out the door when I heard Mr. Kendell calling my name.
"Ariel! Come here please," he requested. I debated ditching him (the situation was really dire here) but he was holding my exam in his hands. I walked slowly over, still trying to keep my thighs clenched.
"I noticed you seemed a little distracted during the test. Everything all right?" God, he was handsome. He had sparkling green eyes and a hint of a smile. As though he knew. How could he know? I couldn't help his chiseled chest beneath his shirt.
"I'm fine," I assured him. I was almost doing the potty dance in front of him, hopping from foot too foot. My jeans were massaging my clit which was aching for some reason. Why?
"Are you sure? Nothing troubling you? I could arrange for you to see one of the school counselors?" he offered. Again, that ghost of a smile. Like he was getting something from my desperation. Was I that transparent?
"No, sir. I'm fine," I promised.
"Well, if you're sure," he said, sounding disappointed. Weirdo.
I practically ran down the hallway, mowing down two freshmen. There was a bathroom at the bottom of the stairs by the teachers' offices. I was almost all the way down the stairs when my foot caught in the leg of my pants and I felt myself falling forward. Falling, falling.
"Easy there," Mr. Hitchens had been standing at the bottom of the stairs and took me like a graceful linebacker. It would have been such a romantic moment. If I hadn't wet my pants.
"Oh my God," I said as Mr. Hitchens set me on my feet. I met his eyes with mounting horror. He was staring at me with something like curiosity. I heard some snickers and realized it was the same freshmen I had almost knocked down. They had their phones out, trained on me. Icing on the cake was that Mr. Hitchens was there to witness my complete humiliation.
"Hey," he spoke sharply to the freshmen, who were startled, "Get to class," They booked it. He wasn't messing around. But when he turned to me, his voice was gentle.
