Metaphors

Greg Dalton hurried into his senior English comp class, a minute late because of a chat with a colleague that had lasted a little too long. He carried a stack of corrected essays he'd promised the class he'd have ready to hand back to them today. Their chatter settled down as soon as he entered the room.

"Okay," he said, "I know you've all been eagerly awaiting the return of your efforts, so here they are." A collective groan rose from the class. He smiled as he began walking up and down the aisles of seats, passing their papers back to them. "Don't worry," he said, "on the whole not bad at all." It was a small class, so it wasn't long before all the students were looking over the remarks and corrections he'd written.

When all the essays had been handed out he sat on the edge of his desk and looked out at the class. "I'll give you a couple of minutes to look through them," he said. "But if you have questions please wait until after class. We need to spend the rest of the time discussing the next reading assignment."

The last essay he'd returned had been to Melissa, a girl who sat in the middle seat in the front row, right in front of his desk. He watched her face as she read the comments he'd written.

Melissa was an attentive student, though normally very quiet, with an often impish smile. She liked to chew gum, which might have left a vapid impression were it not for the fact that when she did speak up in class to answer a question it was always with a flash of intelligence that surprised everyone.

She was also an attractive girl, with tousled blond hair and intense blue eyes, and a figure that Greg had noticed becoming more voluptuous over the past couple of years. She was somewhat older than most of her classmates, having recently turned eighteen - he knew this since she'd come to school one day wearing a "Happy Birthday To Me!" button. What she wore that day was unexpected: instead of her usual haphazard tee-shirts and jeans she'd worn a skirt and sweater in bright colors that made her look like a cross between a cheerleader and a birthday cake. Today, though, her outfit was more typical, a pull-over sweatshirt and tight jeans.

The assignment Greg had given his class was to write about someone who had made a significant positive impression on them. It could be someone known to them or a stranger, as long as it was a person who they felt taught them something that could improve the quality of their lives. Melissa had chosen her uncle, and ended her essay with, "I'm so greatful to Uncle Leon because he taught me the Golden Rule - now, if someone does something nice for me, I always try to do something even nicer for them."

When reviewing her work, after correcting her spelling of "grateful," Greg had written:

"This is lovely, Melissa. Very well written, and you're lucky to have your Uncle Leon - and he you!

"A+"

He watched her now as she read, her mouth moving rhythmically as she chewed her gum. He knew when she had reached his last comment and her grade, because she blushed slightly and smiled, her gum chewing stilled. She was obviously pleased.

The class next met two days later, and this time Greg was already at his desk as the students began to arrive. He finished going over the papers from another class as the last student in today's class hurried in. It was Melissa.

Greg tried not to stare. Instead of the shapeless sweat shirt and jeans she'd worn to the last class, today she was in a white, long-sleeved jersey and a plaid skirt. Her breasts were tightly molded by the thin jersey, and the skirt was quite short, extending only halfway down her thighs. Pink sneakers were on her feet, and white knee-socks. She slid into her seat in the front row, sitting with her knees pressed primly together and her hands clasped in front of her on the desk. She slowly chewed her gum as she looked expectantly toward him, waiting for the class to begin.

Greg cleared his throat and stood up. "Pop quiz," he said, and passed out copies of test questions. "Don't worry," he said, "it won't affect your grade. I just want to get an idea of how much of our last class discussion managed to stick!" Once the students all had the questions and had their pencils ready he sat down at his desk. "Okay," he said, "you have twenty minutes." The students were quiet as they read the test, and he began to look over the notes he'd made for what he wanted to cover for the remainder of the class.

After about five minutes he looked up, having noticed some movement. It was Melissa, who was yawning and lifting her elbows in a stretch. As she did her breasts were thrust forward, her erect nipples showing through the tight jersey - it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. She lowered her arms and went back to writing on her test paper. Greg couldn't take his eyes off her, and as he stared she crossed her legs, slowly lifting her left leg over the right high enough to give him a view far up her pleated skirt. She seemed oblivious to what she'd done as she continued writing and he stared at her exposed thighs. After a while she uncrossed her legs and put down her pencil again and stretched as she'd done before, and his eyes were again drawn to her enticing breasts and pert nipples. She looked down at her paper, but instead of continuing with the test she studied it and reached down to her lap, pulling her skirt two inches higher with delicately pinching fingertips. Picking up her pencil she continued writing, serenely chewing her gum, her knees pressed together.

But then her knees began to slowly move apart, and Greg held his breath as a view opened up between her legs, almost to her crotch. Then she closed them again, the tantalizing peek disappearing as her knees were once again pressed together. He groaned to himself as he continued staring at her dimpled knees. Then, as she continued writing, her knees slowly began to move apart again, affording him the same view as before...but then quickly closed again, dashing the hope that had been rising in him. Almost immediately, though, her legs opened again, much wider this time, he was able to get a view up her skirt all the way to the tight crotch of her pink panties. His jaw dropped as he stared between her legs, and he became aware of what was happening between his own, where an erection was steadily swelling and rising.

Oh my God! He moaned inwardly as he struggled to control himself, to keep his hands away from his now completely erect penis. This had been his curse, his battle, all throughout his teaching career, to suppress the helpless lust he felt as he watched some of his female students develop into nubile, delicious little teases, totally unaware of the effect they had on men, men like him, at any rate. My God, does she know what she's doing to me?

Melissa's knees continued to move apart under the raised skirt as she wrote, giving him a clear view between her spread thighs of her barely covered vulva, clearly molded and faintly visible through her tight, almost transparent panties. Greg stared, his penis stiff with arousal. Finally he was able to tear his eyes away from Melissa in time to get on with the class.

"Okay," he said, "time's up. Please pass your papers up." His voice was noticeably hoarse. He glanced at Melissa. She was sitting quietly with her knees together, chewing her gum as she looked up at him with open, placid eyes.

He managed to remain composed for the remainder of the class as he explained their reading assignment for the next class, an article about the use of metaphor in literature. Melissa sat quietly with her hands on the desk and her knees demurely together, so he was no longer distracted by enticing views up her skirt, or by her shapely young breasts.

Driving home from school Greg had a thought. Was that the Golden Rule at work? Doing something nice for someone after they do something nice for you? Was this his reward for her good grade the other day? Oh my! This was a danger zone, and he knew he had to be careful - his job depended on it. How had this clever girl known how to probe the depth of his weakness so exactly, how to enthrall him with exciting, frustrating sexual tease? He desperately hoped that his obsession with enticing girls like her hadn't became common knowledge - he'd tried so hard to keep it hidden! No, enough, he thought, I've got to put it out of my mind! Yet once again he felt his penis stir, felt his erection growing as he remembered staring between those pretty legs, spread wide just to excite him, to make him think of the warm, tender young pussy hidden under those thin panties, oh my God, so wide, so wide, ohhh...!

He turned on the radio, and the national news finally dispelled his hard-on.

That night he decided to put some effort into preparing a decent meal for himself, to occupy his mind with simpler, more innocent pleasures. He sipped a glass of wine as he cooked, and later watched a DVD as he ate his coq au vin. It was a BBC historical drama of the sort that he enjoyed very much. His ex-wife found them boring, but now that he lived alone he was free to enjoy himself as he saw fit! He went to bed at the end of the film, relaxed from the wine and his mind at peace.

The glowing hands of the clock said a quarter to four. It was unusual for him to awake in the middle of the night. A disturbing dream, perhaps? He was lying on his back, and he realized that his penis was stiffly erect, pressing up against the blankets. His mind was filled with images of that maddening girl spreading her legs, tantalizing him. With a groan he threw the blankets aside and began to stroke his excited cock, slowly masturbating to memories and fantasies of Melissa. He imagined her standing with her back to him, slowly pushing down her panties as she looked back at him over her shoulder, smiling and licking her lips. He cried out in helpless pleasure as orgasm took him, his penis bucking in his hand. When he'd recovered he reached for a box of tissues on the night table; then he slept.

* * * * *

Melissa's class didn't meet the next day, but Greg was nevertheless distracted by memories of the previous class and of his late night fantasies but by the end of the day he had his usual routine well in hand, and was assembling some paperwork as he sat at his desk shortly after the school day ended.

"Mr. Dalton? Do you have a minute?" It was Melissa, at the door. "I have a question about the assignment from yesterday, you know, about metaphors and stuff?"

He looked up and smiled. "Sure, Melissa, come on in."

"Thanks!" she said. She closed the door and walked to his desk, pulling over a chair. She was wearing her jeans and sweatshirt again, so there would be no need to deal with yesterday's distractions. She fished a piece of paper from her backpack and put it on the desk, then sat down next to him, close enough that her knee touched his leg.

"Okay," she said, "you told us yesterday to come up with ideas for metaphors, 'cause we're going to have to write a story that uses one. So here's what I've been thinking..." She pushed the paper towards Greg. She'd written several attempts at metaphors:

"The confetti looked like a butterfly attack."

"She read fast, like a hot knife through butter."

"The wind picked up the leaves and they raced around in circles as if they were going crazy."

Greg read what she'd written. "These are very evocative and descriptive, Melissa, but they're not really metaphors - they're actually similes. Do you remember the difference?"

"Uh - I'm not sure, I guess."

"A simile is just a comparison of things that seem alike, but only on the surface, superficial. The racing leaves, for example - I really like that, by the way! - they do suggest madness because of their frantic motion - but it doesn't go any further than that, it's just a visual impression. A metaphor, on the other hand, suggests a deeper comparison, a similarity among several parts of one thing with the parts of the other. Understand?"

"Hm." Melissa frowned.

"For example," Greg went on, "we sometimes hear old age described as 'the evening of one's life.' Now most people's lives are longer than a day, but both a day and a life are similar in that they pass through phases. The rising of the sun is like birth, the morning is fresh and new like a baby first learning things..."

"...and the sun coming out is like happiness," Melissa interrupted excitedly, "or a thunderstorm is when something sad happens!"

"Exactly!" Greg said.

"Oh, I get it now! Yes, and I know just what my story will be about now. This really helped!"

"Glad to oblige," Greg said. "That's what I'm here for, after all."

Melissa looked at him and smiled. "Thank you," she said. She hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. Greg stared at her, astonished. "Thank you," she said again, and kissed him again. This time the tip of her tongue darted between his lips. "Thank you," she whispered, and Greg closed his eyes and automatically leaned forward to meet her, but she quickly drew back and he was left to awkwardly kiss empty air. He opened his eyes in confusion - she was watching him, her nose wrinkled in a grin.

"Bye!" she said, and slid out of her chair, lightly running her fingers up his leg as she did. His eyes followed her pert rear flexing in the tight jeans as she tripped to the door. He sighed; the Golden Rule again. Well, she certainly is consistent with her gratitude...and consistently a maddening tease! He'd be busy in bed again tonight, he realized; his erection was already nagging him.

* * * * *

The students' "metaphor" papers were handed in a week later. Greg took them home to grade and, as usual, left Melissa's for last. Once again she wrote about her uncle. She's really fond of him, Greg thought. Lucky guy!

"Uncle Leon is moving away," she wrote, "all the way to England where he's going to teach at a big university there. I'm going to miss him so much!" She went on to explain how her parents were away one weekend to celebrate their anniversary, and she told her Uncle Leon that if he came by to keep her company she'd make a nice dinner for him.

"'You know I'm a good cook, uncle,' I said to him. 'I know just what you like. Come visit me and I'll have something for you that will make your mouth water!' He said he would, which really made me happy. I enjoy doing nice things for him - he appreciates it so much! I'm certainly going to miss him when he goes away." Greg got up to get a glass of wine, then hurried back to continue reading; he was very curious to see where Melissa's story was heading. Was this literal, or a metaphor for...for what?

"Mom and Dad left before Uncle Leon arrived. I hadn't told them that he was coming to keep me company, but they knew I liked to cook so they weren't surprised when they saw me starting to make dinner as they said goodbye. The tender roast chicken breasts were keeping warm in the oven, but I knew what Uncle Leon was really looking forward to was dessert. I had a special dessert I liked to give to him that he loved so much, a sweet sort of custardy pudding that felt so soft and gentle on your tongue. I liked to watch his face when I gave him some, he'd close his eyes and get this expression almost like he was in pain, but actually it was ecstasy! He couldn't believe that something could taste that good, and the more I gave him the more he wanted! I was pretty sure that he sometimes tried to make it for himself when he was home alone, but no matter how good it tasted he must have realized that it could never be as good as what he got from me. I always added something different each time I made it, some secret spice that would make it mysterious and exciting, something unexpected that would make the flavor even more intense. Besides, instead of doing something all alone isn't it better to be in the hands of someone who loves you, who understands your needs and what you enjoy? Uncle Leon knows that what I do for him with my own hands will always be better than what he tries to do for himself.

"I had just started making dessert when I heard him come into the house. He walked quietly to the kitchen door and was peeking in now, drawn by the aroma of what was cooking, as I knew he would be. I pretended I didn't know he was there, and just made a show of stirring the ingredients, now and then adding a pinch of fragrant spice. I knew that I was stirring up his hunger as well, which was the whole idea of course! I wanted him to be very hungry before I let him have any. Then I looked at him. 'Oh, uncle, you're so naughty, trying to peek at me like that again! You must be really hungry, huh?' I took the spoon I'd been stirring with and held it up. 'Want a little lick?' He nodded eagerly and started toward me, but I quickly dropped the spoon back in the bowl on the counter behind me. 'No no no,' I said, 'you can't have that, uh uh uh! Go in the other room and wait, and think about how good it would have tasted. I bet that'll make you even more hungry...I hope so!'"

Melissa said more about getting the meal prepared and taking it into the dining room where her uncle was waiting. "Want a taste?" she said to him, holding out a small spoonful of the pudding. He leaned forward and opened his mouth, but she pulled the spoon back out of reach, giggling. "Try again?" she said, and again wouldn't let him have it, laughing as she tantalized him. "You know you can't have any of that until after dinner," she chided. "It would spoil your appetite!"

"Finally I took mercy on him, and in the end gave him a big warm helping of dessert. 'Poor Uncle Leon,' I said. 'I just love playing with you and teasing your taste buds! But now you can have all you want - I know how much you crave it.' We ate together then, and he loved it, as I knew he would. I did, too! We had such a good time together."

Greg couldn't quite believe what he was reading. Is she serious? Did this really happen? Well, sure, she may have been playfully cooking a meal for her uncle, but is that actually what happened? Or is this a metaphor for something else, for...oh my god, what if she...

As he lay in bed later that night, confused ideas about Melissa and her uncle were mixed up with memories of pink panties glimpsed under a teasingly raised skirt, and the more these thoughts swirled in his mind the more aroused he became.

* * * * *

After Greg had handed the students' essays back to them on the last day of school (Melissa got an A, of course) he had a brief chat with her after class.

"That was quite a metaphor you used," he said to her. "I must say, it certainly caught my attention!"

"Thanks!" she said. "Yeah, it seemed to me that sharing a nice dinner is sort of like feeding a friendship, you know, nourishing it so people grow closer, get to know each other better and all, while their friendship is sort of fed?"

"Uh...feeding a friendship?"

"Yeah - why? Did you think it meant something else?" She looked at him with wide eyes, biting her lower lip.

"Oh - oh, no, not at all!" he said hastily. "No, very nicely done. Uh, you seem to have a very close relationship with your uncle Leon."

"Oh yeah, I do! I really love him. He's taught me a whole lot." She paused briefly. "Actually," she continued, "it's not just him. Oh, I love him to pieces and all, but for some reason I get along really well with older guys like him. They're like, I don't know, really appreciative when someone's nice to them, like with the whole Golden Rule thing?"

"Oh yes, I remember."

"Yeah, well anyway, I've learned a lot from older men. And about them." She frowned. "Now with Uncle Leon going away it's going to be so lonely - don't know what I'll do. I'll write to him, of course. And send him pictures. Oh well." She shrugged her shoulders and looked at Greg, pouting sadly. "Well, I gotta get home," she said, picking up her backpack. You gonna be at my graduation next week?"