Teacher. Lover. Friend.

Again, a sincere thank you to Harddaysknight for his critical read of my story before publishing. Real life and a lot of hours working sometimes takes my concentration away from my writing, and he spots those lapses for me.

*

I was more interested in writing and history than I was interested in math and science for most of my school years, with the exception of my eighth grade year.

Mrs. Blackstone taught science my eighth grade year, and for one year at least, I was interested in science. To be honest, I wasn't that much more interested in the subject that I had ever been: I was a 14-year-old hornball, and I had a thing for Mrs. Blackstone.

It's not that Mrs. Blackstone was a young beauty on the verge of being a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. She was about 45 at the time and a little chunky, but she was fairly pretty and had big solid tits, and there was just something about her that gave me a hard-on on a regular basis. It was somewhat embarrassing, and I always felt she somehow knew how she affected me.

Not that she ever did anything to encourage me, of course. I knew it was just in my own head, but I could have sworn there were several times where she would look at me, know she got me hard, and then give me a little smile. Then I would go home that night and have a wet dream about her. I probably would have killed someone for her had she asked. As it was, I made it through the school year without totally embarrassing myself, and my science grades for that year jumped from the 80s to the 90s.

I went into the high school the next year and forgot about Mrs. Blackstone.

Fast forward four years. I was coming out of the high school boys' gym locker room after baseball practice, and Mrs. Blackstone was coming out of the girls' locker room probably after working out in the high school weight room, as several teachers did on a regular basis. She had gotten dressed back in her regular clothes and was walking toward the parking lot, ahead of me. I didn't recognize her from the back side, but I did notice that the middle button on her blouse was undone, and the back of her white bra was showing. I know it was only the back of her white bra, but again, I was a teenage hornball, and I started to get turned on. I came to my senses enough, though, to realize that I should probably say something to this woman.

"Ma'am. Ma'am," I called after the woman. She turned around and faced me; that's when I realized it was Mrs. Blackstone.

"Well, hi, Robert. How have you been? Do you like the high school?"

"Uh, yeah, Mrs. Blackstone, I like it. Excuse me, but you've left a button undone on your blouse," I said.

She blushed deeply. She had a gym bag in one hand and a folder in the other, so she would have to put both down to button her blouse, or ...

"I could get that button for your, Mrs. Blackstone. I've done a button or two for my mom over the years," I volunteered.

"That would be very nice of you, Robert. Could you do it quickly, please, for obvious reasons?"

I stepped over to her and did up the button as she turned her back toward me.

"Thank you, Robert. Your mother raised a gentleman."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Blackstone," I sputtered while remembering I hadn't taken a breath in about a minute.

Mrs. Blackstone went off to her car and I walked the mile to my house, thinking that I was only four buttons away from unbottoning Mrs. Blackstone's blouse. I had a wet dream about her that night.

I thought about Mrs. Blackstone for the next five days, and on the sixth day I saw her again at the high school, this time with her blouse all buttoned. We talked briefly, then as we were both ready to go our separate ways, she gave me a bone-stiffening look and asked if I had turned 18 yet.

"About a month ago, why?" was my quick answer.

"Thought so, no reason," was her reply.

Admittedly, we teenage boys can be so totally clueless, but when I saw her again the next week I got the feeling it wasn't a coincidence. She looked a little nervous as she asked me to join her inside the gym, and we went to a deserted corner.

"I have a proposition for you, Robert, and I'm sure it's unlike anything you've ever heard, so we need to go someplace quiet. How about one of the literacy rooms in the library?"

I nodded and started to follow her, watching her round ass as we headed to the library. The library seemed empty, but still she headed for a literacy room and closed the door behind us.

"I want to ask you something, but before I ask, I need to get your sworn promise that what we're about to talk about will never go any further than us, just you and me. It's really important that what we're going to talk about never gets discussed with anyone ... not your parents, not your friends, not even your dog. You got that?"

Despite the fact that we were in an enclosed room in a seemingly empty library, Mrs. Blackstone was practically whispering. Whatever was coming had to be damn serious, I thought.

"I will take this with me to my grave, if that's what you want, Mrs. Blackstone."

"That's exactly what I want, Robert."

She looked as serious as a heart attack. I thought she was going to pass out on me, but she finally spoke.

"My husband has an incurable neurological disease and is slowly dying. We haven't had sex in more than two years. It hurts not to have sex with the man I love, but I can make do. However, my husband thinks I should find a discreet sex partner to help me deal with the stress, so I don't fall into bed with the wrong person at the wrong time and wind up hating myself for cheating on him. I don't want to cheat on my husband, but he says this wouldn't be cheating if I was discreet and still respected him. I want you to be my sex partner."

The words came out in a hushed rush, and I had to listen very carefully. It was a good thing I was sitting in a chair while she was talking to me, because I'm pretty sure I would have fallen down had I been standing up.

"Me?" I croaked. "Why me?"

I'm sure most 18-year-old hornballs wouldn't have hesitated to say yes, but apparently I'm a special kind of stupid. I remembered the old saying that said if something seems to good to be true, it probably is.

"Partially because you asked the exact right question, rather than just say yes to what appears to be gratuitous sex," Mrs. Blackstone replied.

"I understand what my husband, in his loving way, is saying. I didn't even consider it for the first year, but after a second year and with who knows how much longer this could go on, I see what his fear is. But it still seems so wrong.

"It's supposed to be sex, without emotion, without love. Normally that's not how I'm built, so even considering the act with someone other than my husband has me blown away. But with you being a kid and all, it wouldn't be anything where I have to worry about emotions creeping in. I'm not going to get emotionally attached to an 18-year-old kid, and you're not going to ever get emotionally attached with someone who is probably older than your mother. If you could even stand to have sex with a woman my age."

She was blushing stop sign red while she was talking. I could see she was incredibly uncomfortable, but at the same time I was starting to get excited. I shook my head a bit to clear it. Could this woman that I've had wet dreams about really be asking me to have sex with her? Wasn't there a movie like this with Dustin Hoffman in it about a million years ago? I know I should have felt more compassion for her considering her situation with her husband, but what can I say, I'm 18, and -- holy shit -- this woman just asked me to have sex with her!

I tried to answer, but there were no words coming from my mouth. I started to hyperventilate. She had been looking at the ground while talking, but she finally looked up when she heard me wheezing.

"Slow down, try to breathe normally," she offered.

It took about 30 seconds before I regained my composure, and when I finally did, Mrs. Blackstone figured it out for both of us.

"I'm sorry, Robert. I didn't mean to do that to you. I get it. You're 18. You don't need to say a thing.

"OK, then, now that we've got that out of the way, let me do a little more figuring, then I will have some ground rules to set. Remember, no talking about this ... to anyone, ever."

"Yes, ma'am."

To say the least, I was more than a little distracted for the next week. It was even tough to concentrate on the baseball field. Seemed like every few minutes I was fantasizing about having sex with Mrs. Blackstone. I got a late jump on a ball hit out toward me in center field during a game on Tuesday, and it dropped in for a hit. Coach knew I wasn't totally concentrating, and I got pulled when we came in to the bench for our turn to hit.

"Damn it, Jarrett! Unless you want to spend the rest of the season riding pine, you'll get your head out of your ass when you're out there. You get to balls most center fielders can only dream about most of the time, but you were out there daydreaming on this one. Thinking about your next at-bat. Don't be. I got you out there for your glove son, not your stick. If you weren't such a good fielder, Hickey would be my center fielder."

Mrs. Blackstone must be following the baseball team, because she knew about our Thursday afternoon practice being called off. She showed up outside the locker room after practice on Wednesday, and told me she would pick me up as I walked home on Thursday. My heart started to race the minute she walked off.

I had walked about a quarter-mile toward my home after school on Thursday when Mrs. Blackstone's car pulled up ahead of me at the curb. I looked around quickly and got in the passenger side. My heart started to beat loudly in my chest.

"Are you OK with this, Robert?" Mrs. Blackstone asked with real concern in her voice.

"Oh yeah!" I responded.

We drove to a small motel on the other side of town. She pulled a room key out of her purse and we entered room 15.

"Can we get in trouble because you're a teacher?" I asked.

"Yes and no," she answered. "I'm not supposed to be doing this with any student, technically, but it would be worse if you were my actual student. There is a little wiggle room since you are not my student, and since you are over 18."

"And your husband is OK with this? He's not going to hire someone to shoot me for fooling around with his wife?"

"Yes, he is OK with this. No, he doesn't want to know anything about when and where we meet and what we do ... that's the rules between him and me ... but as long as we all abide by the rules there shouldn't be any problems for anyone."

"You have done this before, haven't you?" Mrs. Blackstone asked.

"Yes, ma'am," I responded as she stood in front of me and started taking off her clothes.

Her thin blue blouse came off first, followed by her slacks. I felt my dick harden in my jeans. Holy shit, I was within a bra and panties of seeing Mrs. Blackstone naked! I think I drooled.

She went over to the bed and turned the bedspread and blanket down. I hadn't moved, so she came over to me and took the bottom of my Yankees T-shirt in her hands and pulled it off over my head. She next undid my belt and pushed my jeans down to the floor as I stepped out of them. My hard dick was straining against my briefs. She rubbed her hand over my dick, and it jumped of its own volition before she removed my underwear. I was standing naked with my hard-on sticking almost straight out.

"Do you want to do the honors?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," I think I said, or something like that. She turned around with her back to me, and I unhooked and removed her bra. She then turned back toward me and I got to see her big white globes sticking out and hanging down on her stomach. Her tits were so much bigger than the other two sets I had been this close to, but they weren't nearly as perky because she wasn't 18 like the other two girls I had already bedded in my limited sexual lifetime. Pretty sure I did drool this time as she took my hands and gently placed them on her tits.

"Wow!" I whispered, and she smiled. She then directed my hands to the waistband of her bikini panties, and I pulled them down in one smooth move.

The rest is kind of a blur of motion, punctuated by her rubbing the head of my dick up and down the length of her very wet pussy before stopping me at her opening and letting me do the rest. Oh my God, this woman's pussy was absolutely on fire! She was wetter than either Brittney or Caroline, and a whole lot hotter. Their pussies, however, seemed to be a lot tighter, but Mrs. Blackstone more than made up for that by squeezing my dick with her vaginal muscles. It was like my dick and my brain were communicating directly with one another, and everything was amazing. I pumped her hard and fast for about 15 minutes before I came like a freight train!

I must have pumped a gallon of sperm into Mrs. Blackstone. I kept pumping and humping as my dick slowly softened, then I carefully pulled out.

God, I felt like Superman!

"That was amazing!" I blurted out as we separated, but her face told me otherwise.

"What!?" I said quizzically.

"How about next time I lead, and you follow. I'm the one with the experience here," she said very gently.

I turned red as a beet. My greatest moment of triumph turned to failure in five seconds flat.

"Who do you think you satisfied with that?" she asked, pointing to my now deflated dick. "You satisfied yourself, that's who. But you're supposed to be satisfying me, and any future lovers, girlfriends, and maybe a wife.

"It's OK, Sweetie. If you're willing to work with an old lady like me, I'm willing to work with you. But you have to promise me that when I teach you, you only use your powers for good, not evil."

She smiled brightly as she said that last part, and the crushing weight that was laying on my spirit was lifted.

We got together about once every two weeks after that, and she was as good as her word. She taught me that satisfying your partner during sex can be incredibly erotic. Sometimes, though, I was a slow learner, and like the good teacher she was, she had me repeat the lesson before we had to leave for the day.

She taught me several positions with multiple variations, how changing an angle by just a bit can make a world of difference, and how to change pace and make the fun last. Little by little, she also taught me about how a woman -- not a girl -- thinks.

She gave me the first blowjob of my life on our third meeting, and I thought my head was going to explode. She then had me use my mouth on her after first taking the time to explain a few things. I stumbled and bumbled around, and the smell wasn't too great, but the orgasms I gave her were so intense I knew I wanted to do that again and again ... and she agreed with me.

Admittedly, I knew nothing about women's orgasms before getting together with Mrs. Blackstone. It's not high on the priority list for most teenage boys. I thought her vaginal muscles were going to crush my dick the first time she had an orgasm with me inside her, and the first time I gave her an oral orgasm she practically drenched me with her fluids.

"Is it always like that, Mrs. Blackstone?" I asked as I came up sputtering.

"Dear Robert, when we are together like this, please call me Traci. You make me feel like I'm robbing the cradle with that Mrs. Blackstone shit. And yes, it's kind of like that all the time if you do a good job with your tongue. But it's also been a very long time for me, and I was probably a little stronger and more voluminous than normal."

She settled down somewhat as the weeks went by, but not too awful much. It seems I was a pretty good student, particularly with my tongue.

"Once word gets around that you eat pussy, you're going to become very popular, dear boy," she said to me after one such session. "And if girls find out that you not only do it, but are very good at it, nobody is going to have more dates than you."

"And I guess we need to draw up some rules for that, too," she continued. "I want you to have a normal teenage life, but you need to make sure that you always wear a condom when you have sex with anyone other than me. I get to experience you 'au naturel', but I can't have you bringing me any unwanted bugs. And wearing a condom with these fertile young things will keep you from bringing home any surprise grandchildren.

"As for me, I went on the pill when we began our relationship."

I turned red when she said that, because, in all honesty, I was so thrilled with the arrangement I never even gave birth control the first thought.

As promised, our relationship was indeed unique. We would have great sex for an hour or two. In between, we talked more like a mother and son. She almost never mentioned her husband. I was still somewhat concerned that I might be interfering with her marriage, but she assured me that was not the case, and I should let the matter drop. She admitted to me she was still somewhat uncomfortable with the situation, and preferred to keep it as separated from her regular life as she could.

Most of the time when we met she would be in what appeared to be workout attire. She admitted to me that she would tell her husband she was hitting the gym when we would get together, but she also did work out on a regular basis, so maybe she felt it wouldn't be quite as obvious to him when she was meeting me.

I graduated from high school a couple of months later. Mrs. Blackstone showed up for the occasion, coming over to me and my parents to say hello before the ceremony. Then she sat with my parents throughout the ceremony, and when I occasionally looked over I could see she and my mother were just chattering like old friends. I was so weirded out about the situation that I never really heard any of the usual "we can make the world a great place" speeches.

A day or two later, my mother made sure to tell me she thought Mrs. Blackstone was a nice person, and she was glad that I had someone of her years to "advise me" and be my friend. I was not sure what to make of that little speech, but I knew better than to say anything. Maybe it was Mrs. Blackstone's way of testing me to see if I'd spill the beans.

I was somewhat of a tech guy in high school, so I decided to go into information systems in college, and I chose a school about an hour away from home. Honestly, my arrangement with Mrs. Blackstone never was a consideration as to where I was going to go to college. In fact, she told me that she understood I had a life to live, and I needed to do what was best for me.

Still, I think we were both pleased with the fact that we could still meet every two or three weeks.

As Traci predicted, my popularity with girls grew when they found out I was a good pussy eater. It wasn't my style to be a raging Lothario, but I did well enough in both high school and college. But it all wasn't just about my ability to induce mind-blowing orgasms with my mouth. I found that my time with Traci was giving me a surge in confidence, and girls and women seemed to respond to that.

Traci seemed a little distracted during one of our sessions early in my junior year, which was unusual because normally she was so focused on what we were doing. We had a good friendship going and had kept it at that. We both understood this was sex, with no emotional attachment, like we had agreed upon, but you can't have a relationship like we had without some kind of attachment, unless you're both robots or complete sluts or just don't give a shit about anything in life. I asked her if we had a problem, and she broke down in my arms.

"He's getting weaker, Robert. I think the end is nearing. I need to spend all of my free time with him, holding him, touching him. We'll have to stop our relationship."