Caught At School

Teachers work hard. No question. Society has deemed us the solver of all problems. In school, a child learns lessons both in and out of the classroom that will serve them for the rest of their lives. Student doesn't have enough to eat? The school will feed them. A kid is cold? There is a coat drive that will clothe them. If a shooter storms the building? A teacher is trained to protect the children. A young one needs to learn how to read, write, think, question, behave... the teacher will show them the path. Teachers get a lot of flack for having summers off, but let me tell you, that time is well-earned. If you added up all the hours I've spent outside of the eight-to-three school day grading papers, buying supplies with my own money, and preparing lessons, it would surely exceed the forty hour work week of the year compressed to give me my summer guilt free.

That being said, I love my work. I love seeing the look in a struggling student's eye when they finally grasp a concept. That feeling of surprise is true learning, and hopefully something they will never forget. I've been a teacher for eight years. Long enough to be excited by the promise of helping to bring up a generation of critical thinkers. And short enough to not yet be a hardened, jaded crank.

My mother was a teacher for over thirty years and was good at it. She always emphasized the value of knowledge around our house. So much so that toward the end of high school when I was about to go away to college, I knew that I would follow in her footsteps. My father wasn't crazy about the idea. He didn't think that being a teacher was man's work. But he worked a desk job at an insurance broker and was miserable. So what did he know?

My name is Alex Stator. When I graduated from State University, I landed a job teaching at an elementary school back north in the suburbs of Rockford where my parents lived. I was ecstatic. It was nothing like I had expected. Decades of learning prepared me with theory, but the first time I was in my own classroom full of fourth graders looking up at me, I knew there was a whole practical side to teaching that I had to develop on my own. Sink or swim.

After my first year, I entered a Master's program online through the University of Wisconsin. Three years of nights, weekends, and summers, and I had earned my Master's degree in educational policy studies. I was going to be a principal someday, then maybe a superintendent. So I put my nose to the grindstone and worked hard.

My father wasn't entirely wrong. There were far fewer male teachers than female ones. And they were of all shapes, sizes, and ages. At first, it made me a little uncomfortable. It must be something along the lines of what a male nurse must feel. From my studies I knew the ratio to expect, but the reality was different. The gossip mill was intense, everything was like a soap opera. And, I hate to say this, but women are so sensitive. I had to really think about every little interaction so that it didn't become part of the gossip. Although, I suppose that was partly a good thing because it helped me with interpersonal relationships with administration and even the students and their parents. And it didn't hurt in my personal life. I'm relatively handsome, stay fit, and have never had trouble getting dates. But my career was always priority.

After I had secured my Master's and established myself in elementary education, a job came up in the big leagues... middle school. My record spoke for itself. I had good references. And my principal knew the principal at Lincoln and put in a good word for me. I spent the summer revising lesson plans for sixth grade. They are a different breed of animal than the fourth graders I was used to. The hormones have begun to kick in. The girls blossom and the boys get lanky and moody, but I was ready for it all.

Teachers and administration go back to work two weeks before the students. Everybody is grumpy and shaking off the cobwebs of summertime. There is a lot of turnover in education. It's like playing musical jobs. During the first day at work, there are ice breaker activities so that everyone gets to know each other again. I met my new teaching partners, peers, and my new principal. Turned out there were only three other men in the whole school: an old crank one year from retirement who taught eighth grade, the janitor/building engineer, and the gym teacher, Rodney, with whom I became fast friends.

"Hey, Alex. You ever date any of them?" Rodney asked when they were eating lunch one day.

They were in the gym. At one end was a stage used for music recitals and talent shows. Rodney and I sat on the edge with our legs dangling, eating submarine sandwiches. "Who, our co-workers?"

"Yeah."

As Rodney said it, a group of female teachers walked through the other end of the gym, a shortcut to the cafeteria. One of the group pointed to us and shouted, "Hey, get back to work!" They giggled like little girls. The heavy gym door swung shut behind them.

"Once," I said. "It didn't go so well." I took a breath. "It was my first year teaching. It was her first year teaching. We were both nervous and went to all the meetings together and we bonded. You know, you go through something with someone and you sort of feel connected. We'd take our lunches together. Worked together during planning periods. We clicked."

"Doesn't sound too bad."

"It was good until it wasn't. We spent so much time together, other teachers would make fun of us for it, but we just played it off as harmless teasing. Until one night around Christmas there was a party at school, then a bunch of us went to a bar after."

"Christmas party." Rodney laughed. "So cliché, but that shit happens, right?"

I nodded. "Totally. We had a few drinks. Then a few more. Everyone's getting all crazy because we're going on break for the holidays. We're sitting at a table, you know, the whole group of us, and she puts her hand on my leg and starts, like, stroking."

"Your dick?"

"No, just my leg. But, we've never done anything before, so I'm playing it cool, thinking she's just playing around. A few minutes go by, another round comes, and she starts rubbing my nuts, right there, with our team right there. I look over at her and she's totally into the conversation with someone else. You wouldn't be able to tell. Finally, she looks over at me and winks."

"What a pro."

"Except now I gotta problem, because things are winding down at the party and I've got a hard on like the Eiffel Tower. Thank god it was winter and I could hold my coat over my crotch."

"What happened, she get under the table like in the pornos?"

I laughed. "No, when we all took care of the bill and said goodbye, I could tell she was a little tipsy. And we'd been friends for a while, so I knew that if we got together, it would make things really weird. But she was like an animal. We made small talk until everyone else left and I was like, What the fuck was that?! I wasn't mad or anything. I mean, it was hot as hell. But I didn't expect it from her. Next thing I knew, we were in the backseat of her car making out, she gets on top of me, pulls her sweater off and opens her blouse, and she's got this lacy red bra on and she shoves her chest in my face. It was hot, man. I almost shot in my pants the way she was grinding me."

"Damn, dude. So far I don't see any downside to this."

"Then, while she's on top, she unzips-"

The bell rang marking the end of lunch period. Only a few minutes until next period. Rodney and I cleaned up our sandwich wrappers. We walked back toward the hallway and Rodney's office. "So, was she hot?"

"Redhead," was all I said.

"Damn."

A few kids filed into the gym wearing their awkward uniforms (Go Cougars!). Rodney grabbed two basketballs from the rack and rolled them down the court at them. "Let's get warmed up."

"All right, man. I gotta go give a quiz. See if these kids are grasping two-digit multiplication." We fistbumped.

"We still going running later?"

"Yeah, for sure."

"Hey," Rodney said when I was at the door. "You never told me why you split."

"It was almost like we were married. She was my work wife."

"What was the problem?"

"She had a home husband."

On my way back to my classroom, I remembered a few of the things I didn't tell Rodney. Like how Mary rode me for twenty minutes in the backseat of her Toyota that night before swallowing every drop of my cum. How she loved to have her toes sucked. How I ate her little red-patched pussy on the sill of the basin in the janitor's closet. How we used a remote control vibrator during the school day once. How she was the first woman I did anal with. How Mary liked me to pull her hair when I pumped her from behind. How she couldn't take the guilt and told her husband. How her husband threatened to kill me. And how Mary was gone the next year.

I never felt great about being the other man, to be sure. But the sex was exciting and I was just having fun. When I realized what I'd done, though, I felt horrible.

The second bell rang and I double-timed it back to my room.

"You're late," said Olivia, my teaching partner, standing in the doorway of her room across from mine, black-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose like an old lady even though she was only five years older than me.

"But I'm here and showing up is half the battle," I said, joking. I hated being late.

Olivia threw a wiffle ball at me, kicked the doorstop, and disappeared into her classroom while the door slowly closed. I picked up the wiffle, laughed to myself, and went into my room.

"All right, here we go. Quiz time!" Groans erupted from my students.

I liked Olivia. She had been at Lincoln Middle School a few years longer than me. She showed me the ropes, introduced me around, and told me who to avoid. She was quirky, funny, and a damn good teacher. Olivia was single but there was no chance of us having the kind of relationship that Mary and I had and that fact put me at ease. I wanted to do well. I wanted the principal to like me. I didn't want any distractions during work. I could always find a hookup on the weekends. Olivia was skinny and tall, with an angular face, and shoulder length hair that she dyed jet black and had cut at angle to reveal the back of her neck. She had tattoos down her lanky slender arms, but covered them with long sleeves. With excessively dark eye makeup she was like a thirty-something goth in baggy pants and sweaters. Always present were her thick-rimmed glasses which made her look extra nerdy, but I think she liked that vibe. She had a great smile. I suspected she was a lesbian, but we'd never had those kinds of intimate personal conversations. Like I said, fine with me. We had a good working relationship, and that's what mattered. Plus, I'm not into older women.

The school year continued. I was doing okay, but my kids' standardized test scores weren't anywhere near where I wanted. I had my work cut out for me. I went to professional development seminars on differentiation and Olivia helped me to create more engaging lesson plans when she had time. I was busy, but happy. On weekends, I'd go on dates. Sometimes friends would set me up on blind dates. They were fun. Occasionally leading to one night stands or a few weeks of dating, but never more. I just never synced with anyone.

After Halloween, (I wore a t-shirt that read "This shirt is my costume". Olivia, who dressed as a vampire, was not amused) came the dreaded parent-teacher conferences. Conferences are always a mixed bag. You get a wide range of parents from those who care, to those who don't, to those who want reassurance that they're a good parent, to those who are angry with me that their child is a pest, to those who are completely ignorant. Single parents are usually stressed out and use the time to complain about their former significant other. Occasionally both parents show up, but typically just one or the other. Also, it makes for a long week. I don't know about other districts, but at my school in Rockford you work the whole normal school day, then parents and students come in later over the course of two evenings.

Most of the conferences were uneventful. A few student issues needed to be worked out. A few parents wanted to be updated on progress. The usual. There were many introductions, as not only was I their child's new teacher, but also I was new to the district and gave many of the parents my references and accomplishments which ate up most of the time. The last conference of the second night was the one I had been waiting for. The final barrier to the weekend. I wasn't especially looking forward to it, though. It was the parents of Bradley Whitlock, a misbehaved and disruptive kid who was a real pain in the dick. Both parents came in.

Because of my experiences, I try to separate work with my personal life. But this last meeting made it difficult. Bradley sat between them. The father wore an expensive-looking suit and had a severe, irritated way about him. The mother was a knockout. Blondish-brown hair fell in long, soft curls and offset her deep brown eyes. She had full, plush lips coated in bright red lipstick. Some of her figure was hidden by a coat, but she wore tight jeans and boots and a sweater that strained against her chest.

It wasn't my first time having an attractive parent, so I played it cool. There was nothing to be done about it anyway, but I found it hard to keep my eyes off her. I made as much eye contact as possible, but I felt like she could see right through me.

"Bradley is doing well in... well, gym, but he really needs to work on math and reading."

"He tries," Mrs. Whitlock said.

"The hell he does," Mr. Whitlock said, but he was occupied by his phone.

"Well, he's not, you know, bad," I said, lying. "He just lacks focus. If he puts the attention into math as much as he does into physical education, Bradley could certainly be a more successful student."

"He wants to play football in college," the father said. "Don't you champ?"

Bradley was playing a game on his phone.

I didn't know what to say.

"Bradley likes being physical," Mrs. Whitlock said. "It runs in the family."

She was staring at me when she said it, and if I wasn't mistaken she was flirting. It was probably all in my head, but I started thinking about what it would be like to get physical with Mrs. Whitlock right here on my desk. I'd love to tear off that sweater and feel those curvy legs wrapped around me. I'd never been so attracted to an older woman.

"This is bullshit," Bradley said, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Don't be a dick," Mr. Whitlock said.

I was stunned. Seemed like being an asshole ran in the family, too.

"Both of you, knock it off," Mrs. Whitlock said, then tried to make excuses for them.

I wrapped up the conference as quickly as I could. Standing up, I held out my hand to shake Mr. Whitlock's. He didn't notice, still doing something on his phone, and he walked out of the room. Bradley went down the hallway, tearing student artwork off the lockers as he went.

"I'm so sorry," Mrs. Whitlock said. "I know Bradley's a handful."

"This isn't my first rodeo," I said, and walked her to my classroom door, watching every wiggle of her ass. "We'll keep an eye on him and see if we can get him as excited about reading as he is about football." My mind drifted a little bit and I wondered what those big brown eyes looked like staring at you when she gave blowjobs. Those glossy red lips.

Mrs. Whitlock stopped at the door. I think she checked to make sure her husband and son were out of earshot. "A little physicality isn't a bad thing, you know. But, maybe some private tutoring is in order?"

I didn't know whether she meant for her son or for me. I know which one I wanted it to be.

"Here," Mrs. Whitlock said. She reached into her purse and wrote down her number on a napkin. "Take this so you can keep me posted."

"Thank you, Mrs. Whitlock."

"Call me Barbara," she said as a smile curled the edge of her sumptuous lips. "Mrs. Whitlock makes me feel old."

I took the number. "Okay. Sure thing, Barbara."

She leaned closer. The edge of her breast pressed against me and she whispered, "I hope to see you soon." She retracted and winked. At the end of the corridor, she glanced back at me, maybe to check if I was still looking. I, of course, was still standing there trying my best not to look like I was gawking at her tight jeans. There was just something about the way she moved, the way she looked, that turned me on. Older woman or not, I was going to jerk off thinking about her later.

"Oh yeah, she definitely wanted to fuck you." A voice said.

I snapped out of my trance to find Olivia at her door across the hall, arms crossed.

"What? I don't even..." Stay professional, stay cool, I told myself. "She was asking about tutoring for Bradley."

"Mmm-hmm. I'll bet. I'll bet she wants to show you just how appreciative she is, too."

You think so? I wondered, but played it off and changed the subject. "Knock it off. Hey, the gang is going to Shenanigan's for a beer. You coming?"

"Who's going?"

"Me, Rodney, Molly, Nancy, John, maybe principal Hughes. You know, the gang."

"Hard pass, señor," Olivia said and went away. She was kind of weird like that.

I went back into my room, grabbed my coat and backpack full of papers that I had to grade over the weekend, and shut the lights. On the drive to Shenanigan's, I tried to tell myself Mrs. Whitlock, Barbara, was just being innocently flirty. Or maybe she was just being herself and I was reading too much into it. I mean, of course she'd be looking at me while talking to me. Where else would she be looking? I had a few drinks with the gang, struck out with a good-looking waitress, went home, jerked off, and went to bed.

A few weeks went by. I thought about Barbara Whitlock, saw her in the pick up line a couple of times, but didn't speak with her. She was an older, married woman, and the parent of one of my students. There really was no choice but to act professionally. A few more weeks and I almost forgot about her. Wrote it off as an imagined fantasy.

Rodney and one of the fourth grade teachers, Susan, came to my room late on a Thursday. We had an institute day the next morning, so the kids wouldn't be at school, but we had to listen to lectures and do professional development exercises.

Susan knocked on my door. "Hey, we're going to grab dinner at Marciano's. You want to come?"

"Late start tomorrow. We can split a pitcher of beer," Rodney added. He never said so, but I think Rodney was trying to hook up with Susan. It was her second year at Lincoln. She was a short, perky blonde with a pretty face, and a sunny disposition. Good teacher, too.

"Thanks guys, but I don't know. I want to finish up these tests so I'm free for the weekend."

"Aw, come on, Alex. It's trivia night. We need your big brain," Susan joked.

"Everyone else already left. You're like the only person left in the building. For sure the only one working," Rodney said.

I looked up at them. It would be fun. Beer, pizza, friends, and trivia. Almost a perfect night. And they were right. We did have a late start tomorrow. "Tell you what," I said. "I've got probably about 45 more minutes of work here..."

Susan groaned. "45 minutes."

"... so you guys go ahead. Order a deep dish. It takes them at least 35 minutes to make. By the time I get there, the pizza will be hitting the table and the second pitcher of beer is on me."

"Now we're talking!" Susan said.

I fistbumped both of them. "Now let me get back to these tests or you'll be trying to figure out what the national flower of Japan is without me."

"It's the uh... the..."

"Cherry blossom. Come on. That's an easy one."