I've Always Been a Nurturer...

"Oh!" He did smile at that, a quick one. "God. No way. You're not, at all."

"Thank you!" I beamed, my last couple of books finding their way into the stack on the table, and as soon as I glanced away at them it happened: a quick motion out of the corner of my eye showed me Jared moving, his hand digging swiftly between his strong thighs as he sat on the couch. I felt that same little thrill I'd been feeling for days now. "So, yeah. Sort of a compliment. You shouldn't feel ashamed, because I don't feel offended."

"Really?" He'd stopped touching himself, I could see. He'd tried for one of those quick, nonchalant adjustments men always think women don't notice. I gave him a few more moments, messing with my books, him thinking I hadn't seen it. "Wow. That's amazing. I guess I always assumed girls would be, like, grossed out."

"That's girls, Jared," I sniffed, unable to keep the smug judgment out of my voice, "not women. That's one of the main differences. We like being admired. We don't think you have cooties." I laughed, that simple carefree laugh I'd always been able to summon, the one that tended to put people at ease. I half-turned on the couch, hiking my leg up onto the cushion and curling it under my butt. "I'm telling you. It's not a problem. You just be yourself, honey."

"Yeah?" He reflected for a moment, then his Adam's apple bobbed again. "Well. Thanks."

"For what?" I blinked.

"Well I need to, like, adjust myself. It's kind of hard like this, sitting on the couch." He took a deep breath, then sent his hand burrowing up under his tanktop and down the top of his underwear, digging. I chuckled.

"That's a pun." I winked, knowing it was a bad idea. "'Kind of hard like this?' A double-entendre. Do you know what those are?"

"Yeah. Ms Bishop taught us about those in English." He pulled his hand back out and settled more comfortably into the couch cushions. "Metaphors. Stuff like that." He leaned back at last, and I made my eyes stay on his face.

"Ms Bishop," I mused. She was a friend of mine, taller and skinnier. "Does she cause the same... um, reaction that I do?" I asked it lightly, with a smile.

"Uh, well... sometimes," he confessed, and then we were both laughing on his couch. My water waited on its coaster, forgotten beside my equally-forgotten books as I settled myself more comfortably. Both my legs were up on the couch now, my arm across its high back. I was aware that I was displaying myself, and aware that it was a bad idea, and I didn't care. He smelled so good... "Like you said, Ms Norland, it's totally natural."

"It is." I nodded slowly, then waited again for his eyes to find my face before I lowered my eyes, slowly and deliberately, down past his bare arms and the side of his chest in the tanktop's oversized arm-holes, past those six-pack abs I remembered from that day in the locker room, now sadly hidden, and down to his lap. I stared, letting him see me do it. Letting my mouth mold itself into a sly smirk. "I thought you said you took care of that, Jared. Before I arrived." I knew I was already scarlet. "That you had it under control."

He waited to reply. I could almost read his mind, the wild hormones in his body. He wasn't going to speak until he could be sure to get it out smoothly, without his voice cracking. "I thought I did," he admitted. He sounded a little deeper than before, but quieter. More intense. "Maybe I don't."

Fuck! I looked down at myself, my shirt pulled tight over my left tit with my arm high up like that, the shorts creeping up my thighs... "I'm probably not helping, either," I mused, "since I'm apparently not an ugly hag." I'd stopped thinking much at that point, remembering that sweet strong young man standing there in the locker room... knowing that beautiful body wanted mine... His smell overpowered me.

"Fuck no, you're not," he breathed. It came out in a gush. I felt my lips tighten triumphantly.

"If you need to adjust yourself again, Jared, you should." I could hear the burr in my voice now, a dangerous huskiness. I knew what it meant, but again, I'd stopped thinking. I'd been like this before, sometimes, especially in college: there'd been guys I'd fucked just because I was horny and they were handy, without even seeing their dicks first. This time, it was so much more powerful, so inexpressibly naughty. "Feel free," I added. I wasn't smiling anymore.

He nodded like a bobble-head, eyes wide on my chest, his hand moving on autopilot back under his tanktop, burrowing once again into his bright red undies. I willed it there. I wanted him to cum again, and I knew he would. This time, I wanted him to do it willingly, and it was important to me that he knew I wanted that. Craved it. "That's it," I cooed, joining him in his nod as his hand pushed deep. I could feel my nipple pressing hard against my bra; if my shirt had been white, he'd have been able to see it clearly.

Next time, I promised myself vaguely, I'd wear white.

I looked greedily down at his lap, hiding nothing anymore, my eyes on his fingers as they curved deep down underneath those beautiful balls of his, freeing them. His eyes remained riveted to my tit, and it occurred to me that I should probably take my shirt off, give the kid something to look at... but lord, what a line that would be to cross!

I laughed at myself. Like there was a line, anymore.

So I hooked the hem of my shirt, easing it up, saying nothing as we watched each other. I don't have the world's flattest belly, but I didn't care; in the moment, I wanted to show myself to him, to justify what he had shown me, even unintentionally, in that locker room. To give him something he could think about and masturbate to for years, like I would be masturbating for him.

I loved that we didn't even need to talk.

He was jacking himself more openly now, his hand in long steady strokes inside his underwear, legs opening. I got a sudden urge to join him, to unzip my shorts and shove my hand down inside them and plunge two or three fingers deep inside me, to let him see my pussy-drool when I pulled them out and licked them off. My hand across the back of the couch dipped down, along the cushion there, until my fingers found his shoulder. I could feel the muscles there in smooth motion as his distant fingers groped himself.

My shirt rose up my stomach, his eyes staring greedily, then up and over the great firm mound of my left breast, the one closest to him. I could feel the shirt stretch along my whole right side. His eyes grew wide and somehow feral when he saw my pale, full tit in the navy-blue bra I'd stuffed it into that morning. I knew he could certainly see my nipple now, circled by wide areola gone dark and hard with my lust, all of it caged by blue lace.

His shoulder was hot and smooth beneath my fingers; I was idly stroking the skin there, and I hadn't even thought about doing it. I leaned up off the couch, pulling my shirt higher, an invitation: he was looking. He could touch, if he wanted to. I was way, way past the point of caring about much of anything to do with school, or propriety, or my job, or whatever. We were just two people here, alone, doing what came naturally, and it felt so good.

One more time, I saw that Adam's apple bob, and I was just about to nod at him, maybe even lean in to breathe his body in when his dick erupted, the two of us closed now in a bubble of lust quivering, growing, waiting to pop, when suddenly we heard a loud noise from outside.

A pickup truck door, slamming closed.

"Oh my god!" I scrambled on the couch, shifting, hauling my shirt back down over my chest; Jared's hand whipped out of his underwear just in time as his dad opened the front door. He walked in to see me staring up at him from among my piled books, smiling crazily. "Hi there, Mr Meyer!"

"I forgot you were coming over today, uh, Ella." He looked tired. "Jared, thanks for mowing. I'm going to do some quick spreadsheet stuff in my room, then it's back out onto the jobsite later this afternoon." He nodded at us. "I'm glad Jared got you some water, Ella. Did you just get here? You're all flushed."

"Yeah, I was running late," I lied, my nipples still taut. My pussy shouted at me, craving relief. "I hurried in. Jared's been a great host, Mr Meyer."

"Awesome. Well, don't let me interrupt you," he nodded, heading for the back of the house in his heavy work boots.

Don't let me interrupt. If he only knew. We sat there on the couch, breathing deeply, staring at each other. And then Jared shrugged and pulled up his tanktop and I giggled, for he had another set of cumstained clothing to deal with.

* * *

I saw him in the hall the following Monday, as I did my bathroom duty, walking along with his friend Mikey Lee and his sports drink and his low-slung jeans. Seniors often ditched class informally, asking for the bathroom pass and then meeting up with their friends. We made eye contact, and I know I blushed. "Hi Ms Norland," he nodded.

"What's up, Jared?" I asked, and as the double-entendre struck home, we shared a small secret smile. I followed it up with a quick, cool glance at his crotch, but by that time he and Mikey were already on their way back to class, drifting down the hall in that lazy way students have when they're informally ditching class.

I looked down. Good thing I wasn't wearing white today, or Mikey Lee would have had something to tell his friends.

* * *

"They're not going to score," Brenda lamented.

"Sure they will." Bennett-Sanderson was on the fifteen yard line, driving against Glen Avery, and Jake sounded certain of himself. He and I were both new hires this year, him in the English department. In a world without Ben, his inferior penis, and his cats, Jake was a guy I might have my eye on. Even though he was married. "They'll get it to Jared Meyer. He'll score."

"I dunno." Brenda sighed and sipped at her Pepsi. "He's good. I don't know if he's that good." He wasn't either, running the ball in his grass-stained football pants straight into the teeth of the Glen Avery defense. "See?"

"He'll get the next one." Jake smiled at me, but I only had eyes for Jared's butt in those pants. "What do you think, Ella?"

"I don't know him," I blurted.

"What?"

"The Jared kid. I teach freshmen." I hoped I wasn't blushing yet.

"Yeah, but you have been watching the game, right? You do know that he might be able to run the ball, right?"

"He's a nice kid." Brenda was Ms Bishop, of the metaphors and the secret hard-ons. I wondered whether she guessed. "Bright."

"I don't know him," I repeated, leaning forward. The play was about to go, the tension rising on third down, and next thing I knew Jared was bouncing through three defenders and dragging a fourth, lurching over the goal line with the ball. The stands thrummed beneath my feet as the crowd went crazy, deliriously crazy, and I'm not sure I'd ever been so horny in my life. "Wow!"

"Right?" Jake beamed at me and traded a high-five with one of the students on his other side.

"Excuse me," I said quickly. "I'm off for a trip to the ladies' room. Anyone need anything from the snack bar?"

"Nah." Brenda was still working on her hot chocolate, which was just as well; I figured to be gone awhile. I wasn't peeing.

"I'll be back." The crowd buzzed around me, for Jared had just put Bennett-Sanderson up by five. I wended my way carefully among all the students and their cheery grown-ups, treading obliviously over spilled popcorn and stepping on peoples' blankets, for I had just one single-minded goal: the stalls in the womens' restrooms back by the fieldhouse.

Which were, thankfully, deserted. The fieldhouse had only been built last year, so the bathrooms were still nice and clean and functional... and, importantly, the stalls all had doors. I hip-checked the stall door open and practically dived inside, whipping my leggings down to my knees and pushing my thong down along with them. My bare ass was on the seat in moments, leaving me to marvel at how wet I'd gotten the lining in my underwear.

Nowhere near as bad as the soaking I'd had to put up with at Jared's house, with his dad puttering in the back bedroom and the son and I pretending to do history while the semen dried under his tanktop. But still pretty bad. I parted my thighs as much as I could, my eyes heavy, and within seconds I was sighing in relief with my fingers churning through my soupy pussy.

I wasn't going to last long. I'd need to bite my lip to keep from shrieking, though, I knew that much. I slid two fingers straight in, blunt, to spread my lips, and then I hooked them upward to stroke my g-spot while my palm put pressure on my burning clit. I was into it at once, already zoning out, my mind on Jared and his big sexy balls, when the outer door creaked open.

It didn't stop me. Nothing would have. But I definitely picked my head up and started paying close attention to myself. I could not get caught. I figured the school would take a fairly dim view of a teacher frigging herself in a public restroom during a football game. But there were definite footsteps out there now, the light feet of students in tennis shoes, two girlish voices talking.

"Fuck! I hate Lindsey!"

Ah. Students.

"She's always late on that last flip."

Cheerleaders.

"What a run, though." The second voice was sure, confident, and I started: I heard that voice every morning, doing the building announcements. Alyssa Maclean, the student body secretary. "Fucking Jared, man. He's so good."

"I know, right?" One pair of shoes stopped at the sink; if I peeked below my stall door, I could see them crossed casually as Alyssa leaned there calmly. Her friend plunked down on the toilet in the stall beside me, and I bit my lip harder. My fingers kept dancing. The voice came from right beside me now. "I might blow him tonight, after the game." Well. That pricked my ears up.

"Get in line." I heard a small, cute grunt, and then Alyssa's shoes were swinging under my door as she perched her butt up on the sink. "That run he just made might be the winning score. All the cheerleaders are probably going to want to blow him." She paused, and I heard the clack of her nails on her phone. "I'm not interested," she added distantly.

"No?" I heard the tinkle of the other girl's piss. My own fingers had slowed way down. "Why not?"

"Been there, done that." Alyssa sounded bored. "He and I hooked up at a party last summer, Meghan Gordon's eighteenth."

"Ooh!" The urine continued. "Meghan's such a bitch. Hooked up how? Did you go all the way?"

"I tried." Alyssa laughed softly. "Look, don't get me wrong; Jared's great. But he's just not... long-lasting. Never has been."

"Oof. Poor guy." The tinkle slowed. "That's weird. He's so hot. Does he just get awkward? Like, is he a virgin or something?"

"He is hot," Alyssa agreed, "and his dick is really awesome. He's just, you know, a nightmare from the stamina point of view. He's not a virgin, though. Remember Whitney Taylor, who graduated last year?"

"Yep." The toilet-paper dispenser trundled next door.

"She had him. Said he lasted about two and half thrusts. She didn't even come close to getting there."

"Yeah, well, if it was his first time..."

"Nah, he hasn't gotten much better." Alyssa sighed. "It's really unfortunate. That hookup I mentioned? At Meghan's? We were naked and everything, totally ready to go. He was on top of me, and let me tell you: I was fucking desperate. I mentioned how great his dick is, right?"

"Hell yeah." The other girl flushed.

"So I was wide open and wet as hell. I reached between us to, like, push him down? Toward my pussy? And the moment I touched him, he nutted."

"No shit!" She giggled. "He busted, like, on your tits?"

"No, just like all over my stomach. I wasn't into it." The other girl's giggle was rising to a chuckle. "It wasn't funny, Brittni. I was needing dick that night. And he's such a nice guy; I'd have totally let him cum in me. But?" She sighed as the other girl washed her hands. "C'est la vie, I guess."

"What's that mean?" Brittni asked, after a pause.

"I dunno. It's something my grandma always says." I heard the rattle of the paper-towel dispenser, then a creak as the outer door opened. "Anyway. Like I said, you're welcome to suck his dick as far as I'm concerned. But I can't imagine it'll last that long. Poor guy."

"I think I might. At least it'll be another senior. I'm keeping score, of course." Their laughter faded into the night.

The door closed.

And my fingers churned back to life. "Two pumps into Whitney Taylor," I muttered to myself, imaging what she'd felt, the power of that amazing penis pushing inside her for its first trip inside a pussy, and then I imagined that I was her, panting underneath him, and then my fingers were growing slicker and slicker as I sagged down on the toilet seat, my self-control evaporating into an orgasmic haze.

I reached my other hand out and stiff-armed the wall that had separated me from the peeing Brittni, biting hard on my lip, suppressing a gasping sigh of relief as my orgasm took me far away on a frothy pink haze, my whole body surging as if I was feeling my pulse beat in every part of it, centered on my trembling clit as I lost control.

Goddamn.

I was shaky when I wiped up and got to my feet. The face I saw staring back at me in the mirror was all mottled pink and white desperation, my eyes fiery with lust. I looked disheveled and sated and fucking hot, all at once.

So I made sure to run my fingers through my hair and touch up my lipstick before I found my way back to the stands, where I told my friends I'd gotten waylaid by a parent.

They didn't seem to care, and Brenda still hadn't finished her hot chocolate.

* * *

I felt weird hanging out inside the school building after the game. I told myself I had grading to do, which was certainly true... but there was no reason why I should be doing it in my classroom at... I checked the time on my phone... eight-thirty at night. Mind you, the building was still busy: the Senior Council was meeting in Mr Janes' classroom just down the hall from me, planning the pep rally, and then there was the girls' volleyball team: they'd get back on the bus from St Aidan's Prep anytime now. But I didn't care about any of that.

I'd taken a deep breath after the game and texted Jared.

I didn't really want to admit it to myself, but I was stung by Brittni (whoever her tarty little ass was) and her vow to suck his dick. Something in me rebelled against that. It was lust, partly, sure, but there was something else: a feeling that if Alyssa was right (and, based on the two cumstains I'd seen in his lap, I figured she was), then he needed someone better than Brittni. Someone who could appreciate him. Someone who could help him out.

Someone like me, I guess. He was nineteen, I wasn't his teacher. Thanksgiving was coming: it was cuffing season, so why not? That's what I told myself, anyway.

I was tingly as I sat there at my desk, compulsively checking my phone. He'd not texted me back yet. I'd congratulated him on scoring the winning touchdown, then I'd told him I'd be available for tutoring if he wanted to wait until everyone else left. I was aware that could take awhile: the team finished a game, the coach talked to everyone, I assumed they showered and packed up, and then they all left. I was hoping Jared would see my text and want to stay.

And that he wasn't going to shower.

But I'd been waiting half an hour now, and... nothing. Not a damn thing. I had a momentary panic as I wondered whether he'd left his phone with his dad, say, at the moment my text came across, but I reassured myself that there hadn't really been anything about it that was super-suggestive. Sure, offering tutoring services in the school after eight on a Friday night was suspicious, but...