When I was 18 years old at High School, I had an English Teacher called Mrs Schmidt. I would have guessed she was around 30 years old, about 5'5" tall, with short fashionably styled dark brown hair. She was pretty, and most of the guys had certainly commented on her at one time or another, but mainly because of her figure, and the way she moved when she walked. She was very curvy, thinking back about 38C or D, they always seemed to struggle to be confined in the tight tops she would wear. She had broad hips too for her height, maybe 36, and the combination of her ample breasts, and the tight pencil skirts she used to cram herself into, made a striking sight as she clicked down the hallways in her high heels. It may not sound like the sexiest thing in the world, but it made it difficult to concentrate in her class especially when she was writing assignments on the blackboard.
I had been in her class for 2 years, and had been a fairly good student, but my grades began to drop. I had spent a great deal more time concentrating on girls and masturbating than on any homework assignments, although this wasn't the reason I gave to her of course when she held me back after school one evening to discuss my falling grades. As I remember I kind of nodded, and said 'Yes Miss' a lot and 'I will try to improve Miss' all the stuff you think they want to here. I did spend a great deal of my time looking at her tits as she was talking to me, something that I'm sure did not escape her attention. It was the first time I had been that close to her for a concerted period of time. I was sent off with not so much a scolding as a pep talk about how I had promise etc. and how she would always be there to help me if I needed it.
A few weeks past and my grades were dropping off the scale and I had not always handed in work on time, and when I did, it was clearly rushed. She discussed this with my parents and it was decided that 2 nights a week after school I would go to her class, and stay for an extra hour and she would tutor me and get me back on track. To be honest I wasn't all that sad at the prospect, and the first couple of weeks weren't too bad although my workload increased dramatically. One day when I got there, she seemed distracted and decided we would shelve the written work, and we could discuss the DH Lawrence book we had been reading as a class.
'The Odour of Chrysanthemums' not exciting stuff for a 18 year old boy. She sat with me, and my nostrils were filled with the pungent, floral aroma of her perfume, which seemed stronger than usual. As she read a paragraph and asked me what I thought the author was trying to say, my eyes kept straying onto her chest and lower down the the split at the side of her skirt, which was showing more of her shapely legs. At one point she had stopped reading and with a finger under my chin lifted my head up from the position it had been occupying looking at her chest and legs. I was embarrassed, and she could see this. She closed the book, and looked at me and told me it was perfectly normal to be interested in a woman's body but that wasn't going to help with my understanding of Lawrence. She then got up and said that we would resume on Friday and sent me on my way.
I walked home, feeling weird. Embarrassed, and also kind of turned on by the gentle way she spoke to me, and couldn't wait till Friday. Friday came and when I got there she was in the walk in book cupboard trying to stack some books on a higher shelf without much success, and after me watching her struggle at this for a while I took the books and helped her. Getting on a small step ladder, she handed me the books and I placed them on the top shelf. When I did look down however I had noticed that she had a fairly sheer white blouse on that buttoned up the front, and in her struggle the top button had become undone, and I had a great view of the tops of her breasts held in by a ivory colored bra. She handed me the last of the books and I got down, and she followed my eyes to her open blouse.
The reaction that happened next was not what I would have at all expected. As we stood in the cupboard, she didn't attempt to fix her top and instead asked if I had a girlfriend. I didn't. She then asked if I had ever seen a woman's breast before. I was stuttering and mentioned that I had in magazines. She asked where I got those magazines and I reluctantly admitted that my dad had some under his bed and she smiled. She then looked right at me intently and asked if I had masturbated whilst looking at these magazines. I felt my face redden and my heart beat a great deal faster. She put her hands and my face and lifted my head up to look into my eyes, and told me it was perfectly natural and that everyone did it. I must have nodded and grunted that I had, and she reassured me that I need not feel embarrassed, still with her hands on my face, stroking it a little.
