English Composition

Milo wrote the paper and had to edit the hell out of it. He had way too much information. He put it together in chronological order as best he could and dropped as many names as he could to blow Teresa's mind. The first half of the paper was innocent and wholesome but he slowly built it up to the good stuff: boyfriends, wet t-shirts and her affair with her teacher and their marriage.

He suddenly felt encouraged and closer to Teresa than he'd felt before. They had something special in common. Years before she had felt an attraction to her teacher and had acted upon it, the same kind of feelings he now had for her. She had to relate, right? And does she know that at his college thirty miles away, her husband is still at it?

Milo stopped thinking of Teresa as being just his foxy teacher. Now she was his Inamorata-to-be.

--

Milo was proud of his biographical essay. He worked hours on it, honing it, double-checking all the facts. He wrapped a slick folder around it. When he handed it in to Teresa he told her how hard he had worked on it and he thought she would like it. 'I look forward to reading it', she'd said. Milo wished he could be a fly on the wall when she did. The thought made him semi-hard.

The following night Teresa sat down to read and grade the papers. She decided to read Milo's first and was shocked as soon as she opened the cover and saw the title: 'The Good Life of Teresa, English Teacher'. Her jaw hung open in awe as she read on.

She must have said 'Oh My God' to herself twenty times as she read. It was right on the money, accurate as hell, she thought. But how did he do it? Old friends, lovers, good and bad. Quotes from her high school yearbook. Her senior prom. Things she'd had published. The tattoo on her ass. And things she'd tried to forget, among them her wet t-shirt adventure, her affair with Henry and her out-of-wedlock pregnancy. She was softly crying as she finished reading it, angry and miffed and flattered and impressed all at the same time. She felt violated somehow, like Milo had driven a microscope into her soul. She read it again and realized she was sweating. She read no more papers that night.

--

In class the next week Teresa gave Milo a stern look and a shake of her head when she handed his paper back to him. He felt a brief chill before he opened the folder. There was a big A written at the top of page one. Just below it her comments read: Well-written and accurate (too accurate!). But you could have found a better subject.

Teresa hardly looked his way throughout the whole period as the class read through and discussed several of the students' papers. His was not chosen for review. Milo stared at her crotch and played with himself for fifty minutes. His dick was half-turgid at the end of class. He hoped she didn't notice when he stopped to speak to her on his way out of the classroom.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked timidly.

Teresa's lips coiled into a smile. "No, I'm not mad at you, Milo. But I was surprised. I gave you an A because of the accuracy and the good writing. But I didn't find it very interesting. I felt like I was being psychoanalyzed."

"I'm sorry to hear that. You said you wanted passion so I chose a subject I'm passionate about. I'll try to do better on the next one." He turned to walk away.

"I gave you an A, Milo. You can't do better than that. I'm just a little embarrassed, can you understand that?"

"Yes, I guess so. But you shouldn't be. It's a hell of a story. I found it mesmerizing."

Teresa laughed. "Well, I'm happy for you. But please don't pass it around, okay? It could make things a bit awkward, you know?"

"I wouldn't do that. It's between us. You motivate me, what can I say?"

"Milo, do you remember my sister Melanie? You met her at the hospital."

"Of course."

"After you left my room that day she said she thought you had a crush on me. You don't have a crush on me do you, Milo?"

"A crush? Hell, I'm way past crush."

He smiled at her and gave a slight, helpless shrug. He left her with a muddled look on her face.

--

Milo was pleased when he went to the next class. He saw forced smiles instead of stern looks. And

when he learned of the next assignment he got a tingle in his crotch and couldn't wait to get started.

The assignment was to write an essay defining an abstract word or term; a word or term that could be used and interpreted in multiple ways. Milo was excited and knew instantly what abstract term he would write about: The word LOVE.

That night he sat down and began to write and the words flowed out of him and through his fingers. It was stream-of-consciousness, automatic, effortless. Another A, he knew it.

--

Teresa had plodded through a few essays covering the terms beauty, integrity (2), stupidity, blackness, contentment and courage before she came to Milo's. It was titled simply, 'Love'. She thought it was perfect, so simple, a word we all use everyday in so many ways. She was half-excited and half-afraid as she began reading.

It was well-written as usual. She was impressed by the number of interpretations and examples of usage Milo had come up with. The essay flowed easily from the very first paragraph and related how casually the word is used in daily life. People say I love your sweater, or I love your hair. A child says he loves macaroni and cheese. His sister says she loves her teen idol. The high school quarterback says he loves the hot cheerleader as he undresses her and lowers her onto the back seat of his car. And of course in the game of tennis the word love means nothing; a big Zero.

Then the writing segued into a more serious tone. Love in one's family and how it can differ: Loving parents, children, siblings. The love in marriage and the love of God. It was all poignant and thought-provoking and had Teresa engrossed and on the edge of her chair. But it was the conclusion that left her again moved by this young man's writing and trembling at the same time.

Milo had summarized that love was what anybody wanted it to be, after all, it was just a word. Love is different for everyone. Then he described what love could be. As Teresa read the conclusion sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip and goose pimples rose on her arms. She read:

Love could be this college student sitting in the back of the classroom, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, admiring and listening to his instructor, his mentor, a beautiful, sexy woman a few years older, fondling his cock, hard between his legs beneath the desktop. And love could be the sick, sour ache he feels in his gut because he knows that even though they would make magic together he can't be with her because he is her student and she belongs to somebody else.

Teresa put the paper down and took a deep breath. Milo had written another strong paper worthy of an A. But was he getting dangerously close to going over the line? She knew that what she had just read was not only a very good essay nailing the assignment. It was a love letter.

She had to admit she was flattered. And Milo was attractive. There was the age difference of course but she couldn't help but wonder how she would respond if she wasn't married. And did he really get hard in her class? She'd have to watch closely the next time class was over and he got up to leave.

--

It was Thursday afternoon and Milo was hanging around the English Department building because he knew Teresa held office hours and he thought he might drop in, though he didn't. But he caught a glimpse of her as she left the building and decided to follow her. At a safe distance he watched as she walked to the bookstore and went in, so he waited a moment or two before he entered. He found her browsing in the Philosophy section. He kept an eye on her from True Crime.

After a while she made a purchase and then walked over to the cafe next door. It was a cozy place that sold coffees and teas and beer and wine and sandwiches, and was popular with the campus intelligentsia. Milo watched as Teresa went to the counter and bought a glass of white wine and took it to a small table in the corner. She sat alone, sipped her drink and opened her new book.

Milo watched her for a few minutes as she read her book and he tried to summon the nerve to approach her table. She received a phone call and had an animated conversation for a few minutes and put a huge dent in her drink as she conversed. He bought a bottle of ale and a glass of white wine and waited until she ended her call. He took a gulp for courage and walked over to her table.

Teresa was reopening her book when Milo placed the fresh glass of wine in front of her. She was jolted at first but as soon as she looked up she smiled. She'd been thinking about him. His writing was alluring. And she couldn't help but appreciate his slim, athletic build, his broad shoulders, his handsome face, and his subtle ways.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Milo asked, voice cracking.

"Not at all, please do."

He sat across from her and took a nervous sip of his ale.

"So Milo, what brings you in here? Just a coincidence? Or are you following me?"

"Uh, maybe a planned coincidence."

"I see. No ulterior motives?"

"Just trying to open your mind," he said. "Did you read my essay?"

"I did."

"What did you think?"

"I see another A. It was well-written and well-thought-out. Very observant. I thought the ending was a bit risque, maybe even over-the-line, but I didn't penalize you for it."

"You always say to write with passion and write the truth. That's what I did."

"I know you did, but there are limits, Milo," she said, and took the first sip of her second glass of wine. She smiled again and said, "You should have left that last part out. Now I might have to have a mini-camera installed under your desktop."

"It better have a wide-angle lens," he said with a shit-eating grin.

Teresa burst out laughing and almost knocked her wineglass over. She shook with funny quivers for thirty seconds as she tried to stop laughing. Milo just grinned at her.

"Well, it's nice to see you're modest," she said when she finally recomposed herself.

"Nah, I just like to hear you laugh. I "love" the sound of your laugh...although that's one I didn't include in my essay."

Teresa sighed and her shoulders sagged the slightest bit. Her eyes were looking directly into his. Milo put his hand on hers. He suddenly realized that this was the first time they'd touched.

"Come to my apartment," he said. "It's not far from here."

Teresa pulled her hand away. "I can't go to your apartment, Milo. It's inappropriate. I'm your teacher and you're my student."

"But you did it!"

"It was wrong."

"So I'll quit school."

"You will not! Besides, I'm married."

Milo sat back in his chair. "Yeah, you're married to a rat who cheats on you with his students. If he can do it why can't you?" he said, and took a mammoth swig of beer.

Teresa's pissed-off eyes burned into his. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Teresa, I shouldn't have said that. That was not cool."

"What do you know? Are you snooping around in my private life?"

"No. It's just... When I was researching for my biographical essay about you I found out some things. I'm sorry I told you."

Teresa was suddenly miles away, Milo could see it in her face. This meeting was over.

"No, I'm glad you did," she said. "But I hope you're wrong." She gathered up her things and rose from the table. "I have to go."

He watched her strut out of the place with a fiery bounce in her step.

--

Milo felt bad about what he had said to Teresa so he bought a blank 'Sorry' greeting card and wrote her a short note.

At the next class Teresa seemed to be all business. They spent most of the time reviewing student essays about abstract terms, including his, although Teresa had cut out the ending. When the class discussed his paper they again were saying, 'I think she meant this, or I think she meant that' and Teresa glanced at him a couple times. Milo figured it must have been the part about the quarterback saying he loved the cheerleader while he was trying to screw her that gave them the idea.

The last few minutes of class Teresa devoted to explaining the next assignment: A How-to essay. The purpose of the paper was to explain in detail how to do something that you enjoy or are very good at. It can be playing a sport or a musical instrument, or building a deck or tuning up your car. Be specific. Convince the reader that you are confident and know what you are doing.

When class ended Milo didn't linger. He handed the apology card to Teresa and smiled but she had a sad look in her eyes. Neither said anything and he went on his way.

As Milo walked across campus he thought about the assignment and was already excited and raring to go. He knew what he was going to write, and he knew it was risky. But he would write it anyway. Even if it got him kicked out of school.

--

Milo wrote it all that same night, sitting up in bed with his laptop on a pillow on his lap. He worked on it very late into the night. By the time he nodded off at a little after three a.m. he had been writing for eight hours and his only breaks had been to get a beer, take a piss or jerk off.

He felt good when he went back to the class two days later. When he turned in his paper to Teresa he dropped it on the desk in front of her.

"My masterpiece," he said, and gave her a shy smirk.

--

Teresa had become quite distracted after her encounter with Milo at the cafe, partly because he had come on to her-that didn't really bother her as much as flatter her, even though it was inappropriate-but mostly because of what he'd told her about her husband. Was Henry cheating on her? She had become suspicious and had been watching for signs. He certainly had the opportunity if he so desired. She was sitting at her desk reading papers and it was early evening but Henry wasn't home yet.

It was with this feeling of trepidation that she opened Milo's folder. Simply reading the title put a lump in her throat and a brick in her stomach: ZEN AND THE ART OF MAKING LOVE TO MY ENGLISH TEACHER.

"Fuck," she said to herself.

She broke into a light sweat, anxious to read it and dreading it at the same time. She took a deep breath, turned the page and started reading.

Her name is Teresa. She liked me, I could tell, but there were problems. She was my teacher, was older, and was married with a child. But she got over that. I had made love to her in my mind a hundred times by the time we first kissed. So when it finally happened it was beautiful, natural, without hesitation. Two lovers making up for lost time.

Teresa read, and absorbed it all as if in a trance: what her breast felt like in his hand and what her tongue felt like in his mouth. And how hard he was as he helped her out of her blue and white sundress and let it fall to the floor and then all she was wearing was a red thong. She'd worn that dress to class! And the red thong! How did he know? Then she was sitting on the bed unzipping his jeans as he yanked his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside. He wore no underwear and as she pushed down his pants she saw his cock for the first time. Long and hard, cut and shaven. She closed her eyes and pictured it.

She lay back on the bed and I again kissed her mouth and her lips parted for me and sucked in my tongue. I fingered and thumbed her nipples which were already enlarged and hard as nuggets. Then I kissed her all over: her face, her hair, her ears, her shoulders. She wore her favorite gold chain and I traced my tongue along the length of it around the sides of her neck.

'Jesus', she thought to herself as she fondled the chain, 'This kid doesn't miss a trick'. The skin on her neck felt clammy to her touch.

She got up to get a glass of water and stood at the kitchen sink for a moment staring out the window at nothing. Then she sat down and resumed reading. He licked and kissed his way down her body, sucked her tits, licked her navel, kissed her legs and feet and started working his way back up. Then he described how her body responded when he slipped his tongue inside her.

Teresa's spit sizzled through her teeth like a hot griddle and her groin bucked from side to side when I jabbed my tongue into her tasty, open twat. Her clit was swollen like a stuffed pepper, begging me to suck it. So I took it into my mouth and she sighed with delight as I tightened my jaw around it, and her fingers were in my hair pulling my head assertively into her hungry crotch.

Teresa realized she was touching herself down there and she was wet. She kept reading about how she came in his face, and then he mounted her and she grabbed his cock and fed it into her pussy herself, and he fucked her, dumping a massive load of his semen inside of her. And how they held each other for a long time, kissing, touching. He spooned her from behind with one hand on her breast and one hand on her cooch. He kissed the back of her neck and then kissed his way down her back to her ass where he ran his tongue along her crack and kissed the butterfly tattoo on her right butt. He worked his way back up her back into the spoon position and she could feel his cock hard against her ass. She turned toward him and they kissed some more and then she moved down. The paper ended when she took Milo's cock into her mouth.

With that image in her mind, Teresa closed the folder and sat back in her chair, and her body shivered. She came, and her cum flowed out of her, soaking her panties and jeans.

--

As she was changing clothes and cleaning herself up, Teresa couldn't help but feel like she had cheated on her husband. Even though it was all a product of Milo's imagination, and no matter where the kid was tonight or what he was doing, he had given her an orgasm. Or at least his words had.

She called her sister and asked her if they could meet the next day for a little while. She needed to talk. Melanie could tell by the tone of Teresa's voice that it was important, so she said of course they could. They arranged it for the following afternoon.

Just as they ended the call her husband came in through the front door. They said their Hellos and Henry gave Teresa a cursory peck on the lips.

"Work late again?" she asked.

"Yeah, doing more research," he said tiredly.

Research, Teresa thought. He's always doing research for some article he's writing. Even though precious few of them ever seemed to get published.

"Ah," she said, watching him closely. "You wouldn't be having an affair with one of your students, would you?"

She noticed a slight hitch in his movement, and then he tried to laugh it off. He said no way, of course not, that's crazy, who's got time, I'm too old for that, who needs the aggravation?, and went into their bedroom to change.

But Teresa knew he was lying. She knew Henry well, and if her question had been outlandish he would have been defensive and offended and adamant and would have lashed back at her, saying how dare you ask me that. But instead he blew her off with a lazy denial. She knew in her heart that Milo had been right.

--

Late the next afternoon Teresa and Melanie met for a drink at a neighborhood bistro. The place was practically empty since lunch was long over and dinner was still an hour or so away. They found a table in the back for maximum privacy. They started off with small talk.

"How's my favorite niece doing?" Melanie asked.

Teresa said her daughter was doing fine. She was getting good grades in school and was at dance class and wouldn't be home till later. She asked how Melanie's daughter was doing.

"Oh, Lisa is doing well. She's not-quite-sixteen going on thirty. She's already bugging me about a car. Has boys climbing all over her."

A waitress brought a carafe of wine to their table and poured two glasses. Then they got down to business.