It Was Terrible that I Slept with My School Teacher

 

Students have always been screwed by teachers. It's a custom that dates back to Socrates and perhaps far before. Yet each time a fresh report of a teacher whose student fucks reaches the headlines, we continue to act shocked. We put down the pitchforks often held for their male counterparts whenever a fairly beautiful female is accused of breaking the law, and the Monday morning Casanovas emerge with remarks about how "there were never any sexy teachers doing that when we were in high school!" Indeed, there were and will always be. Simply put, they avoided you.

My AP One of those youthful, hip instructors who everyone wished they could be friends with was the English teacher. Although she never tried to be "one of us," she was never patronizing. She was in her late 20s or early 30s. She was also very attractive at least, hot under the right circumstances. She was the hot teacher at that school, and she was attracted to the little town. The focus of talk in the changing room was her enormous breasts. I and other pre- and post-pubescent classmates gawked at her ass. She was the best there was if you wanted to live out the full male student/female instructor ideal.

Our instructor, who I'll simply refer to as Mrs. X from here on, handed us handmade cards at the conclusion of the academic year. Each, I imagine, included a sincere expression of gratitude and best wishes, just as mine did. Her personal contact information was likewise in mine.

Sure, this may have been a harmless gesture, but I couldn't afford to take the danger of losing out on the possibility that it wasn't. And you already know that my intuition was correct since you're reading this.

Late in June, I finally worked up the guts to contact her. The typical greetings were present, such as, "How's your summer going? Any travels arranged? What have you read lately? After that, I suggested we have coffee at a nearby bookshop that was conveniently situated outside of our school district in a nearby town. Even if this ended up being purely platonic, we both knew it would be suspicious to be caught making out outside of the classroom. She responded to my email right away: "Yes, please. Why not get together next week?"

I should point out that Mrs. X was married and, as far as I know, she still is. She was also a mother. Despite knowing this, I still decided to pursue her. I'm not proud of it, but your moral compass may get somewhat off when you're facing the realization of an archetypical teenage desire. American Pie and other dumb adolescent sex comedies and "dramas" like Wild Things were my upbringings. Since I learned what masturbation was, Hollywood has been prodding me to do this, and I was going to grab the brass ring, dammit, or risk falling off the carousel trying.

The next week, I hesitantly made my way into the bookshop, doing my best to resemble the sophisticated adult I was not. Fortunately, she seems to have given up on or forgotten about this charade as well since after buying our coffees and saying hello, we wandered the bookshop discussing books and giving each other recommendations. Although it was certainly not flirtatious, Mrs. X was a friendlier, more laid-back version of Mrs. X I had known from class.

For over an hour, we walked throughout the shop talking about whatever was on the shelf in front of us. We had to go eventually, but not before she offered a recommendation.

And at that point, I was certain of the direction things were taking.

I played the typical flirtatious games throughout the next week after acquiring the number of a new crush. Mrs. X gradually began inquiring about my romantic life, and I wasn't sure whether the strategies I'd employed on my youthful conquests would be effective on her. The oldest lady I'd ever been with was how old? I assured her that I wasn't that old, but I was interested in learning more about aging.

The next week, my family will be away on vacation, so I would have the home to myself, I informed her. She consented to visit.

Being the idiot, egotistical, piece of sh*t that I was at the age of 18, I knew that I would soon be able to boast about my accomplishment. It wasn't loving, this. There was no interpersonal link here. This was a straightforward conquest one that most men never succeed in making. I was about to capture a speeding automobile, being the first dog in the pack to accomplish it. But I was aware that my friends would never believe me if I told them. How would I be able to support this with the limited number of people I would have to share it with?

I had a little Sony Handycam that I used to record jokes and skating maneuvers. This would demonstrate it. But more importantly, I understood that it was morally required to document something this heinous and fantastical for posterity. At least, that's what I told myself. I am completely aware that harming another individual in this manner is wrong and prohibited. But at the time, it seemed to be more of the usual American Pie mischief. (Because the movie's character played by Jason Bigg really does it. (That moron was streaming his trash over dial-up internet.) So I secretly set up the camera on game day by covering the bright red "REC" light with a little duct tape.

I waited for Mrs. X to come into my driveway while sitting in my empty home, hoping that no neighbors would be home to see me welcoming a woman who was more than ten years my senior. The camera was put in the living room with the DVD player and other TV console accessories. I had examined my angles. This would have to happen on the sofa in order to be captured. I started recording and walked to the door to allow Mrs. X in once she texted me to say that she had arrived.

Since this isn't a Penthouse forum letter, I won't go into great detail about the act in question. We began kissing. She gave me an overly hungry expression in her eyes.

I had also wanted to hurt her, but I was just 18 and had similar feelings for almost every lady I caught a glimpse of. As we sat down on the sofa, the comment's sole emphasis confused me a little.

She gave me an overly hungry expression in her eyes.

She intended to smear me. Halfway through, she slipped her top off, and I got a close-up look at those big breasts I'd been admiring from my desk all year: the stretch-marked skin, the gradual submission to gravity that is the sign of maturity. My lovers had all been adolescent females up until this point, which is, you know, typical for a teenage dude. Typically, one age at the same rate as their sexual partner. You inflate, scar, and sag simultaneously. This was a polar plunge, not simply diving into the deep end of the pool. Naturally, there was nothing wrong with her body; I was only startled by its reality after a sexual history in which all I had seen was tight youthful flesh. By the time we began fucking canine-style, I had seen quite a few hair tufts in areas I was not used to seeing them. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed by this.

I had not anticipated this. I had been completely out of control due to the realism of her physique and the repeating creepiness of her "lips" remark. My erection was also finally gone, along with the last vestige of my innocence.

We dressed softly, and I led her to her vehicle.

I exited the building and stopped the recording. In order to erase any proof of my impotence, I reminded until just before I called it off and pushed record one again. I still had something to show for this entire painful encounter, even if the sex itself had been awful.

My two closest buddies were texted. Naturally, even when I informed them that I had video evidence, they still didn't believe me. But as I showed each of them the blurry, somewhat unsettling proof, they understood that I had actually pulled off the impossible. Despite the fact that I was well aware they could not possibly keep this between us, I cautioned them to do so.

Later that week, Mrs. X and I exchanged a few more texts. We both felt strange about what had transpired, I believe. She desired a second meeting to continue their conversation in the same location. So, we did, and I allayed her reasonable concerns that I may open up. However, I believe that with the abrupt change in the power dynamic, I became inebriated and began to push the limits of what I could get away with. I began haphazardly acquiring books and DVDs.

We both went through the motions, pretending that this was some sweet gesture of charity rather than me discreetly blackmailing her for a few Aqua Teen Hunger Force DVDs and Gravity's Rainbow even though she knew it wasn't really up for debate. I'm ashamed of myself now when I think back on it. However, I'm certain that when I left the shop with a bag full of goods at the time, I was grinning a bit like the Grinch. I had to pick up the pieces when I was a teenager and attempt to create lemonade out of the rotten lemons of this whole endeavor.

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