Teacher

Robert was two weeks past his eighteenth birthday and three months short of leaving school. He was a pupil in a prestigious school in southern England in the long, hot summer of 1976. He was of ordinary ability but his parents had money and were prepared to pay large sums annually in the hope that his intellectual mediocrity might somehow be developed. He was a decent young man but like all men of his age, was prone to moments of juvenile stupidity; a tendency of males that does not necessarily abate with age. In these dying months of his school career, one such moment was to teach him a lesson more durable than anything his parents had so far written cheques for.

Miss Pirie was Robert's English teacher, trying to instill into him and his peers some of the subtleties of English Literature. They were not easily receptive. Their bodies were playing grounds of riotous, hormonal activity such that it was scarcely possible for them to think of anything but sex.

The focus of this torrid energy was a young female student called, improbably, Philomena Whyte. She was only fifteen but already burdened with a ludicrously mature body, notably an enormous pair of breasts attached, precariously, to a young and otherwise frail frame. Every smutty thought and fantasy, every morning ejaculation was inspired by Philomena Whyte. They would have sold their mother to a passing horde of bandits just to catch a glimpse of her bra strap.

Whereas the bulbous young woman was the focus of all Robert's and his friends' sexual imagination, Miss Pirie tended to be the target of their jokes. The reason was complex, far too complex for Robert and friends to understand. There was nothing inherently comical about Miss Pirie. She was a very intelligent young woman, twenty three years old, not eccentric in any way, pretty but not in the blond, leggy, outsized bosom sense which was all Robert and friends comprehended. So why was Miss Pirie the focus of their jokes?

The answer, in Robert's case, was that he was, without knowing it, gradually becoming aware of an idea of female beauty rather less quantifiable than mere bra size. This was beginning to trouble Robert rather a lot. To his consternation he realised one morning that the image in his head at the moment of his early morning ejaculation was increasingly Miss Pirie rather than Philomena Whyte. How could this be? Whatever it was stirring in Robert's sexual imagination, it contributed to a humiliating incident that is the seed of this story.

One lunchtime, Robert and friends decided to visit a local bar, an activity that was strictly forbidden. When they returned they had just had enough alcohol to loosen their inhibitions. Walking across the school grounds the boys spied Miss Pirie; Robert, to raucous laughter from friends, let out a very loud wolf whistle at her. Unfortunately, other teachers were in earshot. Robert was duly suspended from school and compelled to appear, with deeply embarrassed and ashamed parents, before the Headteacher. He was reprieved, given a thorough dressing down and required to deliver a written apology to Miss Pirie. The other boys concerned were also severely reprimanded.

Two days after Robert delivered the apology he decided to see Miss Pirie, after school, about another matter. Thoroughly chastened by his actions he wanted to further repair his relationship with his teacher. Also, those pre-ejaculation moments in the early morning were still troubling him.

Robert went to Miss Pirie's classroom at the end of the day as she was preparing to go home.

"Robert! This is a surprise."

"I just wanted to ask you something, Miss. You said something the other day in class about doing extra reading as a way of improving your grades."

"That's right," she replied, her voice full of scepticism at this sudden enthusiasm.

"Well, we've been reading some of DH Lawrence's poetry and you said he was better known as a novelist so I thought it might be a good idea to read one of his novels."

She hesitated, sure there was some other motive for this but unsure what.

"Well, yes, that would indeed be a good idea. What are you thinking of?"

"I don't know, I only know one of his novels."

"What's that?" She asked naively.

"Lady Chatterley's Lover."

She chuckled, "Yes, I should have guessed that."

"Should I read that?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because.....it's not particularly good and has become famous for all the wrong reasons."

"I see," his disappointment apparent.

"And anyway," she continued, "I don't think it would be appropriate for a pupil of mine to take home, at my recommendation, a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. There are so many misunderstandings and misperceptions of the work.... it would be unwise."

"I see, what do you suggest then?"

"Try Women in Love or The Rainbow."

"What's Women in Love about?"

She gave a wry smile, "Not what you're thinking."

He smiled back, amused that she had read his thoughts. He agreed to read one of them and let her know what he thought. When he left he realised that it was the first time he had ever spoken to her alone. She seemed different; better.

Miss Pirie in turn, noticed that he was a man, not a boy.

Robert's parents were equally mystified by their son's sudden attachment to reading; maybe, they thought, the incident with the teacher had forced him to take a good look at himself.

Unfortunately for both parent and Miss Pirie, Robert struggled badly with Women in Love. The prose he thought was turgid, repetitive and the whole thing seriously lacking in action; he only read twenty pages. He returned the book to the school library and browsed through a copy of The Rainbow but it looked much the same. The following day he returned to see Miss Pirie.

"Robert, have you come for further disquisitions on English Literature?"

Sulkily, he replied, "If you mean have I read DH Lawrence, the answer's no. But I tried."

"And?"

"It was so boring."

"Ah yes, 'boring' the word young people use when they have to concentrate for more than five minutes."

"No, I understood but....what's the point of it all? It took me hours to read about twenty pages. And there's nearly three hundred."

Miss Pirie laughed good humouredly.

"Well, Robert, novels are not for you."

"Can't I read Lady Chatterley's Lover instead?"

"Well, I can't stop you reading anything can I?"

Robert recognized the suggestion of collusion. That Miss Pirie, his English teacher, was considering, albeit obliquely, the possibility of entering into some secret pact with him.

"But I can't find a copy anywhere," he pleaded, "neither the school nor the town library stocks it. Do you have a copy?"

She knew it was pointless to lie; of course, he knew she did. All that she could do was small mindedly say 'yes, but you can't have it.' She was cornered. He waited for her to speak.

Very quietly she replied, "I really do want you to do this reading, Robert, but I want you to make sure your parents don't see you are reading this book; nor anyone else in this school. It's an old fashioned school, as well you know, and encouraging young people to read this would be strongly disapproved of. That is a deeply philistine attitude but that's what it's like."

"I promise."

He left with the book but that was not the prize; the prize was that she had entered into a pact with him. She treated him as an equal. Soon he would be leaving school. They might become friends. They might become lovers.

Robert duly took away the book. That evening he continued to impress his parents with his love of reading only this time he said he needed to concentrate carefully and so retired to the solitude of his bedroom.

To begin with it appeared to be the same turgid verbosity as the previous two. He skipped a few pages every now and then until he found what he thought might be the start of the action and soon his interest grew. Of course, he kept skipping pages, sometimes quite a few but he retained a sense of the story. To his astonishment he began to enjoy it, mainly because of his admiration and envy of Mellors, the Gamekeeper. He was disappointed that Lawrence provided little description of what Lady Chatterley looked like but felt sure she was a "stunner" (the highest accolade Robert could award any female), a mature version of Philomena Whyte. In such ways did the male adolescent brain work. After only four days Robert had finished, minus the skipped pages.

The following day, after Miss Pirie's class, she asked him to wait behind in order to get her book back (she was convinced it would fall into the parent's hands). She asked him how he was getting on with the reading and did not believe him when he said he had finished it and she was cross when he told her it was in his bedroom at home. It was Friday so there was no chance of getting it back until Monday morning; two more days for his parents to discover it and write a strongly worded letter of complaint to the Head. Robert promised none of that would happen and he would return it first thing Monday but privately he had another plan. Every morning he went out running; he knew where Miss Pirie lived and would deliver it to her Saturday morning. Any irritation at visiting her home would be alleviated by knowing the explosive book was now safe.

He usually ran early but the following morning he delayed it by an hour: he did not want his plan to be ruined by arriving when she was in bed.

He ran the doorbell which was answered quickly. It was fear more than any other emotion that she expressed when she saw who was making the early morning call.

"Robert!"

Before she could say anything he thrust the book in front of her and she reluctantly let him in quickly, fastening her dressing gown across her chest.

"What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?"

"Some one told me."

"Who?"

"I can't remember."

"Liar."

At this he smiled and this seemed to take the edge off her irritation. She relaxed a little once the outside door was closed. Looking at her wearing her nightclothes was a strange sight; she looked more vulnerable, less in charge.

Her recent realisation that he was a man not a boy was quickly confirmed; particularly seeing him this close in his shorts and running shirt. Physically, he was a magnificent sight: muscular arms and legs, straight back and a firm stomach. No wonder there was always a posse of girls hanging around him and his group. She was almost glad he had come but would not let him know that.

"So, Robert," she began, sitting down at the other end of the sofa to him, "what are your thoughts on the Dirty Book?"

"I liked it."

Not knowing whether to believe him she said nothing and allowed him to speak.

He continued.

"But I can't really see what all the fuss is about. I mean, some of the language is a bit of a surprise in a book like this, especially the C –word and the F-word, which he uses a lot but that's about all. He didn't want her to leave her husband and marry him did he? He just wanted to..."

"Fuck her...." she finished.

Miss Pirie's resort to this word startled him and in embarrassment he look down at the floor quietly and said, "Yes."

Looking at her in her dressing gown, in her own home and using language like that suddenly made him feel out of place and vulnerable. But he wanted to be able to say something about the book; he wanted to impress her but he did not know why, although he sensed that it was something to do with those early morning ejaculations.

"I don't know what's in for her, though," he added thoughtfully.

"Well don't you think the same thing?"

"What just a..."

"Good fuck, yes. Do you think it impossible that a woman might want nothing more than a good fuck, same as a man?"

This was not the conversation he had envisaged.

"I suppose so."

"You don't sound very sure. Or do you think that fucking is a man's game?"

His uncertainty about what the question meant was confused by coming from the mouth of his English teacher. Did she always use this kind of language so casually? He felt the need to resume the security of the pupil-teacher relationship.

"I don't know," he lamely replied, hoping that, like a good teacher, she would tell him. What he did know was that her dressing gown had slipped a little, revealing more of her neck than he had seen before.

"Well, consider this," she said, picking up the book.

She flicked through the pages and found an extract. Listen to this. She read:

'The man looked down the front of his slender white body, and laughed. Between the slim breasts the hair was dark, almost black. But at the root of the belly, where the phallos rose thick and arching, it was gold-red, vivid in a little cloud.

'So proud!' she murmured, uneasy. 'And so lordly! Now I know why men are so overbearing! But he's lovely, really. Like another being! A bit terrifying! But lovely really! And he comes to me!---' She caught her lower lip between her teeth, in fear and excitement.'

She broke off.

"You know what he means by 'phallos', don't you Robert?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied nervously, not really sure at all.

She returned to the reading.

'The man looked down in silence at the tense phallos, that did not change.---'Ay!' he said at last, in a little voice. 'Ay ma lad! tha're theer right enough. Yi, tha mun rear thy head! Theer on thy own, eh? an' ta'es no count O' nob'dy! Tha ma'es nowt O' me, John Thomas. Art boss? of me? Eh well, tha're more cocky than me, an' tha says less. John Thomas! Dost want her? Dost want my lady Jane? Tha's dipped me in again, tha hast. Ay, an' tha comes up smilin'.---Ax 'er then! Ax lady Jane! Say: Lift up your heads, O ye gates, that the king of glory may come in. Ay, th' cheek on thee! Cunt, that's what tha're after. Tell lady Jane tha wants cunt. John Thomas, an' th' cunt O' lady Jane!---'

'Oh, don't tease him,' said Connie, crawling on her knees on the bed towards him and putting her arms round his white slender loins, and drawing him to her so that her hanging, swinging breasts touched the tip of the stirring, erect phallos, and caught the drop of moisture. She held the man fast.'

Robert listened silently and without expression. His face burned with embarrassment. She carefully closed the book, placed it precisely on the table in front of her and looked at him, as a teacher waits patiently in the hope that the pupil might answer a difficult question; but Robert said nothing.

"You know, Robert, don't you, what John Thomas is?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What?"

Why was she inflicting this on him? What was the test? Was he to use a polite word and be laughed at or a crude one and be reprimanded? How could he know?"

"It's his.....penis," he offered unconvincingly.

He searched her face looking for some sign that it was the answer she was looking for but instead a faint smile spread across her face that seemed to say, 'that's just the sort of stupid answer I expected from you.' Not for the first time, he had abysmally failed one of Miss Pirie's tests.

"So you see, Robert, it seems that Lady Chatterley was nothing more than an upper class tart and desperate for a good fuck. Nothing else, just an honest to goodness, straightforward, fuck. And deep down that's what all women secretly want, don't you think? A really good fuck. 'And tha' wants cunt', Mellor said, and we all want it too. What could be better? What do you think, Robert? Is cunt what you really want in life? There's plenty of it around for a young man like you, with a body like yours."

He hesitated, having no idea what she wanted from him.

"No, no...... I want other things."

"Really! Like what? Love, romance, companionship?"

She stood up and contempt began to enter into her voice.

"Forget it. You'd be better off with cunt. Cunt is much less complicated, especially for a man. A man knows where he is with cunt."

He looked at her imploringly and faintly said, "I must go home."

Just as he had stepped out of the door she said, "If you're running this way tomorrow morning you can return the book then."

He opened his mouth to reply but the door was already closed. He walked away, dazed. It would have been difficult enough to comprehend what had happened in the last hour without that parting shot. At times he was ashamed of being so stupid as to think a teacher would want an eighteen year old boy, for any reason. But – why did she not throw him out to start with? And all the questions about Lady Chatterley's Lover and sex. Do female teachers have private conversations, in their own home, with eighteen year old boys about sex? But none of this now mattered – she has effectively invited him back. Or maybe she was just desperate to get her book before his parents did. He could not be sure. That evening and all through a largely sleepless night he went over and over everything he could remember that she had said to him and analysed what it might have meant.

He woke up at five o'clock, four hours before he intended to go for his run. It was unlikely he could wait that long. He slipped his hand down his shorts and clasped his cock; these mornings it was almost fully erect before he woke up. This time his fantasies of Philomena Whyte's breasts were no longer clouded by thoughts of Miss Pirie: Philomena Whyte's breasts were nowhere to be seen. Today he wallowed in his desire for Miss Pirie and delayed the explosion in his hand a little longer than usual. But then, in a moment of heart rending bathos he imagined her opening her door, thanking him for the book and then quickly closing the door, followed by his friends' hysterical laughter coming from the clouds somewhere. 'He thought Miss Pirie was in love with him!!'

But when she did eventually open the door some four hours later she did not take the book and send him away but invited him in and gave him a cup of iced water. The long hot summer of 1976 was still in full swing.

"You look hot, would you like to take a shower?"

He looked as though it was the most terrible dilemma he had ever been posed.

"Well, when you've made your mind up, it's at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you, yes, I will."

Soon he was taking off his clothes in Miss Pirie's bathroom and she herself was only seconds away; the school and class room was another world.

Robert emerged from the shower, torn between looking for an excuse for a quick departure and the masochistic excitement that Miss Pirie was giving him.

He slid open the shower doors; Robert liked his showers intensely hot and for a few moments, outside the shower, was unable to see anything through the steam. As he started to run the towel though his hair, Miss Pirie's voice came through with startling clarity.

"Feel better for that?"

She was standing just inside the door. He panicked and thrust the towel over his private parts. She casually leaned against the door frame.

"Would you like a bigger towel," she asked, teasingly.

Not seeing the joke he replied, politely, "no thank you."

"Don't let me hold you up. Get dry or you'll end up feeling cold."

She did not move. The towel was small and it was impossible for him to dry his hair without exposing what he was desperately trying to cover up.

"Perhaps I could have that bigger towel," he whimpered.

"Of course. Let me have that one and I'll get you one."

She walked the short distance and took hold of the towel which, of course, he resisted.

Now the tone in her voice changed and he knew that the time for the quick exit was passed.

Very quietly but with an authoritative insistence she said, "Give me the towel, Robert."

He said nothing but ever so slightly shook his head. Now the teacher's commanding voice repeated the instruction.

"Give – me – the – towel – Robert!"

Slowly his fist loosened and he felt very frightened as she pulled it away but replaced it with his cupped hands in a vain attempt at dignity.