Author's note:
This story was written in November-December 2018, but the main portion is set in 2016 and 2017 because I wanted to include a certain historical event in the background. If you want to get straight to the sex without all that pesky background and character development, skip to chapter three.
I would like to dedicate this work to the memory of the late, great babylez, since I borrowed so much from her for this story.
Standard disclaimer: All sexual activity described is between consenting adults 18 and over. Enjoy.
*****
PROLOGUE:
What a whore! Her teacher. Her mentor. Her role-model. Nothing but a common whore, trading sex for money.
It all started last year. Scratch that. It really all started when Andrea's parents decided to get married against all better judgement.
Andrea's father George was charming, handsome, a successful owner of one of the hottest tech companies in the local area, and a wonderful father. He was also a serial womanizer. Andrea's mother Christine had known George since they were kids together and was completely in love with him despite his constant infidelities. George loved Christine too—in his own way—and they got married. After several years of marriage, they decided to have a child together. Christine had hoped that parenthood would force George to settle down and stay home at night. But when Andrea was just two, Christine caught him having sex with the college kid they'd hired as a babysitter. That night after putting Andrea to bed, Christine went down to the garage, closed the door, put one end of the garden hose in the car's tailpipe and the other into the driver's side window and turned on the engine.
After that, it would be another sixteen years before George would find anyone he wanted to settle down with. He was a devoted father to Andrea, giving out just the right mix of love and discipline so that she grew up knowing she was loved, but at the same time not becoming completely entitled just because her dad was rich.
But there was one flaw in the arrangement. Nearly every Friday for sixteen years, George let a different female "friend" stay the night and Andrea would have to put up with sharing Saturday breakfast with some stupid bimbo. Granted, most of them knew what they were getting into when they spent the night with him, so Andrea could just ignore them while eating. Occasionally, though, there would be a few that were delusional enough to believe that they could insert themselves into the family, so they tried to bond with Andrea and told her to call them "Mom". This never went well, and Andrea always made her dad swear that he wouldn't be foolish enough to marry any of the women that came and went. As George grew into his forties and early fifties, the women remained consistently under thirty.
By her teen years, George's and Andrea's relationship was the inverse of most fathers and daughters. It was Andrea who would stay up waiting for her father to come home, smelling for liquor and pot on his breath, and chiding him for staying out too late and his choice of companions. As a result, she rarely went out herself.
It wasn't that she didn't get asked out a lot. She was very pretty in a tomboyish way. She stood five foot two with piercing blue eyes and wavy blond hair that she kept cut just long enough to cover her ears. She was also blessed with a slender build and breasts that could be a large B or a small C, and her physique looked stunning in her preferred outfit of tank top and skinny jeans (depending on the weather she would sometimes wear one of her dad's old oxford shirts or an army surplus jacket over the tank top). The thing was, even if she didn't have to look after her dad, she wouldn't be interested in any of the guys who asked her out because she was gay. She wasn't insecure about her sexuality, but she was in no hurry to come out, either. There were other lesbians at school, but none of them interested her. Plus, she had been accepted to a fancy private college and she figured that she would wait until she moved out and found a girlfriend before telling her dad.
CHAPTER ONE
Everything changed in her junior year. On the first day of school, she was assigned Mr. Johnston for AP English. Mr. Johnston was 70 years old, fat, bald, and one of the few men who still honestly believed that a walrus mustache made him look handsome.
"Class, may I have your attention? I am Mr. Johnston and I will be your English teacher for the fall. I will be ably assisted by Ms. Walters." He gestured to a young woman who Andrea had previously assumed to be one of her new classmates. "Ms. Walters is a student at our local university and has completed all her classwork for her degree. All that is missing is practical classroom experience before she gets her teaching certificate. I am retiring after Christmas break, by which time Ms. Walters will have accrued the necessary classroom hours to be certified and will take over from me full time."
Ms. Walters got up to address the class, but Andrea didn't hear a word she said. Although her last name was Walters, she appeared to be Latina with lustrous black hair in a loose top-knot, olive skin, large dark brown eyes, a delicate-looking turned-up nose and luscious full lips. The only thing that made her seem Anglo was that she stood five foot eight. Today, because it was August and still hot, she was wearing a white sleeveless blouse and a loose knee-length cotton skirt. The outfit was not overtly sexy by any means, but it did nothing to hide that Ms. Walters had firm D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, and a perfect round bottom. The only flaw—and Andrea wasn't sure that it was a flaw—was that Ms. Walters wore oval-shaped wire-rimmed glasses. Andrea was completely smitten.
As the school year progressed, things didn't get any easier. When Mr. Johnston lectured the class, he tended to drone on and use twenty-dollar words when simple language would have worked. And all his cultural references were from the 1950s and 1960s, before most of the students' parents were born.
Ms. Walters, however, was completely engaging with the kids. She always made sure everyone understood what she was talking about. And since she was only five years older than her students, she was familiar with the same music, movies and shows that they were, and she used that knowledge to communicate her lessons.
As the school year began, Ms. Walters would always want to talk to Andrea after class. Not because Andrea was a bad student, but rather because she was so insightful and mature for someone her age. They would talk about their assignments, and they both came to agree that "Hamlet" was Shakespeare's greatest play; that Holden Caulfield was the biggest phony of all in "The Catcher In The Rye;" and that while "Huckleberry Finn" might seem racist by today's standards, it was very forward-thinking for the time in which it was actually written.
Eventually, these conversations filled the free time before the school day began, lunch period and the free time after school had let out. And their literary conversations weren't limited to the books assigned in class. When November 2016 came around, Andrea was devastated and told Ms. Walters that she felt the world didn't make sense anymore. That's when Ms. Walters reached into her purse and gave Andrea a small, thin paperback.
"Andrea, the school won't let us assign this book because the author's ideas are still controversial, there's lots of profanity and parts of it are sexually explicit. But I think you should read it. Maybe then, you'll have a different perspective."
She was right. The book was "Slaughterhouse-Five" by Kurt Vonnegut. It showed that even during World War II and the post-war era that people Mr. Johnston's age had so much nostalgia for, the world had always been a messed-up place where it was hard to tell right from wrong and it seemed like the stupid people ran things.
But what Andrea absorbed the most from these one-on-one chats had nothing to do with school or books. It was that Ms. Walters always stood really close to her and gave her widest smile. She treated Andrea not as a student, but as a friend. They would make idle chit-chat, watch online videos together and tell each other some truly awful jokes. And Ms. Walters would end the conversations with an affectionate caress of Andrea's upper arm, and sometimes even a wink. Logically, Andrea knew Ms. Walters wasn't coming onto her. She was a teacher, and Andrea was a student after all. As far as Andrea knew, Ms. Walters was probably straight. But it sure felt like they were sharing something secret and intimate. And that felt good.
When summer break came along, Andrea asked if she could keep Ms. Walters's copy of "Slaughterhouse-Five" and Ms. Walters agreed. For the next three months, Andrea would carve out four hours each day to re-read the book cover to cover because it reminded her of Ms. Walters and the times they shared. She would have fantasies that someday-after she was done with college-she would get Ms. Walters to love her. They would move in together, make love every night, discuss books during the day, grow old together and live happily ever after. And because she was so engrossed in the book and her memories and her fantasies, she didn't notice that something had changed with her dad.
Since the spring, George hadn't brought home a single new conquest. He would still go out at night, even on weeknights, but he would always return home before ten, alone and completely sober.
CHAPTER TWO
Eventually, a new school year came around. And as Andrea entered the school for the first time as a senior, Ms. Walters was there to greet her. Andrea was excited to see her again, and it seemed that Ms. Walters shared her excitement. She ran up to Andrea and gave her a big hug for several seconds before letting go.
"It's so good to see you again. How have you been?"
"Good, I guess."
"How was your summer? Did you have lots of fun?"
"Well, I read a lot."
