How To Be a Good Mentor

I gulped. Lucy was short, but perfectly proportional; her legs were beautifully formed, launching from her scandalous skirt to make a shapely bridge to my desktop. Slouched down in the seat as she was, the hem of the skirt was well up onto the curve of her ass; there was an awful lot of skin on display there, even by Lucy's standards. No folds or wrinkles marred her belly, the tits above on proud display in the low-cut top I'd noticed that morning. Topping it all off was a deceptively sweet face with an innocent grin and, of course, freckles that matched her carrot-colored hair. Two braided pigtails sprouted above her ears.

"Out of my seat, Lucy." I was in the mood to be brusque with her, even though nobody else was in the room yet; the boys were generally tardy, and the other girl, a skinny little thing with green eyes, wasn't exactly careful about her overall attendance. "I've told you not to sit back there."

"Ooh." Her made-up lips made a little O that she obviously knew was fetching. "So sorry, Mr Dole. I get so forgetful around you." One leg came down to plant her worn leather sandal on the floor, in the process treating me to a nice long view of the powder-blue panties she had on. Lace. I swallowed and looked sharply away as she laughed merrily. "I'll move."

I heard the dry slap of her sandals as they crossed the room, joined now by the shuffle of the rest of the class as they filed in. I wondered whether I should even sit in my chair; it seemed indecent. Half her ass had just been planted there, undoubtedly bare; Lucy was the sort of girl who'd wear thongs everywhere. So instead I hitched my butt onto the desktop, greeting the kids as they came in; a long, dry hour stretched ahead of me.

This was, after all, my life. I managed a warehouse, essentially, for students the administration could find no other place for. Most were decent kids, but they'd all fallen through the cracks of the educational system at some stage. Some had real learning disabilities, some not. Some were motivated, some not; some could be made to work on their schoolwork with me. Some?

Well, suffice it to say I generally spent my classes prodding kids to stop playing games on their school-issued laptops. This was a losing battle, but it was certainly better than dealing with Lucy and her overheated body. There was nothing for it, though; she trailed me like a loyal spaniel, sauntering along in my shadow no matter how many times I told her to sit down and get to work. "I was sitting down," she whined at one point, letting me see her eyes flicker over toward my chair. "You told me to get up. Now you're telling me to sit down." Those eyes narrowed beneath her plucked brows. "Do I fluster you or something?"

I just gaped; it was a completely unexpected word, coming from such an idiot-child. Perhaps she wasn't as big a dummy as she seemed. "Do you... no, Lucy. No. You don't fluster me. Uh, how do you know that word?" It was a stupid, senseless, patronizing thing to say, but I wasn't thinking straight. She did fluster me. She was completely sexy, and her hair smelled like watermelon; the effect was totally intoxicating. Shannon had told me to ignore her and she'd go away, but Shannon was an idiot.

And now she rolled her eyes, blue like the sky, and scoffed at me. "I'm not a moron, Mr Dole."

"Of course not," I came back faintly, but by then Jason and Chad were yelling at each other over in the corner, and I had to get over there and make sure they weren't doing anything worth yelling about. Sometimes, my kids just needed to let off steam.

I ran into Shannon again as I trudged toward the parking lot at the end of the day, having finally shaken loose from the worst of my little needlings, the weirdo kids who had nothing better to do after the bell rang but hang around with teachers. I shuddered at the thought; it would never have occurred to me when I was a student. I'd been a geek, but I hadn't been homeless. I sighed heavily as I fell in beside her. She heard.

"Rough class?" Her smile was what it had always been, like a little burst of caffeine on a drab day.

"Lucy Marsh." I kicked at a pebble. "No improvement."

"Jesus, Dave," she sighed, putting a companionable arm around me. "There's no point blahblahblahblah," because of course she was touching me, and there was no way I'd be able to focus on anything else. She stroked up and down my back, my dress shirt slippery underneath her fingers. "Right?"

"Uh, right." The arm went away, my brain reengaged, and I wondered what she'd ended up saying. "I'll just wait and see what happens."

"Atta boy!" This time she punched me, painfully, in the upper shoulder. "I'm off to go work out. You should get out to a gym, Dave; not that you need it, of course." I was as skinny as a pencil, my metabolism not yet elderly. "But the endorphins are nice."

"No doubt." I was not an exerciser. We were in among the cars now. "See you tomorrow, Shannon."

"Chin up, kiddo." And then she winked at me, goddamn it. I nearly whimpered in frustration as I reached my car.

* * *

Always a dedicated and accomplished masturbator, I indulged myself shamelessly that night.

It was getting to be too much; I was currently between girlfriends, and had gone some six weeks without so much as a kiss, let alone any of the kind of action a healthy 24-year-old male ought to be getting. Now I was dealing with the sex-crazed Lucy while, unknowingly, Shannon was dealing with the sex-crazed me; too much. So I got started in the shower, squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into my hand and moving on to a quick, reliable fantasy about a girl coming in with me. To save water, ostensibly.

But this time the girl was Lucy, with water dribbling free from her oversized tits, and in my mind she took me in her mouth beneath the running water and blew me powerfully; in reality, I plastered the tiled wall of my apartment bathroom.

Then, later, it was off to bed after a lackluster night watching hockey and eating microwaved burritos, and then it was Shannon's turn. In high school I'd pictured her as a voluptuous, generous lover, having soft-focus sex in a basic-cable environment of restrained passion; nowadays, her lean body more powerful and her mouth far saucier than I'd ever imagined, I saw her more as a sexual monster, a crafty and challenging woman who'd like it, say, bent over a table and getting spanked.

So in that fantasy I let her ride me, her full tight breasts making regular circles in my mind's eye while she swore at me until I blasted my cum all across my stomach, almost up to my neck. The experience left me panting, the second powerful orgasm in three hours.

And that didn't even count my dreams.

* * *

I'm not sure whether Lucy was waiting for me, exactly, as I came into the building a week or so later; she was there, though, passing through the metal detector at the exact same time I was. I tried not to stare; it was a pair of shorts today, which looked more like a pair of underwear made to look like shorts. They were short enough that the bottoms of her asscheeks stuck clearly out like little fingernail slivers at the top of her legs. "Good morning, Mr Dole!" Again, that innocent smile beneath calculating eyes.

I forced a nod. "Hi, Lucy." In a most unwelcome way, my penis was responding to her body; I felt a faint twinge down there. She had on a button-down flannel long enough to reach the bottoms of her shorts; from behind, it looked like she was wearing nothing but the shirt. I waved halfheartedly as I eased through the machine. As usual, my belt buckle set the thing off; Lucy stood there and laughed as the cop wanded my groin, then came mincing through the machine with a wink.

"What'd they find in there?" she grinned, moving alongside me as we passed the office.

"Nothing, Lucy." She snorted.

"I doubt that," she purred. "I'll bet you're hiding something in there. Hey, so Valentine's is coming up; should I wait until then to give you your card, or do you want it now?" She was gazing up at me as we walked, and it was hard not to feel pretty good; guys like me get little attention from hot females. My old high school girlfriend had told me scores of times that I was sexy, but I'd never really bought it. It always seemed like the sort of thing a girlfriend ought to say, regardless of its truth. Certainly my subsequent girlfriends had pointedly refrained.

"Not appropriate, Lucy," I sighed. It was becoming my stock response to her. She giggled.

"Calm down, Mr Dole; I'm giving them to all my teachers." We walked in silence after that, passing the inevitable knots of people that tend to tie up predictable spots in high school hallways. At one point we had to swerve to avoid a pack of cheerleaders; as we hit the narrow gap, Lucy squeezed her luscious body as firmly against mine as if we were bear-hugging, calmly turning sideways as she did so; warm teenage breasts smashed against my arm as the front of her shorts touched my hip lightly. "Excuse me," she breathed up toward my ear, the watermelon smell a cloud around me; and then we were through, Lucy strolling off as though nothing had happened. "See you in class, Mr Dole!"

"Uh, yeah." I had first period off today, and was seriously wondering just how wrong it would be to shut my classroom door, flick the lights off, and whack off in the corner by the bookshelf; her retreating thighs tempted me even as they moved away. The day would be a long one. I adjusted myself in my khakis as surreptitiously as I could, then rejoined the flow of drifting students to head back to my classroom.

A hectic morning brought a welcome break for lunch, and I took my seat with one of those exhausted sighs that seemed to be a major part of my life these days. Across the table Shannon was gabbing with her cronies, my old guidance counselor Audrey Temple and Gina Torrey, the foulmouthed math teacher who'd gotten hired after I graduated. She was a slight little thing, almost small enough to fold up and stuff into a suitcase, and if I'm telling the truth I didn't think she looked all that attractive; in fairness, I'm more into curves and less into bad skin, both of which counted against Gina. Still, to hear her tell it, she was spending a lot of time fighting off interested men.

"How'd it go with that guy from the Japanese restaurant?" Audrey was asking as I started to eavesdrop. They seldom seemed to notice me, or if they did, they certainly didn't let it get in the way of their usual topic of conversation: penises. Gina popped a Dorito into her mouth.

"The waiter, or the guy at the bar?"

"Both." Audrey laughed. "Either."

"Well," Gina drawled, sitting back to put her tiny feet up, "the bar guy came home with me, but he couldn't get it done."

"Really." Audrey frowned. "The big guy? With all the hair?" She shook her head. "It's never the ones you'd expect, I guess."

"I know, right? The guy looked like a mountain man; I figured he'd fuck like Davey Crockett. But no. I let him get my clothes off, and then he got all bashful and shit, slinging poetry and trembling. I'm sitting there naked, wondering when he's going to get that hairy dick out, when it occurs to me he's not trying to turn me on. He's trying to turn himself on." She shrugged. "I kicked him out pretty quick, I'll tell you."

"You didn't even try to get him to go down?" Shannon asked mildly, grading papers.

"Shit no. That beard would have gotten me all itchy." Gina arched an eyebrow at Shannon. "Don't you have that problem? Leon's got a beard." I focused intently on my sandwich; the sex habits of Gina Torrey did not interest me, but those of Shannon Boyle did. I hoped I wasn't blushing.

"Yeah, but it's just a short one. He does just fine down there." Gina giggled knowingly. "That guy at the bar looked more like Santa Claus."

"Right. And Santa don't go down," Audrey crowed. "I think they would have mentioned it in one of those Christmas songs, if he did."

"Damn! Can you imagine?" Gina crumpled her empty chip bag noisily. "Big fat bearded dude coming down the chimney headfirst? Me just lying there in the fireplace with my underwear off?" There was a long pause while everyone chewed.

"No, actually," Shannon said at last. "I can't say that sounds appealing."

"Not really my thing, either." Audrey was getting her trash together. Gina looked from one to the other.

"Well, fuck you both, then," she snapped cheerfully. Then she turned back to Audrey with a wicked grin. "I'll tell you though, bitch," she gloated, "that little Japanese waiter was a better bet." She winked. "Ever fucked an Asian guy?"

"No." Audrey was married to a guy named Andy, I think. "My bed is not Epcot, Gina."

"Well," the math teacher said with some relish, "if that waiter was any indication, there's a reason the Asian birthrate is skyrocketing." Gina was married too, I thought, but none of her stories ever gave any indication she worried too much about her husband. None of my business, anyway. "He was just the right size. Not much taller than me, nice skinny little dick." She made a face. "Tasted a little weird, though, but to be fair he'd just come from work."

I tried not to make too much noise as I stood; Audrey and Gina never really paid attention to me, but Shannon gazed up at me as I got to my feet. She smiled her warm, indulgent smile at me. "Careful, girls," she called. "We're freaking out poor Dave."

"No," I protested, glancing over at Gina. She had her lips pursed, looking calmly at the front of my pants. "I'm just done with lunch."

Shannon frowned briefly at me. "Doing okay? Anything new with that one kid we were talking about?" Even in the lunchroom, we were supposed to be confidential in the mentorship program. Gina and Audrey traded a sneaky look.

"What kid?" Audrey put in quickly. Shannon shook her head.

"No thank you, Guidance Counselor," she smiled. "It's mentor-mentee privilege. Dave and I were talking about one of his little lost lambs in class."

"Lambs. Right." I gave a lopsided grin. "If the lambs are lying, foul little jerks who are just out to make my life miserable."

"Poor dear little man," Gina murmured, her eyelids coming down like window shades. "She was my mentor a couple years ago, David. You can tell me all about it." Oh dear lord. Was every female in this building out to get me?

"Stop that." Shannon gave Gina a playful punch on the arm. "I'll swing by and see what's going on later, Dave. Take it easy."

"Bye, hon!" Audrey sang. I could feel Gina's eyes on my ass as I drifted out of the room with womanly giggles floating after me.

* * *

Shannon came by the next day after school, her heels chopping against the floor tile in a way that screamed "teacher." She stuck her head into my room and took in the clutter with a single searching glance. "Want to go get a coffee? We can figure out your large-breasted problem."

I snorted. "It's going to take something stronger than coffee." Goddamn Lucy had been her usual self again, equal parts sass and ass. She was even starting to corrupt wispy little Elizabeth Sheely in the corner; I'd caught that one doodling penises on the corner of her physics notebook, her green eyes intent. "Damn woman is killing me."

"Relax. Come out with me and take a load off. We can walk to the B&T; the weather's great." Truth, that; early February wasn't usually so warm there, and a walk to Harborside Book and Tea would be nice.

We probably looked like a couple as we walked, and a decent-looking one at that: me with artful stubble, expensive glasses frames, and fashionable shoes, slouching moodily along like any good hipster; she, athletic and vivacious, light on her feet and dressed like a sales rep or a real-estate agent, a skirt giving out just above her knee with a pair of supple boots underneath; dark stockings in between. There was an easy, smooth taper to her body from the hips down, her ass particularly prominent in the black skirt. Shannon was wearing a simple white blouse today, the top two buttons undone to show a hint of cleavage and the firm skin beneath her neck. She was always sparing with her makeup, letting the freckles shine out.

It had always been her face that did it for me back in high school, truthfully. There was nothing at all wrong with the rest of her either, but unlike most adolescent boys I hadn't stopped examining females after I mentally measured their chest. It was not a classically gorgeous face: rounded, the nose small and pointy, her eyes very dark beneath long lashes. It was those eyes that I'd always found most interesting. They sparkled with lively interest, the lids rising and falling expressively. Her mouth was wide to match her round face, and as we took our seats at the little table in the back of the B&T I couldn't quite believe I was sitting across from her, alone.

It felt like a date.

"It's still Lucy, isn't it?" She shook her head in sympathy after mousy little Brittany ran off with our order. Her eyes rolled. "What a little bitch." We'd asked for the back table so that we could gossip, but she was still careful to keep her voice down. "Has she tried to screw you yet?"

"Yet?" I laughed, shrugged, and toyed with the napkin. "No, but she's getting bolder and bolder. I'm curious whether she's doing this to any of her other teachers, or whether it's just me. Like, that she's preying on me due to my inexperience."

"Stop it." She laid a hand briskly on my arm, and I took an involuntary breath. She was just being nice, but still. "She's a sleazy little whore with a daddy complex who needs to get herself under control. This is not about you." She kept her hand there, but she hesitated before she moved on. "You've always been super-nice, is all. So she thinks she can take advantage of you. Been there, done that."

True. When she'd started, Shannon had been renowned for her kindness. It had taken her awhile to learn to be a bitch on command. "What's the worst thing a kid ever did to you? Other than that mysterious valentine, I mean."

"Let's see." Her eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder, out the front window. Her full lips compressed into a little line, and then she nodded. "Right. So, it was a year or two after you graduated. There was this kid, you might remember him: Paul Sanchez?"

"Yeah." Nice kid, but kind of a dick. "I knew his brother Mike."

"So he was in my lower level junior class? Modern World? It's everything from the Enlightenment to this morning, so it moves fast. He was a shitty student. Smart, but lazy; he never did his work. His parents sent him in once for a before-school powwow.

"I sat him down and yelled at him, but he just sat there like a fucking lump. I could tell I wasn't getting through to him. And then I realized he was staring at my chest the entire time I was talking to him. 'Hey!' I said. 'Eyes up here, shitbag.'"

"Wait. You called him a shitbag?"

"As soon as I said it, I realized I shouldn't have. We just stared at each other with our mouths open. I mean, you know now what a filthy mouth I have, but when you were my student, did you think I talked like that?"

"Of course not." Any thought of her talking dirty back then would have made me cum instantaneously.

"Right? So I sort of laughed nervously, and he just slouched down lower and moved his eyes up to mine, real slow-like. And he smiled his weaselly little smile, and I knew I was in deep shit." Brittany scuttled up with our drinks, mine a fluffy concoction of caramel and whipped cream, hers just a tall glass of Earl Grey with honey. I felt like a pussy and stirred the whipped cream into the drink as quickly as I could. "The problem was," she said, very low, as she watched me stir, "Paul was not a particularly ugly kid. He, uhh, got around. Know what I mean?"

"Sure." Mike had had two kids by the time he was twenty, by two different classmates. So it must run in the family. "He was your Lucy."