One day at the height of the summer, Blaine and Marie were in a room under the football stadium. He had been lifting some heavy boxes and was sweating heavily when he asked her if it was all right if he took his shirt off. She started to say no but relented knowing how hot it was, but worried that even if Blaine managed to cool down, she might over heat.
With his shirt laying atop a pile of old cartons, Blaine's dark chocolate skin shone like polished stone. The sight of his muscled back, chest, and abdomen were almost enough to give Marie a stroke. She couldn't think straight. His jeans rode low on his hips. She swore she could see tufts of pubic hair leering at her above his belt buckle.
At one point, the black youth had his arms full and almost tripped over a stray wooden hurdle used, at one time, by the track team.
"Could you move that Marie?" he asked, standing strong and beautiful.
She pulled but couldn't get it out of the way. She had to stoop down to get it unwedged. Her face was so close to the boy's groin she could smell his musky fragrance. She became lightheaded and lost her balance.
The day had begun warm and humid and was projected to get hot and very humid. For the first time that summer, Marie decided to abandon the top and Bermuda shorts she always wore for a light dress. She'd expected a modest workload with a minimum of climbing and bending.
Marie knew the skirt was too short, but Blaine had been teasing her about the matronly clothes she wore and had, on several occasions managed to get her goat. She knew they would be alone all day so who would know except her...and him.
They'd been flirting more openly lately. Blaine seemed to be able to get her talking about the time in Andre's car almost at will. It troubled her to discuss it with someone so young, and black himself. There was obvious danger but their roles seemed immutable: she, moth; he, flame.
"So tell me, Marie, now that it's all behind you, are you disappointed you didn't let Dre do you?"
"No, I'm glad I didn't give in to intercourse...but..."
"But what?"
"Oh god, you're going to make me say it, aren't you?" Blaine remained silent, smiling, forcing her to continue. "Sometimes I wish -- I'm going to hell for sure now -- I'd let him make me give him oral."
Why had she confessed such an embarrassing thing she wondered. Perhaps because she'd been thinking about it so much lately. Blaine brought it up almost every other day. Perhaps because she was masturbating more than usual these days and those sessions were fueled by old fantasies of fellating Andre in his car and new ones of fellating Blaine in hers.
Whatever the reasons for her confession, Marie knew exactly what she was doing that morning as she donned the too skimpy dress. What harm would showing a little skin do? OK, potentially a lot of harm but she'd been thinking those strange things, those naughty things. Still, she reasoned, the hem of the dress covered almost as much of her legs as the shorts did.
At least that's how the dress fell when she was upright. But that's not where she was at the moment. She'd seen herself in slow motion topple over and roll onto her back. Her legs were spread and her dress at her waist. Blaine had a clear view of her translucent panties.
Marie could tell by the look on the boy's face that he'd seen her all right even as he put down the boxes he was holding and offered her a hand to help her up. She was on her feet quickly but the image remained in his mind: a beautiful, mature, white teacher with her legs widely splayed and her panties on parade.
When Blaine pulled Marie to her feet, he used more power than needed and she pushed, involuntarily, into his body, his hot, sexy, sweaty, aromatic, delicious body, as she swung upright. Blaine looked down and Marie looked up. It wasn't planned but their lips met.
Marie pushed herself back before their mouths could open. "No Blaine," she whispered firmly.
But her plea wasn't enough to keep the teen at bay. Blaine overcame the weak resistance the muscles of her arms provided with ease. The second time their mouths touched passion came with it. A sigh of consternation escaped Marie. She didn't want this and fought it for as long as she could, an eternal few seconds.
First she pushed at the teen. When that didn't work, she yielded, stood stock still, arms at her sides hoping disinterest would dissuade the boy. When that failed, she engaged him with all the heat her fifty-two year old body could muster. She plastered her body against his, feeling her dress, her bra, soak up his sweat.
Their tongues touched then dueled in ferocious battle until she tore her mouth away in self-defense, afraid her being, her essence would be irrevocably drained into her tongue and then his. She feared she might melt completely away right there under the football stadium.
"Blaine!" Marie screamed, ripping herself from his arms. "Don't. We can't. This is wrong!"
