Almost Heaven Ch. 03

Jeanne sat behind her desk as she waited for her next appointment. She was now a middle school teacher and parent conferences were being held. She was hurriedly scribbling notes from her last session and Buddy's dad was standing beside her before she was even aware that anyone had entered the room.

Looking up, Jeanne shivered perceptibly.I wasn't even aware that Rodin had used chocolate as a sculpting medium, she thought, even as the proof stood at her desk. Tall and chiseled, broad shouldered and slim hipped, neck like a pit bull, bare arms bulging with cords of muscle tissue, biceps threatening to destroy shirt seams were they to be flexed, square jutting jaw, full, luscious lips that looked like they could kiss a woman into the next climate cycle, nose as much Caucasian as African, deep black eyes with long seductive lashes, and a shaved head that shone like a blue ribbon apple at the state fair.

"Holy shit, you're...!" but that was all that came out of Jeanne's mouth before she was struck dumb... and embarrassed that such a vulgar depiction had escaped her enchanting mouth.

The most scrumptious male, of any color, she'd ever laid eyes on smiled so brightly even Stevie Wonder would have announced, "Hey everybody, Kendall's here!"

"Yes," Kendall said sweetly and offered his hand. Jeanne was astounded at its size. It would easily require four of hers to equal it.

"Please, sit down," she said, suddenly recalling both the mechanics of speech and her manners. Kendall took a seat in the comfortable chair Jeanne placed to the side of her desk. She preferred a less formal setting for these conferences than sitting behind her desk while the parent sat on the other side because it contributed to a more open discussion.

With mothers or couples, Jeanne would stand and roll her chair over to where they sat. When fathers attended by themselves, she'd sometimes claw at the carpet with her pumps to maneuver her chair into position. In the process, her knees would part briefly and her skirt would inch upward. She was very pleased when Kendall noticed her legs just like men who weren't famous. His eyes there produced the first of several scalding hot flashes.

Kendall Ashe was a local legend. He had been in some trouble growing up but managed to star on the high school baseball team. Finally extricating himself from trouble with the courts, he earned a scholarship to West Virginia University and was now a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Kendall was at the conference for his son Buddy. He had knocked up an older woman when he was just thirteen [he was big for his age, make of that what you will]. Having no capacity for fatherhood, Kendall disappeared from his son's life until recently when the boy's mother was jailed on prostitution and drug charges. Then he stepped up big time, moving back and taking the boy in. Now he was trying to do what was right. He was only twenty-five years old but his finances were bright thanks to professional baseball.

"How do you say your name?" Kendall asked nodding at the nameplate on Jeanne's desk inscribed "Jeanne Hatfield."

"Hatfield?" Jeanne asked, embarrassed that Buddy's dad might be functionally illiterate.

"No, your first name," he answered warmly. "Is it jean like denim or Jeannie as in 'I dream of...'"?

"Like 'I dream of...with the light brown hair.'" Jeanne said, smiling back, swirling her lustrous locks. An electric current set up a loop between her breasts and genitals.

"I think I like Jeanne."

Every teacher learns about a cognitive bias called the "halo effect" in college. Essentially, the "halo effect" describes a phenomenon where, when someone is perceived positively in one dimension, he or she is perceived positively, often undeservedly, in other dimensions as well.

If there was one thing Jeanne's husband Joe had taught her, it was that people needed to sell themselves. "Why go through life being sold short?" Joe often asked her when Jeanne's natural submissiveness threatened to deliver less than she deserved.

Joe had given his wife a two-pronged ploy take advantage of the halo effect when dealing with parents, one that capitalized on the positive qualities of her compassion and the other her breathtaking attractiveness.

With the mothers, Jeanne would spend the majority of her assessment on complimenting the child. Her husband told her that it takes ten positives to overcome one negative and she made sure the ratio was at least that.

For fathers, she deliberately dressed less casually than she did for classes. For example, the skirt she wore that Kendall was visually appreciating, was identical to one she wore with her students except that it was several inches shorter. The white camisole top was also something she wore on regular school days except then, she wore a strapless bra beneath.

Many of the items in Jeanne's wardrobe were duplicates or triplicates with minor, or major, overhauls that she could wear to her advantage in different settings. The simple black skirt, for example, had three iterations in her closet.

The first was the one she wore to school. It rested, modestly, just above her knee. Then there was the one she wore today. It was virtually identical to her school attire except that there was far more of her legs to appreciate. There was also a third form. It was both shorter and tighter than the first two and something Jeanne wore when she wanted to look like a teacher but feel like a slut.

Nearly her entire wardrobe was either fully or partially hand tailored. While that sounds expensive, in Jeanne's case it was no more, and in some cases, much cheaper than purchasing off the rack. You see, she was "friendly" with her tailor.

He was a handsome, Italian gentleman in is his early fifties and a wizard with a needle. His wife didn't understand him but Jeanne "liked" him from the moment she walked into his shop. He was the one man she could boss around. Whatever she wanted, he would attempt.

Having his hands upon her breasts as he form fitted one of her tops excited both of them. When he was seated on his low stool measuring and pinning her hem, his expanding crotch gave him away and she delighted in causing him erections. She adored it when he smoothed the back of a skirt, feeling her ass, or the front of her blouse, caressing a breast.

Once, when the alterations were more than she expected, Jeanne offered him a blowjob in place of a more traditional method of payment. It wasn't long before the pair conducted business by barter more often than by cash. He got to enjoy the softest, warmest, wettest mouth north of Charleston and she enjoyed the opportunity of providing release for one of the nicest men she knew. On more than one occasion Jeanne realized she experienced a bigger climax than he. Trips to her tailor were an event Jeanne looked forward to.

It was Dominic's work she wore as Kendall watched Jeanne cross her attractive legs for the third time. He could see she was flushed. She became light-headed and wished her skirt were both longer and shorter at the same time. She placed her hand on her knee with the thought that it shielded her naked leg to a small degree. The movement had the all the ear-markings of a display of modesty but Kendall knew it was done to draw his eyes rather than shield them.

Kendall glanced at the manicured hand resting on creamy flesh and smiled, embarrassing Jeanne. Her discomfort angered her and as was often the case when she was angry, Jeanne's behavior wasn't based in wisdom. Removing her hand, she slowly uncrossed then re-crossed her legs.

You want to look? Jeanne thought, seemingly forgetting that it was she who invited his eyes onto her legs,I'll give you something to look at. With the practiced ease of a natural exhibitionist, she lifted her knee higher than need be providing Kendall a more expansive view of her lovely thighs. As she glided the opposite leg up and over, she pointed the toe of the foot on the floor, raising that knee higher providing Kendall an even better view up that short black skirt.

Kendall almost laughed out loud. This hot teacher, this woman whom his son couldn't say enough nice things about, the woman who, drew him back to school for the first time as a parent so he could see for himself, was a rank amateur as a cock teaser.

Kendall had grown up in his grandmother's home where his mother was rarely present, and his aunt and her hot girlfriends spent practically every Friday and Saturday night entertaining the neighborhood bucks. With their big asses and tight dresses, those women knew how to tease. While the white kids humped each other through four layers of woven cotton on foam rubber, family room futons, these women simulated fucking like some soft porn TV reality show. They weren't simply professionals compared to Jeanne's amateur, they All Star Game performers. They were Hall of Famers.

Jeanne did not complete the crossing of her legs, however. As she swung her ankle upward, Kendall caught it and placed it on her knee so Jeanne sat cross-legged like a man does. Her skirt rode high on her spread thighs and offered Kendall a clear view of her panties framed against the black of her skirt and honey gold of her shapely legs.

Unlike virtually every other man she knew, Kendall would not avert his gaze and looked directly at Jeanne's sweet beaver while talking to her. He had removed his hand from her ankle but Jeanne remained seated as he'd positioned her.

"Jeanne, I think you're an exciting woman and I love those pretty pink panties you have on, but I'm really on a tight timeline here. I have to be in Pittsburgh, in uniform, in less than two hours. Let's just discuss Buddy this time, OK?" With that, Kendall again took hold of Jeanne's ankle and slid it down her leg closing the most beautiful valley in the state of West Virginia.

Jeanne had no idea how she managed to get through the remainder of her appointments or what she said during them. Only two things registered in her brain: the cauldron of slick, boiling estrogen-based oil that, for all intents and purposes, now was her cunt; and the hot black hunk that had lit the fire that melted her.

That evening, Jeanne wore her husband down to a frazzle as she sought to drive away the image of a potent black phallus penetrating her ovaled red lips. She used Joe's cock like a straw to drain every wriggly sperm and every .cc of seminal soda from the recesses of his scrotum.

"You're dry, Joe," she said mischievously as he writhed in arid cock seizures that signaled he was through for the evening. There wasn't so much as a little seminal dampness remaining for her still parched tongue.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jeanne, you sucked me off three times in the last ninety minutes. Men aren't made of cum, you know."

No, you aren't, Jeanne laughed to herself,but I know what sort is!

"Snips and snails and puppy dog tails my ass," she'd written in her diary shortly after she started dispensing hand jobs. "Sperm and semen all creamy and even, that's what little boys are made of." What was true is that her arm was always exhausted before their dicks were.