My High School English Teacher

Author's Note: This story is autobiographical. The names have been changed in order to prevent any embarrassment to those concerned.

The Sergeant-Major came bouncing into our area looking for volunteers. That sort of thing was usually greeted by all manner of people scattering to the four winds to get out of his line of sight. "Volunteering" usually meant getting sent to some hot third world shit hole with no booze, no pussy, and not much else in the way of creature comforts. Take the Sinai desert, for instance.

This time, however, he needed volunteers to go on a weekend thing for a charity event. It was a breast cancer fund raising deal, and he needed volunteers with medical skills to help treat sore feet, sprained ankles and dehydration. Even though I was a Combat Engineer, I had cross trained as a medic and had a reputation in the Battalion for knowing the best methods for treating blistered feet. For the Army, it was a chance to show off the uniform, help out the recruiting slugs, and do some community service. The "good deal" in this gig was the following weekend was a four day pass, which meant a trip to the beach to work on my tan and peruse the nubile young college girl flesh. Word had gotten around with the sweet young things that us paratrooper types ate pussy with a great deal of enthusiasm and no small amount of skill. It was a reputation each of us did our best to uphold.

We piled out of an Army bus at the appointed time and place and secured our gear. One bunch of guys were dressed in PT gear and were going to run the entire thirty mile course. The rest of us grabbed our rucksacks and got a final brief from the communications guys and the medics. We were paired up, one of us humping a radio and the other an aid bag, or very large first aid kit. We were cautioned to do our evaluations of the sick or injured carefully, as they were civilians and somewhat outside of our experience. We were instructed to use the radio and one of the local rescue squads would show up to handle transport to a hospital if that was necessary. Rescue squad guys liked riding around in pretty red trucks and did not care all that much for walking.

It was apparent that this was a very large women-going-schmoozing thing, and we were straphangers for the event. A straphanger is somebody that tags along and serves no useful purpose. There were a few interested looks as we gathered behind the group. Here was a large group of women of all ages and sizes, and behind them was a very small group of very handsome, swaggering and cocky Army Special Forces types. We looked pretty spiffy in our camouflage uniforms, polished jump boots, and nifty green berets.

There were speeches and applause and we sat down on our rucksacks and looked at each other as if to ask, "What on earth possessed us to volunteer for this gig on our weekend off?" But being the stalwarts that we were, we honored the women, the Army, and our word by being stoic and waiting patiently for things to get going.

None of us moved as somebody fired a gun and there was a big cheer and the crowd moved out of the parking lot and out into the street, led by a police car with lights and siren. We knew that their pace was going to be far slower than ours, and nobody moved when the crowd flowed into the street.

Finally, I stood up, shouldered my rucksack, looked at my colleagues and said, "I think I spotted a Dunkin' Donuts down the street. Anybody up for coffee and a donut?"

There was a series of grunts and sighs as they straggled to their feet, heaved the rucksacks onto their backs and followed me out to the street.

We stopped for coffee and a donut, free of charge as it turned out, as they knew we were supporting the march. We spent the rest of the day, ambling along, waving at the crowds that gathered on street corners, and generally behaving ourselves. There weren't any real injuries or much for us to do in the morning. We ate lunch at a big picnic setup in a city park. The local church ladies really knew how to put on a spread. We ate fried chicken, potato salad, corn on the cob and any kind of pie we wanted. I needed a nap afterwards.

The sun came up hotter in the afternoon. The soldier with me with the radio listened to a couple of calls for pickup for dehydration cases. We ambled along at a slow pace, figuring we would start to see the stragglers pretty soon.

It started about five miles from the finish line for the day. We saw them in groups of two or three, sitting by the side of the road or on a curb, rubbing sore feet and lamenting the long walk. We split up and started to work. I knelt next to my first one, and knew her day was over. She was in her sixties and wearing cheap but very cute pink running shoes. She had been talking to a friend and did not see a small hole in the road. She already had her shoe off, and it did not take long to discover that her ankle was purple and swollen. I extracted an instant ice pack from my bag and an ace wrap. I smacked the bag to break the inner bag and shook it to get it cold. I handed it to her and asked her to put it on her sore ankle. She smiled at me as the icy coolness on her ankle started to soothe the pain. I eyed my companion with the radio and shook my head and he moved off to call for transport. The lady was going to be disappointed that I could not fix her up so she could finish the walk. I sat down in front of her and lifted her leg into my lap. Grabbing the ace wrap, I started to wrap the ice bag around her ankle to secure it in place. While I worked on her ankle, I asked her some polite but leading questions about her medical history so that the paramedics wouldn't get any surprises when they showed up. She tolerated my probing questions, then smiled at me and thanked me for my help as I secured the end of the ace wrap with a length of adhesive tape.

The paramedics showed up soon after, looked over the situation, took my report and gently helped the old lady into the back of the ambulance. She made them promise that they would take her to the finish line before they took her to the hospital. I packed up my aid bag and secured it on my back and continued the march.

The next lady I treated turned out to be a real surprise. She was sitting on a curb, one shoe and sock off, and examining what turned out to be a very large blister. She was blonde and had a pony tail tied up and hooked out the back of a baseball cap. She had a sunburned nose and had been my high school English teacher.

Bear in mind that I hadn't seen her since I was eighteen, and I was twenty five now. She had been twenty four and a recent college graduate the last time I had seen her. Her name was Kathy Stockard, and every boy in school was madly in lust with her. She was drop dead gorgeous, and looked like Cheryl Ladd from the Charlie's Angels TV show. She taught an English literature class with twenty four students, twelve of them boys, and that meant that she was standing up in front of roughly six feet of hard cock. One hell of a statistic. But she withstood all of it with good humor and introduced us Neanderthal types to Emily Dickinson and Shakespeare and Keats and Shelley. Those of us with the ability to perceive the reactions of some of our female classmates noted the flushing of skin, the deepening of breathing and the tendency to hunch their shoulders and push their hands into their crotches during some of the poetry readings. In my case, this was filed away for future reference, and put to very good use later on. Although I did find it difficult to focus on reading Emily Dickinson whilst getting a blowjob.

I choked down my surprise and set to work. I washed her foot with water from my canteen and some antiseptic soap. I dried her foot with a towel, and examined her blister closely. It was a lulu, one of the biggest I had ever seen, and it looked pretty painful. All the while, Kathy was chatting away with two of her buddies and completely ignored me. I prodded the blister once, gently, and she winced and turned to look at me, ready to give me a hard time. Her eyes widened as she looked at me and recognition set in.

"Tommy?", she asked.

I peered under the brim of her baseball cap and said, "Hello, Ms. Stockard. It has been a long time."

Her face was sweaty and her eyes looked tired, but she smiled at me and I thought back to those days in high school and thought she was still a very beautiful woman.

I asked her, "What do you want to do, catch a ride in an ambulance and let a doctor take care of it or finish the walk?"

She eyed me closely, focused on her current problem, and replied, "I need to finish this walk. Do what you can and it will be fine."

I nodded and set to work. I punctured the edge of the blister with a needle and gently expressed all of the fluid into a piece of gauze. That immediately felt better to her. I then applied two coats of tincture of benzoin, which stung a little, and applied a plaster of mole skin. I gave her my spare pair of clean athletic socks and she put them and her shoes back on and jumped to her feet.

A crowd had gathered at this point and she exclaimed to one and all, "See, good as new, last one to the finish line is a rotten egg."

It took me a few minutes to reassemble all of my gear and get my rucksack back on my back. Kathy had left with her friends and I was disappointed that she was not inclined to catch up on old times. It was roughly a mile to the finish and I was glad the day was almost over.

A few minutes later, I saw the tall blonde woman with the long stride, the baseball cap and the bobbing pony tail coming toward me. She walked up to me and smiled and turned to walk with me.

"I had to finish with my friends, but I wanted to come back and thank you for helping me with my sore foot. And, it appears that you have found a home in the Army. How are you doing?" she asked.

And with that, she put her hand under my arm, grabbed the shoulder strap on my rucksack and finished the last half mile of the course with me. We caught up on old times, and laughed about being a high school teacher and the Army.

We got to the finish line, and I spotted the Army bus waiting to take us back to the post.

An older woman with a little boy walked up to her and she squealed, "Noah! How's my man?" and she picked him up and swept him into her arms and kissed him.

"Mom!" he protested, obviously embarrassed at being bussed by his mother in front of so many people.

He was tall for his age and blonde and good looking like his mother. Introductions were made all around and I was swept up into the world of Kathy Stockard.

There was more women schmoozing, more speeches, and an impatient bus driver waiting for me.

Kathy finally noticed my predicament, and asked, "Can you stay with us this evening, I really would like to talk to you. You were one of my favorite students."

My rucksack held clean socks and a t-shirt and I was a highly adaptable Special Forces Sergeant. I walked over to the bus and told them to go on without me. He nodded and grinned, as apparently I was not the only one of us that had "gotten lucky."

I walked back to Kathy and her friends as the bus drove off and became part of her group. We found our way to a restaurant set up for a large group and I did my best not to scratch my balls, pick my nose, belch, fart or swear for the rest of the evening. I listened to the chatter with half an ear, sat next to Kathy, with son Noah on the other side, and tried hard not to stare at the beautiful woman with the sunburned nose sitting next to me.

Dinner broke up early, and I looked at her for a clue as to what was next.

She took me aside and said, "My Mom is taking Noah with her and putting him to bed."

She took my hand and said, "Come with me, let's have a drink in the bar, I want to talk to you alone."

I pulled my hand away and stopped her. "I'm sorry, Kathy, but I am in uniform and could get in trouble for drinking in a bar", I replied.

She looked at me and asked, "Well, is there a small flask of something tasty in that huge rucksack of yours?"

She looked at me with a cocked eyebrow and smiled.

"Yes, ma'am, I believe there is", in my best southern drawl. I went on, "But it would not be good for a school ma'rm's reputation to be seen drinking bourbon whiskey in a man's hotel room."

She grinned at me and replied, "In that case, the gentleman is invited to up to my room, provided he can behave himself."

I eyed her carefully, looking for a sign of guile, and saw none in her face.

She led me and my rucksack over to the elevators and punched a button. We rode in silence up to her floor and she opened the door to room. She grabbed the ice bucket as I opened the top of the rucksack and fished around for my flask of whiskey. It didn't take long for her to return, ice bucket full, and she went into the bathroom to locate two plastic cups. Bourbon on the rocks were soon in hand and both of us took a deep gulp of the chilled whiskey. Kathy sat down in an easy chair and raised her legs. We talked about life, her work as a teacher, her recent divorce, her life as a single Mom. She frowned and looked worried for a bit as I explained my time in Vietnam and my life in the Army. It was not hard for her to imagine one of her students growing up to adulthood. It was hard for her to imagine one of her students growing up to become a professional soldier. She had thought that I was bright enough to go on to college, but when I told her about my low draft number, she shrugged in understanding and nodded.

During a pause, I moved next to her and said, "Let me look at your foot."

She held still as I removed her shoes and socks and checked her feet. The large blister was still covered with the mole skin and I let it be. The other foot had a small blister that would be tender in the morning. On an impulse, I took one of her feet in my hands and started to massage it. She wiggled her ankle, moaned and sat back in the easy chair. Kathy was still the drop dead gorgeous woman I remembered from my younger years, and rubbing her foot gave me a chance to think and reflect on how the two of us came to be here in this time and this place. I switched over to her other foot after a while and refreshed her drink when she drained it. I handed her the fresh drink and went back to the foot massage.

"Why, suh, ah believe you are toying with my affections" she said in a drawl that would have made Tennessee Williams smile.

I looked at her carefully.

I swallowed down a good deal of my libido and said, "Perhaps I should go."

It was one of the harder things I have ever done.

She bent towards me, her arms open, and said, "I think you should stay."

I pulled her out of the chair and into my arms and kissed her. The kiss was long and deep and full of passion and so much I can never put into words.

Kathy twisted out of my arms and rolled me over onto the bed. She looked down at me and studied my face and frowned. She opened her mouth to speak and closed it and opened it again. I waited for her.

Her eyes left mine, and she spoke, haltingly and with embarrassment in her voice, "Last year, in the middle of my divorce, I found that I had breast cancer."

She paused, then went on, "I had a double mastectomy. They took both of my breasts. They told me they had to, or I would die. I have to wait a while longer for the reconstructive surgery."

I looked up at her, my heart aching at the courage it took for her to tell me about herself.

I grabbed both of her hands and held them closely in my own. I kissed the tips of her fingers, and then the tears in her eyes, and told her it was all right. I informed her that I was already enthralled with that marvelous sex organ between her ears, and that I would kiss the scars on her chest, and honor her life for having the courage to have them taken away, so she could be there for Noah and all the kids she would teach about Emily Dickinson and Keats and Percy Bysse Shelley.

She squirmed away from me and rolled off of the bed and knelt before me. She fumbled with my boot laces and pulled off the heavy jump boots. She stood and pulled me to her and I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close and rubbed my face against her belly. Her hands went through my short hair and around my neck and I felt her bend and gently kiss the top of my head. She wiggled and squirmed again and unbuttoned my camouflage uniform jacket and pulled it off.

I felt her fingers rub gently over the scars from my wounds. I was now a grown man, not a high school kid, and the Army had helped me fill out with plenty of exercise and what they thought was good food. The joke in my unit was that the Army had us on a hormone development program, namely testosterone and adrenalin. She reached down and pulled off my t shirt as I enjoyed the cool, soft touch of her fingers over my back and shoulders. Her fingers helped her discover that all us paratrooper types were hard bodies, with a very low body fat percentage.

But it was now my turn.

I stood up and kissed her again. Her fingers fumbled at my belt, and I felt my trousers drop to the floor. It didn't take her long to locate my now very hard erection, and I groaned into the kiss as she gently stroked it with her hands. I pulled away from the kiss and grabbed the bottom of her t-shirt and drew it over her head. Then I knelt in front of her, kissed her belly, and pulled the pants of her fancy track suit down around her bare ankles. I caught her behind the knees with one arm and around her shoulders with the other as I stood up and held her in my arms. Her weight wasn't a lightweight, but she was tall and strong and I liked how she felt.

I walked around the bed and dumped her onto it and laughed as she squealed at me. I pulled the covers down and rolled her under them and dove in after her. I liked the feel of her legs around mine and the soft swell of her belly as I kissed her again.

I reached around her to unsnap her bra, and she stiffened and asked me, "Please, don't."

I resisted, and whispered gently into her ear, "It's all right, I am a soldier, I have seen wounded men. I need to kiss your scars and honor your life."

She stiffened and shuddered for a moment, then went slack as I kissed her tears again and unsnapped her bra. The inserts fell out with the bra and I moved my kisses down her chin line to her neck to her collarbone and down her chest to the two lines of ropy tissue where her breasts had been. I kissed them as she shuddered once again and cried out. Her hands went to the back of my head and gently stroked my hair once again. Yes, the scars were a new experience for me, but what was important in that moment is that she was alive, and with me, and it was an experience to savor and remember.

I moved down her belly and gently massaged her mound under her panties. Kneeling over her, I put one hand on either side and pulled them down. She lifted her feet as I drew them off and tossed them aside.

I think she expected me to lie down next to her, as she whispered, "No, please don't..." as I lay down between her thighs and gently kissed the top of her pussy.

Wasting no time, I spread her lips with my tongue and enjoyed the taste of her salty sweetness. We both needed a shower, but I needed her more. I stroked both sides of the opening with the tip of my tongue, then gently circled her clitoris first one way, then the other. Flicking my tongue lightly over the tip, I felt it swell and harden. I sucked it into my mouth, drawing it deeply between my lips, and flicked my tongue over the tip again, and Kathy started to squeal and wiggle underneath me. Changing again, I trapped her clit against the base of my tongue, gently applying pressure to it, forcing it against her pubic bone. The pressure built up against it until the slippery little wiggler went under my tongue. The rebound shocks brought her hands to the back of my head and she started to hunch her hips against my face. I repeated the process over and over again and she started to cum, screaming and writhing under me and cumming.