Oh Teacher, My Teacher Ch. 02

When I awoke Saturday morning, I was lying on my side, facing Astrid. My eyes gradually focused on her as she slept, lying on her back, her magnificent chest rising and falling in a slow, regular pace. Her hair was tousled, her lipstick and what little makeup long gone, but my god ... she was beautiful. Imagine awakening to that vision every morning.

And then I had a sobering thought. What if last night was a mistake? What if she never intended to have happen what happened? It seemed hard to believe she wasn't in full control of her emotions. Yes, we'd drunk some wine with dinner, but not so much that I didn't remember every single detail of the hours I spent with her. And I knew she didn't drink any more than I did.

I lay there for quite a while, just absorbing her beauty. I don't know how long it was before I saw her eyelids flicker. She was beginning to wake up. It was the moment of truth. Now, I would know. "Don't get your hopes up," I told myself.

A minute or so later, Astrid rolled onto her side and saw me staring at her. Her eyes flickered again and then ... and then ... she smiled.

"Morning, lover," she croaked.

I thought I was going to explode. My breath escaped in a rush and I reached for her. She wiggled her way toward me, pulling me tightly to her. Her eyes closed again, but her hand was pushing its way down between us. In a moment, I felt it softly close around my usual morning erection. Only this time, it wasn't my usual morning erection. I was painfully hard, and her touch made me flinch.

"Hmmmm," I heard her moan. She was moving her body back and forth, rubbing herself on my rigid cock. She went on like this for a minute, then, in a graceful move, she swung her leg over and mounted me. I felt myself being swallowed by her now very well lubricated opening. In no time, I was fully engulfed within her and I felt her internal muscles pulsing as she lay on me, using her hips to create that perfect rhythm.

Happily, I wasn't as tense or as nervous as I was last night. Perhaps it was because I was having sex for the fourth time in a few hours. I didn't care why. I was just happy that I wasn't going to disappoint her. Damn ... what a bloody marvelous way to start the day!

We lay in that comfortable, lazy bliss for sometime. Astrid would use little movements to let me know she was still there. I would respond in kind, arching my hips now and then to penetrate more deeply.

I don't have any idea how long we spent like that, but at some point, I heard Astrid's sharp intake of breath. A moment later, she physically rolled me over so that I was on top of her.

"Now!" she cried. "Now, Rick! Now!"

I assumed that it was time for me to pick up the pace. I did, quickly lengthening my strokes and then putting more power behind my thrusts.

"Yes! ... that's right ... Yes!" she gasped.

I didn't expect to last very long, but happily, I continued for several minutes. We didn't finish together, but it was close. More importantly, Astrid made it plain that I stayed with her long enough for her to experience an orgasm.

"Awwwwwh ... Rick. That was so good. You were there for me, lover. Thank you," she said, her hands clasping my face. I lowered my head to her and we kissed deeply.

I rolled off her and pulled her to me, face to face, kissing her gently in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I couldn't help thinking that my life had changed in a matter of hours, and yet I didn't have any idea where that change would take me. For now, I would just hang on for dear life.

We lay there in each others arms for a while.

"Do you think I'm a slut?" she asked out of nowhere.

"No ... of course not. Why would you ask?"

"Because ... I told you about my past and what I thought of the guys that wanted to get into my pants on a first date and here we are ... our first date isn't even over yet," she chuckled. "It's just like my college days."

"No ... I don't think that at all. I don't know what happened, Astrid, except ... I'm excited about being with you. I do want that second date ... and the third ... and the fourth," I said, uncertain of what to expect from her.

"If you keep treating me the way you have ... you can have all the dates you want. No limits," she giggled.

We were quiet for a while and then, I couldn't resist. "What was the first lesson?"

"Oh. That. Uhmmm ... let's see ... we'll call it Introduction to Intercourse, 101," she chortled.

"At the risk of asking a stupid question ... how did I do?"

"You passed. Couldn't you tell? It took you a couple of tries, but ... you got the hang of it."

"What was this morning?"

She fell silent, her brow wrinkled, and then, "Eye-opener Intercourse, 102. You got an A." The look on her face was priceless. She was having fun. It wasn't life-or-death serious stuff for her. I felt the pressure drop away. I was doing fine, it appeared.

We spent the rest of the weekend together. Mostly, we got to know each other. She'd been finding out about me, I discovered. She heard about my teaching method and my travels and wanted to hear more. She wondered if my techniques would work in her English class. We spent some time brainstorming ideas in that direction, but didn't come up with anything definite.

"Are you happy being a teacher?" I asked.

"Yes ... for now. There may be other things I would want to do in the future, but for now ... I'm satisfied with teaching."

"If you could do anything at all ... anything ... what would it be?"

"I don't know. I mean, I have so many things that interest me. I want to travel like you did. I want to see more of the world. Not the tourist places ... how people really live in other countries. I'd like to be able to help people who can't help themselves. I've thought about volunteering, but ... I haven't done anything about it yet."

"You don't sound like the 'playgirl of the western world.'"

"Hah! Maybe I've changed. Maybe I'll be a better person because of you ... or someone like you." She didn't appear to be posturing.

"You don't think you're a good person right now?" I asked, almost regretting the question as soon as it was out of my mouth.

"I'm getting better ... smarter. When I came here ... to Little River ... I knew I couldn't behave the way I did at school. I guess I looked at myself in the mirror and decided I wanted to be someone better. But to tell the truth, I was lonely. I didn't have any friends and I wasn't dating ... so ... I wasn't very happy. I made up my mind this year that I was going to change all that. And then ... you came along."

"Lucky me."

She wanted to see my apartment. She said that it would tell her more about me, just as I hoped to learn more about her from her place. When she entered, she looked around at the piles of books and reference material and nodded her head.

"This is pretty much what I expected," she said, still searching out my apartment. "It's pretty neat, but then, so are you." I got a smile from her. My housekeeping passed inspection. I didn't even have time to tidy up for her.

"No pictures?" My walls were bare, unlike hers.

"No ... not yet. I'm not sure what I'd hang. I'm not into the usual landscapes or that kind of stuff. I don't get modern art ... you know ... the far-out stuff," I confessed. "I guess I'm wondering what I'd like to see myself," I mused.

"What about some nudes?" She asked the question with a straight face.

I was sure she was kidding. "Eh ... well ... that might not be to everyone's taste either."

"Hey ... it's your apartment. Decorate it the way you want. To hell with what other people think."

"That's easy for you to say. You don't have to explain to visitors that I'm not some kind of voyeur or lecher."

"They don't have to be 'Penthouse' explicit, you know. They can be tasteful ... subtle ... maybe just hinting at sexuality."

I looked at her closely. She was serious ... almost as if she was trying to imagine where just such a painting might go.

"Perhaps ... with your guidance ... I might be able to find something ... appropriate?" I suggested carefully.

She turned and walked to me. "Would you trust me ... trust my judgement?"

"Of course." I wasn't lying. I did trust her.

"Well then, it's still early, why don't we head for the village and look about in the art and gift shops. Tomorrow, there's an outdoor market with arts and crafts at the Cates farm. I went there last year and got some neat stuff for my place."

"Tell me about your pictures and prints. Most of them feature people. What do they represent?" I asked.

"I don't know. I didn't even notice that was the subject I was interested in until I hung them all. Strange, isn't it?"

"I guess so. But, now that you have seen them all together, what do you think it means?"

She was shaking her head. "I can't do it here. I need to be with them. Maybe we can make sense of them together," she suggested.

There weren't any nudes or representations of nudes on display at the local shops. I wasn't surprised. This was a conservative community and although there were plenty of artists living in the immediate vicinity, their work all seemed to fall into conventional categories of landscapes, impressionist, or still life.

I did buy a print I liked. It was an impressionistic view of a small fishboat, lying on its side at low tide. It came framed and I was trying to decide where I would hang it. Astrid thought it was interesting and different. I was pleased with her approval. I wanted her to approve of the things I did, and in general of me. That had become very important to me.

I put the print into my car and we resumed strolling hand-in-hand through the small town, stopping to look in various shops. Astrid mentioned she was looking for a Christmas gift for her father.

Christmas! I would have to get her a gift. It dawned on me that there was less than a week to think of something. Something personal? Maybe something that complemented her beauty? I didn't have a lot to spend, but suddenly this was essential.

We spent Saturday night at my place. I was beginning to feel more confident with Astrid. She helped a great deal, of course. She was very encouraging and supportive. She was also very sexually alive. She was on the pill, so condoms weren't necessary. It helped make our sex more spontaneous, she said.

We were lying in bed, coming down from another lovely orgasmic high. I'd never felt quite so satisfied. Now and then I did wonder if our budding relationship was built on a house of cards, or perhaps there was a time limit. It still had that "too good to be true" sensation about it.

"I haven't been with anyone for quite a while, Rick. I suppose that's why I'm so ... horny," she said after a while. "But it was my choice. I wasn't going to settle for second best. I wanted a man that I could wake up with in the morning and be happy that we were together. That's how I felt this morning."

I saw the beginnings of a tear glistening in her eye, and I felt my heart contract in my chest. There was something so completely honest about that simple comment. There was no hesitation in her morning smile. It couldn't have been contrived. So now, it was left to me to decide where this relationship would go. Sooner or later, I needed to get off the dime.

The Christmas present was a difficult choice. At first I thought of a nice piece of jewelry. Perhaps a simple gold chain that I saw in one of the local stores? Maybe not. Was it too personal when we were just getting to know each other?

It was only good fortune that I found two satisfying gifts. We were in a book store and I was telling her about my first job after finishing college. She mentioned a book she was interested in. I didn't recognize the title, but I recognized the author; Hillary McDowell. She of La Liberation de Amelie fame. It was a bit of a risk, but ... nothing ventured, nothing gained. I wanted to let her know I was on her "wave length."

I went back to the store during the week and found a copy of McDowell's latest book. It was, as I expected, quite explicit. You might call it a how-to book for women on achieving the maximum satisfaction from their personal relationships. It seemed a bit odd to me that Astrid would need more reinforcement for her already active libido, but I wasn't about to second-guess her.

Just before Christmas, I was walking to my local pharmacy when I stopped to look in the window of an antique shop. It was full of the usual furniture and oddments typical of these shops. But what caught my eye was a small, oval locket in silver with a filigreed case and simple silver chain. I walked into the store and approached the clerk.

Five minutes later, I was walking out of the store with a small package in my coat pocket and a credit card receipt for what was for me an extravagant expense, considering I just met the woman.

When she unwrapped her two gifts on Christmas Eve, I got a big thank you, a kiss, a grope of my manhood, and a promise.

"We're going to have some fun tonight, Monsieur Campbell." I didn't doubt it for a minute.

I received a new print, the silhouette of a nude. It was a photograph in black and white and very nice. There was something familiar about it.

"That's you, isn't it," I guessed.

"How could you tell?"

"I think I'm getting to know that body very well in the past ten days. Who took the picture?"

"A girl has to have some secrets," she said coyly, "but I guess I can tell you. I did."

"Really! It looks so ... professional. How did you do it."

"Trial and error. Time delay on the shutter and about twenty attempts. Thank god for digital cameras." She was justifiably proud of herself.

We argued about whether it should be hung in the living room or in the bedroom. I was smart enough to allow Astrid to win. It now hangs on the wall near the hallway in the living room.

Astrid is an inventive and demanding lover. She makes no apologies for her appetite. She does everything possible to help me satisfy her while giving back to me in return. My education was beginning to blossom nicely.

She taught me how to make oral love to her in a way that would satisfy her completely. She taught me the subtleties of touch, using my fingers and lips and tongue and even teeth to arouse her and bring her to completion. Along the way, I was getting all the satisfaction I could handle.

Our developing romance did not go unnoticed by our peers. It became obvious that we were a couple and unfortunately that got me in the "bad books" of some of the single men on staff. I knew that Astrid acquired the "Ice Queen" nickname from them when she steadfastly declined dates with any of them. One or two of the prospective boyfriends concluded that she was lesbian and therefore a lost cause. I, of course, messed that assessment up totally. I wasn't too worried about my status, though. I was the winner! Besides, my relationship with the married staff was fine.

On a whim, I decided to purchase a bouquet of flowers one Saturday morning while I was shopping. Astrid reacted as if I'd brought her the finest gift possible.

"Oh, Rick. They're lovely. Thank you. I'll put them in a vase and take them to school on Monday. They can sit on my desk and remind me of you." She was genuinely pleased and flattered.

She'd admitted she loved flowers and was often stopping to admire other gardens in our neighbourhood. She always seemed to have a small collection in the apartment when I visited. I responded by buying a fresh assortment each Saturday and taking them to her.

I wasn't short of support or encouragement for my teaching methods, although I knew the administration was keeping a close eye on my progress. As a rookie, I was traveling new ground and I had to make sure I not only followed the curriculum, but that my students were meeting the grade standards as well. So far, so good.

One of the things that I truly enjoyed about Astrid was talking with her. We talked a lot. Not just after sex or on our frequent walks, but during our morning break at school and over lunch. I wanted to know more about her. One day, while we were walking on the beach in the cold, late winter air, she opened up to me.

"My mother died when I was just five. She just got sick and died. I don't know if they really know what happened to her, but I still remember how lonely I felt when she was gone. My dad tried to be one of those men who didn't show any emotion. But one night, almost a year after mom died, I heard him crying in his bedroom. I knew losing her hurt him just as deeply as it hurt me.

"Dad remarried when I was nine. Her name is Crystal. Can you believe it? She sounds like a stripper or a hooker. She's OK, I guess. She was divorced from her first husband. No kids. Apparently, she couldn't have any. Anyway, she and I kind of tolerate each other. I gave her a pretty hard time when I was growing up. She didn't know how to handle it, so she just put up with me. I'm sure it wasn't any fun for her.

"I guess I could have turned into a real handful for them, but I never wanted to hurt Dad. I just aggravated Crystal and left it at that. I was pretty good in school, so they never needed to worry about that. When I finished high school, I went to University of Victoria and decided on Education after I got there. I have no idea why I thought I wanted to be a teacher, but it turned out fine. I thought I wanted to be a writer. That's why I took all the English courses."

I turned to her as she seemed to have finished. "Do you still want to be a writer?"

"Maybe. I haven't decided what I would write about. Fiction? Me? I don't know. Technically, I know I can. It's whether I can make it interesting. Would anyone else want to read it?"

"I imagine you had lots of friends, particularly boyfriends," I suggested.

"Not right away. First, there were the braces at thirteen and fourteen. Then there was the acne. Then, there was the awkward growth spurt, up and out. I didn't have a date until I was almost sixteen. I didn't look anything like this until I was almost finished with school. Then ... I started making up for lost time.

"I lost my virginity at my grad party. I decided a month earlier that I was going to do it, so ... I did. The guy I was with couldn't resist telling everyone within a hundred miles that he'd scored with me. He was lousy, but that wasn't what he was telling everyone. By the time summer came along, you'd think I was the town slut."

"That must have hurt," I offered sympathetically.

"It did. I couldn't wait to get to college and get away from those kids. Thank god I was in another city. No one knew me. I got a fresh start, but the truth is, I was pretty wild. Luckily, I got through my courses and graduated. I don't think my dad or Crystal ever knew about my after-school activities."

We walked in silence for a while.

"What about you?" she asked at length. "Are you from around here?"

"Vancouver. The west end. Kerrisdale. My folks bought and completely rebuilt a 'forties Craftsman-style house. I've lived there almost all my life. Like you, no brothers or sisters. My folks and I are real close. Our whole family is close. My dad's parents are still alive and living in Vernon. Mom's father died young and she was raised by my late grandmother. She's the one who stoked my fires about history and travel.

"I did OK in high school too, but it wasn't until I went to U.B.C. that I got the opportunity to travel. It was Granny Eliza's gift that made it all possible. That's what got me going about history and the fascinating stories behind all those boring names and dates. After I got back from my first trip, I couldn't wait to spread the gospel."

Astrid laughed. "It must be great to be excited about teaching ... telling others about the places you've been and the things you've seen."

"Yeah. It took another six years before I got the chance here, but I sure don't regret it. I was able to pack a lot more travel into those years. That many more stories to tell."