Confessions of a Teacher Ch. 01

There are some mornings when I wake up and feel a deep ache in my lower back. Then there are some mornings when it feels like my groin is endowed with fury. I wish I could pick and choose between the two (always choosing the latter) but at my ripe age, I suppose it's something I have to begrudgingly accept. But I can't complain. My life, so far, has been blandly decent and taking a turn for the better. Although I'm not sure if this is the way I want it to improve. The change is a surprise and yet also a bit scary. The last time this happened was puberty. I guess you could say my most recent experiences lend to the second coming of age for me.

I'm 39 years old and I don't have much to show for it. I was married once for about three years and that went south pretty quickly. My wife (we're separated and never got around to divorce) left me for another man, a wealthy car salesman in town with a quick tongue. I was too dense and late to realize how effectively he used it on my wife (who later explained to me in a fit that she was sold on the first lick of the labia). But now it's water under the bridge. We never had kids and thankfully that has made moving on a bit easier. Don't get me wrong, I love kids. I'm a teacher and I truly enjoy seeing young minds grow and learn. I just never had the desire (nor met the right partner) to make a few of my own. Pushing 40, I didn't think it would be a wise idea anyway. Last week I got a vasectomy.

Generally I don't make rash decisions like that without forethought, but this time I had a general 'fuck it' sentiment. I wasn't having sex regularly anyway and it didn't matter. Most men, from what I've heard, feel less masculine when their supply of semen soldier is culled. I don't know that feeling. I have always felt slightly emasculated and not very one-with-testosterone. At age 16, I was the scrawny kid at school, all skin and bones. Age 21, college taught me one of many things in the lesson about the freshman 15, which in my case was more like freshman 55. I binge-drank beer and now I am the proud father of a beer belly. Well, maybe it's not a true beer belly any more. I've never bothered to buy new pants so I have a bit of gut that is my signature of adulthood male. At 30 I was deeply in love with my wife and added some more weight but also learned to appreciate my body. This is really important, that a man accepts himself. Now, at 39, I'm slightly balding (only noticeable when you look really close... I hope), I wear bi-focals, and I teach high school Biology. And I'm okay with all this. This is my biggest confession.

This diary or journal of my other confessions serve as a way of reflection and outlet of expression that has been much needed in efforts to cope with stress. A co-worker, Jim, the English teacher (go figure) suggested I keep a note of my experiences and how I perceived them. He claimed that it would help me sort out my thoughts and make sense of the nuances of life and its reasons. Now, I'm a cellular biologist, at a least I used to be, and "sorting out thoughts" to me sounded about as difficult as sequencing a genome. However, Jim convinced me over some beers and, as a friend, I trusted he wouldn't steer me wrong. I am going to make an effort to be open and honest about myself and how I see the world around me. More than that, I will give credence to these observations as a scientist dutifully carries out the scientific method. Fuck... I am not writing a biology textbook, so I will save you the jargon.

---

I am a pervert. Plain and simple. The lab results were clear the first time my wife and I tried to conceive. The doctor said she was very fertile, I, however, lacked the testosterone to produce quality semen for procreation. This might have been a large factor in our separation as well. Over time, I just couldn't get it up for my wife. She had plenty to be satisfied with in the beginning. In hindsight, I think I was just getting tired of the same genitals every night (which turned into weeks, months, year). Variety is the spice of life and I teach that in my evolution curriculum with zeal. I love watching porn and seeing the diversity of vagina and breasts.

One of my first, fondest memories was bumping my telescope away from the sky and gazing into the viewfinder. Inside I saw nothing but blackness. I adjusted the lens to reduce the magnification for my twelve year old eyes. I was gazing on a constellation of black pubic hair. The telescope was pointed directly into the window of a neighbor's home. I was witnessing the celestial event of her undress. I still very vividly remember how round and bountiful her breasts were as she unclasped her bra. To this day it still arouses me. At that time I had not masturbated yet so I could not truly enjoy the spectacle. But rest assured, I did a great deal of star gazing that summer.

It was also a time when I learned to love science. The human body is a remarkable thing and I would be lying if I didn't enjoy studying the female anatomy in college (on campus and in the class). Of course, I had to make a living so I studied cells and hoped to get into some grant-funded research to cure a variety of illnesses. However, I quickly learned that grants are to come by and the cellular biologist lifestyle was not glamorous at all. But I wasn't hunting fame. On the side I also did some tutoring work which eventually led to me becoming a teacher. I taught community college science courses for a while but tired of uninspired students. High school, it seemed, was the place of fresh cultivable minds.

Likewise, a place of coming-of-age young women and mini-skirts. I might be a pervert but I'm not a complete simpleton, I know the clear line between student and teacher. But there are some primitive mechanisms in a man that just can't be turned off. I figure you might as well accept it and look beyond. Jim agrees with me. He's gay and I never hear the end of his infatuation revolving around the varsity football coach. Dealing with this innate desire is something I've learned we all struggle with. While I was married it was easy to look over, but in the recent years, I have had to take care of myself to "release" the tension.

I won't lie here, I promised I wouldn't. I absolutely make efforts to get myself off with what I can work with. I enjoy the change of seasons as they usher in and out garments of clothing that epitomize the meaning of comfort. For example, I have thoroughly enjoyed going home and taking a hot shower, while I rubbed one out reminiscing upon this junior, Sarah O'Brien, who developed quite the ass over the summer while playing volleyball at camp. Her yoga pants gave it away. As winter fades away, so too does the need for layers. Every now and then I have a careless (and perhaps oblivious) student that cannot sit properly in her seat. Michaela, a freshman in my Biology 101 class, was directed to sit in the first row as it provided me a great view of her legs. They were supple and slender, she would often forget to cross them, rewarding me with a great view of her polka-dot panties. Some such memories are etched in the lustful parts of my brain.

I try to not get off on it as much as possible, but sometimes it is unavoidable. There are some students that you just know are sluts. Others are good-girls that will make the grade and will probably never see a penis until they're 25. They range in all different variables making them unique and interesting in their own ways. Luckily for me, I can appreciate it all from a distance. I asked Jim once if he would ever make a move on a student.

"Hell no!" He whisper-yelled at me while we were in the teacher's lounge that day. "Do you have any idea what kind of predicament that would put me in? An openly gay teacher sodomizing the star soccer player? That would traumatize the whole town. I have to be careful to accidentally even graze a student with my hand for fear of one of them crying fowl."

He had a point. His situation was much tougher than mine. Granted, I'm not a good looking guy like Jim. I'm certain the female student body almost looks at me with a tinge of disgust, knowing that maybe I am a slight cretin appreciating them from a distance. My chances to get close to a supple young student are slim-to-none, or so I've always thought. I didn't know that this year, those odds would be tested.