Teacher Outcast

While pouring coffee in the break room one morning, I got my first look at her. Being a male science teacher in the middle school, I was a little outnumbered by the other, mostly female, teachers. Several of them had interviewed Miss Northrop for the English teacher position opened months earlier. Since then, there was a non-stop flood of negative gossip about her that I couldn't completely understand. It was a little too hostile, a little too constant to come from a single job interview.

Nonetheless, for two months I heard the interview committee teachers complain that she was unqualified, unprofessional, and not a good match for our upper middle class school of future Einsteins.

Nevertheless, the principal liked her and hired her over the other ladies' objections. I knew some of them pretty well, and they were fuming. Some of them were friends of mine. We would flirt and talk between classes, but never much more. I am married, and they were married and seemed too worried about respectability to live their lives to the fullest. I had decided that we all "only live once," but we also should be safe and careful about other people's feelings. I was looking for someone to spoil rotten in bed, but it was a pity these women were so conservative.

As I poured the artery-clogging creamer into the cup I looked up and realized she was standing next to me and smiling. "It's hard to stay awake without that black tar, isn't it?" she asked.

"Absolutely. Especially if you are an evening person like me," I said.

"Amanda Northrop," she offered her hand, and we finished our greetings.

Her handshake was firm and warm, and what caught my attention: maybe a little too long. Not that I minded. She was looking great on her first day: a medium length black skirt, mocha stockings, and a white satiny blouse that was conservative, but hinted at gorgeously round full breasts. I tried not to look, but couldn't help a brief glance. Here I was: 35 years old, and mesmerized by this woman in her early fifties! It wasn't so surprising, I guess. She clearly had taken care of herself.

Suddenly she said, "Oh damn!" and ran off down the hall, obviously late for a class. I was enjoying watching her long beautiful brown hair cascade over her shoulders and bounce around, when a disapproving glance from one of the older ladies jolted me back to reality. I realized I was late for class too, and ran down the North wing, but not before accidentally relocating much of my coffee onto my shirt. The classes went well; the kids were mostly nice, but I couldn't stop wondering why all the other teachers hated Miss N.

Over the next several weeks, I bumped into Miss N. pretty often. Actually, not enough to suite me. I was beginning to realize that she had an amazing figure hiding under her professional attire. She had loosened up a little since her first day, but not too much. Even with a few age lines showing on her face, she was starting to really attract me. She always seemed to greet me warmly enough, but I just couldn't tell if we had possibilities together. I began to have a suspicion why the other ladies hated Amanda so much. Not only did she have a carefree laugh and seem generally more at ease than they were, she had something in the eyes. There was something unique about them. They were brown intelligent eyes, but they also had an intense look too, like she could be a tiger in bed. I guess you would call them "bedroom eyes".

Now that I had my hypothesis, my only choice was to test it. Hey, I'm a science teacher! I knew the other ladies fought a lot with their husbands or were divorced, so it made sense they were jealous of a carefree spirit. I started noticing that on days when Amanda dressed a little hotter, so rose the ire of our colleagues. It was funny in a way, but made me worried that a "wild west" styled showdown was in the works. I didn't have to wait long. The next Thursday I passed the faculty lunchroom after giving out my last exam of the day. Three of the really bitchy teachers were in there. The two old language teacher buzzards who likely haven't been laid in 20 years, and the effeminate home economics teacher who always "amens" everything they say were in there gossiping up a storm. "Such a slut!" and "How can she afford that car?" and my favorite: "Probably gave the principal a blow job for 'the' job!"

"Probably can't even remember her lesson plans," the fruitcake added for effect.

It was obvious that everything they were saying was untrue. I had filled in for her class sometimes and she was obviously doing a great job. Yes, the war had begun. On Friday, I decided to walk a little out of my way through her part of the building. I noticed through the glass door that she had her head in her hands and looked wiped out.

We started talking. She was fed up with all the disapproving glances and frowns from most of the female staff. She was clearly upset, but not near crying or anything. I mentioned that it might be jealousy at her beauty, and she looked a little surprised. She mentioned that she used to work in a very male workplace before transferring and had never even thought about jealousy much. She thought I was teasing her actually. She got a little annoyed thinking I was teasing her that way about her age.

I had to struggle to pay attention. Her brown eyes were stormy and deep, and far sexier than I had remembered from our break room encounters. I started feeling a little excitement down below. I tried to "will" it down. I'm supposed to be listening here to an upset woman! I've always been a sucker for eyes, and I've noticed that many older women have eyes even more alluring than young women.

"Are you listening?" she asked. Actually I was, and repeated what she said and we talked some more. She said, "You looked like you were daydreaming!" "Well, it's just that you've got the most amazing, um. . . never mind. We'd better run before they lock up"

She gave me a quizzical look. She was not a dumb woman by any means; I'm sure she realized that I was entranced. She got a look like she was thinking hard, then said, "Maybe I have more than just enemies around here after all." I nodded a little nervously and we made our good-byes.

By a lucky coincidence, Amanda and I had similar schedules that semester. About a week later, she sent me a little note in the mailbox. It said, "Dear Ed, I'm not sure I like the atmosphere in the break room; care to eat out?" My heart kind of skipped a beat. Here was this gorgeous older woman inviting me out to lunch. Of course I accepted. It became a habit that we would go to a little Chinese restaurant that had good food and semi-private little booths. During most of these lunches, I fought the urge to put my hand on her knee even though I was dying to. After a few months, I didn't have to worry about it, she put her hand on my thigh. This always sent energy to my groin, but I hoped that she didn't notice. We were, after all, very different ages, and just colleagues! We started talking about school and all of the strange problems she was having. After trying to explain it all obliquely and only getting more and more confused looks, I finally screwed up my nerve and said it, "Amanda, they hate you because you're hot looking, and they aren't!"

There was a silence and a stare from this beautiful mature woman. I was starting to wonder if I was in biiiiiiiig trouble or what, when she broke into a devious smile and asked, "You really think so?"

"Yes."

"Oh Ed! I THOUGHT you were looking at me funny!"

"Sorry. I like your eyes, and. . . " "No, don't apologize!"

"It's just that I really like your eyes, shape, personality, hair, humor, laugh, . . . clothes. Did I leave anything out?" She started a cute little laugh, now drunk from the compliments. She was also rubbing my calf very near my cock without realizing it. I decided I better go to the bathroom and let it calm down, when she interrupted my thoughts. "It's ok, honey. You're the only guy left at that damn school with normal reactions."

My heart kind of flip flopped at that point. She was now gently scratching at my khakis under the white droopy table cloth. Her long red fingernails were tracing the head and shaft of my cock as her deep brown eyes smiled at me mischievously. I was really at a loss for words, and getting hotter by the minute. The waitress stopped by and said, "Sir, everything ok?" I think maybe the waitress had an amused tone in her voice, but I was too wrapped up to care!

Amanda broke the silence and said, "You don't really think that I'm hot do you?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, it's not like you go home and beat off thinking about ME at night for god's sake!"

I hesitated, "Well, sometimes, when, uh . . . "

She got a really hot look in her eye and whispered right next to my ear, "Oh my god! You DO don't you?"

"I told you I think you're beautiful." Her voice got even lower and slower, "Ed dear, you don't jack off and think about me . . . daily do you?"

Stupidly I moaned, "Uh huh," and pulled her hand lower to were it was cupping my heavy balls under the table." We just sat for a minute breathing heavily and looking into each other's eyes. I couldn't resist, and gently inched my hand up her leg as well (the tables were small so it was hard to do). I almost died when I felt the top of her stockings, a little bit of bare thigh, and then the beginning of her bush, without panties. I immediately stopped. The restaurant was kind of empty, and I didn't want to make a scene. Plus, had I not stopped, I would have cum in my pants from the idea of this beautiful older woman letting me feel her smooth legs.

We cooled down a little and started the drive back to the school. She said she needed a way to get her mind off of the petty jealousy at school. I mentioned my best idea: that she and I have a secret affair so hot that we would barely be able to walk, much less worry about small minded teachers. She agreed wholeheartedly. There it was. Nothing had happened, but we both knew now what we wanted, badly. I drove home that day wondering if I had imagined it all or not, and woke up the next morning still wondering. I flipped through the faculty booklet to see her picture again, and yep, she was hot! A few slight bulges and wrinkles, but she had that look that can't be described.

We both decided that getting together for special school holidays would be best. Something to look forward to, about once a month, but not so often that we'd get careless and bored. It was about three weeks until we finally met in private. We met at her apartment and man, did she ever look good! She answered the door wearing an ultra thin white cotton shirt, blue jeans, and bare feet. The minute we locked eyes, her nipples, already visible, tented the shirt out a little more. I licked my lips without even realizing it. She closed the door and we shared a long hug.

"I'm so glad to see you. I've been looking forward to this!" she said. Her hands had quickly wandered down and were caressing my butt through my jeans.

"You have NO idea. This is still a dream for me," I replied while kissing behind her ear and running my fingers through her hair.

She broke the embrace and went to the kitchen, bringing back a tall glass of wine. We sat almost on top of each on the leather couch, cuddled, and shared the wine. She was getting really giggly and we started laughing like crazy at the looks the other teachers would have if they could see us now.

"Do you think those nasty teachers at Harford even had sex this month?" she quipped.

"I think it's more a matter of years, not months."

"What about Mrs. Atwood? She looks like she's ready to explode every time I wear my sundress."

"Don't worry. Half the kids are convinced she eats stray children at Halloween!"

We had a good laugh at that, but soon we started kissing again and our hands resumed wandering. The clothes were getting in the way so we got rid of all of them quickly and started snuggling close again. I massaged her clitoris gently while she whimpered quietly in my ear.

"I bet you taste so sweet," I told her.

"Oh my, I love that, and it's been so long since I've had that."

Unable to control the urge any longer, I got on my knees in front of her and gently kissed my way up her legs until I reached her flower. She was already wet and very pleasant tasting. I continued my work, sometimes pausing to look up into those bedroom eyes.

"That is so . . . hot. Where did you learn . . . that, . . . oh god!"

She looked so breathless and turned on; I'll never forget her look. I wanted to continue, but she stopped me.

"Sweetie, let's take care of each other. I want to make you feel good too." She moved into a 69 on top of me, kissing and playing with my balls as well as my cock. She was really enthusiastic and so was I. She did sexy little things like gently scratching my balls with her fingernails or gently nibbling under my cock head with her teeth. Meanwhile, I gently massaged her inside while kissing and teasing her pouting clitoris. It seemed like we were made for each other. I couldn't believe it. She started to shake, and grind her hips into my face, so I sped up what I was doing. Soon she had a full-fledged orgasm punctuated by "Oh my god," and "Ohhhh, yes!" I hadn't cum yet, but I didn't want to. The sight of her moving her lips up and down my shaft, occasionally pushing her long soft hair out of the way, was erotic enough for a lifetime. I just wanted to make sure this older beauty had the time of her life and looked forward to the next time.

We grabbed a blanket and lay close for a while, just listening to her stereo. The fact that she was older made it so wrong, and SO right! Needless to say, we become the best of friends and very passionate lovers. It turns out she is every bit as oral as I am, and our favorite thing is to share a bottle of wine and to mutually take care of each other for an hour or more.

Amanda became completely unconcerned about the jealous women at school. Probably because they saw that their venom wasn't working, the conservative brigade gave up and settled down. Amanda started wearing lower necklines, higher dresses, and sexier shoes. This was too much for me. I just couldn't keep the "holiday only" rule, but she didn't complain! To this day, when she's had a hard day, even with other teachers within earshot, she tells me, "I need a glass of wine!" It's her code for "I need you to take care of me."

I began to worry that her attractive attire would lead someone else to her. Nervously, I asked her about it. She laughed, "Sweetie, you treat me so well, I'm NEVER interviewing anyone else!" I told her that I felt the same way. As far as having something "hot" in our lives, we are content with our secret arrangement for 8 years now, and our times together only seem to get better.