Every boy in grade 12 French class was fantasizing about Mrs. Lindquist, and for good reason: those tits! For obvious reasons, the brunette normally wore loose-fitting blouses that were buttoned up to her neck; lately, though, she'd begun wearing tight dress shirts.
During these recent weeks, which got all the boys gossiping, she was also going about with a deathly frown; and Ed Schneider, no less turned on than his 18-year-old classmates, had noted this sadness in her. He remembered a time when she'd comforted him (in a perfectly innocent way, of course), several years back, when she'd taught him grade nine French; he, crying, had entered her classroom when she was there alone, after he'd been verbally abused by his mother at home during lunch.
Seeing her in what seemed a similar kind of pain, he wanted to return the favour of giving comfort...though in a more physical way, of course.
One day, as she was teaching Ed's class, a few of his classmates were finding excuses to taunt her.
She'd been reviewing animal vocabulary, and a boy raised his hand. She turned to face him, her tits shaking.
"Mme. Lindquist, how do you say 'seal' in French?" He and his friends knew the answer from having checked Google Translate on their phones, so they were all...tittering.
She glared at him, her eyes looking over her glasses, which sat on the tip of her nose. "You have your phones there to tell you the answer," she said. "You don't need me, Phil."
"Oh, yes I DO," Phil almost moaned. "Please pronounce it for me."
"Google Translate has a thing you can click to get the sound."
"I don't trust the thing to get it right."
"So, your thing isn't good enough?" she asked with a sly smirk.
Now, everybody was laughing at Phil, who shut up and frowned.
Later, Ed went up to her desk to ask her a question. She looked up at the cute brunet, her frown almost gone.
"I forget how to say 'Happy birthday' in French," he said. "I wanted to ask you privately, so as not to remind you of Phil's rudeness."
"That's sweet of you," she said with a smile. "It's 'Bonne anniversaire.' Why not just use your phone, as Phil did?" She undid the top button on her blouse.
"My mom won't let me have my own phone," he said.
I'll have to buy him one, she thought, then asked, "Your mom's still controlling you? I remember you having a problem like this years back. How old are you?"
"I turned eighteen a month ago," Ed said.
"I see." She undid another button. Phil and the other guys were watching. She smirked when she saw Ed looking down her shirt. He was wondering what kind of package her flowery lace bra was holding. "Do you have any other questions?"
"No," he said. "OK, I'll stop bothering you."
"You're not bothering me, sweetie." She grinned at him.
Phil and the guys were still watching.
"She always unbuttons her shirt when Ed talks to her at her desk," Phil said. "She likes him."
"But he's such a dork," one of Phil's friends said. "Such a mama's boy. He wouldn't know what to do with her if she ever made a move on him."
"You got that right, Brian," Phil said. "And she doubts what a man I am in bed. Maybe I'll show her one day."
"Maybe all of us will show her what men we all are," Brian said.
*************
The next day, Mrs. Lindquist was talking about modern French art, including Dada and surrealism. Phil put up his hand.
"Mrs. L?" he asked while looking at a picture on his phone of the Mona Lisa, but with a moustache and beard added to it in pencil. The teacher, in tight black pants, had just walked by his desk, and he was admiring her from behind. She looked back at him.
"What is it, Phil?" she asked, dreading his next words.
"Marcel Duchamp took a postcard reproduction of the Mona Lisa and drew a moustache and beard on her, then wrote "L.H.O.O.Q." under the picture. What do the letters mean?"
"Judging by the lewd smirk on you and your friends' faces, I'd say you already know the answer to that," Lindquist said.
"But why have a picture of the Mona Lisa with facial hair? Surely Duchamp should have used a picture of you. If only he'd lived a hundred years later."
"Was that supposed to be a compliment?" She was sneering.
"Of course," Phil said, ogling her tits and behind.
"And if only Dali were alive today, he'd have painted your body, instead of melting watches."
Again, Phil's classmates laughed at him. He frowned, but refused to be discouraged.
Ten minutes later, Ed went up to her desk to ask her another question or two...and she undid a button or two.
Phil was scowling as he watched them. "What's that little geek got that I don't have?" he asked his friends.
"Maybe she likes the sweet, sensitive type," a friend said.
"Whatever the reason, if he ends up fucking her, I'm gonna grill him for information," Phil grunted. "First question: are those tits real?" He saw her writing something on a small piece of paper. "I wonder what that is...an invitation into her bed?"
"Your questions are a little too hard for me to answer here right now," she told Ed while writing the address of a hotel on the piece of paper. She gave it to him. "Tell nobody about this, OK? I'll answer all your questions there, tonight at 9:00. Will you be free then?"
"Yeah," Ed said, noticing a nervous frown on her face. "Are you OK?"
She looked up at him, still frowning. "As I said, I'll answer all your questions there, including the ones you're too shy to ask."
"OK," Ed said, shaking but also excited. "You've been sad for quite a while, I've noticed."
"Tonight, sweetie, not now. And...shave, and dress nicely for me."
"Gladly," he said, then walked back to his desk, hoping his hard-on wasn't poking too obvious a bump in his pants.
Phil and his friends watched Ed sit at his desk on the other side of the classroom. "Let's keep our eyes on him," Phil said. "Follow him in his car tonight."
*************
Ed found her in the hotel lounge, sitting on a sofa. He was in a suit and tie, shaved and with his brown hair neatly combed. She was in a black dress that showed off her curves well, as well as in high heels and bright makeup.
"Wow!" he said when he looked at her. "You look so...I mean, sorry, I mean, good evening, Mrs. Lindquist."
"Call me Anna," she said, getting up. "You look really handsome yourself. I'm going up to Room 506. Wait here for ten minutes, then go up there and knock on the door." She walked by him.
"506," he said, trembling, his boner poking forward uncomfortably in his pants.
"Shh! Yes," she whispered. "In ten minutes." She walked over to a nearby elevator and got in.
