A+

The classroom
     is big,
The windows wide,
     and Ms. Rachel is tall.


I'm being tutored,
     and my skirt
Is short, on purpose,
     of course.

My junior year of
     college had been
Hard, horny, and
     hot.

"Tiana." Her voice is
     honey, she leans
Down. Her neckline
     plunges.

"The murderer returns
     to the scene of
The crime." I failed
      criminology.

Nondescript, I pretend
       to push her
Out of my face, but
       my hand lingers.

On her chest, I squeeze
       a bit. She is only
Four years older. Fresh
       out of teaching school.
 
She's taller, but I
        am bigger. Thicker.
She gasps, and swats
        my hand.

I look deep into her
        eyes, blue, framed
By thin blonde hair.
        She looks back.
 
"You're here to learn.
        We'll get to that later"
My teacher has long legs,
         a round butt.

I know, because I wanted
         to pass Criminology.
I know, because I offered a
         deal, in the first semester.

"No. I'm horny, and your
          eyes say you
Are too."  I pop her top
          three buttons.

She sighs, not in in
          exasperation, but
In relief. She sighs because
          this is what she wants.

I strip quickly, we have
           to hurry, there's a class
In half an hour. She follows
            suit, and we stand for a minute.

My dark cocoa skin stands
            in such contrast to her
Peaches-n-cream flesh.
            Just like our hair does.

It reminds me a bit, of a
            song I heard, unnamed,
But the drums beat deeply,
            and pounded a dark melody.

They rumbled through your soul,
            and shook the shitty car
I was driving at the time. I listened
            to them, but then they changed.

Suddenly, a twinkling melody
            arose like a feather, or a star
Maybe. The piano notes were so tiny,
             you didn't hear them at first.
 
But the twinkling rose, and became
             so moving, I could feel
The ivories beneath my own fingers.
              I lost my breath while listening.

The two sounds didn't war with
              one another like you would
Think, though. They danced
              together, and blended.

A wild balancing act surrounded me
              as I sat in the stained fuzzy
Seat of a used car, waiting for
              the light to turn green.

It is more than our skin that reminds
              me of the song I only heard
Once, though. It is the way that
              we make love, too.

It starts with a drum beat in my
              heart, my pussy too, that creates
A throbbing need. Then she moves,
              slow  at first, then faster.

I lay her on the desk, wooden and cold.
              I sit in her black cushioned
Chair, pretend I am sitting down
              to a graciously prepared meal.

I pick of a ruler, plastic, cheap, and
               whack her thighs, her ass.
She likes it rough. I tug and fondle her
                breasts, squeeze them hard.

Then I get down to business, because
                now there are only twenty
Minutes left. I lick her newly moistened
                clit, and instinct takes over.

I know how to get her screaming,
                I know how to do it fast. Her
Sighs soon slow down and wind to a
                halt, just like the song.

She doesn't have time to pleasure me
                but it's fine, because I
Got off while I ate, stroking myself
                 to the sound of her moans.

We dress, and she takes the paper,
                the one I haven't written one
Single answer on, and grabs a pen.
                She writes something in red.

A+ the paper says, and I smile. "Keep up
                 the good work." "I will." I say
And I smile when I leave the classroom,
                 humming an unnamed song.