High Marks

I graduated from college with a permanent hangover, a degree in English Lit and absolutely no prospects. A child of the solidly upper middle class, my parents encouraged me to follow my dreams and study what I loved, so I found myself two months out of graduation about to move home. I weighed my options carefully. The daily searches were depressing reminders of my ineptitude and the waste of forty thousand dollars of tuition money. The low point came when Kroger wouldn't return my calls. I was a failure. One week before the lease ran out on my apartment a friend called and told me that she was going to Hong Kong to teach English for a year. 'Want to come?' Her chipper voice irked me and was a reminder that I had never really like her in the first place. After getting off the phone, I mulled the idea over. It would look good on my resume and buy me time to decide what I really wanted.

Two weeks later, I was on a flight over the Pacific. My arrival presented new traumas as I attempted to adjust to the triple threat of heat, language and food. The latter two were fairly easily overcome. The former, however, was unrelenting, oppressive and inescapable. After millennia of exposure, the locals had evolved to the point that the sweltering humidity was of no concern. I would duck into frigid shops ever five to ten minutes as I worked my way down the street, hoping for relief, but realizing that as soon as I emerged, it would attack again. The nightlife was vibrant and I found myself immersed the self delusional world of the expat. All failures in their own countries; each had arrived hoping for a new start. British, French, American, Italian; they were all the same and I couldn't remember how many different beds I woke up in, unable to remember the events of the night before.

The work was easy, if unfulfilling. I showed up at 10:30 in the morning, head throbbing from the night before, and left at 5:30, collecting a decent paycheck for my effort. The children were terrible, raised as they were by doting grandparents and nannies who didn't want to lose their jobs. The teenage boys, never having seen any women with actual breasts would inevitably be unable to stand after the slightest flash of cleavage.

Most of my students were in the latter stages of secondary school and planned to attend university in Hong Kong or abroad. They needed me to talk to them, get them used to English the way it was really spoken, not what they learned in textbooks. Often we would sit and converse for an hour, other times we would do some sort of learning exercise; it was up to them. New students were in and out constantly and sometimes, I would barely learn a kids name before they left and were replaced. A boy named William began taking lessons from me during the latter part of his Form 5 term. He was shy and had to be coaxed into speaking, but gradually opened up and I couldn't get him to stop. July rolled around, school ended and he quit for the summer. He told my breasts that he would see me in the fall and shuffled out.

The summer passed quickly as I found myself trying to live outside the drinking scene and enjoy all of the other pleasures that my adopted city had to offer. It was a good decision and I dated a nice banker from Holland for a few months, contemplating domesticity, but dismissing it as a byproduct of my hormones and the constant nagging of my mother to 'settle down'. When September came again, I was ready to start up and greeted the latest round of little learners with excitement. William was there again, but I barely recognized him from the previous spring. It seemed that turning eighteen had changed him overnight. He had gotten taller and the baby fat had drained from his face, revealing an angular beauty. He was happy to see me, or so I assumed from the stray wood he got during the first class. Used to that sort of thing, I dismissed it as an unfortunate byproduct of his age and vowed to resume wearing the high cut shirts and blouses that I had eschewed during the hot months of summer.

The first few weeks of the term progressed normally. He would come to class for an hour every Friday afternoon. I didn't notice the changes until the day he looked into my eyes for the first time. My stomach filled with butterflies and I felt like a schoolgirl instead of the twenty-three year old I was. As dark as coal, they regarded me with intensity and desire instead of the usual schoolboy crush to which I had become accustomed. We sat in silence, eyes locked, until the screaming of a girl next door broke the spell. He had arrived that day in a tight shirt and jeans instead of the usual ill-fitting uniform and I noticed how much more muscular he had become and that he no longer slouched in his seat, betraying a new air of self confidence.

As the weeks passed, he began sitting closer to me and rather than moving away as I normally did, I leaned closer, breathing him in. When he rested his hand on mine, I didn't remove it, but kept my head down as I felt a flush creeping into my cheeks. The feeling was shocking. I began to think about him constantly, even fantasizing about him as I showered, wondering what his hands would feel like on my body. God, thinking about it now still gives me chills. The looks, ever so slight touches, the constant tension, it was sweet to the point of being innocent, like a scene from one of the Canto-pop videos I had seen countless times since my arrival. I wasn't so old that it was disgusting, but looking back on it now I can see that it had a sheen of impropriety. I didn't make the first move, if that counts for anything. He made that decision, always initiating, never asking me to stop.

He added another class on Tuesdays at great expense to his parents. I was thrilled when he met me down the street one day and walked me home. It became a ritual, he would wait and we would sneak away. He worked up the courage to take my hand one day.

Then, a week later, he kissed me. The kiss itself was remarkable only in how bad it was; all tongue and saliva and force, no subtlety or emotion. It took me by surprise and I pulled away, but before I could stop myself, my lips found his again and I pressed into him. As my tongue pushed through his lips and into his mouth, I could feel his dick harden against me and he responded, more gently this time. We stayed locked together for only a few minutes, but time seemed to stand still. I could feel his hands on my ass and I knew that I needed to end it, before it went too far. I pulled away and put the key in the lock, letting myself into the building. As I climbed the stairs, I looked over my shoulder. He was still there, hoping I would return.

I didn't.

I tried not to think about him over the long weekend, busying myself with cleaning or shopping. Every time I turned a corner on a busy street, I thought I saw him, but he was not there. I took countless cold showers and even attempted to go out with some friends and get laid, but he was always in my thoughts. It was four days before I saw him again. When five o'clock rolled around on Tuesday afternoon and he was not there, my heart sank. I walked into my classroom and closed the door. As soon as the handle clicked, I felt a pair of hands pushing me into the wall. His lips met mine and this time it was perfect; controlled yet forceful, commanding but gentle. I responded and found myself unable to pull away, relishing his taste. He was enjoying himself, but I could tell he wanted more, so I led his hand to my breast; as he roughly squeezed it, I winced in pain. 'You've never done this before, have you?' He shook his head and I showed him with my own fingers how to squeeze and pinch my hardened nipples. 'Like this.' He nodded his head. His next try was much more successful as he took great pains to be gentle and I allowed him to reach under my shirt. As he felt the soft flesh, I could hear him breathe in sharply. He lightly rolled my hardened nipple between his fingers and grasped the mound of my breast as he kissed my lips. I was seeing double and wanted to fuck him right there, but I looked at the clock. 'Sorry, but it's time to go.' His face betrayed his disappointment and I pulled down my shirt and went to the table to gather my things. 'Could I walk you home?' his eyes were begging and I thought seriously about it, my mind filling with the possibilities. 'No, I don't think I could leave you at the door this time.' I brushed the side of his face with the back of my hand. 'See you Friday.' He gathered his things and left, a pleading look filled his eyes as he walked out the door. It was tempting, but a little masturbation would do him a world of good.

He arrived an hour early on Friday, looking like he hadn't slept in days. When he entered the classroom, I motioned for him to sit in one of the plastic chairs. 'How are you?' I asked calmly, steadily. It took all of my strength not to jump across the table and rip his clothes off. His hand reached for mine, but I pulled it away. 'How are you?' his eyes pleaded with me and I pulled out a worksheet. Forcing him to work for twenty minutes, I used my toes to explore his lower anatomy. Were anyone to pass by, they would see nothing except a glazed look in the eyes of a boy having his cock massaged by his teacher's foot. A few minutes later, I found myself under the table, unzipping his pants. His penis was uncircumcised, which I had never seen, and incredibly large. I studied it for a few moments and as my index finger touched the tip ever so slightly, he moaned. 'Keep doing your worksheet.' I instructed as I wrapped my hand around the smooth, pink flesh. Slowly, I moved my hand up and down, watching as the tip peeked in and out of his foreskin; I had to taste it. The moment I touched my tongue to the tip, I felt a warm gush cover my face. 'Tissue please.' Sitting there stunned, I wiped myself off and when I emerged his eyes focused on a nonexistent spot on the wall. A flush covered his entire body and I wanted to laugh, but could not stand the thought of embarrassing him further. Fortunately for both of us, time was up and he practically ran out. I didn't expect to see him again.

He was absent on Tuesday, but Wednesday night, when I got home, he was outside my door, waiting in the rain. I had been drinking and was as horny as hell. He reached for me and kissed me with a passion I had never felt before. I wanted to melt in his arms, but I pulled away and turned the key, letting us in. As we walked up the stairs, I could feel his eyes on me and knew that he wanted something I wasn't sure I could give him. Kissing and touching were one thing, but I didn't want to be his first. We walked into the small apartment and I motioned for him to sit down. 'Would you like a drink?' He nodded yes and I poured something from a bottle on the sideboard and handed it to him, his eyes following me through every step. I suddenly noticed that my clothes were soaked through from the rain, so I went behind my screen and put on a robe. We sat on the sofa for a while watching TV and chatting before he reached for me. Practice had helped and his kiss was the most extraordinary I had ever experienced. He made me want to see what would happen next and I allowed him to part my robe. The sight of my bare breasts was more than he could endure and he fell on top of me, gently biting and sucking my nipples, being careful not to hurt me. His hand ran between my legs and he could feel the wetness through my panties. His breath was more labored now and I decided to take over. I could feel his dick hardening through the rough fabric of his jeans as he pressed against me, but didn't want him to have too much at once. His face was buried in my breasts, but I pushed him away and got down on my knees in front of him. Smiling, I unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out. It looked like a pink torpedo and I whispered 'Wait this time.' He nodded his head slightly. I normally didn't like sucking dick, but I couldn't wait to have him in my mouth and as I bent over and tickled the tip with my tongue, he moaned loudly and grasped the cushions of the sofa. I braced myself for another cum shower, but he held it in. 'Good boy.' I whispered, realizing that he had stopped listening. Bit by bit, I took his cock into my mouth, feeling it enter my throat and gagging slightly as I swallowed it. In and out, in and out, slowly and first then faster, I ran my tongue around in circles and he grabbed my head, forcing himself further into my throat. His restraint was impressive; I had known men who would have shot their load and been asleep five minutes earlier, but he held back, wanting more. Feeling like I was being cruel, I finally finished him off with a few jerks and allowed him to fall asleep on my sofa.

When I woke in the morning, he was gone. The next few days passed slowly with no sign of him. I realized that I was at his mercy as equally as he was at mine. I wanted him there but knew that the thought of him far exceeded the actual person. He had made the first move, not me; he took my hand and kissed me, followed me like a stray dog, always wanting more. I should have ended it earlier but I didn't and was unable to now. Whatever this was would have to run its course before I would be able to get away. After almost a week of waiting, he came to my place early on Saturday morning. I told him that I was working all day but he could hang around and wait if he wanted. He agreed and I showered, dressed and was off.

He was on my mind all day and by the time 5:30 rolled around I was already out the door and in a taxi. My anticipation increased with every tick of the meter and when we got stuck in a traffic jam, I wanted to scream in frustration. Finally the cab pulled up to the front of my building and I threw the money at the driver and sprinted inside. Running up the five flights of stairs, I paused outside the door, trying to compose myself. My breathing was fast and shallow and I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. After a few minutes, I inserted the key into the gate, opened it, and then turned the knob on my door. As I entered the darkness, I felt hands grab me and push me into the wall. His mouth covered mine and I felt his hands on my body as he leaned into me. My vision had adjusted to the darkness and I could see his beautiful eyes staring into my own. He paused for a moment, unsure about what to do next so I took the lead, pulling off my dress and helping him out of his shirt. He walked to the lamp on the table and switched it on. I could feel him appraising what he saw and as he walked closer, he appeared to be pleased. Muttering something under his breath, his hand reached out and squeezed my breast. I hooked my finger in the belt loop of his jeans and pulled him close; he kissed me and I felt his hands fumbling with my bra. Hearing him swear under his breath, I reached back and helped. The lacy fabric fell away and he took a step back. His eyes widened and he uttered, 'God.' He had not seen me this naked before and he hesitantly reached down to cup my breast in his hand, then he came towards me, bending over to take the light rosy nipple in his mouth. The sensation was driving me mad and I wanted him inside me, but had to hold out a little while longer. I pulled his face to mine and kissed him roughly. Smiling at him, I pushed him against the opposite wall and lowered myself to my knees. I unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, already fully erect, waiting for me. I blew on it lightly and his eyes rolled back in his head. I took him in my mouth and he began speaking his language, the sounds were both beautiful and strange, but the meaning familiar to anyone. Careful not to make him come, I slowly moved my head, priming the pump, then faster, suddenly stopping. I stood and drank in his sinewy body, ran my hand lightly down his chest and went to the sideboard to pour myself a drink. He needed a little time to cool off and I wanted him to hold out as long as possible. I could hear him pulling off his jeans and then his footsteps as he padded towards me across the floor. He pressed his erection into my back and kissed my neck, lingering on my earlobe as his hands found their way to my breasts, his fingers squeezing my nipples. It was his turn. He roughly lifted me onto the sideboard and spread my legs. With his fingers, he lightly touched my clit, stroking it slightly as the little nub turned a deep pink. Then he buried his face in the wetness of my pussy, exploring every crevice with his tongue. I cried for him to keep going but he emerged and kissed me; I could taste myself on him like a marking that he was mine. Pulling him closer, I wrapped my legs around him. His cock penetrated me and he froze from the sensation but he learned his role quickly and began thrusting in and out. He smiled and kissed me again, joy emanating from his beautiful face. Not wanting him to come just yet, I pushed him away and onto the floor, shushing him lightly as I licked his nipples and made a trail of kisses to his penis, still wet from being inside me. I wanted to taste myself on him so I covered the length with my mouth, relishing the scent of possession. Not able to wait anymore, I pulled myself away and straddled him, riding his cock, slowly at first, then faster feeling the warm explosion inside me. Exhausted, we lay on the floor and he rolled over and played with my breasts until we both fell asleep.

At some point in the night, we pulled each other into bed, where he fucked me again. This time he was sure of himself and took his time, joking and laughing as he told me how afraid he had been. We spent the entire weekend together, inseparable.

The next Monday morning, I quit my job and booked my tickets for return to the States. As fabulous as the experience had been, I couldn't help but feel that it was wrong in some way. His first time should have been with a girl his age, someone as sweet as himself, not a selfish bitch who let lust get the better of her. It was too much and I knew that it was time to go back. I never saw him again, but my boss contacted me several times to tell me that he wanted an email or phone number, some way to get in touch. I considered it, thinking about what had happened, but decided to refuse, telling her it was a weird crush and that he would get over it.

Unfortunately, I'm the one who didn't.