Jeanne struggled with her thoughts of having sex with Kendall Ashe but not because of her marital status as most women would. If her husband had a problem with her desiring a young black man, he'd just have to deal with it. No, her problem was a professional one: he was the father of one of her students.
Teacher-parent trysts didn't carry the same social and legal stigma as sex with a student does but it was frowned upon nonetheless. Charges of favoritism could easily be leveled and difficult to defend against. If Buddy or one of the other students found out, she could be the target of blackmail. Jeanne shivered as she considered what might be demand of her.
Jeanne did what she always did when faced with a difficult decision; she talked to Joe. When he argued against it, using the same rationale the logical part of her brain had already deduced, she sought a second opinion. Arley concurred with Joe. Did no one understand the depth of her yearning? Her cunt was a veritable tinderbox that burst into flames at every thought and sighting of Kendall Ashe. Even the mention of his name could cause a spark big enough to singe her pubic patch.
Perhaps Arley wasn't the disinterested voice she usually relied upon given her now frequent and frantic trips to suck his cock to soothe the ache that every Kendall sighting induced. Intimacy with Kendall might spell fewer blowjobs for Arley.
In an effort to find someone who understood the lust that commanded her, Jeanne resorted to something she rarely did. She consulted a female friend about sex.
Samantha was a friend and coworker of Jeanne and Arley's steady girlfriend. She knew Jeanne was fucking her boyfriend and learned to accept it. She'd even had sex with Jeanne's husband on a few occasions.
"Samantha," Jeanne began when the pair were seated in seclusion at lunch, "do you remember Jack Fletcher?"
"Fletch the letch? Sure I remember him, why?"
"Wasn't he fooling around with one of his students' mothers one time?"
"No, Jeanne, he wasn't fooling around with the Baker boy's old lady, he was fucking her," Samantha corrected. Jeanne's reluctance to speak the language of l'amore irked Samantha.
"What sort of trouble did he get into for that?" Jeanne continued, waiting for Samantha to figure out that this line of questioning wasn't just some idle chitchat.
"Trouble? He didn't get in any trouble that I know of. They were both adults. I think old man Johnson called Fletch into his office and warned him that there were ways Fletch could end up eating more than Mrs. Baker's box lunch if things went badly. Like his teaching credential if charges of special treatment were brought, or his flesh-and-blood bat and balls if her old man found out."
"So the school did nothing about it?" Jeanne wanted her conclusion confirmed.
"Jeanne, what's this really about," Samantha asked, finally realizing her friend had a more personal interest in the scenario of a teacher having an affair with a student's parent. Jeanne remained silent, not looking Samantha in the eye.
"Why Jeanne Hatfield you old slut you!" Samantha smirked when Jeanne refused to continue voluntarily. "Who is it? Whose dad did you get the hots for at conferences?"
Jeanne hesitated, embarrassed about what she was thinking on multiple levels, but also anxious to have Samantha understand her dilemma, to hear Samantha's reaction and advice. After all, she hadn't done anything yet, only fantasized.
"Buddy Ashe," came the answer following a sharp intake of breath. "And who are you calling slut?" Jeanne added quickly, before she forgot.
"You want to fuck Kendall Ashe?" Samantha whispered furtively like the subject of the women's conversation had suddenly turned to selling atomic secrets to the North Koreans. A low whistle followed her question.
Actually, I'm mostly just thinking of sucking his dick,
Jeanne thought,
