Every one knows that high students often have crushes on their teachers, especially if the teacher is not bad looking and is sympathetic to their adolescent problems. And the crushes can go both ways, even all three ways. Female students may have a crush on their male teachers. Male students may have a crush on their female teachers. Or even a student of one sex may have a crush on a teacher of the same sex.
What is less commonly known is that often teachers also have crushes on their students, especially the more appealing and likeable ones. Naturally, the teaching code expects that you do not express this crush in any way, but it still can be there. I doubt that there is a male or female teacher anywhere in America who has not fantasized at one time or another about the idea of having sex with one of their more attractive and appealing students. As an English teacher in a New England high school, I had fantasized about that idea from time to time, but naturally I never acted upon it.
My best fantasy was about Katherine Comby. She came from a well-to-do family and was a striking beauty as well as highly intelligent. She was about five-eight with long blonde hair that hung to the middle of her back, the traditional blue eyes, and a lovely figure that filled out only 110 pounds. She also had the most engaging sweet smile. Her breasts appeared to be on the smallish size, but they fit her frame.
There was no question my fondness for Kathy was returned. While she was one of the smartest students in the senior class, she used to come to my room nearly every day after school to get my input on essays she had written for other classes. She hardly needed advice, so I assumed that was just an excuse to get together and talk.
One of the things we liked to talk about was travel. Travel was my passion, and since I was a widower, during the summer break, I would travel to some exotic spot, such as Paris, London, Rome, Vienna, etc. for a couple of weeks. Despite Kathy's tender age, she also had been to London, Rome, and Vienna, thanks to her grandfather, also a widower, who took her on one distant summer vacation every year as long as she got good grades in school. I also suspected he got a thrill at the idea of having a beautiful young woman on his arm. Let people think what they would; he probably enjoyed it.
But the one place she said she had always wanted to go to was Paris, which I had been to a number of times. She said she envied me—and definitely wanted to go there someday.
I was saddened when Kathy graduated and prepared to go off to a university in Boston to study for Broadcast Journalism. She graduated at the age of 17, but would turn 18 during the summer. Her high school boyfriend Ryan was going to the same school for pre-Law, and it was my understanding that they would be living together. Sigh. What a lucky man.
But I was also to run into her during the summer before she left. Some friends were visiting me from out of state, so I took them to dinner at one of the area's finer restaurants. I was surprised to find that Kathy was our waitress. I stood up to greet her, and we exchanged hugs, which I guess was allowed now since she was no longer my student.
"So you're working here during the summer?" I asked.
"Yeah."
"And how is Ryan?"
She frowned. "We're not going together anymore," she replied, "He wanted to get married right away and start to have a big family instead of going to school. But I'm not ready for that yet—so we've split up."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I guess it's for the best if that's the way you feel. Where is your grandfather going to take you this year? Paris?"
Her face darkened. "My grandpa died about a month ago."
"Well, I'm sorry to hear about that as well."
"So I guess I won't be going anywhere for awhile. I can't afford it while I'm going to school."
"Well, you'll get there someday. In the meantime, good luck in school."
"Thanks."
We embraced again, and I returned to my table of friends. "That was a former student of mine," I explained.
"She looked more like a former girlfriend from that hug," friend Don said.
"Don't be silly. Not having an affair with the students is the number one rule of teaching."
But after the dinner, when I was sitting at home having a glass of wine, I began to think about it.
While I was not planning another trip to Paris right away, there was no reason why I could NOT take one. And Paris in the month of December was one of my favorite times to go there. Airfare was cheap, hotel rooms were easy and inexpensive to get, and restaurants were always uncrowded.
I knew that Kathy would be off school for a couple of weeks during the Christmas period. What if I asked her if she would like to go with me to Paris for a week? I would simply be her escort. She would be expected to pay for her own portion of the airfare, but not right away; it could be done in installments. And the hotel room would cost the same if it was one or two persons, so I could take care of that. I could get one room but ask for double beds (Yeah, right.) And as far as meals went, I would be happy to pay for her meal just for the pleasure of her companionship and conversation.
Naturally, I would tell her that it would be strictly a platonic arrangement, in case she wanted to tell her parents about the trip, and nothing unseemly would be expected of her. (Yeah, right.)
I found out what time she started to work at the restaurant, so I visited there at the beginning of her shift, when I knew she would not be too busy.
"Hi!" she greeted.
"I have something to ask you. Do you have a couple of minutes?"
"Sure." She sat down at a table, and I sat opposite her.
"I'm planning a trip to Paris in the middle of December, and I wondered if you would like to come along. I could be your guide."
Here eyes grew wide. "Are you kidding me?!"
"No, I'm not kidding."
I explained the details to her and how it would work. She would be expected to pay me back for the airfare, which I could take care of initially, but she could do it over a period of time.
"I would love to go to Paris!" she cried.
"You're sure your parents would not object?"
"Of course not. They know you were my teacher, and even if they did, I would go anyway. I'm eighteen, you know."
Yes, I did know that, and it was an important factor. I was 52 and in good physical shape and surely not too old for an 18-year-old? I assumed since she had been dating Ryan for more than two years that she was no longer a virgin. You know kids today.
"It's a deal then," I replied, "I'll like to get the tickets for leaving from Logan Airport on the December sixteenth and then back on the twenty-third. Would that be okay?"
"It would be very okay. I could pay you for about half of my airfare right away and the rest over a couple of months, if that would be okay."
"Of course. Then your only expense would be if you wanted to buy anything there."
"Which I would," she replied with a big smile.
I was able to get the tickets from American Airlines for $450 RT for each of us and was able to make a reservation at a little French hotel I had always liked on the Rue Ste. Honore, not far from the Arc du Triomph. I made sure that it was a front room with a view of the Eiffel Tower—and that it had a double bed.
I don't know whether Kathy ever actually did tell her parents or not, but I picked her up at her dorm in Boston on the last day before Christmas recess and drove her out to Logan International. At my suggestion, she was carrying only one small suitcase. We were able to have dinner at a restaurant at Logan while waiting for the 7 p.m. flight. I ordered a carafe of white wine to go with it. I don't know what the drinking age was in Mass., but I assumed I could get away with it.
"I guess since you're eighteen and no longer a student of mine, I can offer you a glass of wine," I said.
"Of course."
I poured for her. "Good way to start the trip," I said.
She raised her glass. "To Paris."
"Yes, to Paris." I joined the toast.
"I'm so excited!" she said.
"So am I." I could only hope. "The windows of our hotel room overlook the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Wait until you see it at night all lighted up."
"I can hardly wait."
"It's a shame you're not seeing Paris for the first time with a husband or a lover. Then you could make love in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower, so to speak."
"This will be better," she replied.
Hmmm, that was an interesting reply.
While the trip was only seven hours long, it was across a number of time zones, so I knew that we would arrive with the normal jetlag, 6 a.m. their time, 2 a.m. our time. Kathy tried to sleep by resting her head on my shoulder. But since our row was three across and no one was in the third seat, I suggested that she stretch out and put her pillow in my lap, which she did. The proximity of her head and mouth to my "teacher's pointer" so to speak was giving me a bit of an erection, but luckily the pillow covered it. Still, I enjoyed caressing her hair, and I think she enjoyed it as well.
We arrived bleary-eyed at Charles DeGaulle Airport at 6 a.m. and got a taxi to the hotel. Normally, I would have gone in by the less expensive train, but this trip was something special so I was willing to spring for the money.
Because of the off-season, we were able to check into our hotel room right away, but I had warned Kathy that the worst thing you can do when traveling like this would be to go to bed because you felt tired. Instead, you should try to get on European time right away, stay up all day, and then go to bed a little earlier than normal.
We discovered that while the room had a fabulous view of the Eiffel Tower out the front window, it did not have separate beds but only one double bed. I went down (supposedly) to the front desk to talk about it but then returned to tell Kathy that the only room left with separate beds did not have a view of the tower.
"Then I want this room," she said, spinning around. "I love the Tower view! The bed is fine," she said looking at it.
"Okay, and in return, I promise not to molest you while you're sleeping."
"Unless I ask you to," she said with a smile.
Well, that was interesting.
We spent the rest of the day walking around. Up and down the Champs Elysees. Over across the Seine to the Eiffel Tower but not up in it (we would save that for later), and finally back to the hotel to freshen up for dinner. Kathy took a shower and put on a lovely yet simple black dress. How I would have loved to join her in the shower. But I guessed that was a dream which would not come true. As it turned out, I was wrong.
Paris is a wonderful place to be during the Christmas season. At night, all the chestnut trees along the Champs Elysees are decorated with white lights, the windows of the major department stores, such as Galeries Lafayette, feature animated Christmas displays, and below the Sacre Coeur church there is a big Christmas merry go round. I planned to visit all of them with her.
That night, I took her to a favorite little restaurant of mine, the Café Beaubourg, near the Arc, where I treated her to her first Plateau de Fruit de Mer, a seafood platter, and we split a bottle of white Bordeaux.
"To us," she said, raising her glass.
"To us."
I could tell by the end of the dinner that she was feeling the effects of the alcohol, but luckily the hotel was not far. We walked back.
When we got back to the room, the Eiffel Tower in the distance was brightly lighted from top to bottom, with a lighted greeting of "Joyeux Noel" on it.
"This is incredible!" she exclaimed looking at it. She turned, ran over, and hugged me. "I love you so much for bringing me here!" Then she stood up on tiptoe and kissed me. Wow! I assumed it was the wine speaking, but even still it was very nice.
After looking at the tower for a long time, she went into the bathroom, took another shower, and came out wearing a pair of light blue silk pajamas that looked quite thin. And I could tell from the points of her chest that she was no longer wearing a bra. But when she bent over to fluff up her pillow, I also saw that she was apparently not wearing any underpants either.
I took my shower and came out wearing dark blue flannel pajamas.
