Miss Bixley Lends a Hand

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And perhaps a bit more than that.
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This story is about Miss Bixley, a sequel to "Teddy has a hard day." It was written on the suggestion of Hitsomeskins, a Literotica member. The story is also inspired by Japanese teacher movies staring Nana Natsumi, Rio Hamasaki, Shou Nishino, and many others. I placed it in the mature (May/December) genre section. There are other themes in this story but I do feel the story fits most appropriately within the mature category, as this May/December theme is consistent throughout. Everyone in this story is at least eighteen years old.

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Miss Bixley was the Templeton College Romance Languages and Literature teacher. All the students liked her. All students dislike some of their professors some of the time, and some students dislike many of their professors all of the time, but nobody disliked Miss Bixley any of the time. What was to dislike? She was such a sweetheart. If you ever had a concern, a personal problem, you could always count on Miss Bixley for a considerate ear, a kind word, a reassuring smile, and a helping hand.

The Templeton Andy Griffith Club had given her the sobriquet of Thelma Lou. It was an affectionate appellation. Thelma Lou was a character on the Andy Griffith show and Miss Bixley was the spitting image of Thelma Lou. She was really very, very cute. She had twinkling chestnut eyes, rosy cheeks, a perky little nose, kissable red lips, short and curly auburn hair with cute bangs, and a sweet, innocent, feminine voice. She really was the angelic small-town girl. Yet, she was also a smouldering volcano of sexual frustration.

Some might argue that Helen Crump had more sex appeal than Thelma Lou. After all, Helen Crump was Andy's girlfriend, and certainly he should have the prettier, sexier girlfriend, particularly in comparison to Barney! But the consensus position of the Andy Griffith Club of whom to marry, or to at least to spend the night with, favored Thelma Lou. It was true that Thelma Lou would dress in a much more innocent manner than Helen Crump. However, there was a rather stark coldness about Ms. Crump, a sort of sexless manner and appearance, whereas the opposite was suggested by Thelma Lou. Helen Crump would probably be quite boring in bed whereas Thelma Lou appeared to be chaste only because she was too nervous and shy to be assertively sexual, and what girl would or could ever expect Barney Fife to take the lead? Heck, Barney wouldn't even try anything with Skippy, the fun girl from Mount Pilot. In any case, when Barney and Thelma Lou went out to Tucker's lake on a double date with Andy and Helen, it was Barney's face that was covered in red or pink lipstick kisses, not Andy's. One only had to imagine what else was being kissed.

The boys in the Andy Griffith Club imagined that the same must be true for Miss Bixley. Not only did she look like Thelma Lou, she had similar mannerisms, appearances and, perhaps regrettably for Miss Bixley, a similar success with men (Thelma Lou did eventually marry, but it happened after the show ended, so that didn't really count). Miss Bixley was not married, nor did there appear to be a man in her life. She was in fact still pure, just as she appeared. Many a boy in the club considered asking her out but that, of course, would be quite inappropriate.

Templeton faculty were not allowed to date undergraduates, let alone marry them. In some respects it was a rather strange and archaic policy. The students, with only a few very rare exceptions, were at least 18 years old. Certainly all of the members of the Andy Griffith Club were at least eighteen. The students at the college had the legal right to date and marry whom they pleased. Why should the college then have any authority over this? Of course, May-December relationships rarely work out, but even approximately 50% of all marriages end in divorce.

There is though the matter of conflict-of-interest. A faculty member could hardly be objective in her grading if she was dating the student (and perhaps even less if the inevitable break-up was in some way acrimonious). One could perhaps confine the prohibition to students over whom one had a direct academic responsibility, but the objectivity of one's colleagues might also be compromised if they knew the student was dating Miss Bixley. Everybody always wanted to be nice to Miss Bixley. So, if a student did her wrong; well, he could be persona non grata.

Of course, most importantly of all, even if Miss Bixley could date students, what student would dare ask her out? Miss Bixley though did not meet with much success dating men her own age. She had dated a few times but never felt ready to give herself completely to a man, to let him touch her "flower," as she liked to call it. It wasn't that she did not herself become sexually aroused. She had even masturbated quietly in the privacy of her bedroom a few times. Actually, quite a few times. But she felt that it simply wasn't appropriate to go all the way prior to marriage.

However, life for Miss Bixley took a curious turn after her afternoon session with Theodore Newman. She had found Teddy after he had been so horribly teased and mistreated by a group of cheerleaders. They were actually making Teddy jerk off in front of them. She chased them away and in her effort to comfort the boy and ease his pain one thing led to another until Teddy's erect penis was being stroked by Miss Bixley's soft, feminine fingers until he squirted his cum all over the gymnasium floor (see "Teddy has a hard day").

The experience left Teddy quite satisfied and relieved but, in contrast, Miss Bixley was rather confused and agitated. She certainly masturbated that night, even using her little woman's helper as she imagined Teddy's erect penis sliding in and out of her vagina. When she was done she was terribly, terribly embarrassed and ashamed, having thought about a boy, a student, in such a manner.

She considered speaking to a colleague about it, perhaps Mr. Peters. He was certainly a very well regarded and wise man (see "Disciplining young ladies"), but she really couldn't bring herself to admit to such a fantasy to one of her colleagues, let alone the fact of the actual act with Teddy. She considered speaking to a therapist, perhaps Dr. Lowenstein. Dr. Lowenstein did specialize in matters of sexuality (see "Cosplay" or "There must be something wrong with me"), but just thinking about that made her blush. She couldn't actually see a sex therapist!

But, her heart just fluttered as she thought about that afternoon with Teddy, and she repeatedly found herself again and again thinking about him, as her little woman's helper slid in and out of her cunnie. She was so embarrassed to call it her "cunnie," finding that rather obscene. But, when diddling herself it seemed preferable to the more clinical, sexless term "vagina," and was far less slutty and obscene than that four letter word that began with "c" and ended with "t."

When Miss Bixley didn't masturbate it seemed that her nights were filled with dreams of Teddy, she doing things to him, he doing things to her. She wondered if perhaps she might have another meeting with Teddy, just to check up on him, see how things were going. She hinted as such with Mr. Peters when she stopped by to see whether he had in fact followed up on his discipline of the cheerleaders. He had indeed disciplined the entire bunch (see "Mr. Peters must discipline the cheerleaders," "Mr. Peters and the cell phone," and "Jackie learns to balance her studies"), but he also mentioned in passing that he had heard that Teddy had himself sought therapy from Dr. Lowenstein. Miss Bixley certainly couldn't renew her relationship now.

Her nights became stricken with dreams of Teddy, eventually as well with other students. She would awaken with her heart racing, her cunnie all wet and inflamed, and she would reach for her little helper. However, fortunately for her, she soon discovered that Teddy wasn't the only boy who needed a helping hand.

Miss Bixley did a considerable amount of private tutoring. Templeton was a private four-year liberal arts college. It was not a state university whose faculty was primarily, if not solely, interested in their own research careers and the fame and fortune that came from being a successful scientist. Templeton faculty, in contrast, were devoted to the education of their students. So, it was not unusual for a professor to meet individually with a student outside of class, even though it was not a job requirement. Miss Bixley even tutored more students than the average Templeton professor.

Anyone who got 90% correct on a Miss Bixley test would get an A grade. She did not grade on a curve, and she felt that every one of her students should get an A in her classes. So, she was more than willing to provide extra tutoring for any student who got less than 90%. Not all of the students took her up on that offer. A surprising number of them were not in fact interested in getting an A grade. Much to her disappointment, and to the disappointment of many of the faculty at Templeton, quite a number of students were quite happy just getting a B, a C, and shockingly so, even a D, as a D was still a passing grade. Miss Bixley never understood why some students were even in college, as they just seemed to be there to play and party until they graduated, apparently not particularly interested in the educational opportunities that were being offered.

But, that wasn't the case for Ralph Furley. Ralph had gotten a B on the last test and he was very, very disappointed, and concerned. He was a junior at college (nineteen years old), really enjoyed English, literature, and languages and someday hoped himself to become a college professor specializing in romantic literature, perhaps just like Miss Bixley. So, he was devastated when he got a B on the first romance literature test, and then even another B on the second test. If he got one more B there would be no way that he could wind up with an A grade, and he could hardly get into a credible graduate program with less than an A final grade.

It wasn't that Ralph wasn't bright. He was in fact getting A grades in almost all of his other classes, and certainly within all of his humanities courses. He asked to have a private tutoring session with Miss Bixley.

Miss Bixley's tutoring sessions were already booked for that week, but she agreed to stay an extra half hour after class on Thursday. She did like the boy. He was clearly very attentive, highly participatory, and unqualifiedly enthusiastic. A teacher does really appreciate that.

Plus, she could tell by his discussions in class that he was a bright, intelligent young man, and rather cute. He wasn't a hunk by any means. He was rather short, no more than 5 feet 4 inches, a little on the skinny side, with glasses and tousled brown hair. He was no potential football star, but that did not interest her. What was important was that he was highly deserving. There was really no way she could, or would, let him do less than his very best potential could take him.

She had also been impressed when she discovered that he in fact wanted to someday be a professor himself, and a professor of romance languages no less.

He sat down in one of the desks in the front row of the empty class. She stood in front of him, leaning back against her desk.

"Miss Bixley. I do work real hard, honestly," he explained. "I get good grades in all my classes...Well, most of them."

Miss Bixley knew he was being honest. She had looked up his transcripts and was quite impressed with his GPA (grade point average). "Well, yes, I believe you, Ralphie, which is why I don't understand why you haven't done well on the first two tests. You clearly have the ability, and the interest. Why have you fallen short?"

Ralph felt that he knew the answer, but it was difficult to admit. "I don't know, Miss Bixley. I mean, I listen closely to what you're saying, I take good notes, and I study real hard, but when it comes to putting the answers on the test, I just go blank."

Well, he doesn't really just go blank. If he went blank he wouldn't be getting a B grade. He was just falling short of an A. The problem was more subtle than, as he put it, "just going blank." Miss Bixley leaned down and put a reassuring arm around one shoulder, pressing her breasts against the other. "Now, Ralphie, dear, please, I know it must be more than just that. You're such a bright and hard-working student. Tell Miss Bixley what the problem is, and I promise I will help you."

For most students it would be perceived as a rather motherly, reassuring, nurturant hug. To Ralph, and perhaps many other boys, it was difficult to ignore the feel of that soft breast pressing against his shoulder, particularly as his difficulty was in part precisely the feminine anatomy of Miss Bixley. "I don't know, ma'am," he said with considerable skepticism and confusion.

Miss Bixley pressed her breast in harder against him. She did not mean it to be sexual, or at least not consciously. It was a natural, maternalistic gesture to offer one's breast to a student, to a supplicant, in need of help and guidance. A woman comforts and succors her nursling with the bounty of her motherly bosoms. The gesture was instinctual. "Please, Ralphie," she whispered in his ear, "You can tell me. I have helped many young men with their problems."

That was a pregnant remark, at least to Ralph. Did she mean it the way he thought she meant it?

She hadn't. It was just that many of Miss Bixley's tutoring sessions shaded into personal counseling, typically concerning problems adjusting to college, being away from home, difficulty with one's parents, and even at times troubles with girls. A college professor must be many things to her students: teacher, mentor, disciplinarian, counselor, therapist, and even mother. The difficulty was knowing when to wear each hat. It wasn't always obvious. Miss Bixley took an educated guess. She moved around to crouch beside him as he sat in his desk and said quietly, her hand on his knee, "Is it something to do with a girl?"

Ralph couldn't look Miss Bixley in the eye. This was so terribly embarrassing. He looked off to the right and responded, "Sort of."

Miss Bixley smiled sympathetically, although with some amusement as well. It was remarkable how some of these young men were still little boys when it came to girls. Ralph was nineteen, but right now he not was acting like a mature adult. These boys can get so shy, flustered, and tongue-tied. She lightly rested her fingers under Ralph's chin and gently turned his face back to hers. "Now, Ralphie, if you can't tell Miss Bixley, who can you tell?"

She might have a point there. Everyone said that Miss Bixley was one of the most understanding and sympathetic teachers, but he doubted that she would have ever heard of this problem before. But, still, he really did need to tell her if he was ever going to get his grades back up. He had to do something about it. He certainly couldn't drop the class, and if nothing was done then he might never become a professor! He looked meekly into the pretty, endearing eyes of Miss Bixley. Goodness, she was so cute, and she had such a sweet, understanding smile. He said, "I think it's you, Miss Bixley."

"Me?" That took Miss Bixley by surprise. She knew that she wasn't the best teacher at the college. Miss Nishida was the current recipient of Teacher of the Year, and Mr. Peters was by far the most consistently successful instructor. But, still, she was considered to be a pretty darned good instructor, if she said so herself. She withdrew her fingers from Ralph's chin, stood up, clasped her hands before her, apologetically, and said, "Ralph, I'm so sorry. What have I done wrong?"

Most teachers would not be so quick to accept responsibility for the failings of their students. Most feel that it is inherently and inevitably the student's fault for obtaining poor grades. But, there were a few teachers, Miss Bixley among them, who recognized that they did have considerable responsibility for their students' successes, and failures. Very few young men realize their full potential, and if a student could inform the teacher what she could do to help him, Miss Bixley certainly wanted to know.

Ralph was surprised, and upset, at hearing Miss Bixley's misunderstanding of what he had said. "Oh no, no, Miss Bixley, it's not that! It's nothing you've said or done."

Miss Bixley furrowed her brow, leaned forward, her hands on her knees, her breasts perched out before her, and said, "Well, Ralphie, what is it then?"

"It's well, it's just that...I keep thinking about you, Miss Bixley."

They were both quiet for a second or so. Miss Bixley remained frozen in her pose, bending over, her pretty face just inches from his.

Ralph breathed in her perfume. Students were not allowed to wear perfume at Templeton, but the faculty could, and it was always so striking when you were treated to a lovely, enticing scent. Ralph added, in case Miss Bixley hadn't gotten the point, "You know."

Well, that wasn't particularly clarifying, but she did in fact get the message.

Miss Bixley felt her face redden. It was actually quite flattering but still a little embarrassing. She had never known of a student having a crush on her (other than members of the Andy Griffith Club, and that just seemed kind of weird). Frankly, she had been a little disappointed about that. Miss Harding appeared to have many undergraduate admirers (see "Miss Harding teaches the boys a lesson"). Miss Bixley was rather surprised and even a bit jealous about that. It wasn't that Miss Harding didn't deserve it. She was a very striking woman, whereas Miss Bixley recognized that she was herself considerably more demure, perhaps even plain, or at least unassuming. "You're not a member of the Andy Griffith Club, Ralph, are you?" That would explain it.

Ralph looked down toward the floor. "No, no, ma'am, I'm not." He appeared to misunderstand the reason for the question. He turned to her. "If you want me to, I'll join," he offered. He knew that Jesse, also in her class, was a member of the club. He could ask him about it.

"No, no, dear, that wasn't what I meant." She already had one other student in the class who was a member, and that was more than enough.

She had to admit that she was a bit nonplussed. What do you say? What do you do? She stood back up straight, placed a hand reassuringly on Ralph's head, affectionately stroking his hair, and said, "Well, Ralphie, I am really quite flattered. That's really very sweet."

Ralph scowled, averted his eyes, and responded, "That's what I thought you would say."

She shifted her hand to his shoulder, leaned in closer to him, and added, "But, Ralphie, I'm so much older than you. You have to appreciate that."

He did finally look her in the eyes and retorted, "That didn't stop Harold and Maude. You said you loved that movie."

Miss Bixley smiled. She did indeed love that story. It was one of her most beloved romances. But, still, "that was fictional, Ralphie. This is real life."

"Yea, well, what about Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher?"

Ralph Furley was a good student, indeed. Nevertheless, she knew that any such relationship was in fact impossible. If she was going to become involved with someone and she would certainly like to do so, she would much prefer a man her own age. She had no interest in actually becoming romantically involved with a student. "Yes, but Ralphie, I hardly know you."

"Oh, I know that, Miss Bixley. I appreciate that. I wouldn't actually think we could ever actually get really involved, or anything."

That was good to hear.

"I just thought that maybe we could at least, well, you know, go out, or do something, or something."

Miss Bixley's face again flushed with warmth. She recalled Theodore, her thighs also flushing with warmth with the memory. But, still, that had been a very unusual circumstance, and she had helped him for medical reasons, not for personal, emotional reasons. Plus, it was clearly against school policy for a professor to engage in any such activities with one of her students. Frankly, just thinking about that made her face redden further. Of course, perhaps she misunderstood. He had only suggested a date, or "something."

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