EDITED BY:
Miriam Belle
CREATIVE CONSULTANT:
Simply_Cyn
Author's Note:
"This is one of many small stories that work as a supplement to 'The Finer Points of Sheila.'"
***
Alison May sat in her classroom, her delicate fingers tapping on the processed plastic-for-wood top of her desk. She had watched thousands of students sit in their rows as she droned the same information to them year after year. She watched them fix their eyes on the clock above the chalkboard, trying to mentally will the hands of the timepiece to move faster. This desperate act of telekinesis was a common one around the world, and she believed that it wasn't wholly unjustified on their part. After all, you're only young once. This was a fact she had thought of often as she approached her forty-fifth birthday.
She looked at the chalkboard with a certain acceptance, or even resignation if you will, as she considered that the chalkboard itself was sign of a time long since gone. It was once synonymous with education, school and teachers, a universal symbol for progress and academic achievement. But now, it was the day and age of power point presentations and laser pointers, the green board and chalk going the way of the dinosaur almost unnoticed.
And now, much like her, the expansive green board was a relic of a time that would never come again.
Ten years of her forty-five on this earth had been spent in tireless efforts, thanklessly hard work to expand the horizons of the new generation. She watched, as each progressive one became dimmer and dimmer, their minds solely centered on video games, sex, self, music and drugs. She supposed this had been mostly true of every generation since the end of the forties, but the degree of this self-absorption against the number of kids giving into it was staggering. It was like looking at the evolutionary chart in reverse, a picture of society regressing past the point of return. Was it possible that with the infinite strides forward mankind had made, we had actually shortchanged ourselves in regards to the future?
"Fuck it," she said to herself, drinking the last of her tepidly warm coffee. She was a high school math teacher, not a university philosophy professor. Bottom line was kids today made their own choices just like the ones fifty years ago did. The only difference was the consequences had gotten harsher.
From outside her door, she could hear a wave of chattering and the dim roar of the kids as they came up the stairs from the cafeteria. One by one, they all filed in. She mentally noted the jocks, the preppies, the geeks, the nerds, the sluts and the everymen as they laughed and mingled, eventually finding their way to their seats. She began reciting the basics of algebra to their vacant faces as the morning grinded on. She felt herself checking the clock, surprised to find that she was as anxious to leave as they were.
Class after class poured in, and she became acutely aware for the first time that she was burning out. It hit her with all the subtlety of a Mac truck doing seventy on an open stretch of road. She was tired of this routine, the monotony and inflexibility of her career. In the process of sending the same three damned kids to the office for poor behavior, which had become a weekly ritual, she accepted that maybe she was too old for this shit. The kids, though most of them were pleasant enough to her, never saw her as a person, as a human being. She was a figurehead, an extension of a system they both despised and relied on.
Was this what she had really wanted? Eternal servitude to the ungrateful masses?
The late afternoon ringing of the bell announced their dismissal from school, and Alison felt as though an elephant had been dancing on her head all day long. She sat back in her chair, and stretched her arms. Her bra was hurting her, feeling too tight and stiff against her nipples as she sighed, her gaze falling on the stack of papers that had mounded up like the aftermath of some magic, subterranean albatross gopher. She dreaded the idea of grading them, of looking over every answer and, if history was any indication, failing most of them. She needed something new, something fresh to pull her out of this rut.
She needed a good fuck.
Alison smiled at the idea. It had been over five years since her husband, Ron, had left her and she hadn't really had the time to engage anyone in a relationship. Certainly, the men on staff would compliment her curly blonde hair, or her eyes or her smile. She would often catch the janitor looking at her ass in the hallways as she left for the parking lot each mind-numbing day. But she had never worried about it, as there wasn't any itch she couldn't scratch and take care of with her own fingers. Ron had never put much effort into their sex life, and she had become a master of self-gratification. In fact, he was never really that good at it to begin with, so when he did leave, she figured it was no major loss. Besides, she craved something fresh, something new. Perhaps someone not over the age of thirty?
"Ms. May?"
The deep voice from the rear of the classroom snapped her back to attention. Brad, her top student, stood in the doorway with his books tucked under one of his well-defined arms and a confident smile stretching easily across his handsome face.
"Yes Brad," she smiled and scooted her chair up to the desk, "What can I do for you?"
"I was just wondering," he said as he walked up the side aisle of desks and sat in the front row, "If you had finished that letter of recommendation?"
"Recommendation," she repeated absently and then remembered, "Oh yes, I did. I did finish it."
Brad looked at her expectantly. "Do you have it here?" he asked after a long pause.
She was about to answer when a thought crossed her mind, a thought that she had often grappled with but never seriously considered. Brad was so attractive, his narrow features perfectly squared and dark, his hair a deep burnt umber. His eyes were actually very beautiful as she looked at him for the split second it took to decide her next course of action. She felt a warm blooming in her crotch and stomach as she considered trying to seduce him. She knew it was wrong, and if they got caught, it would be the end of her career.
Look what it did for Mary Kay Letourneau, she thought dryly.
But then again, didn't the really worthwhile and exciting things in life require a little risk?
A few weeks ago, her friend Joy had called from the apartment complex she managed in the city and told her about a new lover she had taken. Alison listened with a tinge of jealousy as Joy told her about the young man she had rented an apartment to, the flirtation they had engaged in and the incredible sex they had together. The young man in question, Dave if she remembered right, had been fucking her so good that Joy had a hard time walking anymore. She had listened to Joy talk about the excitement of the seduction, the passion of their first time together (in the her office, with tenants waiting to pay rent outside). She realized that she wanted that same excitement, that same feeling again.
"He makes me feel so young," Joy had said, and then added, "You should get yourself a stud, Ally."
Alison made her decision.
"You know," she said, "I forgot it at home. Would you like to pick it up tonight?"
"Ah, sure," he said, looking at his watch. "I have some stuff to take care of, but what time would work best for you Ms. May?"
"Say around six?"
"Works for me."
"Okay then," Alison smiled as she watched him leave, her eyes fixed on his ass as he walked.
"Thank you again," he said.
"Oh, thank you," she replied, her eyes undressing him as her mind embraced the idea of an impending sexual adventure. She felt her cheeks blushing as she gathered her papers and went to her car. This was so unlike her, so far beyond anything she had ever done before. It was bold and dangerous, career suicide at the very least. But she needed this, and she was glad it had been Brad she chose to do this. She supposed there were other, generically better looking kids on campus, but Brad was by far the smartest and in her opinion, the sexiest. The image of what his cock might look like flashed in front of her eyes as she backed her car out of the parking lot, and she couldn't help but smile.
***
Alice stepped out of the shower, her legs and crotch smoothly shaved. She paid extra attention to her pussy tonight, as she hoped that when he finally saw it, he wouldn't be repulsed. The bush she had allowed to grow over the last six months had become somewhat irritating anyway, and she was glad to see it go. And now only smooth, delicate pink lips remained, enticing and, she hoped, irresistible. She examined her body in the fog-framed mirror, cupping her breasts and bouncing them slightly. They had sagged a little over the years, but nothing extreme. She thought they looked damn good considering what gravity could do to a pair of 38 C's over time. Her nipples stood out, perky and fresh, as if reinvigorated at the prospect of being touched by Brad's hands, his tongue and who knew what else.
"His cock," she said to her reflection as she dried her hair, "You were thinking about what it would be like for him to put his cock between your breasts and fuck them. Maybe what it would be like to feel his sack against your stomach, his balls rubbing back and forth..."
She felt herself getting wet at the thought of it all, and she rubbed her fingers over her sensitive, slowly swelling mound. She sighed a soft, lusty moan as she fingered herself for a moment. She pictured them together, their bodies sweaty and naked, joined together at the hip as she rode him, bouncing on his cock for all she was worth. She wanted to put her hands on his chest, feel him and massage him. The idea of a body so much younger than hers, so different from the paunchy-frame of her ex-husband made her stomach flutter as though a hundred butterflies were taking flight. It was taboo, and it made her feel almost lightheaded as she fantasized about him.
And the best part of all this was, he had no clue. She had spent so much of her life being content with what she had been given, always the one to step back and not take the risks life had to offer. The surprises were always on her, the recipient of whoever and whatever was in control, be it a man or life in general. She remembered Joy's stories about Dave, the details of their sexual encounters. She remembered the sound of her friend's voice as she recalled what his had cock felt like in her hand, what his cum tasted like and how he could make her scream by licking her clit. With the ringing of the bell today, she had turned on that old philosophy in favor of a new truth, a new life. She felt aggressive and dominant, the shackles of her old life ready to be cast off.
Brad was the key.
"All he has to do is stick his key in my lock," she joked to her reflection as she stopped stimulating herself. The steam from her shower had been lazily boiling the temperature in the small bathroom, and she had started sweating during her masturbation session. Within a half hour, she was ready. She had put on a white blouse and left the top two buttons open, allowing for a view of her cleavage and the red bra she wore underneath. Her slacks were the best pair she owned, complimentary and defining of her figure.
She poured herself a glass of wine and sat in the living room, the lights turned low as she waited for Brad to show up. She considered putting her shoes on, but thought against it and remained barefoot. She paced the living room, checking herself in the mirror above the couch, adjusting her breasts and fiddling with her hair with every pass. She stopped and looked into the mirror.
"Hello Brad," she smiled seductively to her reflection, trying to make her voice sound sexy, "I'm glad you could make it. Care to sit down?"
Alison frowned. "That's pathetic," she said as she looked at herself and tried again, "Hi Brad, I'd like to discuss multiplication and division tonight. You do know how to divide? Yes? Well then, you can divide me..."
Alison shook her head. How did one steer the conversation to sex subtly without seeming too obvious?
"Hey Brad, how about you just fuck me?" she laughed to her reflection, covering her face with her hands, "This is pathetic."
Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the doorbell chimed. She hurried to the door, composed herself and let the hunt begin.
"Brad," she smiled warmly as she welcomed him in.
"Ms. May," he nodded, taking off his jacket and holding it in his hands. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with heavy black boots. His well-developed chest stretched the shirt out tight, his trim waist a perfect V shape leading to his hips, which barely kept the loose fitting jeans up with the help of a thick, black leather belt.
"Please, come in," she said, "But please, take your boots off. New carpet, and all."
"Sure," he smiled and took his boots off, setting them by the door.
"I can only stay for a little bit," he explained as he looked around the living room and then added, "Never been in a teacher's house before."
"It's not all that different from other houses."
"I guess not."
"Please have a seat," she pointed to the couch, "would you like anything to drink?"
"Water, please."
"Of course," Alison went into the kitchen and poured him some ice water, calling over her shoulder "How has your evening been?"
"Okay I guess," he replied as she came back with the water, the ice cubes jingling against the glass..
