During my final year of high school my English teacher, Miss Jacobs, became pregnant. This alone is not so remarkable. The problem, however, was that Miss Jacobs was a miss and not a missus. Once the members of the school board found out about Miss Jacobs' pregnancy she was given the option of pregnancy leave (firing her was only an implied threat), after which she was shunted off to another school. Those who banished her probably thought it magnanimous of them to not sew a red A to her blouse before sending her off.
Back then, in the late 1970s, an unwed, pregnant teacher offended the moral sensibility of the small, conservative community in which I grew up. It was as though Miss Jacobs might teach her perceived lower moral standards to us young, impressionable students, or we might somehow become infected with her so-called 'loose behavior'. The fact that the father of the child was our school principal was of equal concern -- although that was only whispered in corners by local gossips at Historical Society meetings and Garden Club shows.
I was born in late October. That meant that on the year that children in my age range began school I stayed home, having missed the minimum age requirement to enroll by mere weeks. My parents argued that there was no logical reason to make me miss an entire year of school simply because my birth date fell less than a month too late. They lost that battle. Rules were rules, and if an exception was made for me then it would have to apply to everyone and anarchy might ensue -- or so went the logic of the by-the-book school board.
At first I minded being the oldest kid in my class. Then as I grew older it was no longer an issue. I was perceived as being older, although it hardly mattered to me. I just wanted to fit in. By the time I began high school I was the tallest boy in our class and the first to begin shaving. As a teenager these things really mattered to me. As we all began our final year at Elston High I was eighteen -- weeks shy of nineteen. There was another guy in our class named Jason, so I eventually became known as Tall Jason to differentiate us, since I had hit six feet by then.
It was after we returned from Christmas break in January that year when Miss Peters arrived. Sometime later I found out that her first name was Lana. None of us were given any forewarning that Miss Jacobs would be replaced, or why -- although we all knew the sordid details from having over-heard our parents discussing it. We only found out about our new English teacher when we wandered into class one Monday morning and saw her sitting behind the pine desk in front of the chalkboard. After we all took our seats and settled-down Miss Peters introduced herself and informed us that she would be teaching us English from then on.
The first time I laid eyes on Miss Peters was one of those clichéd moments that everyone seems to have at least once in their life. I almost expected the world to shift into soft focus and hear violins playing as everything began moving in slow motion. At least that's how it felt to me. I was in a daze. My cock began to stiffen as I gazed upon the beautiful teacher standing at the front of the class.
For years, a friend and I had been secretly looking through his father's collection of Playboy magazines. The women I saw on those pages became my standard for beauty: blonde, thin, buxom; the stereotypical Barbie doll type. Miss Peters was the antithesis of all that, yet she was equally as gorgeous, if not more so. She was only about seven years older than me, having just graduated with her teaching certificate. This was her first teaching job and I found that her sometimes nervous demeanour made her endearing and sexy. I hoped that she would never take on the stern, jaded characteristics of my older teachers. She made English fun and interesting -- something that I would have previously thought impossible. She was also far prettier than Miss Jacobs, or any other teacher at our school for that matter.
Miss Peters was rather short, just a few inches past five feet, with thick brown hair that hung down a few inches past her shoulders. Her brown eyes seemed to radiate whenever her full lips formed into a smile or she laughed. Miss Peters was thin, yet not skinny. She was svelte and lovely. Her vibrant personality and cheerful disposition made her even more enticing to me. She was anything but a Barbie doll. Usually she wore skirts or dresses, but on the rare occasions that she wore slacks I barely heard anything she said in class because I was too preoccupied with staring at the graceful curves of her firm, round ass and slender hips, or the outline of her thighs through the taut fabric covering them.
Something I noticed almost immediately about Miss Peters was her breasts, or the seeming lack of them. They appeared very firm and conical, yet barely a handful. Russ Meyer would have never looked at her twice, but I could have stared at her all day long. It was only when she wore sweaters or slightly tight blouses that I was treated to the sight of her exquisitely shaped breasts rising from her thin frame. Had she been born in another era her breasts would have been considered the epitome of how a woman's bust should look. I was reminded of how Napoleon supposedly modeled what became the standard for wine glasses based on the breast of one of his sisters. Had he known Miss Peters, people today would be sipping from glasses whose size and contours were based on her enticing orbs.
English was always the one subject I struggled with throughout school. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I always did well in other subjects such as math, chemistry and physics. I wanted to study engineering at college, so kept reminding myself that I would never need to know anything about poetry or great works of literature as an engineer. Still, I needed to pass English in order to graduate.
My lust for Miss Peters soon developed into a major crush. That helped cement my enjoyment of English and things that I had never cared about before. Still, my test scores were low. I had thought I was doing quite well in Miss Peters' English class, until the day I got a term paper back that I had written on
Romeo and Juliet
. I slumped in my seat, glaring at the red D that Miss Peters had written on the cover page of my essay.
"Could I see you after class for a few minutes, Jason?" Miss Peters said as she handed me my essay.
I scowled and let out a sigh. I looked up at Miss Peters standing beside my desk. I nodded. For the first time ever I dreaded the thought of seeing her later.
After English class ended that day and my classmates headed off to their next classes I trudged to the front of the room holding my term paper. Miss Peters was flipping through a book, preparing for her next class. Her hair was pulled back and held in place by a gold coloured barrette. It accentuated her pretty face. For awhile I forgot about my term paper as my cock began to harden. She looked up at me and smiled. I noticed that she was wearing a bit of dark eye shadow and ruby lipstick, which made her even prettier.
"Now let's see that paper, Jason." Miss Peters reached across her desk and smiled at me.
I stood on the opposite side of the desk, feeling shy and nervous while she looked my paper over. She was wearing a long blue skirt and a pink blouse. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone, allowing me to see her upper chest, just below her collar bones a ways. Her skin looked soft and smooth. When my eyes moved further down I noticed that I could see the faint outline of her nipples pushing out at the pink material of her blouse. Up until that moment I had been hoping to think of other things in an effort to quell my erection. Suddenly it was harder than before. Now I feared that my teacher would notice a bulge in my jeans.
"What hurt your grade a lot was careless spelling errors, Jason. Come here and see what I mean." Miss Peters pushed her chair over, motioning for me to stand beside her to review my paper.
As I made my way around her desk I could feel my cock throb. I stood beside Miss Peters, my thigh brushing against the arm of her chair as I looked over her left shoulder. Her slender hand was resting on my paper. It was then that I noticed her light pink nail polish, which matched her blouse. When I shifted my eyes and ran them over her back I noticed how her blouse was taut and smooth against her body. It took me a few moments to realize that she wasn't wearing a bra. My heart raced and sweat formed on my palms.
"Now, look here, Jason," Miss Peters said, pointing to words that she had circled with a red pen. "Look at all your spelling mistakes. Do you know how to use a dictionary?" Her question was out of concern, not sarcasm, judging from her gentle voice.
I nodded. "Yeah," I mumbled.
"Well, if you're not sure about how to spell a word, look it up. Or get your parents to proof read your work. Okay?" she recommended.
"Okay," I said with a nod.
