College classes are bad enough without falling behind. Between the sheer volume of classes and my work obligations that barely covered my living expenses, it was inevitable that something would give. Biology became the threatened species of my class load.
Mrs. Gail Hannity was my Biology instructor. Smart, precise, and really quite beautiful, it was entirely possible that she was a major contributor to my in-class distraction. Scratch that; she was the reason. It was extremely difficult for me to focus on the classroom discussion whenever she was up from her desk and moving around the room.
Mrs. Hannity stood about 5'8", but appeared much taller with the elegant high heeled shoes she usually wore that made her already long legs appear even longer. I don't recall her ever wearing nylons, leaving the almost perfect pale skin of her legs available for view -- and view I did -- aided by her dresses and skirts that were almost always cut above the knees. While some might think her short skirts a fashion faux pas given that she was at least in her early 40s, she definitely had the legs for it. The same couldn't be said for a lot of girls my age.
And the rest of her was equally beautiful. She had golden blond hair that was cut just above her shoulders. She tended to always stroke her hair in a futile attempt to get it to rest behind an ear, only to have the silky tresses fall back into her very pretty face. She had piercing green eyes, a smallish nose and lips that were thin and businesslike, but were still very, very desirable.
And, like her legs, Mrs. Hannity had a body that the girls would kill for, and the guys would kill to get to. She had full, but not too large, breasts with a creamy cleavage that was usually home for a low dangling pendant, tight abs and a trim waist that rolled into full hips and one of the most incredible looking asses in creation. Even her voice distracted me from hearing the words during her lectures as she spoke with a melodic voice and crisp diction that made me want to just close my eyes and drift off to the soothing sound. But, in keeping with her striking appearance, she wore a prominent wedding ring that indicated a very lucky husband existed somewhere out there.
The guys fantasized about Mrs. Hannity and the girls were jealous of her. Me? I think I was stupidly in love, or at the very least suffering from a really bad case of lust. You might even say that my condition was terminal; her husband would likely kill me if he knew how much I hungered for his stunning wife.
Lost in my reverie, the bustle of a class being dismissed shook me from my dreamy state and told me that again I had missed another day's lesson. I lamely gathered up my books and started for the door.
"Tyler," called Mrs. Hannity sternly from a spot near her desk. "Take a seat."
Oh, crap.
I did as I was told, sitting back down while the class filed out of the room. Once they were gone, I looked at Mrs. Hannity meekly while she stared back at me in cold silence.
"You're failing my class, Tyler," she said in a motherly, admonishing tone.
"Yes, ma'am," was all I could say. I mean, she was one hundred percent right.
"Shall we talk about it?" she asked me, hands on her hips.
I kind of just shrugged my shoulders, suddenly feeling like I lost nearly 10 years of my life under her scrutinizing gaze and was 11 again.
"Okay," she said in a tone that now sounded a little more compassionate, "a large, empty classroom can make this sound a bit intimidating. Come back into my office."
I got up and followed my teacher into her private office off the end of the classroom. She held the door open for me and then shut it once I was in the room. She sat in a chair on my side of the desk while I remained standing.
"I won't beat around the bush, Tyler," Mrs. Hannity began, looking up at me stern and businesslike. "You're failing your class. Worse yet, you're failing MY class, and I don't find that acceptable. You're not stupid, so something is lacking. Please explain yourself."
"Maybe," I said weakly, "maybe I need to transfer to another class."
"Give up?" she asked. "What for?"
I strained to find the words, and figured it was better to just let it out. I took a deep breath.
"Mrs. Hannity," I said, "I'm just unable to focus in your class. I don't hear the lectures and I don't follow the lessons because..."
"Because?" she prodded.
"Because I really, really find you attractive and..." Oh, God, here it comes, "...sexy. I come to class and all I see or hear is you."
Well, there it was. If Mrs. Hannity was bothered by my admission of lust, she wasn't showing it. In fact, a trace of a smile began at the corner of her beautiful lips.
"Thank you for the compliment, Tyler," she said, her voice soft. "I have heard of this happening between a student and teacher, but I haven't had to deal with it myself."
That I couldn't understand. Mrs. Hannity had to have affected a number of her male students before me unless they were all blind or gay. Or both.
"But," she continued, "I sensed that in you. And I think a smart, good looking young man such as yourself warrants some tutoring to keep you from failing my class."
"If you think it would help," I replied.
"Let me put it this way," she said, leaning back and looking me hard in the eyes, "I demand a lot of my students. I have high expectations for them. And, I get what I want."
