Why, Of Course You Can!!

"Mr. Miller, there's something stuck to your back," she said, without smiling as she walked toward me. I reached over my shoulder and felt a piece of paper stuck to my shirt. I pulled it off my back. There were a couple of small pieces of Scotch tape stuck to it, and I realized that was how it had been affixed to my shirt. Then, I read the paper. It read: "Eat me. I'm Danish."

"Do you know who put that there, Mr. Miller?" Of course, I knew. "It was Sandi Mortensen. I think I saw when she did it. She walked over to your table, and I saw her with a piece of paper in her hand. I saw that it had pieces of tape on it. I didn't know what it said, but.... I think you better tell Mr. Joyce, Jeff. I don't think you can let this one go," Mrs. Reeves said, pulling two more pieces of Scotch tape from the back of my shirt.

"Sandi," I said, shaking my head, "is a bit of a handful. Do other teachers have problems with her?" I asked.

"Well you can see how she dresses," Gretchen Reeves responded, "but I have to say, Jeff, I think she has a thing for you, and I don't think that can be said of any of the other male teachers." Oh god, I thought. Now other people know.

I tried to imagine how I would have handled this situation if Gretchen Reeves hadn't been there to see what had happened. Would I have let it go if no one else knew? On the other hand, now at least I had a corroborating witness; it might make this easier to explain to Mr. Joyce.

I walked down to Joyce's office and knocked on the open door. He was seated at his desk, reading some forms. He invited me in, and I sat down and told him what had just happened. I explained that Mrs. Reeves had seen Sandi, and that I had felt her stick the paper to my back. I showed him what it said. He said he would take care of the matter, and I returned to my classroom.

I was still in my room correcting papers after school that day when I heard a knock at my door. "Come in," I said, loud enough to be heard in the hallway, "the door's unlocked." Five seconds later, I wished I hadn't said that.

As the door slowly opened, I realized it was Sandi, and she was alone. After she entered the room and closed the door behind her, I saw her flip the deadbolt. Oh no, I thought, I have to get out of here.

"Mr. Miller?" Sandi said demurely, "Can I talk to you about what I did today?"

"Yes, Sandi, but maybe we should keep that door open," I said grimly.

"No, please, Mr. Miller. Look, I'm really sorry. I'm here, in part because Mr. Joyce told me I have to apologize to you, but this is really embarrassing, and I'd rather that no one else heard what I'm going to say. I promise that all I want to do is to apologize."

"Okay, Sandi. I'm all ears," I said, relenting a little. She took the seat immediately in front of my desk.

"All right." She paused. "Well, first I want to say that I'm sorry that I stuck that piece of paper to your back. And I am really sorry about what it said. It was just kind of a joke, but it was wrong and disrespectful, and I should never have done it. You see, I was wearing that paper stuck to the front of my sweater most of the morning, whenever my teachers couldn't see me. I don't know if you know, but I really am Danish. It was a stupid joke, but everybody thought it was funny that I had it on me. And then in your class, I took it off and thought it would be funny if I stuck it on you." She was turning red explaining herself to me.

"Why did you think it would be funny to put it on me?" I asked timidly.

"Well, I guess because everybody knows how I feel about you, Mr. Miller."

"What do you mean, Sandi?" I asked, not entirely sure that I wanted to hear the answer.

"Mr. Miller?" She said, not really sure she should continue. I had never seen her like this -- as shy as a church mouse, but then I said the same thing this morning when I saw how seriously she was talking about her term paper. I knew Sandi could play me like a violin.

"Yes."

"I'm not really used to having a hard time talking. You know that. I pretty much blurt out anything that's on my mind. I know that I've been really obnoxious in your class, and I thought that's what I needed to explain to you. You see, I've wanted to talk to you alone for a long time, so I'm not just here because Mr. Joyce made me apologize. I mean, I want to apologize anyway, but I want to explain why I've acted so -- oh, I don't know if I should say this -- so... so... so slutty." I wasn't ready for that adjective.

"Mr. Miller. I have a crush on you," she divulged abruptly.

I paused. Of course, I already knew this, but I had to be careful about how I responded to this supposedly breaking news. "Well, Sandi. I'm glad you told me that, but you realize that I'm your teacher, and I can't be anything more than your teacher right now. You'll just have to accept that."

"I know, Mr. Miller. I do accept that. I just wanted you to know that the reason I've been talking all sexy and all is because I was trying to get your attention."

"I know you were, Sandi, and I was trying very hard to ignore you. I could have confronted you the very first time you said anything inappropriate, and I realize now that is exactly what I should have done. But I'm a lot like you, Sandi. I've got a lot to learn. The reason I didn't say anything to you is because I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your classmates, and because I thought it might even make things worse. But, Sandi, I can't let you talk that way in class anymore. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mr. Miller, but I promise you, you'll never have to say another word to me. It was enough for me just to tell you how I felt about you. I know you can't have feelings for me. I know I'm way too young for you. Besides, you have a girlfriend don't you?"

I probably shouldn't have answered that question, but I did. "Yes, I do, Sandi, and someday I suspect that you'll have a boyfriend who feels the same way about you that I feel about her. By that time, you'll have forgotten all about me and this rotten day."

"Maybe, Mr. Miller," she said, smiling so innocently that I didn't think I was looking at the same person. "I'm not so sure about that, but thanks for saying so, anyway. You're a really nice guy. I always knew that, but I can't believe how kind you're being to me, especially now after what I did to you. I'm so sorry. I want you know that you're the last person in the world that I would want to disrespect. I really, really like you a lot."

"Thank you, Sandi. I like you, too, but remember I'm your teacher, nothing more. Now, I've got some more papers to correct, so if you'll excuse me, I better get back to work."

She smiled and left the room, and that was the last time I had a problem with Sandi Mortensen. The next day she came to class, and she was a perfect little angel, and things stayed that way for the next year and a half. She never again called me "Time." From that point forward I was always "Mr. Miller" to her. I think she was the only kid in the school who actually called me that.

Right before Christmas break, she turned in a great paper entitled "The Element of Time in Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby." She earned an "A" on the paper and an "A" for the semester. She also continued to be the best debater on my team, later earning a Superior in the State Debate Contest.

The following year, I had her in Writing for College, and she earned another "A" and another Superior in Debate. She was a natural, and I really thought she had the talents to be quite successful in college, something not many kids from Fair Oaks were. The only thing about Sandi that didn't change after that day was the way she dressed, but now I rather enjoyed seeing her flaunt her beautiful body, just so long as it wasn't going to get me in trouble.

Sandi graduated after my second year at FOHS, and she went on to Ann Arbor to study -- you guessed it! -- English. I was really proud of her; she was going to be one of our few success stories. After graduation, she came to see me to say goodbye and to thank me. I think it might have been harder for me to say goodbye to her than it had been for her to say goodbye to me. I was probably at the lowest point in my abbreviated life.

You see, just a week or two before Sandi's graduation, Sharon broke up with me and moved out of our house. I suspected that life in the Fair Oaks region was a little less exciting than what she'd bargain for. But that wasn't the whole story.

I knew that too much of her unhappiness was my fault. I had just been too overwhelmed with school and with coaching. I hadn't paid enough attention to her. More and more, I also began to think that I hadn't taken seriously enough her resentment about living in a house that she had no say in choosing to live in. If I knew that, why hadn't I suggested moving somewhere else -- anywhere else?

She packed up her Chevy Citation, which I had just paid $2000 to fix and drove to Seattle where there was a hot music scene burgeoning, moving in with Layne, her old roommate from back in our college days in Minnesota.

I was pretty much devastated about the whole thing. I was really in love with Sharon, and her leaving was a first for me -- no one had ever broken my heart before.

I was already spending a good portion of my free time at Jeff and Jacky's, but once Sharon left, I couldn't stand being alone in my house, so I was at their place all the time.

Jacky, in particular, was a godsend. She talked me through a lot my emotions. I came to learn that losing a girlfriend in a breakup was not unlike losing a loved one through death. The grief and the stages of that grief were really exactly the same.

Jacky and I talked a lot about those stages of grief, Kübler-Ross' theory. She gave me a copy of the book, and she explained how that book had helped her when she herself had gone through a period of profound grief when her father had died a couple of years before that summer -- right before I met her.

*****

I can't say for sure that Jeff and Jacky were responsible, but that summer one of their closest female friends started spending a lot of time at their place as well. She seemed to show up every time I called to ask if I could come over. Hannah had been married to one of Jeff's best friends in college -- a guy I didn't much like, named Tim Janasik. Hannah had divorced Tim the year before, moved out of their house outside of Kalamazoo, and got a job as a school counselor just up the Interstate in Scottsville.

Before I even knew what was happening, Hannah was at my house just as often, and pretty soon I was falling for her. I never thought I would rebound from losing Sharon, and though my relationship with Hannah wasn't the same, I couldn't believe how quickly I had accepted her into my life.

Hannah was a Southern girl from Georgia. How she found her way to Michigan is still a mystery to me, and I asked her that question so many times, you would have thought that I would have known for certain. I never got a real clear explanation.

She was a slender, pretty, short-haired brunette with a great intellect and really good taste in anything artistic -- music, literature, and art. It wasn't surprising that I would fall for her. She was also the best-read person I think I have ever met, and nothing short of voracious in her reading habits. She turned me on to so many great books that I would be eternally grateful for her influence long after we stopped dating.

Like me, I sensed that Hannah was beginning to tire of life in and around Fair Oaks. I had been so involved in the life of the school that I never really thought about how much time I spent there until Sharon left me, and I was forced to re-examine a lot of things about my life.

Besides being an English teacher, who quite honestly spent more time preparing for classes and correcting student homework and writing than any other teacher in the school, I also had -- get this -- nine co-curricular activities to direct! If someone asked me to do something, I simply couldn't say no.

In the fall, I was the videographer for the football program (that was Jeff's fault), and I directed the Fall Play. In the winter, I coached basketball with Jeff, and coordinated the talent show. In the spring, I coached baseball and directed the Spring Play.

And all year long, I oversaw the noon time recreation program, was the coordinator of the student newspaper, and coached the debate team. From late August until the end of May, I didn't have time to do much of anything, except occasionally drink beers and smoke dope at Jeff and Jacky's. That was the only thing that kept me sane.

It's no wonder that I took the summers off. But beginning that year I started using my summer vacation for more than relaxation. With Hannah, I journeyed to the South for the first time. We visited her family, traveled around to the see the sites, and stayed at her parents' beach home just outside of Savannah.

My sexual relationship with Hannah was a strange one. In some ways, we seemed a little bit incompatible, but then in other ways, she drove me wild with passion. She was unlike any woman I had ever been with in her willingness to experiment, but she also seemed to have trouble reaching orgasms, unless we were engaged in some new and novel form of lovemaking. So that's what we did, what we always did.

She started out by buying a lot of erotic literature, and asking me to read passages from it to her as we acted out the stories with our lovemaking. Then, she moved on to lingerie. She built a sizable wardrobe, and it turned me on a lot when she wore it while we made love.

We also tried things in bed that I had never considered doing with other women: exploring new positions, toys, and fetish interests. For instance, once she asked me to put a string of pearls into her pussy, and then very gently and slowly, I pulled it one bead at a time from her wet opening, dragging the pearls slowly across her clit as I pulled them from her. She climaxed before I had her necklace half way out.

Hannah was also the first and the last person with whom I ever engaged in public sex. She was incredibly excited doing that, despite my initial reluctance.

The first time was on a trip to Savannah. One day on a road trip, we found ourselves on a remote beach in a state park 60 miles north of the city, across the border in South Carolina. We had parked our car in a lot near the lighthouse, and then walked two miles or so south down the beach, where nothing but the sound of the surf and the steady ocean breeze could be heard.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and the hot sun was beating down on us, as we lay just up the beach from where the tide was lapping against the sand. We were both horny and started making out. Soon, we had stripped off all of our clothes, except for her skimpy bikini and my swimming trunks. There was no one around, but there was also no way of knowing if someone would come strolling down the beach at any moment.

When the sun and our passion had us overheated, we moved to the very edge of the water, where the wet sand received the gently cresting waves. I lay down in the sand, and Hannah pulled my trunks down to my knees and took me in her mouth. Her lips had me hard in a minute, and soon her sucking, the warm water that lapped around my balls, and the vigorous stroking that her hand was applying to my shaft had me close to erupting.

I pulled her bikini top to the sides of her small breasts and began to fondle her nipples while she worked my cock. But I didn't want to cum in her mouth, so I pulled her head from my hardness, stood up, pushing my trunks around my ankles, and lay her down with her back to the wet sand. Then, I pulled the bottom of her bikini down her legs and tossed it a few feet up the beach to the dry sand where it could not wash away.

I spread her legs out in front of me and lay down so that my erect cock was almost burrowing its own hole in the warm, wet sand, and started to eat her pussy. Her opening was already wet, a leaky combination of pussy juices and the warm ocean. I lapped at her hole, careful not to touch her sex with my hands, so as to avoid introducing tiny grains into her.

I had her groaning and writhing faster than I had ever seen her respond to my mouth and tongue. In a few short minutes, Hannah decided we needed to take things all the way. "I want your cock," she ordered, and I was not going to deny her.

I stood up and pulled my suit off me, and lifting Hannah's ass from the sand, I lay it down underneath her butt. Looming above her, I cast my shadow over her form, stretched out spread eagle and panting on the beach, while my stiff cock stood at attention, covered in fine sand. So, I took two steps backwards into the ocean, where I let the warm water rinse me clean, and then I knelt down between her legs.

I placed my head between her lips, and stretched my hands out in front of me on the wet sand, and began to enter her slowly. She groaned loudly. Once I was all the way inside her, I withdrew everything but my head, and then thrust back into her warm hole in one fell swoop. Then, I started pumping.

I couldn't stop myself from looking first up the beach to my right and then down it to my left to see if anyone was coming. But Hannah was so aroused, moving against me with such vigorous passion, that after a minute, I stopped caring. For those few moments, the whole world could have been watching; it wouldn't have mattered.

It didn't take her long to cum. After no more than three minutes, my long, even strokes had us both on the verge. Suddenly, she yelled, I mean yelled, so loudly that the strong ocean breeze must have carried her announcement hundreds of yards up the beach, "Oh god, I'm cumming. I'm cumming. I'm cum... ooohhh." If there was anyone near, they had to have heard.

But her vociferousness triggered more than the attention of potential passersby. Now, I had reached the point of no return. I closed my eyes, and grunted seven times, one for each rope I deposited deep in Hannah's sweet pussy, "Oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... oh... ooohhh!"

After 15 seconds my orgasm faded, and I opened my eyes. When I did, I saw something moving almost imperceptibly in my periphery. I turned to my right and a hundred and fifty yards up the beach, coming from the direction of the lighthouse, I saw two, tiny dark forms moving toward us.

"Hannah! Someone's coming!" I shouted with alarm. "Grab your bikini!" We both stood up instantly. She located the bottom of her suit, and I grabbed my trunks. "In the water!" I yelled, and we both took four long strides into the warm Atlantic.

The water was up to my waist now and almost up to Hannah's breasts, which she quickly slid back into her bikini top. I pulled on my trunks. Then, Hannah, slipped her slim legs into her bottoms, and we stood up straight, both of us splashing water over the rest of our bodies. We were standing only a foot or two away from each other.

Now the intruders were only 60 yards away, and we could see their identities. A tall, beautiful woman with long, blonde hair was holding a leash that stretched to a large, Chocolate Labrador, and both of them were jogging toward us on the sand. We stayed in the water, where my erection, buffeted as it was by the warm, ocean current, was refusing to slacken.

The woman reached the beach only three or four feet from where we had been making love, and still jogging in place, turned to face us. "How's the water?" she called out, smiling, her large breasts bouncing up and down in a sports bra that was failing at its job. Besides the bra, her gorgeous body was covered by only a tiny pair of running shorts, and running shoes.

"Great!" Hannah called back. "Care to join us?" I nearly choked on my tongue. We appeared to have barely escaped detection, and now Hannah was inviting further inspection from a woman who was not helping to relax my already excited cock. If she had joined us in the water, I would have had a very difficult time concealing my erection. Then, Hannah shocked me even more. Staring straight at the beautiful woman, she reached inside my suit, grasped my still turgid member, and began stroking me!