They don’t let you teach Nabokov to high school students and there’s probably a pretty good reason for it. High school boys aren’t known as overly sensitive creatures, making the girls so starved for romantic attention that they regularly misdirect their fantasies toward any male over the age of 21 who seems both accessible and familiar. They don’t need the encouragement of a neo-classic writer. Sometimes a tweed sport coat and a pair of reading glasses are all the sophistication they require.
I’m nobody’s Svengali, but in the ten years I’ve been teaching at Joseph Heller High, I’ve had my share of dreamy-eyed students – unfortunately of both genders – and I never let it arouse anything more than my amusement.
Kylee was one of my more outstanding students…in more ways than one. Straight As, accepted equally by the geeks, freaks, pops and jocks, Kylee seemed destined to succeed in anything she put her mind to, as long as she could slip into the mindset of someone else. I’d seen her clean the floor with her opposition in the debate finals, then turn shy when I tried to compliment her on it afterward.
“Thank you Mr. Hanson,” she managed, looking at the third button of my shirt, her cheeks as crimson as a Louisiana crawfish. She seemed so uncomfortable that I didn’t say anything else, though I found myself wanting to touch her and tell her it was ok.
Kylee always seemed to be uncomfortable in her body. At 18, when all the boys her age were lusting after anorexic waifs, Kylee had filled out to a Modigliani dream of soft, unblemished alabaster curves. Her small rimmed glasses framed a pair of bright, gleaming eyes that I used to look into as I was lecturing on Steinbeck and Hemingway and other authors that no one in class gave a rat’s ass about and I’d find myself lost, the train of my thought lumbering on at breakneck speed until it had derailed in a smoking cacophony of lust and debauchery. Unlike so many of the girls who batted their eyes at me from the front row, Kylee had something going on in there. You could tell a person lived and breathed and thought in there.
And that’s what made her so dangerous to me.
I found myself hating to see the school year draw to a close. As a senior, Kylee would be graduating and the odds were I’d never see her again except in my fantasies.
These were the morose thoughts running through my mind on the day we posted the final grades. All seniors’ grades had to be in early so the administration would know if each would be able to graduate with his or her class. For the seniors, the year was officially over.
Kylee surprised me by waiting by my car as I left the school campus. Her cheeks flushed when she saw me.
She was looking at my shoes, then stole a look at my eyes only to drop her gaze once again to my feet.
“Are you ok with your grade?” I asked. Her large breasts were rising and falling with her breathing and I knew that if this kept up my slacks would begin to show signs of arousal similar to those that were pressing through Kylee’s bra and straining against her blouse.
“The grade? Yes. The grade. Was fine. It was fine.”
“I got the impression that your heart wasn’t in the final.”
She smiled. “I gambled,” she said. “I knew my chemistry final would kill me if I didn’t study, so I maxxed out my studying on that.”
“Well, an A minus in English Lit won’t keep you out of any Ivy League schools,” I told her. “And if it does, have them call me. I’ll set them straight.”
She giggled. It was something I’d never heard Kylee do and the sound was like an alarm to my libido. Then her face got serious again.
“Mr. H.,” she started again, as if she had rehearsed something to say, but the words were failing her now. She took a deep breath and reached into the notebook she carried under one arm, producing a small, invitation-sized envelope. She held the envelope out to me. It trembled slightly.
“For me?” I asked.
She nodded as I took it from her hand.
“I’m having a little party, you know, for graduation.” She was looking at my third button again. “I’d really like to see you come.”
Her eyes opened in horror and she looked directly into my face. I could almost feel the heat from her scarlet cheeks.
“I mean, I’d really like for you to…to be there.”
“Are you sure your friends won’t feel a little inhibited with an old man there?”
She shrugged and I watched her breasts bounce a little in the movement. “Fuck ‘em,” she said.
Now it was my turn to blush in open-eyed amazement. Kylee looked up just as a smile spread across my face. She laughed with me and for a brief moment I saw the confident woman move to the forefront. She cast a quick glance behind her and across the campus and when she turned back to me a long strand of honey brown hair fell across one eye. I swear to God, it took my breath away.
“Will you?” she almost whispered.
I realized my mouth was dry. “Will…I…?”
“Come,” she said, holding onto the last consonant and making it sound like a hum. Her free hand came up to pull the loose hair back behind her ear.
“I think I just did,” I said and immediately regretted it. The smile went away from her face and she looked at the ground again.
“I’m sorry,” I started, “That was really a tasteless joke and I…”
She silenced me by placing two fingers against my lips.
“No,” she said. “Let me believe I really did.”
She looked down again, but this time it wasn’t my feet she was looking at.
“Oh God,” she said, “I really have to go now.”
She walked away quickly, but looked over her shoulder twice to smile back at me.
I put the invitation in my pocket, got in my car and started it up.
I tried to pretend it was just another night. I grilled a New York strip for dinner and had it with a tossed salad and a nice Merlot. It was one of those moderately priced bottles that I was really saving for a special occasion, but I decided “what the hell.” I needed something to take my mind off the afternoon and the way Kylee’s breasts looked, rising and falling with every breath she took. Her invitation sat taunting me on my dinner table. Her voice in my head.
“I’d really like to see you come.”
I finished off my glass of wine, tilting my head back and taking it like a shot.
I let the water run in the shower until it was tepid. All those stories you’ve heard about cold showers – don’t believe them. All they do is make you realize that men have nipples too. I was soaked, shivering and horny when I wrapped the towel around me and went back to the kitchen for more wine.
Kylee’s invitation was waving to me from the table. I walked over and picked it up. Her penmanship was impeccable. To RSVP, she’d left her email address. It was a service that also had an instant messaging feature. I decided to gamble.
I pulled on a pair of boxers and sat down at the computer, opening my instant messenger and adding her email name to the list. Sure enough, she was not only registered, but she was online.
“Hello,” I typed to her, trying to figure out why my heart was beating like an 18-year-old again.
There was a long pause, then a musical sound accompanying her response. “Who is this?” she typed.
Shit! My screen name gave no clue as to who I was. I was lucky she had responded at all. “It’s Mitch,” I typed.
Again a long pause. “I don’t know any Mitch.” She typed back.
Another fuckup. She only knew me as Mr. Hanson. “Mitch Hanson,” I typed. “Your favorite teacher.”
There was another long pause. Longer this time. I was afraid I’d broached some forbidden barrier. “Kylee?” I typed.
Her response threw me. “OMFG,” she typed.
“I’m sorry. Was this a bad idea?”
“NO!” came the swift response. Then on its heels, “OMFG.”
Now it was my turn to be at a loss for words. I knew what OMFG meant, but I wasn’t sure how she felt when she was using it. Her next response cleared that up.
“This is so fuckin cool,” she typed. Then, quickly, “Oops. Sorry.”
“It’s ok,” I typed back. “Though as your English teach I feel obligated to point out that you need either a G or an apostrophe at the end of ‘fuckin.’”
“LOL,” she typed. “Thank you, sir.”
“Not at all,” I typed. “It’s my job.”
“Not anymore. I’ve outgrown you.”
“Think so? Then you don’t want me at your party?”
“OMFG! Are you RSVPing? Is that even a word?” she typed.
“We’ll let it go for now,” I took a big sip of wine. “About that party…”
“If you’re doing this to tell me you’re not coming I’ll close this window right now.”
“Kylee, do you really think your friends and family will be able to have a good time with an old man there?”
“YOU’RE NOT OLD!” she typed.
“I just think they might be a little uncomfortable is all.”
There was a long pause. “Kylee?” I typed.
“I’m the one you should worry about being uncomfortable.”
“I am. I don’t want you uncomfortable at your own party.”
“Not what I meant,” she typed. “But do what you want.”
I sensed the change in tone. “If I did what I wanted they’d lock me up,” I typed.
“Why?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. I blame what happened next on the wine.
“There are laws against old men and young women.”
“YOU’RE NOT OLD!” I really did laugh out loud at that. “Besides,” she continued, “I’m 18, a high school graduate, a licensed driver and registered voter.”
“I stand corrected.”
“So you’re coming to the party?”
Coming to the party still didn’t seem like a good idea to me. Graduation night was a night of memories and I didn’t want anyone in the family having bad memories because of me. “Look, let’s do this. I’ll take a room at the hotel where you’re having the party. If it ends early, if it gets out of hand, or even if you just get bored, come get me and I’ll take you to dinner.”
There was a long pause and I hoped she was just thinking and not pissed off. “You’d really take me to dinner?” she finally wrote.
“I would love to take you to dinner.”
“Wow,” she typed. “I’d like that better than the party.”
I laughed out loud again. I couldn’t remember when I enjoyed a conversation more. And we were only conversing with our fingertips.
She must have been thinking the same thing. “This is so cool,” she typed. “I can’t believe I’m sitting here in my PJs talking to you.”
I felt my cock lurch in my boxers. I couldn’t believe it either. I wanted desperately to ask what kind of PJs, but I felt that would be something a pervert would do.
“Are you wearing that brown sport coat?” she typed.
Why, Miss Baron. Are you asking me what I’m wearing?”
There was a long pause.
“Ok, I am soooo crimson right now.”
A sweet confession that only made my cock grow harder. “It’s ok,” I told her. “No, I don’t always wear that sport coat, you know.”
“It was just how I was picturing you.”
“Well, you’ve made it” – I originally typed the word hard, then went back and changed it – “difficult to concentrate knowing you’re in your PJs.”
“Sorry. Nothing spectacular. A tank top and men’s boxers.”
“We match,” I typed. “Except I left off the tank top.”
“Am I being a dirty old man?”
“If you are, I approve,” she typed. “OMFG!”
I poured some more wine in my glass. “What color?” I asked.
“Powder blue,” she answered. “Red plaid boxers. Not exactly into color coordination.”
“You?” she typed.
“Shit it’s getting hot in here,” she typed.
“Did you always have this much of a potty mouth or is it just graduation doing this to you?”
“LOL. Why? Are you going to spank me, sir?”
“Turn you right over my lap, missy.”
“Mmmmmmmm. God damn, Mr. Hanson.”
“Mitch,” I told her.
“Ok, but there’s something erotic about calling you Mr. Hanson.”
“Mr. Hanson it is then.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, my hand absentmindedly stroking my cock that had grown out of its confines and was snaking down my inside thigh. I wondered if Kylee was doing anything with her hand. I wondered how to tactfully ask her.
“What are you doing?” she finally typed.
“I believe in being totally honest with you,” I typed. “That being said, I honestly can’t tell you.”
“OMFG.” She paused only a second before typing: “Are you?”
I wanted her to put it into works. “Am I…what?”
“Hard,” she typed.
“Yes,” I typed. “Painfully.”
“Are you wet?” I finally typed, figuring we were beyond turning back.
“God yes. Soaked.”
“And your hand?”
“Rubbing,” she wrote. “So fucking good.”
“Nipples poking through that tank top?”
“Rub your clit for me, Kylee. Slow circles. Spread the moisture around the clit.”
I pictured her, hand under one leg of her boxers, finger lightly teasing her clit, breasts rising and falling, nipples erect. I took my cock in hand and gave it several good pumps. It felt good. Too good.
“How do you taste, sweetheart?” I typed, wondering if she would humor me. She might be too young to appreciate the question.
“Mmmmmmmmm. So good,” she typed. “You’d like it.”
“I’d love it. Circling my tongue around your clit. Tasting your juice. Pressing my tongue inside you for more.”
“God, Mr. H., I want you to eat me.”
“I am, Kylee. Feel me?”
“Place your hand flat against your mound and press your middle finger inside your pussy.”
“Now don’t move your hand. Hold it against your pussy and move your hips. Fuck your hand with your hips.”
There was a long pause that I took advantage of to slide my hand up and down my shaft. There was so much precum I didn’t need lubrication. I pumped until my shaft was shiny and slick. The head was bigger than it had been in years and stretched to bursting.
Kylee typed with her free hand. “Ohhh fuk that’s so good, sir. I’m gonna cumm.”
“Yesss baby,” I typed to her. “Forget about typing to me. Fuck your hand. Use your other hand and stroke those beautiful breasts.”
I could feel her orgasm starting, building, growing in warmth and intensity until it enveloped her causing her to cry out in release. It was several minutes before she typed a message to me.
“OMFG. It was so intense.”
“Did you cum for me baby?”
“God yes. I’m still shaking.” A pause, then: “Did you? Cum, I mean?”
“I’m still stroking.”
“Oh god. Really? Oh fuk I’d give anything to see that.”
I thought momentarily about turning my cam on, but this already smacked of some kind of kinky, depraved act. Besides, she might not want that. Instead, I fisted my cock harder and imagined Kylee’s sticky fingers on her keyboard.
“Are you there?” she typed.
“Yes. Sorry. Lost in the moment.”
“I want to make you cum, sir. Tell me what to do.”
“What do you usually do to make a guy cum, Kylee?”
“I never have, Mr. Hanson. I’m sorry. I’ve never even seen a cock.”
Oh shit! All this sex play and it never occurred to me she might be a virgin. Guilt started going to work on my cock and I felt my erection sliding away.
“Are you disappointed? I’m sorry.”
“I’m not disappointed at all,” I wrote. “I’m just sorry. I feel like I made you do something you didn’t want to.”
“NO! OMFG. I have wanted this…YOU…for a long time. This was perfect. It was beautiful. So good. Don’t be sorry. Please.”
My hand was still pumping my wilting erection. I was unsure what to say. Kylee helped me out.
“What I’d really like is to feel your cock in my mouth.”
I was dumbfounded. “Really?” was all I could think of to type.
“I’ve never tasted cum but I just know I’d love it. I want to suck your dick, Mr. Hanson.”
My cock was almost instantly erect. “God Kylee,” I typed.
“Fuck my mouth, sir. Mmmmm you taste so good. I want to rub you on my titties, then suck you down all the way until your hot cum fills my mouth.”
It was too much. I erupted from deep inside sending hot molten cum spraying a good six inches from the tip of my cock. It splashed back, hitting the desktop and spilling down over my hand like white lava. There was so much cum that it pooled in my pubic hair and ran down onto my leather chair then in a flowing semen-fall dropped to the floor. I shot at least three clips and managed to pump my cock to a second orgasm before it got too sensitive and I had to stop.
When I looked at the screen, Kylee had typed “Sir?” three times.
“I’m ok, Kylee,” I answered, this time it was my sticky fingers on the keyboard. “I was cumming.”
“OMFG!” she typed.
“Are you ok with what just happened?” I asked her.
“OK? Are you out of your mind? I masturbate at least three times a day and I have NEVER cum like that,” she told me. “Are you ok?”
“I feel great. I just wish I could hold you now.”
“You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Sorry, “ I typed. “Not my intent.”
“It’s ok,” she typed. Then after a pause: “Did you really cum?”
“I’m a mess, thanks to you.”
On the night of the big party, I checked into the hotel early and left a message on Kylee’s voice mail telling her what room I’d be in. I also told her to be thinking about where she’d want to have dinner. I thought about wandering by the meeting room downstairs where she was having her party, but I thought that might make her nervous. I didn’t want her to be any more nervous than I already was. Jesus Christ, I almost twice her age. Definitely old enough to know better. What was I thinking? Was I thinking? Or was my little Billy Clinton thinking for me?
I took a long hot shower, shaved and put on some casual slacks and a black t-shirt. If Kylee showed up, I’d be able to throw on a sport coat and not look too much like her father, older brother or horny school teacher.
Jesus Christ, what was I doing?
I poured myself one of the little airplane drinks from the mini-bar and called down to the desk. The attendant answered with the name of the hotel and a cheery, “May I help you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “This is Hanson in room 417. Can you turn on one of those in-room movies where the only plot is for the characters to make the beast with two backs as many times as possible?”
“The beast with two back?” he repeated.
“Sometimes three. I even seen them where you had to have advanced geometry to figure out how many sides there were.” The drink seemed to be making me friendly. Or an asshole. Depends what side of the conversation you were on I guess.
“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, sir.”
“Adult,” I said. “Hard core. Porno.”
“Ohhhhhh,” I could almost hear him blushing. “Certainly sir. Which one would you like?”
“Surprise me, “ I said.
The desk clerk had good taste. I was watching an impossibly developed blonde devour and impossibly endowed German man when I heard a light knock on the door. My blood pressure was already up from the circumstances and the movie, but I could feel my pulse in my forehead and I knew I looked like those aliens in an early episode of Star Trek who thought things and their foreheads wiggled.
When I opened the door, my forehead wasn’t the only thing that wiggled.
Kylee looked directly at my crotch, my cock stiffened from the movie and said, “Starting without me?”
I stood in the doorway dumbstruck. This was not the 18-year-old girl from my class. Her hair was softly curled, framing her beautiful face that had just the right amount of makeup to make her look radiant. The glasses had been left behind – contacts perhaps. She wore a long, flowing black dress that dipped from her shoulders to reveal a beautiful, womanly cleavage. She smelled powdery. It was a clean, feminine fragrance – very light.
“Oh,” was all I could manage.
Kylee giggled. “Oh? That’s all? Just…oh?”
I shook my head. “Oh. Em. Eff. Gee.”
Kylee blushed, but laughed at my reference to our online encounter. I was glad it wasn’t making her uncomfortable.
“Ummmm. Mr. H. Can I come in?”
I pulled the door open wide, suddenly remembering where I was. “Yeah. Sure. I’m sorry.”