My Teacher the Renaissance Man

The events described here actually happened, but names, places and certain details have been altered to protect the characters' privacy.

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When I was fifteen, my parents enrolled me in an SAT prep course hoping in their usual Asian fashion that it would help me achieve the score necessary to give them bragging rights over their other Asian friends' kids. Personally, I thought this was going to be the biggest waste of time, but as with many things in my pre-college life, I did as my parents ordered, realizing it was useless to fight.

When I'd been dropped off at the little center and seated, a very tall man walked into the room. He looked to be in his early thirties, with very thick, wavy brown hair. His build was slender, but leanly muscled which I could tell by the way he was dressed and he sported a pair of simple wire-framed glasses. He introduced himself as Timothy Klein, said that he taught in one of the suburban high schools and then asked each of us to introduce ourselves. When he got to me and I told him which high school I attended, he smiled and said, "Really? That's where I'll be teaching in the fall." It turned out that he was recently hired as one of the new history teachers at my school -- no small feat considering it was one of the top five public schools in the nation.

As the class progressed, I quickly realized that I was right and that it likely would not help me boost my scores all that much, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed listening to the man talk. He was articulate, witty, with a dry sense of humor that appealed to my anglophilic tendencies. It was also quite obvious that he was extremely well read and intelligent and I was able to quit the class after one session happy with the knowledge that I would see him again and perhaps even be lucky enough to take a class with him.

Sure enough, my junior year, I was passing through one of the lounging areas on campus and I saw him striding through the halls on those wonderfully long legs of his. Looking back on it, I think he was the main reason I became enamored of men who were above six feet tall as he was about six-four. Waving to him, he looked at me with an expression o f partial recognition and I reminded him, "I came to your SAT prep course for one day."

"Oh, yes!" He laughed, and it was a very pleasant sound and I must have grinned like an idiot back at him. When I asked him what classes he was teaching, he had a regular history class and was also teaching the advanced placement European History class for college credit. I immediately made up my mind to sign up for his course next year. I mentioned my interest in British history and he smiled and suggested, "You should definitely take my class then." I didn't need any more convincing.

Senior year, I was seventeen and finally starting to come out of my awkward phase. My parents had consented to letting me wear contact lenses, I had finally shed all of the baby fat that had been plaguing me for years and I even snuck a little makeup on after I got to school. Nothing fancy, just some lipstick. What surprised me the most was that although I had been teased as the fat, nerdy kid for so many years, now I actually look kind of...pretty. I had big brown eyes that were unusual on Asians as well as a smattering of freckles that people seemed to find charming. I also dressed somewhat unusually, wearing boys' combat boots with boy jeans and oversized T shirts with some British band splashed across the front or long black dresses with shiny vinyl shoes. I was also an artist, and I constantly carried either my guitar or my large cardboard portfolio around with me as a symbol of my identification with the angsty artist mindset.

The class that Mr. K taught was better than I could ever have predicted. His teaching style was dynamic, unconventional and with the sarcastic wit he possessed, it was like watching Monty Python every day. On the first day, I pulled up a seat in the second row (not wanting to be too obvious) and when he walked in, he again recognized me and greeted me with a warm, "Well, hello! Good to see you again." The fact that he remembered made me feel all warm and squishy inside. I don't think I ever enjoyed a class as much as I did his and I worked my ass off to do well. I think because I admired him so much, I needed him to approve of my work.

In my spare time I'd often go to his office to ask questions about history or literature and would stare at him in awe as he talked knowledgeably on one subject or another. He'd lend me books which he thought I'd find interesting, some of which I eventually bought my own copies of. Timothy Klein was the perfect Renaissance man, well versed in all subjects, handsome, fashionable and clever. I think from that time on I was spoiled for all men as he occupied a place on a pedestal in my eyes.

Every day, I looked forward to the forty minutes I would spend sitting a mere ten feet away from him. He never taught behind a desk. Mr. K was always walking, gesturing, or writing on the board. He even dreamed up interesting projects for us that allowed us to sneak food, music and even television into the classroom. Among the students, he was definitely a favorite and all of his students did surprisingly well on the advanced placement exams. As the year drew to a close, it would sometimes get me down to think that I'd no longer be able to see him every day, hear his voice, or even watch him pace the front of the classroom. He had a way of running his hands through his hair that always made me itch to touch it. It looked so thick and luxurious and I often daydreamed about what it would be like to kiss him and feel it between my fingers. Of course immediately afterwards I would berate myself for having such thoughts about a married man and one who probably had no interest in a silly teenager barely older than his own daughter.

The only time I ever did badly in his class was during the period of the French Revolution, which bored me to tears. Even my idolization for him wasn't enough to overcome my distaste for learning the material and when I got my test back with a big "C" on it, he handed it to me with a bemused expression. "Bit of an anomaly for you isn't it?" he asked with a grin.

"I figured I could afford it," I joked back and he laughed in agreement. I knew that I had more that enough padding to still get an "A".

So I as well as an army of other teenage girls spent our formative years mooning over him at our desks. We all assumed that his wife must be the most gorgeous amazing woman in the world to have succeeded in snagging him. Later I found out that she was actually rather plain when he brought her to the prom that he chaperoned. Needless to say we were all a little disappointed, but still very envious. I wasn't there, as I had already graduated, but I heard he looked fabulous in a suit and tie.

When graduation finally came, it was a bittersweet time for me. I was looking forward to never returning to live under my parents' roof but also sad to be leaving the man who had unknowingly mentored me through my last year of high school. Mr. K had been a wonderful source of knowledge, encouragement and motivation -- something I never got at home, and it gnawed at me that I'd be deprived of that after becoming used to seeing him almost daily. As all good teachers, he wished me luck and smiled for me when I asked to take his picture. I still have that photo.

College was a fun time but at every vacation when I went to visit my family, I stopped by the school to surprise him and his face always lit up with a welcome smile as he asked with genuine curiosity of how I was doing. I would take the time to get his advice on what books I should try reading or what films were to be watched. My mother always said that my problem was I never listened to anyone else. In his case, his word was gospel and if he liked it, I had to check it out.

My university was only fifty minutes away from where my parents lived and was known for having some of the best antique bookshops in the city. He asked me to email him when I was free so that we could grab a coffee if he was ever in the area to buy books. My second year in college, I had a boyfriend but couldn't help being excited at seeing him again. He stopped by my dorm and nodded like a proud dad at my surroundings before we stopped off at the bookstore. I tried not to be too obvious about staring at him as he perused the shelves. Because he was half Italian and half German, he looked extremely young due to the wonderful quality of his olive skin. At this point he was about thirty six and now also wore contacts. I had always liked his glasses, but he looked just as handsome without them and it made it easier for him to play tennis.

When we'd sat down for coffee, he told me about what was new at the school and how his family was doing. He was one of the only people who if he was talking, I just shut up and listened. I hated to see him go but before he did, he completely surprised me by giving me a hug and saying, "You look great." As he was married with three children. I assumed that he was just being nice and smiled inanely at his compliment.

After that, we'd meet up a few times a year for coffee. We would chat while I helped him grade papers and ask if I was ever as silly as some of these kids seemed. He always shook his head and assured me that I was a very memorable student because of how interested I was in the subject. This of course would lead to my telling him that it was his spectacular teaching style that helped make it so engrossing and he would laugh while telling me he was flattered that I recommended his class to so many people. Sometimes we'd catch a movie, either in a theater or at my place. He spoke often about his children but surprisingly not of his wife and part of me began to wonder if everything was alright in his marriage.

As I got to learn more about him, he shared with me what it was like to grow up in the sartorial seventies, how he was not a very good student (although I never bought this story) and even how he sometimes got into trouble after having a few too many drinks on rare occasions. It was strange to hear about him doing normal things like everyone else. I wasn't quite sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, it was odd to have to adapt my idealistic fantasy of him with this new information, but on the other hand, I felt privileged to be privy to such personal knowledge. Once I even managed to screw up enough courage to ask if he met any of his other former students like he did with me, and he told me with a warm smile that in fact, I was the only one. Hearing him say that made my heart sing and I wished he had a younger unmarried brother who was like him. When I told him that, he chuckled and said, "Maybe when I'm old, you can come take care of me." I assumed he was just being nice, but I wasn't sure what to make of that comment.

My third year in college, I began working out seriously and dropped a significant amount of weight. My college boyfriend had moved out of state and dumped me for a Japanese girl and my ego was smarting. Determined to be a bikini goddess, I worked out daily until I was satisfied that I could be proud of how I looked and felt vindicated when Tim -- it was weird calling him Tim now -- came to visit and told me that I looked amazing. Because I figured he was married and therefore would never want a foolish little girl like me, I felt safe flirting with him. He knew that he personified the ideal man for me and that he occupied a place in my esteem above all other mortal men. He often joked that he hoped that he wouldn't be pushed off by some other younger guy and I assured him that there was probably no other man on the planet that I admired more than him or ever could for that matter and he always laughed at the staunch conviction that I displayed.

As I went though my early twenties, boyfriends came and went, and he was always there when the guy didn't work out, telling me that I was beautiful and that some guy who really deserved me would make me really happy. It meant so much for me to hear him say that, as his was one of the only opinions that mattered. I lost touch with him after I started law school and began dating another student from my class but after three years we broke up and I found myself free once again. I was pretty close to graduating and he offered to take me out to dinner to celebrate. Never turning down an offer to meet him, of course I said yes and dressed as nicely as possible in anticipation of the evening.

When he pulled up in his car, I slid into the passenger side and literally started glowing when he said, "You look wonderful!" I think I giggled like a four year-old girl at his compliment. As we drove to the restaurant, a French place, I was shocked when he told me that he was in the process of getting a divorce. He explained that he and his wife had married early and now were two completely different people. As a result, they fought often and now felt that it was better for their children not to see them arguing all the time and he was nearly done with the process. Of course the gears in my head were turning as now he was no longer off limits and I seriously wondered if he ever thought of me not as a former student, but as a woman. At this point I was twenty-seven and it had been almost a decade since he'd been my teacher.

So, I was understandably more than a little distracted during dinner. I enjoyed myself, naturally, but I also started to feel very antsy. All I could think about was if he wanted me even half as much as I wanted him, but after having spent the last ten years being infatuated with him I wasn't about to do anything to make him uncomfortable and therefore not see me anymore. During the meal, he gave me no signs that he had any interest in me beyond the platonic, and I admit that I felt quite rejected but did nothing.

We drove back to my apartment for the most part in silence and I tried to make myself okay with the fact that he saw me as nothing more than a girl who at one point happened to be his student. My attraction for him must have been so strong that he could smell it because when he parked his car, and gave me the customary hug before dropping me off, he held me longer than he usually did and I felt my pulse quicken as he just held me next to him. As I rested my head on his shoulder, I heard him say, "You know, it's strange. When I see you, I think of you almost like a daughter but at the same time, I also see you as a friend and adult." Unable to help myself, I snuggled into his side and told him that I often felt the same way, except that he was sometimes a paternal figure for me. It felt so nice to be held by him and I kept inhaling his cologne wishing I was somehow more attractive to him, as he just didn't seem interested in me at all.

I was wrong in my assumption and what he did next nearly made me pass out. He turned his head gently and began kissing me softly, pulling me closer to him. That mouth that had captivated me with words of eloquence for all those years was so amazingly soft and his tongue danced against mine for what felt like an eternity. I couldn't remember a kiss so sensual in my life and I knew he'd ruined me. Finally, he broke away from me and frowned slightly when he saw how heavily I was breathing. "What's wrong, sweetie?" he asked.

I was almost hyperventilating from excitement and could barely whisper, "You have no idea what you do to me, and how badly I wanted you -- want you." Yanking me back to him, he crushed my mouth under his and my fingers stole into his soft curls as he kissed me and after dreaming about it for ten years, it was unbelievable. Without stopping, he slid a hand between my thighs and I squealed in surprise as his finger slid into my shaved snatch.

"My god, you're so wet," he breathed into my mouth, before slipping his entire finger inside. I was almost crying with need as he worked his finger in and out of me. I'd always wondered if he was large and I'd always imagined that he was, as he was so tall and when he took my hand and placed it on the crotch of his pants, my eyes must have popped open because I found I was right, and then some. He was enormous, hot, and very stiff. I began squeezing him through his slacks and felt his breath on my neck in ragged gasps. "Let me tuck you in," he asked, his voice hoarse. My desire was starting to run onto the leather of his car seats and I nodded, unable to refuse him. When he pulled his hand away, he licked my juices off his fingers and looked at me from under hooded eyes before putting the key back in the ignition. Hastily parking the car, he pinned me against the elevator door as we impatiently made out the thirty some floors to my apartment. I swear I would have let him take me right there if he'd wanted to.

Still unable to believe this was happening, I led him to my room and he sat me on the bed, looking me up and down. His appraisal of my body was decidedly lustful, possessive and almost triumphant. Smiling, he softly told me, "I can't wait to undress you." I don't know that I've ever heard such sexy words and in seconds he was on top of me and tugging away my clothes. When he had stripped me naked, he began running his hands all over my skin and his touch was electrifying, all the while mixed with the sound of his voice telling me how hard it made him to see me like this. Still fully dressed, he let my legs hang over the side of the bed and spread my lips with his fingers before taking a long, warm taste of my pussy. "You taste amazing," he moaned, before snaking his tongue inside. It shouldn't have surprised me, as he was so remarkable, but he was as skilled a lover as he was at everything else and not even a minute later I was screaming his name as I ground his head into my hips.

When I'd recovered enough to breath at a normal pace, he laid on top of me and began kissing me again, but this time, I could taste myself all over him. "God, that was so fucking sexy," he told me between kisses. It got me so hot and bothered to hear him swear, as I'd never heard him do that before and the fact that he was cursing because of me drove me through the roof. Then somehow he knew what I liked and began to torture my earlobe, which reduced me to a whimpering, pleading mess as his large hands pinned me onto the bed. I begged him to let me suck him and he asked tauntingly, "Oh, do you want to suck my cock?" It was driving me insane to hear him talk so dirty to me. I nodded and wheedled with him to let me up and finally he relented. "Good girl, suck it," he told me.

I knelt and undid his belt, then his zipper and I couldn't help sucking in my breath when I saw how he's soaked through his briefs with precum and without bothering to free him, I licked the salty patch of wetness and felt his cock jump under my tongue. He tasted divine and I loved at how much of it he produced. Pulling him out, my mouth watered at how long and thick he was and I nearly begged him to fuck me right there, but instead, I took him between my lips and began to worship his gorgeous cock with my tongue. I loved the expression on his face as I stared up at him, my mouth stretched tight over his thick meat. He stared down at me the whole time, his hands on either side of my head, guiding me back and forth and it felt so delightfully naughty to think that at one point he had been my teacher and now I was on the floor with his cock down my throat greedily drinking his precum. Hearing him groan in satisfaction made me so wet and I wanted to give him the most amazing head he'd ever had. Suddenly I felt his hand on my shoulder and he was trying to push me away. "No, sweetie," he gasped. "I don't want to just cum yet. You have to stop." Ignoring him, I latched on to his tasty shaft and continued to fellate him until I felt him blast my tonsils with obscene amounts of his cream. I sucked every last drop until he had to pull away from being too sensitive.