Confessions of a Teacher
By Paro Gide
*This story is fiction from my dirty little mind and all names and characters are fictional. Any resemblance or reference to real names and/or descriptions is purely coincidence. Please let me know if you like my stories*
Synopsis
A teacher. A wife. A woman with a secret. Kerry Ling knows she should resist, but when a fellow coach stirs a longing she can't ignore, she risks it all for the taste of forbidden passion. Now, she confesses her sins--will she regret them, or crave more?
Tags: Wife, Cheating, Interracial, Asian, Black, Pregnancy Risk
I have a confession to make.
I never thought I'd be the kind of woman to write something like this. To be the kind of woman who would even have something like this to confess. But here I am, sitting in the dim glow of my laptop, my heart pounding in my chest, knowing that what I'm about to write will change the way I see myself forever.
Before I get to the confession, I need to explain how I got here. You need to understand the history, the context, the slow unraveling that led to that one night.
Tim and I met in college. He was the only Asian guy on the basketball team, and I was the only Asian girl on the cheerleading squad. It was almost like everyone expected us to be together. At first, I didn't think much of it. Sure, he was attractive--tall, lean, driven. But he always seemed too focused, too serious about his studies and his future to let loose the way I wanted. Still, there was something about him, about the way he noticed the little things. How he'd leave a note in my textbooks before exams, or take me for walks when I was stressed. And so, somewhere between workouts and late-night study sessions, we fell in love.
For a long time, it was perfect. We both loved fitness, and our shared routines kept us connected. But then law school happened. Tim buried himself in work, and I supported him however I could. I took my first teaching job in California, bringing in a steady income while he chased his dream. I didn't mind--not at first. I believed in him. I believed in us.
But then Tim started to change. His ambition took over everything. The small, thoughtful gestures stopped. Our conversations became about money, careers, the future. He wasn't cruel, just distant. And every time I tried to bring us back to where we were, it felt like I was talking to a wall.
Then came New York. Tim's firm offered him an opportunity to become the youngest partner in its history. It was everything he had ever worked for. And for me, it meant uprooting my life, leaving my job, my friends, my students--everything I had built for myself. It wasn't really a choice. I had to support him, right? That's what a good wife does. So I smiled, packed up our things, and followed him.
Finding a new job so close to the start of the school year was nearly impossible. The only school willing to take me was Thomas Jefferson High, an underfunded inner-city school that made my old one look like a private academy. The principal didn't offer me the job because of my experience or my credentials--he hired me because I could teach biology and coach the girls' cheer squad. I should have been grateful. Instead, I resented it.
Those first few weeks were brutal. The students were rough around the edges, nothing like the eager kids I was used to. The resources were scarce, the faculty overworked. I came home exhausted, defeated, questioning whether I had made a huge mistake.
And then I met Coach Ken.
The principal introduced him as someone who could help me adjust. At first glance, I wasn't impressed. He was tall--massive, really--broad-shouldered and muscular, the kind of man who looked like he could crush someone in his arms. He had this easy smile, this charm that felt almost too effortless. The students adored him, hung on his every word. And yet, to me, he seemed like a man who didn't take anything seriously. I dismissed him immediately.
But Ken had a way of getting under my skin. He was relentless in his teasing, always throwing out some jokes, some playful remarks. I rolled my eyes at him more times than I could count. But then, little by little, I started seeing what everyone else saw. He cared. About the kids, about the school. About me, in ways I didn't expect.
It started small. He'd stay late to help me grade papers, his broad shoulders brushing against mine as we sat side by side, the warmth of his body an unspoken comfort in the quiet of my classroom. He'd sit beside me in the teachers' lounge when I looked stressed, nudging my arm with his own, his voice a low rumble as he teased, "You're gonna give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, Ling." Then, he'd flash that cocky, knowing grin, the one that made my breath catch in my throat for just a second too long.
And when I finally threw a joke back at him, something shifted. One afternoon, as I sat in the teachers' lounge, exhausted from a long day, he leaned in close and murmured, "I swear, Mrs. Ling, you work too hard. Maybe I should put you on the football team--make you run a few laps, get some of that stress out."
I arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Oh please, Coach, I'll run drills with the football team if you squeeze into some yoga pants and show me you can actually touch your toes first."
His eyes darkened, just for a second. His laugh was richer, deeper, and his body turned toward mine with a newfound energy, as if he was waiting for me to take it further.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with amusement. "Me, squeezing into yoga pants just to give you a show."
I shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. "I mean, fair is fair, Coach. If I'm putting myself through hell with your football drills, you should have to sweat through one of my yoga cooldowns. Unless, of course, you're afraid of getting shown up by an old lady."
Ken chuckled, shaking his head. "Old lady? Please, Mrs. Ling, if that's what you think, you clearly haven't seen yourself in those yoga outfits."
I scoffed, though I felt the heat creep up my neck. "Flattery isn't going to get you out of this bet, Coach. If I'm putting myself through hell with your football drills, you should have to sweat through one of my yoga cooldowns. Unless, of course, you're afraid of getting shown up."
His eyes gleamed with amusement, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. "Tell you what, Mrs. Ling--if I survive one of your yoga sessions, you have to run warm-ups with my boys. Deal?"
From that moment on, it became our thing--this flirtatious, playful banter that made the long days easier, a secret language spoken in teasing glances and suggestive smirks. The way his gaze dipped to my lips when I spoke, the way his hand would linger on my lower back just a second longer than necessary as we passed each other in the hall--it was subtle, but it was there, growing, simmering just beneath the surface.
I told myself it was harmless. That I was just playing along. But the way my pulse quickened when he walked into a room, the way my stomach fluttered whenever he laughed at something I said--I knew better.
But then I started noticing him. Really noticing him. The way his muscles flexed when he stretched after practice. The way he smelled, this deep, masculine scent that lingered whenever he was too close. The way his eyes lingered on mine just a second too long. I knew it was dangerous, knew I shouldn't feel the way I was starting to feel. But I was lonely. I was starving for attention, for affection. For something I hadn't felt in years.
I told myself it was just a moment of weakness. That it didn't mean anything.
But deep down, I knew the truth.
It meant everything.
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The first time he joined me for a yoga session, I told myself it was just friendly competition, nothing more. But as we moved through the warm-up, I noticed the way his gaze lingered. When I arched into a slow, deliberate cat-cow stretch, his eyes drifted lower, following the curve of my back, the sway of my hips. A thrill shot through me, but I kept my expression neutral, pretending not to notice. Still, the temptation to push him just a little further was too strong to resist.
I moved into downward dog, stretching deep, feeling the tight pull in my legs as I held the position. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ken swallow hard, his jaw clenching. He shifted like he was adjusting his stance, but I knew better. Heat curled in my belly at the realization--he was watching me, really watching me, and I liked it.
"Need some help, Coach?" I teased, glancing over my shoulder with an innocent smile.
Ken huffed, shaking his head. "I think you're enjoying this way too much, Mrs. Ling."
Smirking, I straightened and stepped toward him, placing my hands lightly on his shoulders to help guide him into a better position. The moment my fingers met his skin, a spark shot through me. His muscles were solid beneath my touch, heat radiating from his body. And then, there was the contrast--the deep, rich brown of his arms against my pale fingers, the way our skin looked together. It sent a dangerous thrill through me, one I tried to ignore.
I adjusted his stance, stepping closer, using my body to guide his movements. Every small contact--my hip brushing his, the faint graze of my hands over his back--sent my heart pounding. He was warm, solid, and far too tempting. And when I glanced up, his dark eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering behind them.
"You sure you're not just using this as an excuse to get your hands on me?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing, but edged with something deeper.
I smirked, refusing to let him see just how much he was affecting me. "Please, Coach. I'm just making sure you don't embarrass yourself."
When the session finally ended, I rolled up my mat, stealing one last glance at him. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture told me everything. I wasn't the only one feeling it. My heart pounded as I tried to steady my breath, my body still humming with the lingering sensation of his warmth, his strength, his presence. The thrill of being that close to him, of touching him under the guise of harmless adjustments, had ignited something deep inside me--something reckless, something exhilarating.
