An Unshareable Secret

All Characters In This Story Are 18+ Years Old.

*****

Melissa Perkins adjusted her ponytail. The rubber band under the scalloped-edged pale green hair ribbon grabbed as her fingers worked. She involuntarily winced when several caught strands of light chestnut hair felt as if they were being ripped from her scalp. She sneezed delicately and her left eye watered. Squinting into the round mirror taped to the back wall of her metal school locker, she quickly dabbed the tears with Kleenex before they could ruin her mascara. "Criminy, that's ALL I need right now," she muttered softly, relieved that she would not have to fix her face in the five minutes she had left before her geometry class. Closing her locker and spinning the combination, Melissa gave a swift tug on the hem of her light angora sweater, then looked over her front. She smiled as invisible wrinkles disappeared and the fuzzy pastel mint field swooped smoothly over her swelling chest.

Satisfied with her appearance, she turned and joined the flow of students thronging the hallway on their way to their next classes. She scooted into her desk and ironed her hands over her gray pleated wool skirt just as Mr. Trotter walked into the room while the period bell clanged. He crossed directly to the blackboards at the front of the classroom and wrote the current date, October 14, 1954. For thirty years it had been Trotter's habit and pleasure to begin his classes at George Washington High School with historical subject matter related factoids. Pivoting, he faced his class of more or less attentive students, cleared his throat and began speaking without further ado.

"Good Morning. On this day, in 1801, Joseph Plateau was born in Brussels, in what we know today as Belgium. He was a celebrated mathematician and teacher who advanced math theory with 'Plateau Problems' regarding surfaces with minimal area. These are important to calculus of variations, a special field of higher order mathematical analysis." Trotter glanced around the room at the teens shifting in their desks with uncomfortable trepidation and not a little bit of confusion. He laughed heartily. "Don't worry... This is not our subject today, or even this year! If you will all please pass forward your homework exercises, we'll return to cones and cylinders."

Melissa sat dead center in the front row and was therefore the natural endpoint for the rustling papers migrating from the back and sides of the room. After twisting and hauling out her notebook from the shelf beneath her seat, she slouched slightly with calculated casual precision. Pushing the heels of her saddle-shoes together, she flopped her knees out and slumped. As her bottom slid forward on the hard wooden seat, her chest pushed the least bit against the edge of the curved writing surface. Her hills rose on its horizon. Distractedly, her fingers fiddled with the small gold open heart necklace resting on her sloped bosom while she watched her teacher scan her and her classmates, but mostly her.

Early on in the new school year Trotter had noticed Missy Perkins' well assembled physical features. He particularly enjoyed the daily homework hand-in routine as a brief, but welcome, chance for him to reassess them anew. He was, after all, a man with appetites and weaknesses which he had, infrequently but significantly, indulged throughout his teaching days. In fact, his wife, Mary, had sat in Melissa's desk nearly twenty-five years ago, as had Cindy and Helen, fifteen and nine years ago respectively. Edward's dick throbbed with the uninvited mental roll-call of his peccadillos, while a heat wave flashed from his loins to his larynx.

"Christ, man!" His struggling superego screamed in his mind. "You're fifty-four years old. Ten years from retirement! Count your blessings. Neither the school, nor Mary, has an inkling of what you've done. Don't risk everything again!" Meanwhile, just as loud, Trotter's id cajoled, "OK, OK, so don't FUCK her... you can still take inventory and jack off in the coat closet, can't you? No harm THERE, is there?" The superego shot back, "Why do you have to do ANY thing at ALL?" Id was quick to respond, "It's not like you've gotten any LATELY... Mary is ready to have her new baby at any minute and you're not going to fuck HER again anytime soon, ARE you?"

This last thought reminded Trotter that, after twenty years of tepid periodic marital intercourse, his wife had suddenly, inexplicably, gone 'hot' again; like a long dormant volcano reawakened by some seismic shift. Even more amazing, she had conceived three times now, in as many years. He had had no idea that she still wanted kids, or that he was so virile. Unexpectedly, his formerly only son, Arthur, still living at home at age twenty-two, was very attentive and loving to his new siblings. Edward found it heartwarming, if perplexing, that Arthur sometimes seemed to treat Kent and Pearl as if they were his children instead of his brother and sister. In the final analysis it probably came down to just the double decade age difference. Certainly Arthur's affection was genuine and Mary never raised an eyebrow.

Meanwhile, as his silent inner argument continued, Trotter was treated to a remarkably seductive view of Melissa's bare bowed legs, from her bobby-sox to her knee caps, plus an inch or two above, below her desktop. Regrettably, the loose skirt material draped discreetly over her thighs. Its intriguing muted diagonal lavender-and-beige plaid pattern marched across the gray wool without revealing any secrets. Edward licked his lips, reached out his hand and stepped a half-step forward for the collected assignments. "Thank you, Missy," he said, hoping his benign smile covered his darker lustier thoughts.

"You're welcome, Mr. Trotter," Melissa replied sweetly, knowing full well her teacher was no more immune to her charm than any other boy or man. She had particularly become aware of this phenomenon in the last few months when her adult woman's body had begun asserting itself. She had seemingly grown up and lost her stick-like childhood form overnight, but in actuality the visible changes had begun in the spring and she had truly blossomed over the summer.

When Melissa taped herself, two weeks ago on the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she proudly recorded her 'vital statistics' in her locking leatherette diary: "34 inches across the chest; 23 inches at my belly button; and almost 35 inches at my hip points." The pencil marks on her bedroom door jamb said she was sixty-four and a quarter inches tall ("That's an inch and a half more than when school let out last June, Diary!") while the bathroom scale showed one hundred twenty-one pounds. ("And all in the right places, TOO! It's no wonder my pedal-pushers are getting tight. Mom's taking me shopping for my clothes tomorrow, Diary. I'll be a real woman!")

On the mother-daughter outfitting outing, Melissa had been especially excited to replace her childish fiber-filled B-cup Maidenform Junior bras with sexier soft-fit Warner C-cup brassieres. Of course, that was after she got over her snit because her mother refused to allow her to get stiff pointy cupped bras like Lana Turner and Marilyn Monroe showed off in the glamour magazines. Melissa had complained, without success, "I'm EIGHTEEN years OLD, Mom!"

Her mother rejoined calmly, "Maybe so, Missy... but you're still in high school, still under our roof, and, I HOPE you're still sensible enough to listen to your mother. You have very nice breasts which are already large enough to fill out your sweaters as good as 'The Sweater Girl'... they don't need any help. Trust me on this. These more natural Warners will be plenty flattering and comfortable, too." Mrs. Perkins dropped her voice, winked, and continued, "And, you know what? Lana and Marilyn are quite a bit older, and bigger, than you are. They probably NEED the engineering to keep from sagging!"

Melissa had snickered at her mom's surprisingly catty comment but immediately felt better about the advice and had happily bounced her boobs in their new holsters in front of the mirror in the store's changing room. Now, looking down at the mint angora clinging to her preciously pert bust, she could see that the form-molding new bra was the right choice. Slyly raising just her eyes, she saw Mr. Trotter thought so, too.

With difficulty, and a nearly imperceptible last look at Missy Perkin's perky tits, hiding not very well behind her stretched pistachio sweater and sloping up to her snow-white blouse's Peter Pan collar peering over the fuzzy crew neck, Mr. Trotter turned and retreated to his desk. Uncharacteristically, he kept his back to the class for several seconds while he noisily shuffled their papers around on top of his briefcase. When he again faced the room, he looked as pleasant as ever and picked up the lesson from the day before in a seamless easy-going style.

Forty-five minutes later the class bell rang and the room exploded as thirty-two teenagers jostled to get out the front and rear doors to their next destinations. In thirty seconds flat the room was as quiet as a library and Edward Trotter was alone. Except that Melissa was still seated with her notebook closed in front of her. "Missy?" Trotter queried with raised eyebrows. "You don't want to be late to your next class," he continued with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Oh, it's OK, Mr. Trotter," she assured her teacher. "I have study hall next period. I can't really be late."

The next group of students began filing into the class and the room noise amplified. "Well, I don't have that luxury," Trotter said evenly, with a smile to further remove any edge from his words. "My next class is already coming in." Turning to a pimple-faced boy hovering nearby and ogling Melissa through his Buddy Holly glasses, Edward greeted him, "Hello, Harvey." Re-addressing Melissa, he asked, "Missy, could you please let Harvey sit in his assigned desk?" As she stood and changed places with the disappointed gangly boy, Trotter continued speaking. "Did you stay late to ask me something? Let's stand over by the flag and talk for a moment."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mr. Trotter," Melissa said with downcast eyes and a soft voice. "I wasn't even thinking! Yes, I have some questions. Would you have time for me later?"

Edward coughed. "Uh, well. I have classes straight through until two o'clock and I usually block out three to five for grading papers in the Teachers Lounge... but I could probably, uh, accommodate you. How much time do you think you need?"

"Oh, gee, Mr. Trotter, I don't know!" Melissa chewed her full lower lip and rolled her light brown eyes. "I wouldn't want to mess up your schedule or anything. I could meet you at five o'clock, if that's OK." She looked pointedly at the new Hamilton wristwatch her grandmother sent her for her birthday.

The classroom was nearly full again. Over the hubbub Trotter quickly agreed, "Yes, sure. That's fine. But class starts in two minutes, so please excuse me. I'll be in here after five if you want to come then."

Melissa beamed and thought to herself, "Oh boy! DO I want to COME then!" Out loud she simply said, "That's terriff! Thanks!" Turning with an extra oomph in her hip-swing, she flared her pleats and swished swiftly through the door as the class bell rang.

Edward Trotter stepped in front of his big desk, faced Harvey and thirty other freshman algebra students and said, "Good Morning. On this day..." The remainder of his day was consumed with typical teaching activity and Missy Perkins passed completely from his mind until, sitting in the lounge, he came across her geometry homework. Glancing at his Timex, he noted it was 4:50 p.m. and remembered he had promised to be available in his classroom after five, although, knowing kids' attention spans and their busy worlds, he doubted she would show. Rather, he imagined she was already off gallivanting with friends and making plans for the weekend football game.

In fact, Melissa was doing no such thing. She had been dreaming and scheming all day, in every class, about her ultimate goal: Becoming a complete woman and losing her virginity. Her crush on Edward Trotter had grown by leaps and bounds since Labor Day as she listened to his mellifluous baritone lectures and watched his handsome face and large hands while he drew and explained geometric shapes and principles on the blackboard. She imagined him holding her, squeezing her, kissing her and rubbing her. Now, six weeks into the school year and twenty-two days past her last menses, brimming with lusty ideas and raging hormones, her courage had built to critical mass. She was sure her target would be unaware, helpless to resist and immensely powerful when he broke her barrier and carried her into her new world.

At 4:45 Melissa resolutely walked the locker-lined linoleum halls from the cafeteria to Mr. Trotter's class. She could not shake from her mind Mr. Wilson's story, during American History, about the Marines planting the flag on Mt. Suribachi when they took Iwo Jima. Her pussy tingled and her panties were wet as she fantasized about Mr. Trotter raising and planting HIS flag in HER conquered cunt. Darting into the girls' bathroom down the hall from the mathematics rooms, she refreshed her lipstick, checked her eyes, and then dabbed drops of Tabu behind her earlobes and at the base of her throat below the closed top button of her blouse collar. In a moment of sudden inspiration, Melissa reached under her slip and rubbed two more touches of the sweet perfume on her inner thighs; three inches below her melting virgin gateway. Sending herself an air-kiss through the mirror, she left the bathroom and proceeded on her mission.

At 4:58 Edward Trotter unlocked the front door to his classroom. The custodians liked to start their work in the Math/Science corridor and work toward the gym and auditorium, finishing in the Language Arts/History hall. They had already closed all his blinds and, with the early autumn nightfall, his room was pitch dark. He flipped on the ceiling lights over his desk and unbuttoned the vest of his gray heather tweed three-piece suit as he walked to his chair and sat down. He was just about to open his briefcase and look at more kids' homework when he heard a faint scratching tapping sound on the window glass behind the drawn shade at the back door.

Trotter got up and looked out in the hall through the front door. Melissa Perkins stood forty feet away at classroom's rear entrance. "Hello, Missy," he called to her. "This door's open." She flashed a brief smile, flipping her ponytail when she turned, and started toward her teacher. He could not fail to notice the wobble in her sweater and the swaying swing of her skirt as she approached. His dick thickened appreciably behind his suit pants and boxers. Trotter stepped back into the room quickly and adjusted himself before his student crossed the threshold. Taking advantage of her teacher's turned back, Melissa silently locked the door behind her, ensuring privacy for her planned attack.

Pivoting, and ushering Melissa over to the straight wooden chair beside his big desk, Edward said, "Have a seat, Missy, and fire away. I'm all yours." Instead, Melissa Perkins sidled up very close and gingerly touched the left sleeve of Trotter's suit jacket. Her Tabu filled the air with a disorienting allure.

Melissa, staring down at her saddle-shoes, said quietly, "Umm, before I do, can I just say 'Thank you' for being so nice? All the other kids in geometry are sophomores, except for Pete, who missed a year when he got sick. When I transferred here after my dad got his new job last year, I hadn't taken geometry because I thought the teacher at my old school was mean... I kept hoping he would retire or be fired or something before I had to take the class." She took a deep breath. Her rising chest grazed the flapping edges of Trotter's undone vest.

"Anyway," Melissa continued, "YOU are really NICE and have a way of explaining things so I can understand them." She reached out her left hand and tugged his other sleeve, gently but surely turning Edward until he faced her with no more than six inches of space between them. Looking up at her teacher's chin, she rocked on her toes and planted a swift light kiss on his underjaw. He smelled of Old Spice and his skin had little bit of rough beard, just like her dad when he came home from work. Her stomach did a cartwheel and she felt heat between her legs as she landed flat-footed, still staring with unconcealed excitement at Trotter's stunned face. "So THANK you!"

Attempting a recovery, Edward raised his arms and held Melissa firmly by her biceps as he moved back a step, increasing his personal space. He coughed and answered, "You're very welcome, Missy." Meanwhile, he felt his fingers quiver on the soft muscle under her softer sweater and wondered to himself, "Is SHE trembling? Or am I?" His heart was certainly pounding and his jaw was hot where her lips had touched.

Aloud, Trotter tried tracking the conversation back to a more professional footing. "I'm glad you think I explain things well... so, what did you want to ask me this morning?" He did not notice that he still gripped her upper arms, but Melissa knew it and was glad for the contact. She slid her hands along his jacket sleeves and cupped his elbows while she moved closer; stealing back half the distance Trotter had managed to create. Her curled fingers dug into his lower triceps and softly scratched through the heavy tweed.

"Well, it's really sort of a series of personal questions, Mr. Trotter," Melissa began. Her sweet slightly peppermint breath wafted to Edward's nostrils and competed with the Tabu for his attention. "But they're geometry related... SORT of, I guess. Anyway, they are definitely personal. I WON'T ask... if you... don't WANT me to." She sighed and dipped her head slightly. Her chestnut ponytail bobbed beneath her neatly tied green grosgrain hair ribbon.

Trotter was lost. He WAS the one who was trembling. Electric thrills ran from her fingers up to his shoulders and down his spine. He inhaled the clean fresh scent of her shampooed hair and rubbed his big hands lightly down her arms to her elbows and back. His thumbnails coursed over the outsides of her protected breasts. Melissa sniffed sharply. Her swelling chest pressed more firmly against the trespassing tips. Her tummy flipped again. Trotter stammered, "N-no, ASK me... I'm honored you came to me."

Melissa's pussy puddled in her panties when she heard Trotter's response. She moved another inch forward. She felt his heat sear her chest cavity as her hidden nipples touched his crisp white dress shirt on either side of his silk necktie. "Well, I'm completely clear about cubes, pyramids and spheres as far as the formulas for their areas and volumes," she purred into Edward's sternum. He was stupefied by the sensual power Melissa imparted to these ordinary objective mathematical terms. His cock hardened and his temples throbbed. "But I'm having difficulty with cylinders and cones and irregular shapes."

Melissa tipped back her head and gazed at Trotter, catching him with closed eyes and a soft grin. She sighed because he looked like she felt. His hands reflexively closed around her arms. Now, he was actively brushing his knuckles deep into the fuzzy angora and stroking her outer breast tissue. She was electrified. Collapsing against his torso, she ran her hands to the center of his back and down to his waist in a sweeping swath. Breathily she asked, "For instance, how can I know, THEORETICALLY that is, if a certain CYLINDER will fit inside a particular TUBE? And how do I figure out the area of a MOUND if the curve isn't constant?"

Edward Trotter groaned as Melissa's exploring hands popped gooseflesh across his middle back. Unable, or unwilling, to exercise self-discipline, he wrapped her in his arms and drew her in tight. He heard her breath hiss as her tits flattened against his ribcage. He splayed his hands over her shoulder blades. She dropped hers to the seat of his pants and squeezed. Trotter answered huskily, "Dimensions and theory are important, but application should be the goal. Do you have... a cylinder... a tube... or a mound in mind? Maybe we could work the solution together."