Jump Start

The narrator of this story is a minor character in The Lake House Rules/Dana's Side series. It should stand alone, but you might want to read those stories, too.

The First Day of School

When I first saw her from behind in the hallway on the first day of school, I thought that she was a middle school student lost in the high school. She was tiny, and her long brown hair hung down to the top of her blue jeans. On continued viewing, I noticed that her butt and hips had curves that were not those of a pre-teen girl. And when she turned around, her full, jutting breasts made it clear that she wasn't a middle schooler. Her face was also mature looking, but I had no idea if she was 16 or 26. It was definitely a pretty face, open, intelligent, with pale brown eyes. I had no idea whether she was a new student or even a new teacher.

The bell rang, and I walked into my classroom, prepared to face another group of lazy students who didn't care about physics, and were only taking my classes because they had to, or because they thought it would look good to colleges on transcripts. Sure, every so often I would get a few motivated students, like Jack Davis last year, but they were few and far between.

I survived the first day without seeing any hope that it would be anything but another year of cramming physics formulas into the brains of disinterested students, failing lab experiments and seeing my students staring into their cellphones under their desks instead of learning. As I walked to my car, I saw her again in the faculty parking lot, opening the trunk of a beat up Honda with a sticker on the back window from a nearby college that turned out platoons of new teachers each year. So, she was a teacher. And because she was putting cameras into her trunk, I figured that she must have been the replacement photography and visual arts teacher now that Carlos Gonzales left for a better job in a private school two towns away.

She was bending over the trunk, moving things around, and I was appreciating the way her jeans hugged her small, tight butt when my reverie was broken by the loud honk of a car horn. I jumped and turned to see Sandy O'Hara, possibly the biggest bitch on the faculty, looking pissed off and waving me to the side of the road so that she could drive her big Beemer out of the lot. Everyone on the staff knew how fucking much money her investment banker husband made, and that she could stop teaching any time she wanted, but stayed on "because she loved the kids." All of whom hated her almost as much as the teachers.

When I looked up again, the Honda was gone and I was oddly disappointed. I walked to my old, but well maintained, Nissan and drove home. I used to have a nice, small house about 10 miles from school, but after my wife's affair with, believe it or not, the mailman, and the divorce, I moved into a garden apartment near school. It was convenient, had free parking, and I didn't have to worry about mowing the lawn or taking care of any maintenance.

The apartment was vaguely musty, and furnished like you would expect for a 45 year old divorced man—Spartan, with a comfortable couch and chair and a big TV. Nothing on the walls, and other than some books, CDs and DVDs, no decorations. I poured myself a glass of wine and went over my lesson plans for the next day, but since it was the first day of school, it wasn't exactly heavy lifting yet, even for my AP class. My mind kept wandering to that short teacher with the great body and I felt myself getting aroused. Being a high school teacher can be hard for a single guy—every day you are confronted with beautiful, nubile girls who somehow seem to dress more provocatively every year, despite the fact that our dress code hasn't been changed since I joined the faculty after college. And the knowledge that you could not ever touch anything you saw, or you would end up in jail, like Bill Thomas, a former history teacher at North who couldn't keep it in his pants.

I thought about that Dana Angelo girl from last year, as beautiful as any I had ever seen, who sat in my class with her tits sticking out and a blank stare for the entire semester as she failed test after test, and how she tried, amateurishly, to "seduce" me into grading her final right away just so she could find out if she passed. I'm still not sure if I was angrier about the fact that she thought that I wouldn't do it for her if she had just asked me without the Lolita routine, or that she ultimately got a good grade by cramming for a couple of weeks with Jack Davis after spending a whole year with me learning nothing. I hope Jack got some benefit from helping that bitch.

Sure, there were pretty teachers over the years, but until recently I was, I thought, happily married, or they were, so I never got involved with anyone at school. And now, I found myself one of the older teachers at the school. I finished my wine and my prep for the next day and turned on the TV. I watched for a while before throwing together a simple dinner, had a second glass of wine and watched more TV before going to bed. It was another day in my life.

TWO WEEKS LATER

I opened my eyes, and she was lying next to me, naked. Her petite body was pale, and her breasts were firm, round and tipped by the most beautiful round nipples I had ever seen. I rolled over and began to kiss them, squeezing them with my hands as she moaned with pleasure and writhed under my touch. I reached down, passing my hand over her smooth, flat abdomen while my tongue flicked at her nipples. I passed over her tattoo and reached her pussy, gently rubbing the sparse hair before tracing her lower lips with my finger. I could feel her moistening, and I reached a finger in to lubricate it with her thick juices, then spread them around her hole as she writhed under my touch. She was moaning and rubbing my head and chest until I brought her to orgasm with my fingers.

"Stick it in me now, Dan," she demanded, and I could not deny her my cock.

I rolled on top of her and thrust my throbbing member into her slippery hole.

"Fuck me," she panted, and I did.

I was like a man possessed. I pounded her pussy for what felt like hours and she was moaning and screaming my name as she came over and over again. Her body was quivering from our sex, and her face had a look of lust that turned me on. Just as I was about to release my load into her, the alarm rang, and I woke up, alone in bed, with a hard on. Again. I realized what a cliché I had become.

I threw the covers off and ran into the bathroom, turned on the shower and, when the water was warm, got in and jerked myself off to relieve the pressure. It had been like this almost every day since I saw her on the first day of school. I had only seen her once since then, briefly in the hallway surrounded by students, but it had only reinforced in my mind how beautiful she was.

After another dispiriting morning of my intro physics students reminding me why I never felt like giving more than the minimum effort, I made my way to the teacher's lounge, took my usual turkey sandwich out of the aging refrigerator and sat down at my usual table in the back of the room. It always amused me that the teacher's lounge was just like the high school cafeteria. There was the table where the "cool kids" sat—the young, attractive teachers who shared notes on their parties, dates, engagements, weddings and babies, and the outlying tables for the lesser lights. I don't remember exactly when I moved to my current location, but it was even before the divorce. And now, I was generally happy to sit alone with my thoughts, and the newspaper, while I ate the sandwich that I prepared that morning.

I was deeply engrossed in an article in the paper about new developments at the particle accelerator when I got a whiff of something new. A fresh, clean smell. My head snapped up, and there she was. I stared, for what felt like 15 minutes, at her pretty face, full breasts contained by a tight shirt, flat stomach and tight jeans encasing her short but shapely legs.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked, in a voice that was somewhat deeper than I expected from someone so tiny.

I feigned disinterest. "Sure, feel free."

She sat down and opened a bag, taking out a yogurt, a plastic spoon and an apple. It was clear how she maintained her figure. She opened the yogurt and started eating. She looked at me, as if waiting for me to say something.

Finally, she said, "I'm June, June Ellis, the new photo and visual arts teacher." She stuck out her hand, and I gave it an awkward shake.

"Dan. Dan Stone, the old physics teacher," I replied, making half a joke.

She chuckled. "Funny," she said, her face lighting up as she smiled. "You don't look that old."

It was my turn to smile. I thought about telling her how old I was, but decided instead to just say "thanks."

We ate silently for a while before I decided to ask, "why did you sit here, and not at the 'cool kids' table with the younger crowd?"

She looked at the other table, and replied, "I didn't realize there was a seating chart. That table was crowded, and there were seats here." She paused before smiling again and continuing, "And you looked more interesting staring at the paper than the rest of them chattering on about their families."

"Fair enough," I said. "How do you like it here, so far?"

"Pretty good," she responded. "This is my first real job other than some student teaching, so I don't have much to compare it to, but the facilities seem pretty good and the kids look like they are interested. Although I think most of the boys are just staring at my chest."

I was a bit shocked by her frankness, especially since we had only known each other a few minutes, but it was probably true.

"Welcome to North," I replied.

"How long have you been teaching here?" she asked.

"I worked at another school for 3 years after college before coming here, and I've been here since," I replied, without directly answering her question. I'd been teaching almost as long as she was alive, and I felt no reason to highlight that fact to the woman whose memory I'd been jerking off to.

"A wily veteran," she said, smiling and crinkling her nose cutely.

"I guess so," I said and tried to turn back to my article, glad that she didn't use the word "grizzled." But I couldn't focus. "Why haven't I seen you here at lunch before?" I asked.

"I've been pretty overwhelmed the last few weeks, with prep and stuff, so I just ate in my classroom. But I felt more on top of things today and decided to come out here and try to meet some of the other teachers."

"Well, it's not much," I said, gesturing around the small lounge, "but it is our only refuge from the great unwashed."

She smiled again at my weak attempt at humor, and began to eat her apple. I was watching her while pretending to read. She finished her food, put the garbage in the bag and stood up. I was staring at her body as she turned, giving me a gorgeous ass to stare at as she dropped her trash in the can and walked out.

"Hey Dan," I heard Jake Lawrence, the gym teacher, bray, "put your tongue back in your mouth."

I snapped my head toward that musclebound buffoon, and said, with as much dignity as I could muster "I have no idea what you are talking about." Meanwhile, I could feel my neck and face flush with embarrassment. I would have walked out immediately, but I needed time for my cock to soften, so that I wouldn't be on the receiving end of any more crap from Jake.

At the end of the day, I was heading out to my car and I saw June standing in front of her car, the hood up, staring at the engine and looking frustrated. I walked over to see what was wrong.

When I got close, I said, "June, what's the problem?"

"It won't start."

After stealing a quick look at her tits, straining against her tight shirt as she leaned over the front end of her car, I looked at the engine.

She said, "I don't know why I am looking at the fucking engine, I have no idea what I'm doing."

I opened the car door and sat in the driver's seat. "Keep your hands away from the engine," I said, turning the key and giving the car gas. Nothing. The battery was dead. I came out of the car and said, "The battery is dead."

"Crap," she responded.

"No big deal," I said, "I'll give you a jump start."

"Can you do that? I don't know anything about cars."

"It's easy," I replied. "I'll pull my car over."

A few minutes later, her Honda was started and charging, and I detached the cables and lowered her hood. As I turned to get into my car, June hugged me. Her head reached only to my breastbone, and I could feel her tits pressing against my stomach. I felt myself stiffening, but before my embarrassment could register, I think that June pressed herself against my cock before letting me go. I might have imagined it, or just hoped it, but it was over before I could dwell on it.

"Can I buy you a coffee?" she asked.

I had nowhere to go, and was interested in spending as much time with this tiny beauty as possible, so I said, "sure."

"How about the Coffee Pot?" she asked, as if there was another coffee place within 15 miles of here.

"Sure,' I said, "I'll meet you there."

I got into my car and drove into town, luckily finding a parking spot near the shop. I waited on the sidewalk until I saw June's car pass. She parked down the street, and I was able to enjoy watching her walk up the sidewalk. As a physics teacher, I appreciated the way that her curves interacted as she walked; as a man, it drove me crazy with lust. But she was a gorgeous woman in her early twenties and I was a 45 year old man, so the thought that I might have a chance with her was ludicrous. I was sure that that most of our conversation would be her complaining about her boyfriend, and I would go back home and have to hit the showers again.

June surprised me by taking my hand and leading me into the Coffee Pot. We found a table in the back, and ordered—a regular coffee for me, a soy latte for June.

"Thank you so much, Dan, for fixing my car," she said.

"Seriously, it was nothing," I replied, "Anyone with a set of jumper cables could have done it."

"Not me," she said. "I am an idiot about cars. When I was younger, my dad took care of that stuff for me."

"Well," I said, trying not to sound too much like a father, "You should learn how to do basic stuff like that, if you are going to be on your own."

She squeezed my hand, and said, "You're right, I guess."

My hand was burning from her touch, or at least I thought it was. I was feeling sensations in my cock that probably were unwarranted. But I was having coffee with a young, beautiful girl, who seemed to enjoy my company, so a man could dream. I dredged up some advice from when I was dating back in the Pleistocene Era about getting women to talk about themselves, and asked, "so, June, where are you from?"

She responded, "I'm from a small town in upstate New York, which I hated."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well," she replied, "no one understood me there. I was into pretty out there art, or at least out there for upstate, and everyone thought I was this crazy art chick. My dad didn't get it either, and wanted me to, as he said, do something sensible. I convinced him to let me become a teacher, then, when I got to college, I was able to become an art teacher."

"And your father was O.K. with that?"

I saw a flicker of something dark pass over her pretty face before she answered, "Not exactly, but I got through it, got my degree and this job."

Our drinks came, and we each took sips.

"Dan," she asked, "isn't it great being a teacher? I love it so much, even though it's only been a couple of weeks."

It was my turn to feel dark. "I guess so," I said. "When I was your age," I continued, now angry that I highlighted the differences in our ages, "I was all charged up. I loved teaching and I loved the kids. I was a popular teacher, and the kids seemed to actually enjoy physics. Then, something happened, and the kids seemed to lose interest, and I did, too. I have tenure, so my job is safe, and I give the students what they want—no heavy lifting and easy grades. And I don't have to work all that hard." I couldn't believe that I just said that to a virtual stranger.

She took a drink of her soy latte and wiped the foam off her upper lip, causing me to feel a tingle in my cock, before she responded.

"That's sad, I think," she said. "Are you sure it is the kids, or did something change in you?"

I looked at her. Yes, she was beautiful, but she had no right to say that to me. I felt my temper rising and the color rise in my face. She actually looked a bit concerned and touched my hand again. Somehow, that gesture caused my anger to dissipate, like the steam escaping from a boiling teapot.

Before I could speak, she said, "I'm sorry if I was out of line there. I hardly know you."

But, for some reason, I wanted to confide in this girl. "No," I said, "it's O.K. I was married for 15 years to a woman who I thought loved me, and I found out that she had been having an affair with, believe it or not, the mailman."

"Oh, no," she said, "I'm so sorry."

"Trust me, it wasn't your fault, but after that, I kind of lost interest in pretty much everything. So, yeah, maybe it was not only the kids' fault," I admitted.

There was an awkward pause. I took a swig of coffee and tried to make conversation. "So, what about you?" I asked. "What do you do in your spare time?" I continued, in a clumsy attempt to find out if she was attached in any way.

"Oh," she said, "I take pictures, and fool around with Photoshop. I like movies and music."

She mentioned a few bands that I had never heard of, but I nodded as if I did. No mention of a boyfriend, or girlfriend or any significant other. Somehow, I thought I had a chance.

Uncharacteristically feeling adventurous, I said, "June, I'm really enjoying this. Would you go to dinner with me on Saturday?"

She smiled and her nose crinkled. "I'd love that," she said and took my hand again.

This time I squeezed back. We finished our coffees and left the restaurant. We got to my car first, and I said, "Thanks, this was great. I'll see you at school."

June turned and hugged me again, lifting her face up to mine, and I bent down and kissed her. Her lips were soft and yielding, and she stuck her tongue into my mouth, causing electrical shocks to shoot up my spine and into my cock. This time, I'm certain that she pressed into it, and her breasts squeezed against my stomach.

The kiss ended, and I said, in a near whisper, "Would you like to come back to my place?"

She smiled and said, "Not now. Saturday will be here soon enough."

She let go of my waist and turned to go to her car. I admired her ass as it wiggled down the street before getting into my car, my cock straining against my pants. It would require a quick shower after I got home, I thought to myself as I drove to my apartment.

Somehow, I made it through the week. June and I passed each other in the hall a couple of times, and we ate lunch together in the teacher's lounge, but betrayed nothing. Without saying anything, we both understood that there was no reason to make our date, and unlikely attraction, the subject of discussion among the gossips at school.

Finally, though, it was Saturday. I tried to do my errands, but found myself returning from the supermarket without milk, and I loaded my laundry in the washer without any detergent. All I could think about was June, and what she might look like naked, and what sex with her would be like. Then, I would remember that there was no guarantee that "dinner" meant anything but a meal, but there was something in the way we parted that gave me hope.

I changed the sheets on the bed, vacuumed my apartment, put fresh towels in the bathrooms and generally straightened up my bachelor pad. I even bought a couple of colorful throw pillows for my beat up couch.