How To Be a Good Mentor

"Oh. No, I'm fine." Shannon was wearing a dress today, tight and speckled with hearts; my hard-on would get no help from the sight of her as I tried to will it down. "Just slept in, is all."

"Huh. I saw little Lucy prancing away down the hall; what did she end up giving you?"

The fantasy of a lifetime. "Just this card," I croaked, and the innocuous wording on the card was a godsend as Shannon slunk over to read it. My God; she was wearing fishnets, too; was the whole world out to make me stain my trousers this morning? I swallowed. "Pretty harmless, as a matter of fact." My sweaty palm shook around the candy heart.

Shannon frowned, her pretty mouth slightly open. "Not much," she agreed. "No pussy pics, then?" She laughed then, and put the card back down. "Hang in there, Dave. I'm off to get some coffee before the bell rings. Want some?"

"No thanks." Shannon made strong coffee, and I was already feeling queasy enough. "Catch you later?"

"If you're lucky," she grinned, a common response from her; she tossed her head back at me as she walked away, almost catching me staring at her athletic ass through the dress, rippling and swaying as she strode off...

Shit. I needed a woman desperately.

* * *

It was called "Augmented Professional Development," which was East Seaborne Memorial High School faculty slang for "Getting Wasted on Friday After School." It appeared on the weekly agenda as APD, put there by a willing assistant principal who was happy to accept free drinks; this let participating teachers leave early on Fridays to get to the bar.

It was, of course, a totally dishonest scam. But the School Board hadn't figured it out yet, so nobody really cared.

The Valentine's Day APD was being held at Texas Vinny's Grill, a shoddily fake southwestern-themed place a few towns over with live music (on Tuesdays and Thursdays, though) and a karaoke machine that Gina, the unpaid APD Coordinator, often used to good effect.

Or so I'd heard. I was not a usual APD participant, but the prospect of drowning my sorrows in $1.50 draft light beers was too good to pass up after the week I'd had. Shannon, designated-driving for Gina and Audrey, perked up as soon as I asked if I could come.

"I've been telling you for weeks you should come out with us," she gushed. She seemed genuinely happy about it, still with that elegant sexiness in her tight dress. "I never pass up a chance to have a drink with my mentees."

"Well, thanks," I flushed. I was not yet in the habit of having my former teachers offer me drinks.

"I think Kathleen might be coming along. Kathleen Maurer? Teaches Spanish?"

"Sure." I had no idea why she'd thought of telling me that; I had no real relationship with the woman, except for a vague impression of extreme tallness. Maurer was the girls' basketball coach. Was Shannon trying to set me up with her or something? The prospect was odd, but I'll admit in my present condition I'd have welcomed any kind of hookup.

"She'll need the front seat, is the thing." Shannon was apologetic. "I know you're taller than most of us, but you'll need to cram into the backseat. I hope that's okay."

"Please!" I put both my hands up as if to block an attack. "It's no trouble at all. Thanks again for driving."

"Don't get too excited," she replied dryly, rolling her eyes. "There's a rotation. It's my turn."

Her car was regionally famous, a battered Honda known for the used Kleenex visible on the passenger seat and for its stained upholstery. It smelled like dirty socks; Shannon really only used it for trips to her gym. I saw Gina Torrey already leaning against the trunk, her tiny frame giving off her usual air of challenging, aggressive energy. Her eyes widened behind her stylish sunglasses when she saw me. "Well!" she sang. "Looky here. Finally got him to come out with us, eh Shan?"

"Hi Gina," I said wearily. I was feeling sluggish and defeated after sparring with Lucy and her classmates that afternoon, forcing them through the English department's grotesque obsession with Steinbeck.

"He's in back," Shannon announced smugly. "With you."

"Oh, is he?" She eyed me. ""Hell, I'm not going to pass that up." I didn't like the way she was smiling, a greedy and cynical twitch of her petite lips.

"Gina usually fits just fine in the middle." Shannon slung her purse into the trunk.

"I fit just fine in a lot of places," Gina sniggered. I managed a smile, but by then Kathleen and Audrey were strolling across the parking lot, looking at me with curiosity. I felt like I was on display, and Shannon noticed.

"Don't worry," she smiled, giving my arm a quiet squeeze. "They're very nice."

"It's Dave, right?" Kathleen was a cool one, definitely, an Amazon with high cheekbones and a body pummeled by many years wrestling basketballs away from other peoples' hands. She looked vicious. Again, I felt a faint sense of worry; if I wound up going home with this one, by chance or design, she'd break me in half. "We met at the orientation thing in August."

"Hi, Kathleen." She nodded, pale grey eyes flickering along my body, then slid into Shannon's worn passenger seat. Audrey was already opening the far door, and Gina gave me a swift hungry look as she minced past me and tumbled into the center of the smelly rear seat. I looked furtively across the roof of the car to find Shannon, smirking back at me not unkindly; she was enjoying this. She slipped me a broad wink, then sank down into her sweat-stained drivers seat, leaving me to worm my way into the seat behind Kathleen.

I don't suppose I was terribly surprised that Gina was, to put it mildly, giving Audrey plenty of room. Her thigh, skinny and gleaming, waited under her skirt. I smushed my leg up against hers with a resigned "Sorry."

"Oh, I'm fine." She repelled me, and not just because she wasn't my type looks-wise; Gina was the kind of amiable flirt who advertised her sexual availability as a matter of course, whether she needed to or not. Now she just stared boldly over at me, waiting. I wondered what she was expecting as Shannon jammed the key into the ignition.

"Seatbelts!" she trilled, and I found the shiny buckle over my shoulder. Then I realized what sneaky Gina was waiting for, grinning so slyly.

"Excuse me," I muttered, for Gina's tiny butt was planted right on top of the seatbelt latch. She raised her eyebrows innocently.

"Yes?"

"Umm. You're sitting on the... uh..."

"Oh! Right!" Gina giggled and moved about two millimeters toward Audrey, who still had more than enough space. "Sorry, David," she purred in challenge. "I just don't have any room."

And that's how I found myself with Gina Torrey's warm, bony ass perched right on top of my clumsy hand as I groped blindly for the seatbelt thing. She grinned at me the entire time, delighting in my embarrassment as I reluctantly pushed my other hand underneath her wriggling little body, with no way to avoid running my fumbling fingers over all sorts of her most intimate bits and pieces. Not that she minded. "Having some trouble finding the slot?" she whispered, thoroughly enjoying this. "Lots of men do."

"You guys ready?" Shannon didn't wait for an answer, jerking the car back out of the space and whipping it toward the exit. I finally heard the click of my seatbelt and yanked my hands out from under Gina, only to feel her crash against the rest of my body as Shannon swerved, Steve McQueen-style, out onto the road.

"She's such a rotten driver," Gina whispered again, this time nearly sitting in my lap. Audrey was cracking up on her side of the car, and I felt my face grow red as I settled in for the humiliating ride to the bar.

"Do you mind?" Kathleen wasn't waiting for a response either, her seatback shoving into my knees as she thrust it back. "I need more legroom."

"We don't!" Gina and Audrey were laughing openly now, and I suppose karma was happy that only one of the five of us was in misery during that trip.

The road wound along the sea for miles, skirting West Seaborne before Shannon hooked inland, slamming the tittering Gina back into me as we joined a short line-up of teacher cars all converging on Texas Vinny's.

"Wow," Gina sighed as we pulled in, the laughter still audible in her voice. "Thank God. We're fucking crammed back here." I stared resolutely out the window, trying not to notice as her hair tickled the side of my neck. Her leg was strong and warm across mine, and despite my revulsion my dick was living up to its age and its recent inactivity; I could already tell, thankfully, that Shannon would be parked before Gina could feel me prodding her from below. What was wrong with me? I couldn't remember ever being so horny.

"Aww." Audrey's sarcasm stung me. "And you two looked like you were having such fun. I think we're making a love connection back here, girls." Shannon and Kathleen were giggling in front, and I could feel Gina's eyes boring speculatively into the back of my head.

"He's a cutie," she observed, sounding like an anthropologist observing some sort of folk ritual. I might as well not have been there. "Not quite my type, though. Besides, I'm a married woman." Out of everyone else's view, her hand suddenly shot straight down her side and onto my cock, its confident accuracy speaking to her vast experience of men's bodies: she knew exactly where my half-hard shaft would be, and her fingers went right to it. She gave a quick, harsh squeeze. "Well, almost my type," she allowed. I felt her breath gusting warm across my scalp as she let go, and God finally heard me: Shannon parked.

I went straight for the door handle, but Gina was murmuring into my ear. "Sorry, David. No offense; I actually prefer smaller men. But if you can't find a woman here, let me know later tonight; I'll figure out something fun we can do." She was still laughing at me as my hand scrambled back underneath her ass to release the seatbelt, and then I was free; I got myself all adjusted, moving at hyperspeed, before Kathleen could get out of the seat in front of me. I caught a knowing smile from her as she brushed coolly past me to head for the entrance.

And then there was the sympathetic Shannon, dimpling up at me as Gina unfolded herself. "Sorry," she whispered. "Think of it as an initiation to the APD experience."

I glanced over at Gina. "She's one of a kind, fortunately."

Shannon laughed, and I felt better already. "She was doing a little more squirming back there than she needed to do," she nodded as we made for the door. "How was it for you? Did the earth move?"

"A hundred years ago, I'd have been duty-bound to marry Gina after that," I shrugged. "I feel like I know her quite well now." Impulsively, Shannon grabbed my arm and chuckled.

"Well, if you think I can hold a candle to her, you can hang with me tonight," she suggested. "My boyfriend's away for work, so I could use a hot date."

"How hot?" I regretted it at once, but it came out automatically. I blushed as she squeezed tighter.

"My my! Aren't you forward!" She waited while I opened the door for her. "If you weren't my former student, I'd think you were hitting on me."

"Oh, never that," I stammered quietly, but I doubt she heard me as she sauntered into the bar, greeting other teachers right and left, and there I was doing one of those things I hated most: schmoozing. I'm a witty guy when I'm with people I know well, but throw me into a social setting like this and I'm hopeless. That's why Shannon found me alone about ten minutes later, nursing a Pepsi.

"Aw, fuck that!" she exclaimed. "Let me buy you a beer. What's your poison?"

"Nah, I'm good with this." The idea of Ms Boyle buying me booze was still weird.

"Bullshit. You'll let me buy you a beer, or else I'll send Gina over to demand you do a body shot out of her armpit." I gaped. "Oh, she'll do it too. I'm guessing..." She frowned cutely, nibbling at her lower lip, "something dark? A stout maybe? You seem like that kind of guy."

"Sure." Well, she had it right at least. Her holler toward the bartender yielded some sort of local microbrew, blessedly light on hops, and she lifted her seltzer water to clink glasses as she hitched herself carefully onto the stool next to me.

"To good times," she winked. "And less trouble from Lucy Fucking Marsh." We drank deeply, and she raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, Dave, but even if she doesn't calm down, you need to stay out of anything with her that even suggests impropriety. Like, never be alone in a room with her; that kind of thing. I'm sensing she can be a vicious little bitch."

"You're telling me." I toyed with my glass, debating about whether I should say more. "She also gave me... well, it was a suggestive piece of candy," I finished lamely, and Shannon stared.

"What? Like a lollipop shaped like a dick or something?" Her eyes were wide.

"No," I hesitated, and then I took a sip of beer, looked her in the eyes, and it all came out. All of it: the words on the heart, the fantasy, all of it. Shit, she was my mentor; what the hell else was she there for, if not to hear about my problems? Shannon listened, her lips pursed grimly, her eyes glittering occasionally, taking infrequent sips from her glass. And, when I was done, she sighed and looked aside. "So," I finished, my voice low and miserable. "What's next? What do I do next time I see her?"

She pursed those full lips she had, and as I stared at her in profile I understood that, most likely, what I'd felt for her back in high school hadn't been lust. I'd been in love with Ms Boyle, though I'd been too young to realize it. She'd been my ideal woman then, a person I wanted to take care of and spend time with. And now here she was, six years later, and that small pointy nose dusted with freckles still made my heart race. Abruptly, I decided I was done feeling sorry for myself. "Fuck it," I announced, draining the last of my beer and half-turning on the stool. "Let's dance, Ms Boyle."

Her active face quirked up into a smile, and she tossed her thick hair over her shoulder as she glanced sideways at me. Mischief glistened in her eyes. "Huh." She shrugged. "Glad you finally got that Lucy shit off your chest. I'd be delighted to dance with you, Davey Dole," and she was on her feet, smoothing her dress over those sleek thighs she'd found at the gym, and I smiled stupidly as I tightened my tie and offered her my arm.

At the outset, I'll say it: I'm no dancer. But neither was Shannon, so we didn't feel a lot of awkwardness as we swayed randomly to whatever contemporary pop nonsense they were spewing. "The music leaves something to be desired, unfortunately," I ventured, but in reality I didn't even feel like speaking: Shannon Fucking Boyle was holding me, her arms up under mine, her teasing fingers resting along my shoulderblades. And, unbelievably, my own hands were on her: that softly-firm part of a woman where the ribcage ends and just before the hipbones jut out was under my sweaty palms, and I was in heaven.

She smiled up at me. "Be honest," she replied, and her voice was a throaty murmur. "Do you care?"

I smiled back. "I'm pleased to be your date."

"I can tell." It wasn't a purr, exactly, but there was definitely something unexpected in her low voice, and then her hands were drifting down my back toward my kidneys and, thank God, the music changed, and she leaned back out with a big grin. I tore my eyes from her cleavage. "Name that tune!" she cried. "It's one of my favorites." She was moving already, and I had a dim impression of an old music video from my earliest childhood, with lots of neon and singers with odd hair...

Nobody will ever accuse the Human League's Don't You Want Me of being the reincarnation of Mozart, but the fire in Shannon's eyes warned me that I should just go with it. So I did, and the synthesizers swelled and my heart beat faster and I felt Shannon's sweet body moving in my hands and I was right back in love.

Goddamn. She was a coworker, and my mentor, and my former teacher, and she had a boyfriend anyway. This, I didn't need.

But the dance was moving along anyway, stuck in its own momentum, so I gave up and pulled her closer and we moved together. I felt her cheek land on my chest, found a moment to hope I wouldn't get hard, and abandoned myself to the situation.

One song, then another, and even after they stopped playing 80s songs we kept on moving together. At some point Audrey came up, drunkenly blathering something in Shannon's ear, but she brushed her aside and we kept swaying. Then there was Kathleen, still cool with a strange bearded hipster in tow, telling Shannon with quiet satisfaction that she wouldn't be needing a ride back. I glanced at them as they left, wondering whether the hipster would survive; Kathleen was at least a foot taller than he was.

But then the floor started getting crowded as the evening wore on, and the two of us found ourselves shunted further and further toward the edge as better dancers invaded our space. We wound up at a small table in the corner, nursing some drinks in unexpectedly comfortable silence. This was all moving strangely, I thought, with weird undertones that I'd never learned to expect from a night out with a lady. But, still sick and tired of the strain of the past week, I refused to care. I leaned back against the little banquette seat and looked over toward Shannon, wondering what she'd want to do.

And it was the shock of my life when she narrowed her eyes, then nodded slightly as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. And then she scooted right up beside me, took my right arm, and draped it across the back of the seat so that she could nestle against me, her shampoo filling my nostrils as her head came back against my chest, and I found my hand drifting down to rub her shoulder and, just like that, I felt her body relax as she sighed.

That's about the point where my libido woke back up.

"Thanks for being my date, Dave," Shannon was saying dreamily, and with a sense of thrilled terror I realized she had laid her hand on my right knee. Christ, but that meant her elbow was within maybe half an inch of where the head of my penis was starting to quest through my boxers like a worm trying to find its way to the surface. "I've always liked you. I'm glad you ended up as my mentee." Fingers were squeezing at my knee; how was this possible? Shit, was she drunk?

"I..." What could I say? Well, I supposed the truth couldn't hurt at this point. "You were my favorite teacher, Shannon. Still are." Her fingers spasmed around my knee.

"Ah!" She tipped her head sideways to give me a playful smile. "Why?"

"Why?" So maybe the truth could hurt, after all. I could hardly tell her I'd looked forward to her class solely so that I could watch her breathe. That I still felt about the same whenever I saw her. So I looked away, only to see Gina twerking against some sort of clean-shaven stud, both their mouths hanging slackly open, their eyes lidded heavily.

Shannon Boyle was no idiot; naturally, the pause told her everything she needed to know. The playful smile turned warm, caring. "Aww. Poor thing." She pulled away from me slightly, twisting to look at me more closely; I moved my hand off her shoulder, though I didn't sense she was bothered by it. There she sat, twisted around, her fine body straight-backed and perfect in profile. She waited until I dragged my eyes back to hers, and then took a few seconds to read what they had to tell her. "Ah. I see." She said it very quietly, almost gravely. Then she nodded to herself, her eyes very wide. "Still, huh?"

I sighed and tipped my head back. "Yup." The ceiling was stained and in dire need of new paint; I knew because I was looking at anything but her. "Still." But I felt her eyes studying me, and she didn't move her hand. And after a few more minutes of silence, she got up and went to the bathroom, and I was left sighing into my half-finished beer as Gina Torrey just about had sex on the dance floor.