AUTHOR'S NOTE: All characters in this story are over 18. This story includes scenes of unprotected sex and multiple partners. If it is not your cup of tea, please move on. Thanks for reading.
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I shuffled into the room with the rest of the parents, and tried to get comfortable in my son's fourth grade desk, my long legs stretched out to the side. He had left a note for me, and I read it, and looked through his stuff, then gazed aimlessly around the room, scanning the kids' work on history and geography. I was pretty much up to speed on his work; even though my wife and I both worked a lot of hours, we always made sure we spent time with his schoolwork. I worked early mornings, and Lynn, my wife, worked evenings. It made for hurried and frantic sex sometimes, but with all the passion we had when we had been dating. She was great mom who got to be there for our son during the day. At thirty-three I was doing alright for myself and my family, and Lynn had quit her full-time job when our young man was born, and stayed home until last year, when she went back part-time. He was a great kid, and staying with the neighbors tonight while I attended Parent-Teacher night.
I was still glancing around the room when the teacher walked in, and wrote her name on the board, Mrs. Jones. I watched her writing, guessing her age to be about mine, slim, dark hair just past her shoulders. Trim figure, a little short, ass fit nicely into her dress pants. Good thing these are fourth graders, I thought, they still think girls have cooties for another year or two. Sixth or seventh grade and they'd be rubbing one out to fantasies of their hot teacher.
And then she turned around. And suddenly I was eighteen again, just finishing high school. There at the front of my son's classroom stood Charlene Ryan, my first girlfriend, my first lay, and my first broken heart. And a lesson I would never forget.
I panicked momentarily, thinking she would recognize, me, fearful she wouldn't, terrified of what she might say. Did she remember us the way I did? How could she not? Would she bring up our past? What if she did? What if she DIDN'T? I tried unsuccessfully to hide my 6'3" frame as she scanned the room, introducing herself, saying hi to parents she already knew.
"Hi, John," she said, when she saw me.
"Charlie," I answered, giving a slight wave, and what I thought was a not-too-horrible smile.
Her expression didn't change, and she moved on to the rest of the group, and began talking about the class. Like I was just another person, no different from the rest, nothing special.
Just like High School. Just like when we dated.
It was a small town, and a small school, and after high school I had moved to the city after college, started working, building my business, a small consulting firm. I had dated, and had a couple of serious relationships, until I met Lynn, and fell in love, real love. After my parents died we took the house, and I moved back to my hometown, and commuted to the city. We got married about five years ago, and Little John had come along a year later. A great life, a great wife, and a great son. I had it all. And I owed a lot of that happiness to the pretty woman standing at the front of the room, casually resting her shapely butt on the edge of her desk, speaking to us.
She had taught me about life, taught me plenty. And as I sat there, seeing her, comfortable in her classroom, the memories of my first love, and all the things she'd taught me came back, the emotions opening like a fresh wound, gouging my heart, and tormenting my head. I was in school, in a classroom, seeing Charlene Ryan as she was then, and my mind reeled back to how it all began.
She wasn't my age, she was a year older, still in high school from being left back in grade school due to a prolonged illness. I first met her when I was sixteen, and fell head over heels in love, but she didn't know who I was for another year. She was in some of my classes, and I pined over her, fantasized about her. Not beautiful, but pretty, and lively, and outgoing, always seeming to appear as though her good looks were effortless. I worshipped her from afar for a year, wondering if she might ever talk to me, notice me. I was too shy, too self-conscious to ever approach her. At sixteen I was tall and gangly. But the summer after my seventeenth birthday I filled out and grew into my man's body, and when school started my senior year, I saw her starting to look at me.
I never asked her for a date; she asked me. I couldn't even talk I was so afraid, so nervous. Inside I was still the gangly kid who didn't fit with the cool kids, my self-image shaped by taunting in my formative years. So when she approached me that day, I felt like the Grinch, my heart growing three sizes. And all for her. All for the lovely Charlene. She asked me to take her to a movie, maybe get something to eat after. Her voice caressed my ears, and my stomach did flips. I'm sure I sounded too needy, too eager when I said yes.
I had been on other dates, but none had ended in a kiss. Well, a friendly peck n the cheek, but that was it. But that night, right after the movie, she kissed me like a woman kisses a man, passionately, softly and seductively, and the chasm of love opened and I tumbled in.
We dated for a few months, but not every weekend. I called her all the time, talked to her on the phone for hours every time I found her at home. Kids didn't have cell phones then, so it was always on the house phone. Our dates after that first one were always public dates, parties and the like, always with other people around. And every time she would kiss me after, holding me close, rubbing her body against me, as we made out like crazy.
