If you were to ask anyone to describe me, they would say workaholic. If I'm not working out at the gym or at home, you will find me at school where I am either teaching writing or writing myself! That is how I roll! Some people ask if I plan to ever get married or have children, which I find to be incredibly sexist since I am a woman. What is wrong with a female putting her career ahead of some frivolous fling that statistically will not work out. Besides, I teach children for a living, I see what happens when people reproduce.
As I was saying, I work a lot. Therefore, it was no big surprise when I contacted the administrators in my district requesting some recommendations of teachers, for I wanted to interview a variety of educators for my latest research study. As I plowed through the names and their credentials, I created a list of 7 educators; some of the names were familiar while others were not. I was looking forward to starting a new project. In the meantime, I continued to enlighten the youth of this country...or something like that...
"What's happening this weekend, Dr. L?" one of my students asked me at the end of the day.
"Well...the fun begins with grading your term papers, and then after that, I will start researching and preparing my outline for my article." My student stared at me, his mouth open.
"Girl. You need a life."
"What? Me? You're glazing," I responded using my students' vocabulary. A few kids chuckled.
"Nah, seriously Dr. Loredo," another kid pipped up, "You gotta do something fun."
"I'll take the dogs to the dog park! How's that?" Before the students could tease me anymore, the bell rang. "Have a good weekend! Be safe! And don't get arrested," I said as they filed out.
That weekend I began my research project: contacting participants, creating an outline, locating resources. All the things a thorough researcher does. Monday rolled around all too quickly, and I got busy. Most of the teachers agreed to be a part of my study. Monday turned into Friday, and before I knew it, weeks were rolling by, and my project was basically writing itself. (Poor use of a cliche for a person who claims to be a writer!)
One of my participants was a high school chemistry teacher. Her name was Wren, and she had an outstanding reputation. We met several times, so I could interview her for my research project. While I don't normally notice my co-workers' appearances, it was hard not to take note of Wren's looks. She was several inches shorter than me. She had blond hair that fell just at her shoulders. She was a curvy woman, but her style only made those curves roll in the right directions. Her strong, assertive personality was the most attractive aspect of her. I appreciate strong women in today's world, and Wren was not only confident, she was smart and professional.
The more I got to know her, the more I enjoyed her on a professional level and even a personal level. She and I had a lot in common: we were married to the job, loved to help kids, and our dogs were our babies. While she was divorced, I was not; however, I could understand the pitfalls of disappointing relationships. Just one more reason that I avoided them.
It was a Wednesday night when Wren and I finished up our last interview.
"I can't thank you enough for taking the time to work with me. I am going to get these conversations transcribed and sent your way for approval. Once you approve them, I will code them, and draw up themes from these conversations along with the others I have talked to. I will send you a rough draft.
"I should be thanking you, Sofia. You have inspired me. You know how sometimes the job gets a bit stale. This reignited some old flames for me. It's been a real pleasure getting to know you professionally. However, I must say, I really do not know a lot about you on a personal level. Other than you love your dogs. How about we grab some dinner since it's late. No work talk though."
I wasn't a huge fan of being social on a weeknight, but there was something about Wren that I could not say no to.
We ended up at a local dinner where the coffee was fresh at all times of the day. As we ate our dinner, we chatted about our personal lives.
"So," Wren began, "when you are not working, researching, or playing with the dogs, what do you like to do? I mean you are a pretty bad-ass woman, so I assume on the weekends you are some sort of undercover superhero."
I couldn't help but laugh. So add humor to the already growing list of smart, assertive, attractive...Why was I thinking about her this way? As my thoughts drifted away from professional and more into personal, I could feel my body tense up. My nipples perked up, and things began to tingle. Good Lord? When was the last time I felt the touch of another person? I may not want to get married, but I loved a good romp in the sheets just as any other human.
"Earth to Sofia...am I boring you?" Wren reached out and touched my hand. Her soft skin sent electricity through my body.
"Oh heavens no. Sorry. Totally spaced out for a moment."
"Want to share what you were thinking?" Wren asked almost shyly.
"Actually, I was just thinking about how much I like you and how getting to know you has been really great." Was I flirting? I really sucked at flirting, so I hope she didn't think I was flirting. Besides, she was married to a man...surely she wouldn't think that I was flirting with her.
"It's been great getting to know you as well," she said. "I hope we can continue to get to know each other more." She kept her fingers on the top of my hand for a moment longer than the average friend would. Damn it! I had butterflies.
When we left the diner, we hugged goodbye and promised to keep in touch on a social level. Wren gave me a quick peck on the cheek, which surprised me. I assumed she was being friendly, but over the last hour my body parts were seriously screaming otherwise.
When I got home that night, I was freakishly horny. Instead of working, I decided to pull up some porn on my phone. As I watched a video, I began to rub the outside of my pussy. Even though my girl parts are rarely social, I like to trim down there. My skin was soft and swollen. Clearly, Wren had an effect on me. After a few minutes of teasing myself, I separated my lips with my middle finger. I stuck my finger inside of my opening, for its wetness served as lubricant. Then I brought it up to my clit and began to move circles around the knot of nerves. I brought my legs up and bent my knees, so I could get better access to myself. I used my index finger and middle finger to rub my clit. As I watched two girls scissor each other, I fantasized what it would be like to feel Wren's wetness. Is she natural down there? Shaved? I watched the two girls grind their pussies together; each of them rubbing each other's clit. I placed two fingers on top of my clit and pressed down. I quickly moved my fingers back and forth acting as a small vibrator. I could feel the orgasm building up in my body. I closed my eyes, and I saw Wren. She was touching me. Kissing me. Her mouth moving down my body...I didn't last long. My breathing grew intense and within seconds, the orgasm slammed into my body. "Fuck...God I want you...Ugh...Wren...yes...yes.. Touch my pussy...! Wow, that orgasm was good! I put my phone down and drifted to sleep rather quickly. The last thoughts I had that night were of Wren and her touching my hand.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Wren and I talked a few times a week, but both of us were incredibly busy with work. Having dinner that night was just about having dinner. While I thought about Wren in various ways, the pure arousal faded with time, which was fine. A teacher-crush is never a smart idea!
About three months after I completed my article for publication, my superintendent informed me that I would be taking a group of teachers to Kansas for training. Seriously? Kansas? There is nothing exciting about Kansas. People travel all of the time for work, and they go to places like San Diego or New York. I got to take a handful of teachers to Topeka, Kansas, for a week of differentiated instruction for social and emotional needs. Lame.
