From tenth grade through twelfth grade I had been going out with Terry. Blond, thin, flirtatious, Terry had been my first serious girlfriend. We got along great, and I foolishly but willingly spent every penny that I worked hard for on that girl. We spent a lot of time being goo-goo eyed with each other, and while there had been some heavy petting involved between us, we had never been to bed together. This was alright with me. I'd always been told that good girls wait. I planned to marry her when we both graduated high school and then we'd live happily ever after and have plenty of sex.
1969, the beginning of senior year; Terry showed up at my door with another guy. She cried, said she was sorry. The guy was older than me, had a car, a good job at a factory, and Terry said that she needed to get out of her father's house now. The old man was driving her crazy... I tossed the ring she handed to me into the bushes, turning my back on her as she climbed into his car and drove out of my life...
*
Art class was the one sanctuary for me in school that fall. I saw less of my old friends, as I tried to re-invent whatever was wrong in myself, whatever it was that made Terry go. I wasn't very good at art. I hadn't taken an art class since sixth grade, but emotionally the class was very satisfying, and besides, there were lots of pretty girls in the class.
I made several new friends, all guys, and most of them slightly younger than me. My new pal Dave and I sat together and checked out girls while we drew and painted our way through projects. Dave was a linebacker on the football team. Handsome, and a good artist to boot, I enjoyed Dave's thoughtful, yet simple perspective of the world: "Take things as they come, Johnny Boy...".
Our art teacher, our real art teacher, got pregnant. By mid-semester, she was pretty large. "Students, I will be going on leave soon to have my baby. There will be a sub for the rest of the year, but I will stop in to see how you are progressing...and," she added ominously, "how you are behaving".
The next Monday, Sally showed up. Sally was thirty years old. Longish brown hair, brown eyes, five three or four, about one twenty, a sweet smile, and a pair of very nice tits. Sally wore a dull green henley-style shirt and blue jeans. I thought see looked cool, sort of sexy, for a teacher.
Sally had not been in a classroom before, so she wasn't very hip to the ways of adolescents. Sally also was a bit on the soft-spoken side, so the fellows sized her up as ripe for taking advantage of. Me, I just laughed quietly as the guys planned their boyish pranks. Personally, I thought that she was nice, so I was going to sit this party out.
Cutting class with fake notes was common for the first week of Sally's reign. Finally, some other teacher clued Sally in on what was happening, so that practice stopped. The next prank made Sally feel very bad. I could see the embarrassment in her eyes when she told the class that her keys had disappeared, and that she would be in big trouble if she didn't get them right back. I felt sorry for Sally. She really was very nice. The libra in me, always concerned about injustice stepped forward without hesitation. "Mrs. W, I'll get your keys back for you by tomorrow. Don't worry."
Sally smiled: "Thank you John! I would really appreciate that!" she added quietly.
Art class was first period. By third period I had found the guy who took the keys, and talked him into giving them to me.
"Here they are Mrs. W" I said, handing the surprised subsitute her keys.
"Oh John, you are a gem!" said Sally greatfully. "I've been thinking about how to reward you if you did get back my keys. What do you think about a private art lesson at my house? Say, tomorrow afternoon?"
