She was my first lover, a good friend and an excellent teacher. She was also about 20 years older than me. She was our high school English teacher and yearbook adviser and I was a gawky, bookish, somewhat nerdy 18-year-old. It was the nerdy 1950s. She was divorced, no children and no great beauty, rather thin and bony, but she had a warm smile, a friendly attitude and she loved to teach.
It was early spring, we were close to deadline on the yearbook and I was the editor. She asked me to bring some pictures and copy to her house to work on that evening. We had worked closely on the project for months and sometimes just the two of us but never with such privacy.
I knew she liked me, most of the teachers did because I was attentive in class, asked good questions and got excellent grades. I never suspected that she had any sexual interest in me and I can't honestly say I was attracted to her, except in the sense that any heterosexual young male is attracted to any presentable female, but we had good rapport and enjoyed each other's company.
We finished our work about 8:30 and she asked if I would like something to drink before I started home. She carried a couple of glasses of cola into her living room and sat down on the sofa. I started to sit in a chair but she motioned me to the sofa beside her, explaining that I could put my drink on a coaster on the coffee table in front of it.
She knew that I had a scholarship to the state university and would enroll in the fall. We talked about the college experience and she told me what to expect in the classroom. Then she said, "Don't forget to have some social life. Getting to know people and how to react in social situations is one of the most important things you'll learn in college. You'll get to meet people from all over the country - maybe even all over the world. There'll be lots of interesting people there and," she smiled, "lots of girls."
I returned her smile, shook my head and probably blushed.
"I'm not very good around girls," I said.
She reached out a hand and placed it gently on my arm and said, "Maybe all you need is a little practice."
I smiled shyly and said, "That's easier said than done."
"Maybe all you need is a good teacher," she said and placed her other hand on my shoulder.
I gulped and said, "Would you like to teach me?"
She nodded and, turning slightly, shut off the lamp by the sofa, leaving only the light from the kitchen where we had been working at the table. I didn't move and just looked at her expectantly. She put one hand on my face and gently touched me on the cheek and ran her fingers lovingly down toward my neck. Then she put the other hand on my other cheek and slowly brought my head toward hers. She kissed me lightly and then more deeply and than slipped her tongue into my mouth.
"That's called a French kiss," she said.
I nodded my head. I had done that already with one girl that I had dated but that was the extent of my sexual experience. We kissed like that for what seemed several minutes. I could sense her breathing quickening and I could feel my young cock springing to full attention inside my blue jeans.
We stopped to catch our breath and I said, "What do I do?"
"Just do what seems natural but whatever you do, do it slowly and gently. Women and girls need a slower pace than do men and boys. Just remember that slow and steady wins the race."
Thus instructed and empowered I dropped my left hand to cup her right breast. Through the thin material of her blouse I could feel her bra and, under it, a very warm breast and a stiffening nipple. By this time I was getting very excited and my cock was hard as a rock. I started to unbutton her blouse and she stopped me and said, "It'll go faster if I do it."
