A Little HugbyPygmyCoho©
This story received a minor edit in the epilog based on an anonymous reader's suggestion. To you, and to all of you who have enjoyed this story, "Thank You!" }:o)
Rachael began her junior year as a transfer from another high school. She seemed timid and perfectly happy to remain under the radar. In fact, there were times when I had to search for her amid the tide of students flowing through the hallways between classes. In retrospect, I completely misjudged her . . .
Since Rachael was not the type to be drawn into a clique it meant she remained a bit of a loner. That left her vulnerable. One day two of the "popular girls" singled Rachael out for their brand of hazing. I happened to round a corner of the hallway just as the snotty blonde slapped an armload of books out of Rachael's grasp. It made me angry. Rachael did not deserve that sort of treatment—no one did. I waded in and broke up the altercation. I was about to send some people to the principal's office when Rachael spoke.
"It's okay, Ms. DeWitt. We were just kidding around."
"That's not how it looked to me." I glared at the perpetrators.
Tiffany, the blonde, looked at the floor. Her friend, Sara, said, "That's right. We were just jokin' around."
Her response came a little too quickly. My eyes held her gaze for a few seconds before she, too, was unable to meet my stare.
"Really, Ms. DeWitt, it's all good," Rachael confirmed. Then, under her breath, "Please."
My head turned to her. The plea in her eyes was too compelling.
"All right, ladies. But just remember that sometimes joking can look like something else entirely. And every event, even a small one, might trigger an unintended consequence. Understand?" I hoped I sounded menacing enough.
Everyone nodded. There were mumbled assents, too. Tiffany continued studying the floor tiles as though they held the secret to life itself.
"Now, I'm sure all of you have a class. I suggest you go there. Now." I thought of helping Rachael with her books but felt that act could be interpreted as favoritism and might make her more of a target. It seemed best to just leave.
I worried then, but before the second semester ended Rachael made peace with Tiffany and Sara. Perhaps it was the other way around. Regardless, they all seemed polite enough to each other. I even saw them studying together a couple of times. I'm sure the two girls reaped some scholastic benefit from the interactions because Rachael turned out to be an excellent student.
* * * * * * *
Rachael had yet to grow into her beauty that first year. She possessed a certain "cuteness" and wore it without conscious thought. In fact, I often wondered if she realized just how attractive she was. When given the chance her thick ebony curls spilled down to the small of her back. More often, though, she twisted her hair into a bun or tied it back in a simple ponytail. Her chosen fashion consisted of jeans and t-shirts. But shimmering dark eyes, high cheekbones, white teeth and cleft chin all bode well for her future. As the school year ended Rachael's metamorphosis had just begun.
Over the summer Rachael catapulted from cute to beautiful. She left for summer a slim, almost gangly junior—sort of an adorable nerd. But senior Rachael returned flaunting killer curves. She apparently received her woman's body upon turning eighteen! Her hourglass figure started at sculpted shoulders and a lovely pair of breast, tapered to a flat tummy and trim waist, and flared into a delightful set of hips. When she strolled down the hallways, the swing of those hips highlighted a bottom that was rounded, trim, perky and squeezable all at once. Her new beauty had a profound effect on most boys, and seemed to stir many of the girls, too. I sighed after her more than a couple of times myself. But Rachael carried on as though she was completely unaware of the attention.
Early in that second year I saw her teased once or twice. Rachael would flash her delightful smile, perhaps offer a quip, and disarm her assailant without causing hard feelings. Those rare displays, worthy of a seasoned diplomat, were unheard of in high school. They were also effective and the taunting stopped within days. Truth be told, however, I doubt anyone felt all that motivated to harass her in the first place.
She still avoided the cliques yet somehow managed to be popular nonetheless. She reminded me of a hostess who could move seamlessly from one group to another, belonging to each one in turn without becoming entrapped. Maybe her popularity was because she avoided the cliques. Or maybe it stemmed from Rachael's kindhearted nature. Her sunny disposition rarely faltered. She could find something positive about anyone, a trick even I envied. To say that she had blossomed, physically and socially, would have been gross understatement. All this made her stand out from so many girls who seemed bent on paddling through a morose sea of high school angst.
Her classwork excelled, too, as I witnessed firsthand when she got to my class. College preparatory physics could be trying for students, but her probing questions demonstrated real insight. There are pupils who keep us teachers on our toes, keep us striving to prepare for subjects we think we already know lest they ask us something we cannot answer. Rachael epitomized just that sort of student.
As awful as it sounds, there were some students that I was glad to see leave the school. Call me "human", I suppose. But there were many, many more whom I truly enjoyed teaching. I hoped they would keep in touch once in a while so I would know how life treated them.
Rachael became the first, however, whose pending departure caused me true separation anxiety. No other student had ever affected me that way. The mere thought of never seeing her again generated a physical pain in my chest. So one May morning I gave my mirror a pep talk—and a mild rebuke for having such inappropriate emotions. I ignored those emotions as best I could and faced the term's last day.
Before being labeled a complete love-fool let me state that I knew nothing could possibly happen between us. There were three strong and obvious obstacles: her age; my status as her teacher, and; her apparent lack of interest in . . . well, in me. Despite the stream of logic, though, part of me still hoped to see her after the school year ended.
Nothing meaningful gets planned for the last day of my class. Instead there's a modest party with soft drinks, bottled waters, snacks, fruits and pastries. We share the students' plans for their summers, their colleges, their prospects and ambitions. It had been a tradition in my classes and the only rule was no one got to demean anyone. Some good, truly special moments came from those parties over the years. Attendance was not required so the turn out usually averaged about fifty percent. What can I say, seniors, right . . .?
This time Rachael was one of the no-shows.
At the bell most of the kids shuffled and made for the door. Some of the boys grabbed handfuls of food for their last trip down the halls. A few hangers-on milled around for a little while, only to trickle out as the mood changed from sentimental to awkward. And just like that the room became a void.
I looked at the rows of seats, thought back over the year and found my gaze draped on Rachael's chair. It felt a little unsettling seeing it empty.
"Don't be stupid," I muttered to myself. With an effort I put away the food, binned plastic bottles, and cleaned or disposed of the rest. Once in motion my thoughts of the raven-haired beauty waned a little. I had nearly finished when the door burst open.
"Oh, thank God you're still here!"
"I'm sooo sorry I missed class—"
"It wasn't mandatory." There was something about her mere presence that calmed me. I liked that feeling very much.
"I know, but I sooo wanted to be here. I made a loaf of Italian fruit bread to, like, bring in, but my dog ate it before we could bake it and we had to take him to the vet 'cause his stomach, like, swelled up like a water balloon and— Why are you . . .? It's not funny!" she admonished, unable to stifle her own chuckles.
"I'm sorry, Rachael, but, really? 'Ms. DeWitt, my dog ate my classwork'."
"I know!" she giggled.
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, but they had to pump his stomach, or whatever they do when a dog, like, eats something it's not supposed to. But he's okay. But when we finally got home and I drove here, it's now. And I'm late."
I realized my face was split into a huge grin. Thank goodness I could, well, I could blame it on the dog!
"You're not late at all." My voice sounded foreign to me, deep and husky, though I was not sure why. "So," I continued, "What are your plans?" I held a water bottle towards her and she nodded.
"For summer, or after?" She took the water, twisted the top off and sipped at it.
"Either. Both. Whatever you want to tell me." I caught myself staring at her lips on the bottle, and forced myself to look at her eyes instead.
"Well, I'm taking the summer to travel. I'm going to drive to some of the places I want to see, like Yellowstone, and Mount Rushmore, the St. Louis Arch and The Alamo. Maybe New Orleans, Atlanta. Maybe even Washington, though my Mom says it's dangerous."
She nodded, hair bouncing.
I told her, "It can be a little risky at night, but you should be okay in the daytime."
"Really? Okay, then D.C."
"You're going with someone, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah, with my friend, Suzy—"
I opened my mouth.
"—and we'll be careful."
I grinned. Her presentation was well-rehearsed, probably to get approval from her folks. "It sounds like a great trip, but you'd better send me postcards."
"I can text you and send pics from my phone."
"Humor me—I'm old fashioned."
We smiled at one another. A random thought popped into my mind and I asked, "Do you remember that, um, that thing, with Tiffany and Sara last year?"
"Yeah, I, uh, I never thanked you for, like, leaving that one alone. That was way cool. Thanks."
"You're welcome. I thought of helping you pick up your books—"
"No, I'm glad you didn't. Don't think it woulda helped, you know?"
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But I have to ask—what was that about?"
"Oh, it was all a mix-up. They thought I was trying to, like, get between, a . . . couple. But it worked out okay. We even hang sometimes. They're both going away to college in Boulder so we probably won't see each other too much anymore."
"I bet you helped them get the grades so they were accepted."
Rachael shook her head. "Nah."
"Maybe just a little?"
She shrugged and held up her thumb and forefinger so they were very close together. We laughed.
"And what about you? I hope you're going to college." My voice sounded as stern as I could make it to emphasize my point. But the thought of her leaving town was dreadful.
"Well, I got accepted at the University." Her feet kept moving as though she could not remain still.
"You're not going away?" I tried to hide my relief.
"Nope. Right here. Dad didn't want to, like, pay out-of-state tuition." She did a little, unconscious dance step. She sipped her water and set the bottle on her desk.
"Hmm, good reason, I suppose. Especially since the U's really a good institution. You'll do well."
There had to be something else; Rachael seemed ready to burst.
"Yeah, and I got an academic scholarship!" Her feet shuffled as she clapped. I clapped with her. "That's how come I could buy a car and get, like, money for the summer trip!"
"Oh, Rachael, that's great. I knew you had so much potential."
"I remember you telling me." She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me. It happened so quickly and was all too brief, but I will never forget the feel of her body against mine. Her firm breasts pressed into my fuller, softer mounds. The touch of her hips and lean, taut thighs against me made my legs rubbery.
"Thank you," she whispered and pecked my cheek. My skin burned where her lips kissed me, and the warmth spread across the side of my face like a tiny wildfire.
The very next moment she stepped back and it was over. But my mind and body still reeled from that hug. The effect was too profound, out of proportion to the act itself. It was the instant when I knew . . . .
We chatted for a few more minutes; I still have no idea what we said. I do recall that she mentioned having to check on her dog just before she left, and we laughed again.
The door swung closed. It was only then that I noticed how wet and sticky my panties felt. My legs remained weak and my face still tingled. I sat behind my desk and looked at the blotter. Then I looked at my breasts. My nipples stood erect and visible. I rolled my eyes and leaned back in the chair with my arms crossed over my chest.
How could a little hug and an innocent peck on the cheek set me off like that?
I reached beneath my skirt and pulled the clinging fabric from my skin. But what I thought would relieve the mild discomfort of wet undies made my crotch sizzle instead.
"Damn," I murmured. I gathered the leftovers, locked up and walked to my car.
When I got home I left everything in the back seat, went inside, drew a bath and undressed. As I passed the mirror I caught sight of my body. My nipples remained hard, flushed and throbbing. I faced the glass and my eyes travelled over the reflection. My swollen lips glistened through their wispy brunette veil.
With a shake of my head, I climbed into the tub and let the heat seep into my skin. My fingers stroked soapsuds across my breasts. The caress shot electricity from the stiffened tips through my tummy and into my pelvis. Each tweak and stroke fed the fire Rachael had kindled.
Soon one hand arrived between my thighs and played. My lips parted easily and my fingers discovered just how swollen I had grown. A little teasing was not going to be enough for what I wanted, what I needed. As my hand explored and manipulated my fiery tip, other fingers curled inside me. My hesitant, exploratory rhythm grew more passionate and insistent.
I watched my breasts floating in the sea of foam, nipples harder than ever. When I found my G my eyes rolled back and my head slipped downward to rest on the tub's edge. In my mind, Rachael was lying on top of me. Our mouths devoured one another's as our breasts rubbed together. Was that wet heat between my legs the bathwater, my juices, or our mounds sliding together in the climb to fulfillment? The fantasy seemed so real. I had a second to wonder before my body shook in the throes of a devastating climax.
After another gratifying orgasm I toweled myself dry and slipped under the sheets. My hands danced across my skin and visited all the right spots. It took me three more heady cums, and various, delicious fantasies about Rachael, to fall into an exhausted sleep.
* * * * * * *
Rachael proved true to her word. I received a post card every few days from all the places she visited. I became certain the cards held traces of her perfume-soap scent that the random odors of their postal journeys could not quite obliterate. Those tenuous olfactory treats inspired some beautiful fantasies. During June I masturbated each time one of Rachael's notes arrived.
It sounded as though she and her friend, Suzy, were discovering the world in that particular, singular fashion that can only happen when one is young. I was envious and proud, worried and approving, elated and heartbroken. How I wished it was me sitting next to Rachael for those miles and sites and experiences.
The summer wore on and I finally gained some perspective. My desire moderated from near-obsession to a more manageable infatuation. By the time the new term started I had everything nicely compartmentalized. My overactive libido went into semi-remission, allowing me several nights of uninterrupted sleep.
Just before Christmas, as I cleaned up after the winter class party, the door to my room swung open and a familiar figure stood there. My heart stopped for an instant before thudding so hard I thought Rachael would here it across the room.
"Hi, Ms. DeWitt."
"Rachael!" No jeans and t-shirts now—that dress set off her body like a fashion model. Her long tresses flowed over her shoulders, down her arms and back.
She moved towards me and my mind flashed back to last summer's hug. I extended a hand instead. Her face flickered for a moment and she took my hand in both of hers. She gave me one of her radiant smiles, though her eyes appeared curious. Amused, and curious.
"How are you? I got your cards. The trip sounded fantastic!"
"I'm good. Yeah, it was awesome." She did not release my hand, and I did not want it back. Not yet.
"The Arch was great, especially from the top. We got to look up the Presidents' noses at Mt. Rushmore. New Orleans was waaay cool and D.C. was awesome. The Alamo made me cry, though."
"And how's Suzy?"
"Suzy was fun for most of it, but we drifted apart after. She went to school in Florida and, well, I'm not ready for a long-distance, uh, friendship. You know what I mean?"
"Yeah," I answered automatically. But I wondered if I really did know what she meant.
She smiled and finally released her grip. My fingertips throbbed and my palm felt steamy. I think I was getting wet, too.
"So, sit. Tell me, how's the U?" I retreated behind my desk and folded my arms over my breasts, just in case.
"It's okay," she sighed. Rachael took her old seat. She pulled her hair back and her breasts thrust forward. I tried not to look . . . and failed. Then she crossed her legs. Her skirt slipped up past her knees and I could not help glancing at her bared thighs. Her new look made her incredibly sexy. I shuddered and peered into her face instead. She seemed to flash the tiniest unconscious smirk before her expression settled into a soft smile.
Her face changed again as she regained her train of thought. "Yeah. I mean, I like it and all. And most of my professors are pretty good . . . ."
"But . . . sometimes it feels, like, I don't know. Like it's a 'factory'?"
"Yeah, you know. It seems like the classes are so big, you're just a number. It's different than, like, your class. I always felt special here. Now, it's kinda like I'm . . . ordinary, I guess."
A reflexive burst of laughter escaped before I could control it. Rachael frowned.
"I'm sorry, Rachael. But I cannot, ever, think of you as 'ordinary'. You are one of the most extraordinary people I've ever taught. Probably ever known."
"Have you talked with your folks about this?"
"And they said?"
"They said, 'Why don't you talk with Ms. DeWitt'."
"Okay," I breathed, feeling my educator's duty had been met. "Well, um, where was I?"
"How 'extraordinary' I am." She grinned like an imp.
"Right!" I grinned right back. "You're absolutely extraordinary. And I would bet I'm not the only one who could say that. I've seen a lot of students through here and you had—have—something very, very special."
"Really?" She seemed to relax. "Oh thank God. But why . . .?"
"It's just the college experience. The numbers are different, so the, 'scale' I guess you'd call it, is different. But you, my dear, are not ordinary."
"Thanks, Ms. DeWitt—"
"Ms. Mitchell, you're not in my class anymore. Do you think you could call me Eileen?"
"Eileen? Really?" Her faced scrunched up just a bit.
"Eileen sounds kinda old-fashioned." She blushed. "I'm sorry. You're not old, or anything. I just meant—"
"It's okay." I chuckled at her discomfort. "It was my grandmother's name."