Creative Writing

"I can feel your heart," I whispered.

"Amazing, isn't it? Being this close?"

"Yes. I just can't get over how soft you are and how good you feel. You have the most beautiful eyes."

"You're going to make some girl very happy someday," she sighed.

Yes, I thought. You. Today.

I wondered if she said that to harpoon any expectations I had about her because at that moment I couldn't think about any other girl. The only future I wanted was with her, but I didn't say anything since this was supposed to be just a physical thing.

"Are you sure you're a virgin?" she asked.

"I'm not anymore."

"No," she smiled, "I mean it seems like you have some experience."

"I read some erotic lit and a few sex manuals, so I'd have some idea what to do."

"Okay," she almost whispered.

I ran fingers into her hair and began a gentle scalp massage.

"God that feels... so... mmmmmm."

"You have the most beautiful hair. It's so fragrant."

"I knew you'd be this way. I could tell you're a really nice guy, a good guy. Everyone knows that. Your reputation precedes you among the teachers, especially Mrs. Hoffman."

"That was a year ago. It's no big deal."

"You stood between her and an male student who attacked her. It's huge deal. She was terrified. He could have killed you. You were the talk of the teachers' lounge for a month."

"I had to protect her. I could tell by his eyes he was high on something. Lucky for me he was on a mellow acid trip, laughing and teasing her, but when he took hold of her I had to take his hands of her and put myself between them to protect her."

"There's a history of abuse in his family. Don't tell anyone I told you that. It's confidential."

"This is all secret."

"All the women want you in their classes now."

"Really? Wow. Do you really sit around talking about students?"

"Sure we do. Usually we complain about difficult students and all the trouble they cause. We seldom talk about good students. We expect all kids to behave and take you for granted when you do. I know it seems wrong way round, but no one on the faculty knew your name or spoke of you until then, not even with your grades. Now you're a hero."

"Can you keep a secret?"

"This is all secret," she whispered, making me smile.

"I had a huge crush on her all last year. Mrs. Hoffman."

"Really? She's in her mid-thirties."

"I know, but math is my weakest subject and she made it so interesting I aced all four quarters. First time I ever got straight A's in math. First time I ever enjoyed it. I was really taken with her. That's why I was standing next to her talking between classes when the incident happened."

"I'll tell her you said so."

"No, no, please don't. It's embarrassing. She's married."

"And happily married, too. A rare thing among teachers at our school."

She must have noticed the look on my face.

"Don't worry," she said. "This is all secret, remember?"

"Thanks."

"So. Were you scared when you stepped in and defended her?"

"Mortified."

She giggled at that, got up and straddled my belly. I felt her wet against my navel.

"You are so charming," she said after kissing me.

"You are drop dead gorgeous. What a beautiful woman you are."

Her smile exploded.

"I knew you'd be this way," she said. "I mean I could tell you're a nice guy who's not all stuck on himself the way so many guys are, even high school boys. My problem is that I'm a jock who has always dated other jocks, but the ones I'm attracted to are jerks. They all want one night stands and the few who stick out a relationship want to sleep around. They're confident and successful, but vain, selfish and egotistical, in and out of bed. That's why I chose you. I wanted to try a nice guy for a change. A decent guy untouched by cynicism. I find you... irresistible."

"So it's not just my voice," I teased.

She laughed. "See? You have sense of humor, too."

We shared a long, deep kiss, and before it was over my erection was pressing against her again.

"You're back," she whispered, her eyes so close to mine I thought I'd die.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"Why sorry? We're going to do it again."

"We are?"

"You brought two condoms, didn't you?"

"In case one broke. I thought... I thought..."

"You thought we'd do it just once. No way, stud. I want more. Did the sex manuals tell you that?"

"Sure. I just thought you, um, wouldn't want more."

"Well I do. A lot more. By the way, most condoms break in the heat of the moment when it's too late to do anything about it. Did you know that?"

"No," I replied.

"And guess what?" she whispered. "It gets even better the more times we do it."

She handed me the second packet I had left on her nightstand and for some reason I turned away from her while rolling it on.

"God you have a cute butt," she said, squeezing it. "I love it. And this long back. And shoulders. I love your body."

She ran warm hands up my back and squeezed my shoulders. I wasn't a jock, but used the weight bench enough to have some definition.

"Thanks," I said.

"And this belly," she said, caressing it. "Flat as a pancake. I can see your six pack. Do you work out?"

"Sometimes with free weights. I run everyday."

"I remember asking you in class. Explains your legs and butt. You have a runner's body. And broad shoulders"

"Your body is to die for. And these legs? God," I said, caressing them. "You played soccer in college, right? All that training? What perfect definition."

"Thanks. My thighs are too big, though. Too much muscle. That's why I rarely wear dresses to school."

"No way. You have beautiful legs. You should hear what the guys say on days when you wear a dress. Everyone in the room has a hard-on. There's a rumor going around that the administration told you not to wear dresses because it's a major distraction to male students when you do."

Her smile exploded again. I have never met a woman who liked her body and she was no exception. She didn't like her thighs or butt even though they were perfectly sculpted and devoid of fat. But she did love being complimented on her looks.

She ran hands up my legs and caressed the contents of my groin. I did the same to her.

"So," she said, raising an eyebrow, "what options do the sex manuals say you have for being on top?"

"Well, they say that the missionary is not very stimulating for a woman unless she raises her legs against the guy's torso and-"

"Let's do that," she interrupted. "I want you on top."

"I may not last long on top."

"There are ways to remedy that. And you'll last a little longer second time around. C'mon."

We stretched out next to each other, kissing and caressing until I pushed her over and laid on top of her, still kissing. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around me, squeezing so hard I thought she'd break my hip.

"God I love you on top of me," she exhaled. "Girls love the weight and strength of a man on top, but the key is to control yourself. Start slow and stay slow, okay?"

"Okay," I said, pushing into her.

She hummed in pleasure. Then to my amazement she shifted her legs from around me to where her feet were planted on my upper chest and shoulders as I held myself over her. She looked in my eyes.

"That's good," she said. "Feel how it changed inside?"

"I went in deeper," I whispered.

"Your eyes just went big," she smiled. "Doing this tips my pelvis up to you, same as when I am on top, okay?"

"Okay. God you feel good."

"So do you, stud. Now look down. See how you're pressed against my clitoris?"

"Yeah."

"That's the key. That's where I need to be stimulated when we move, okay? Now give me just one slow thrust."

"Mmmm," I vocalized. A fire burned in the small of my back and I had to resist an almost overwhelming desire to begin moving with abandon.

"Did you squeeze your buttocks together when you did that?"

"God, yes!" I gasped.

"Don't do that. Relax your butt muscles."

I did. She put a hand on my chest.

"God, your heart is absolutely pounding. Take a few deep breaths. That's it. Just relax. Breathe deeply and slowly. You can do this. The key to lasting on top is to begin slowly and not to squeeze your butt muscles when you move. Instead you're going to use your arms, legs and torso to move, okay? Try it.

I tried it once and stopped.

"Just let your weight push you back into me, okay? Try it again. Slowly. Breathe. No butt muscles."

"Wow," I said, "that really works. I'm not thrusting at all."

"Mmmm, good," she said, "but I can't tell that. It feels like a full body thrust to me. God."

"Where did you learn this?"

"I've been doing this a while."

The fire in my back subsided and I began moving my hips in circles at the same time."

"Mmmm, my God, Flynn, so you know about screwing."

I did. But so did she.

"Come down here and kiss me," she sighed as we slowly screwed, her face contorted by passion again.

Our kisses soon became broken as we gasped and tried to breathe, moving together.

"A little faster now," she exhaled.

I slowly increased tempo at her behest until she began vocalizing continuously, each thrust an explosion of delight for her. Then it occurred to me that she was doing most of the moving. Or was she? I loved the way her body rocked and her breasts moved each time I slammed into her. Her soft hands caressed my arms, shoulders, chest and neck as I held myself over her. A warm afternoon, I felt sweat bead on my face and chest. She positively glistened. Tired of holding her feet flat to my shoulders, she straightened her legs completely, first with ankles then her calves around my neck. I could not believe how flexible she was as I pressed down on her.

I brushed my lips to hers, trying to kiss her, but we were moving too much. Still, it seemed like a nice tease. I tried to last as long as I could, but eventually my body went out of control, moving on its own until I came, driving wildly into her. She slid her legs out of that intense stretch and wrapped them around me, rocking me from side to side, which only intensified my orgasm. Then it was time to get out and get the sheath off before I lost it inside her. I tied it off and set it aside, but she was still panting, obviously close, so I put my tongue on her clit and finished her off, flat on her bed, my shoulders between her knees, her hands in my hair, her ecstatic gasps telling me what she liked.

"You read about that, too, didn't you?" she said as we cuddled afterward.

"About what?"

"Bringing me close during sex then going oral. You read that, right?"

"Yes."

"You always come to class prepared," she sighed.

After a short interval, she wanted to go again, hanging onto the headboard and romping above me. Having used my two condoms, we used one of hers. Until that day I had a prejudice that any woman who had her own condoms was a slut, but it died that afternoon. It made perfect sense and I was glad she did. I also learned that while it was taking me longer to climax each time, it was taking her less. In fact, she did it twice more before I filled the third condom.

Then it was time to go. She made me shower off the smell of sex, sweat and perfume, wanting to send me home with a neutral body odor that wouldn't arouse suspicions, only she climbed in the shower with me. While the water poured over us I pushed her up against the tiles and fucked her one more time.

***

Driving back to the mall after our first tryst, she swore me to secrecy again and we spoke of how we'd behave around each other at school. After all, I'd be in her class an hour a day for five straight days beginning Monday and we could not risk anyone finding out or even suspecting anything between us. We agreed to act normally as before, and if we found it difficult to do so we were allowed to ignore each other.

"Have you ever taken student lovers before?" I asked.

"That's not your business," she replied without any edge to her voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to pry. I'm just looking for tips on how to... to... um, do this."

"I know. Don't worry about it. Just act normally. You're not the kind of guy who expects preferential treatment, so that won't be a problem. You're not the kind of student who acts out or causes trouble and you're not a braggart, so just relax and be yourself. It won't be a problem if you don't make it one."

"If it is a problem I won't bring it up at school. I'll deal with it."

"Good. I will still call on you, challenge you and critique your work in class, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now. I want to see you again next weekend. Is that okay?"

Damn! I thought. "Sure. Saturday afternoon again?"

"I was thinking Friday after school or Friday night. Can you arrange that?"

"Yes. Better make it Friday night because the folks like the family to have an early supper together before we all disappear."

"What's a good time for us to meet at the mall?" she asked.

"Seven. Any earlier will be a problem."

"Okay, I'll be at the bench outside JC Penney at seven. If you can't make it or need to contact me, you'll call me at home, right? No contact at school except student-teacher stuff, okay?"

"Okay. I'll be there at seven on Friday."

"Good. Remember, I can't contact you at school or home, so I want you to call me a couple times during the week in case we have to change our plans. I also want you to call me the night before we meet so we can confirm each rendezvous."

Each rendezvous? Damn! Was I her lover already? Had she decided already?

"Okay, how 'bout I call you on Wednesday nights and again the night before we meet at the mall?"

"How about Mondays, Wednesdays and the night before we meet?"

"Agreed," I said.

"And you'll call from a phone booth instead of home?"

"Always. If you need me to contact you, why not leave a mark on the chalkboard like in the spy novels?"

"What kind of mark?"

"Draw a small diagonal in the upper right corner of the front board like this," I said, drawing on a sheet of notebook paper.

"Okay," she said. "God, now that you say it, I do feel like a spy, sneaking around like this."

"Don't let anyone see you make the mark. People get suspicious."

She drove the last mile to the mall. We held hands all the way from her house and I thought she looked a bit sheepish, which I would soon learn to recognize as post-coital bliss. She had done it five times that I could tell, but I had no idea if that was good or not. I needed feedback.

"Did I do okay today?"

"You were excellent. If you get any better I'll be dead by next week."

"Thanks. You were awesome, too. Thanks for being patient and kind and non-judgmental. I'll never forget it. I'll never forget you."

"My pleasure," she smiled. "God, you really are a gentleman, aren't you? I didn't know there were any of you guys left. Don't ever change, okay?"

I raised and kissed her hand. She hadn't put on a bra and her nipples stood out beneath the tight knit top she had pulled on before we left her house.

We had agreed not to kiss when she dropped me off. She would stop well short of a side entrance, I would jump out and she would speed away. No lingering. We kissed goodbye before leaving her house. This was back in the day when malls were new and school kids didn't hang out there like they do today. Nor were there many restaurants or movie theaters. Food courts hadn't even been invented. Malls were considered upscale shopping centers and did not have the kind of foot traffic they do today where people go just to hang out or exercise. So even though we were only a mile from the high school and two from my home, we knew we were unlikely to be seen by anyone we knew during brief drop offs and pick ups.

"I want to be lovers, Brendan," she said as she pulled up to the curb. It was the first time I remember her using my first name. In class it was always Flynn or Mr. Flynn and even during the most intimate moments of our first day together she hadn't used my first name.

"I want to be your lover, too, Anastasia," I replied. Then I took her face in my hands and kissed her there in the car in violation of our agreement. She did not protest.

***

When I walked into her class the Monday after our first tryst, we made eye contact briefly before looking away, but it felt like our whole lives passed between us in that look. Only the second month of school, she was still learning names and took attendance by roll. She made eye contact again when she called my name.

"Flynn?"

"Present," I answered, crossing the t, tired of saying "here" seven times a day and hearing everyone else saying "here" seven times a day. It's like they were paranoid they'd lose one of us or something. God forbid anyone cut a class. Someone laughed because I said "present" and my Teach cracked a little smile, but quickly finished roll and began class.

She was the same as always, engaging her students, handing back papers, and making us read excerpts of our stories aloud, inviting critique. I remember sitting there thinking, "I'm sleeping with her, I'm actually sleeping with her!" I felt supremely self-confident and happy to be near her again, but did my best to act as if all were normal, watching her while she lectured, taking notes when appropriate and scanning my paper for red ink. I looked for some secret note she might have left. Nothing. Just corrections and comments. She was playing it cool.

For the first time ever I realized teaching was acting, and this was her act. Yeah, I know: Shakespeare said "all the world's a stage," but it never hit me until then. This was her professional role. Two days before I had the privilege of experiencing her private, passionate role in the most intimate way possible. I couldn't wait to do it again.

Those were the good old days of phone booths, back when conversations were so sacrosanct that each public telephone was enclosed in a box large enough to hold a human being. The entryway of the Firebird restaurant/lounge had a row of three plush, custom-built phone booths, each paneled in wood with an bench upholstered in red leather upon which one could sit. It felt like a sin just sitting in one, let alone using the phone. Monday night I crept out of the house and called her from one.

"I miss you," she said.

"You saw me today at school," I replied.

"I know. But I missed you Saturday night and all day Sunday and now it's Monday night and I still miss you."

"I miss you, too," I said. "I wish I were there with you right now, holding you in my arms. I miss your amazing smile and your stunning eyes and your soft, sweet lips on mine."

"Mmm... I wish you were here, too. If I didn't have all these papers to grade, I'd come get you right now."

I lowered my voice. "Mmm, then you could squeeze me between your legs where I belong."

"I don't know if I can wait till the weekend to see you again," she said. "Can we get together sooner?"

"If you think it's safe."

"I do. What's your schedule like?"

"Open. How about Wednesday after school?"

"How about tomorrow after school?" she said.

"I have to be home for supper."

"School's out at two-thirty and you eat at six, right? That's plenty of time. Most tutoring happens in the hours right after school, anyway."

"Okay. Meet at the mall?" I asked.

"Let's meet somewhere closer. Do you know where Terry's is?"

"The dry cleaning shop? Sure," I said. It was just a few blocks from school.

"I'll pick you up behind Terry's after school, okay? Go straight there."

"Okay."

"Do you have any more of those ribbed condoms?"

"Yes," I said, hoping the condom machine in the men's room at the Firebird hadn't run out.

"Bring some."

"Okay."

Sparks passed between us when our eyes met in class the next morning. In a few short hours our roles would change from student-teacher to lover-lover. Still, I spent the rest of the day focused on the classwork in front of me, wondering if any of the students around me came to school knowing they'd get laid after sixth period.