Writer's Note: Sweet Jonathan is a romance tale from the point of view of Mia Belsor, a curvy thirty-something English teacher divorcee who finds herself attracted to her tutoring charge, Jonathan. Jonathan, she finds, is gifted in all the ways she prefers, but suffers from very poor self-esteem.
This will be a bit of a slower burn, but the intention is to wrap it up in just a few installments, unlike my previous works. Themes/tags include: Romantic, Older Woman Younger Man, Masturbation, Big Breasts, Big Cock, Cum, Teacher
All Characters engaging in sexual activity are 18 or older.
Please, if you enjoy the story, I would greatly appreciate your feedback. Thank you!
Chapter 1
For the fifth time that evening, I ignored his clumsy attempt to inconspicuously check out my breasts.
"Jonathan, focus. I know you can do this. What does Holden feel when Stradlater takes Jane out on a date?"
"Frustration?" the young man offered.
"Go on..."
"and um...inadequacy?" he said, finally meeting my eye. The uncertain-yet-hopeful gleam in his cobalt blue gaze was all-too-typical and evoked a desperate need to urge him on. But I did him no favors by making things too easy on him, which made being able to give him genuine praise all the sweeter.
"Excellent! See? You're getting it. You just need to pay attention."
He mirrored my sunny smile, a seldom-seen dimple appearing on his left cheek.
It was hard to deny the small thrill I got at seeing his rare unveiled happiness. The way it lit up his pale, finely featured face and touched his eyes was quite disarming. He was more striking than ruggedly handsome, but I wondered again how someone like him could be afflicted with such a lack of confidence. His presence in my English classroom was that of a ghost; from the moment his slender six-foot frame trundled in and huddled behind his desk till the bell sent him loping onward to the next class.
"Thanks, Miss Belsor," he looked away again, remembering some well-entrenched habit to retreat from my gaze, "it's just because you're such a good teacher."
I felt my insides warm, but I gave him a sober look. "Don't sell yourself short, Jonathan. You need to have more confidence. You're doing great; be proud!" Reaching under the table, I tried to give him an encouraging pat on the knee, but in doing so, my fingers grasped something that was
not
a part of his leg. I pulled my hand back sharply, offering a perfunctory apology. The contact made him jerk reflexively, and his other thigh slammed into the leg of my dining room table, sending the English text tumbling to the floor.
"Ow! S-sorry!" he stuttered, reaching to pick up the book.
He said something else, but I missed what it was, too focused on the feeling of whatever I had touched. My mind whirled, trying to postulate what it reasonably could have been. I knew what it
felt
like, but there was no way it could have been
that
... It would have had to reach nearly to his knee! And it was too big around, too. He must have had a small apple in his cargo pocket. Or maybe a packet of tissues.
Shaking myself, I pushed back from the table. "Why don't we take a break?" I said, avoiding looking at him while still feeling a vague impression of what I'd touched in my hand. I moved into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. "You want something to drink?"
"Uh, sure. Thanks."
"Coke, or Fresca?" I asked, leaning in to see what I had. "...or iced tea?"
"Whatever is good."
I sighed at the indecisiveness that seemed to plague his gender, grabbing a Fresca as he'd seemed to enjoy it before.
Setting the drinks on the end tables in the den, I beckoned him to the couches, "C'mon in, have a seat. Excuse me for a moment, I've gotta use the little girls' room."
He hadn't moved from the table by the time I'd made my way to the powder room. Locking the door behind me, I pulled my pants down and sat, looking at my left hand as if it held the answer to the mystery while I relieved myself. Maybe it was the cold drinks from the fridge that put it in perspective, but something occurred to me: it had been warm.
Did I dare to hope that shy young Jonathan was packing what I thought he might be? Just the thought of it sent butterflies fluttering through my stomach.
Ever since I left the asshole, Nick, my god-awful mistake of a husband, I'd hadn't met a man that could satisfy me. And I'd learned the hard way how Nick had carried all of the personality traits that usually accompanied such an endowment.
But even if it were true, what then? The reality of our student/teacher relationship brought my fantasy plummeting to Earth. Would it be worse to know what he was and be unable to do something about it, or not know and wonder if there existed a man that could live up to my towering standards?
Who was I kidding, I
had
to know!
Finishing up, I returned to the den to find Jonathan sitting primly at the far end of the couch with an accent pillow in his lap, looking around the room as if to signal that his mind wasn't still reeling from my touch. I chuckled softly to myself. Poor, simple Jonathan.
Despite all of it, I bubbled with excitement for the next part of our tutor session: the goss. Each Tuesday and Thursday we got 90 mins of one-on-one time that his mother paid me for, but this was our little secret. After the first couple of sessions, it was obvious that I couldn't keep him engaged in English and Calculus for an entire hour and a half, so I decided to break it up and give him some time to talk.
Mia Belsor, Guidance Counselor.
When we'd started these tutor sessions a couple of months back, it was like pulling teeth to get him to open up. Eventually, he relented somewhat under my innocent questions, happy to find an uncritical listener. As for yours truly, a 34-year-old woman that hadn't been on anything remotely resembling a successful date in well over two years, I ate it right up.
Picking up the soda from the table, he thanked me and cracked the top. I did the same with my tea, pulling my long legs up next to me on the couch to get comfy against the armrest.
"Well? C'mon... Dish!"
He gave me a small chuckle and started talking of small things in his clipped way. Comments about how harsh some of the other teachers were with the delinquents, what so-and-so said about who's-her-face online, and how crazy he thought his friend Scott was for planning to ask Allison Chance to the dance.
All the while I sat back and sipped my iced tea, projecting interest even for the topics I found dull. Knowing that he likely needed this release just as much - if not more so - than he needed the tutoring. His usual hunched posture irritated me, perched at the edge of the couch like a nervous bird. I had made it my mission to get this boy to come into his own, now more than ever before, but he was proving to be a tough nut to crack.
