Jump Start

"Tell me what's wrong," I asked, tenderly, as I reached out to comfort June. She allowed me to hold her petite body, made smaller by the fact that she was still all balled up, hugging her knee to her chest.

She was silent for a while before starting to speak in a low monotone. "I've never told anyone this before. Anyone." She sobbed briefly and I held her close. "But I feel comfortable with you, Dan. You opened up to me about your ex-wife so easily, but this is hard for me."

"It's O.K.," I said, "You don't have to say anything."

"No, I think I do," she said, with increasing sureness. "When I was a little girl," she continued, "my dad, uh, touched me."

I was shocked, but not surprised, and pulled her tighter to me.

"I won't—I can't—go into details, but he made me do things, and eventually it didn't seem like I was being forced. I loved him. Then, he sent me to the Major, and I was with him. And, again, I thought it was my own choice, but it really wasn't. And when the Major died, I realized what had happened. Luckily I got this job and for the first time was on my own."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling June trembling in my arms.

"I've never been with anyone my own age. Daddy wouldn't let me and the Major wouldn't either. And when I met you, it seemed right, and I do like you, so much."

"And I like you, too, beautiful June," I said, kissing her on her soft lips.

We talked through the night, about her story, and mine, and about many, many other things. As the sun came up on Sunday morning, we made love again, this time without tears, or creepy daddy issues. Just two damaged people trying to heal themselves and each other.

I drove June home later that day, and she promised to find a therapist, because talking about your problems with a physics teacher who wants to have sex with you is rarely a way to cure your problems. For my part, I spent the rest of Sunday on the Internet and pawing through a box of papers from when I gave a crap about teaching.

Monday

On Monday, I went to school charged up, and with a new attitude. When my intro physics class came in, said, "Today, we are not going to do physics." There was a small cheer, but a lot of confusion on the faces of my students. Instead of standing before the blackboard, I sat on my desk, facing the class. I said, "We are going to do something different today. You don't seem at all interested in what I am teaching, so today, we are going to speak freely. I want you all to promise that nothing that gets said in here today leaves the room, and I will promise the same thing. Raise your hand if you promise." They all did. "I promise, also, that nothing you say in here will affect your grade."

They looked very confused, maybe a little scared at what I said, and the enthusiasm with which I spoke. I continued, "Please raise your hand if you think that I am a good physics teacher." There was a pause, and a handful of kids raised their hands, but most didn't, as I expected, and deserved. "Really," I said, "the truth." A couple of the hands went down.

"That's fair," I said. "Now, let me ask you, how many of you are good physics students? Raise your hands." About half the students raised their hands. "Really?" I asked, "be honest." A bunch of hands went down. "That seems about right," I said.

The class continued to look confused. "Anybody want to explain that?" I asked. There was a pause, until Martin Jessup, who was probably the smartest kid in the class, raised his hand. "Yes, Martin," I said.

"Mr. Stone," he started, "this really won't affect my grade?"

"No, Martin, I promise."

"Well, Mr. Stone," he began, "it, uh, seems like you don't care."

"Good," I said enthusiastically. The class was dumbstruck. "And, Martin, or anyone," I continued, "Why do you think I don't care?"

There was silence until Leticia Ramos raised her hand. Now it was my turn to be surprised. She never said a single word in class. "Yes, Leticia," I said.

She looked at me, then looked at her desk. "Because we don't care," she said in a soft voice.

"Yes!" I almost yelled. "You don't care, and I don't care, so why the hell are we studying physics?" I asked. "Anyone?"

Tom Baum yelled out, "So we can graduate and get the hell out of here." Everyone, including me, laughed.

"If that is the only reason," I said, "then we shouldn't be wasting our time." I saw nodding and murmuring of assent. "What would you like to be doing instead?" I asked.

"Watching TV," Leslie Jones yelled out.

"But without physicists, there would be no electricity, no TV signals, no flat screens. No cable. No DVRs," I noted.

"Driving around," Jimmy O'Connor yelled out.

"Physics explains how the engine works, why the wheels move, the aerodynamics of the car's body—in fact pretty much everything about a car, except for what goes on in the back seat. That's biology." They laughed. I had them.

"Look," I said, "starting today, let's make a deal. I'll try to make the work interesting, if you try to be interested. Raise your hand if you are in." Everyone's hands shot up and I smiled. "For the rest of the class, I want you to think about what you want to do when you finish school, and for the next class, give me a paragraph or two about how physics will or will not be involved in that. Use whatever sources you want, including each other. Extra credit for making me laugh."

For the rest of the class, the students moved around, spoke, went online and sat and thought. A few came to speak with me about their ideas, and we had some pretty good discussions. The bell rang, and it seemed like the class had just started.

I did the same thing for my other intro physics classes, and a slightly different version for my AP class. At the end of the day, I was charged up, electric with excitement, and I virtually ran down to the photo lab at the end of the day, where I was greeted with a hug from June, who was wearing not her usual jeans and shirt, but a dress, with her hair up. She looked like a teacher—a hot teacher—but not a middle school kid. I was virtually vibrating with excitement when I told her what I had done, and how the students had reacted. I couldn't wait until the next class to start.

June sat and listened to me go on and smiled at me, occasionally touching my hand. When I ran out of words, she said, "I'm so happy for you. It sounds great. Now, can I show you something in the darkroom?"

She took my hand and led me to a door, which she opened and led me inside. The room was lit by a dim red bulb, and I could make out the outlines of various pieces of photo equipment. It smelled of chemicals, but the smell was immediately masked by the smell of June as she pressed against me. I could feel my cock begin to stiffen as I felt her breasts smashing against my stomach, and I reached down and squeezed her close while burying my nose in her hair.

She stepped back, flipped up her dress, pulled off her panties and lifted herself onto a work table, her legs slightly spread. I took her hint and took off my pants and boxers and pressed my hard cock into her pussy, which was dripping wet. June wrapped her arms around my shoulders as I thrust forward and back, faster and faster. I felt June arch her back, forcing me in deeper and heard her moan and pant, as I kept up my pace as best I could, until I blasted a load of cum deep inside her. She gasped, then let her head collapse against my shoulder. My cock slipped out of her and she slid so that she was standing on the floor. I realized that we could have been caught at any minute, but didn't really care.

June grabbed a bunch of paper towels and handed me some. We cleaned ourselves up, and the table, before getting dressed and leaving the darkroom, holding hands.

That night, June came over for dinner, and we spent more time talking and making love. I drove her to school the next day, not caring if Sandy O'Hara or any of the other busybodies on the faculty got more gossip to spread around. I sensed an improvement in my students' attitude, enjoyed some of their essays, and, I think, was more engaged and interesting in the class.

The next day, after school, I drove June to a therapist in the next town, and sat in the waiting area during her appointment. I could tell that she had been crying from the redness and puffiness of her beautiful eyes, and without discussing it, I drove her to her house, walked her to the door and kissed her goodnight before returning home to prepare for class.

I suspect that once she works through her daddy issues, she will leave me for someone closer to her age who can keep up with her, understands her music and TV references and ultimately can give her a family. But until that day comes, if it ever does, I intend to enjoy every minute that I have with her, and with my students.

As I prepared my lesson on Newton's Laws of Motion, I laughed as I reviewed the First Law—a body at rest tends to stay at rest, unless acted on by an unbalanced force, and a body in motion will stay in motion unless acted on by an unbalanced force, because, maybe, Newton was a psychologist as well as a physicist.