My mentor and I

She looked like Audrey Hepburn, if she'd come from Iran. He'd realized it while catching a late revival of My Fair Lady, and walking from the cinema in the night and the rain he thought, "That's why I'm falling in love with her." He wanted to be with her, always. But it wasn't that simple.

He was the newest teacher at school, young and looking younger. She was maybe ten years his senior. She was also divorced, with a small child that she had to juggle with the not too responsible father figure. Other than that, teaching math she had a strict professionalism that he admired, and on the other hand always kept him at a distance. He didn't want to intrude, especially since he felt that he couldn't be completely professional around her, like a coworker should. But that left out another complication.

He had a girlfriend, who he loved. She loved him. They were happy together, had talked about marriage even. Not once had he regretted his decision to be with her, until this infatuation at work.

Other circumstances, beyond his control, pushed them closer. She was his mentor, so they had to spend time together. He was literally instructed to place himself at the back of the classroom a couple of lessons every day and watch her as she moved from student to student, sometimes stroking them across the back, encouraging them to keep going. Sometimes her long and curly hair would tickle them, and make them laugh together. If he had been one of them, he knew that he would've been obsessed with her. She would've been his first crush, his first fantasy. Like many teenagers he would've nourished a stupid wish for something to happen, maybe at the graduation party. He'd seen the movies. A part of him almost wished that that had been the case. Things would have been less complicated then. Impossible.

Part of the day, he didn't see her at all. But he thought about her. Have you experienced the feeling you get when you admire someone so much that you can't bring yourself to masturbate about them, as if that would be disrespectful? That's the way it was for him. Other younger teachers he didn't have a problem with. They were nothing to him, just a quick glance in the corridor, a quickie in the teachers' restroom, imagining them on their knees, sucking his cock, or bending over the teacher's desk, inviting him to fuck them from behind. It was over in a couple of minutes, and he wiped himself off without complicated emotions.

Day after day, everything was the same. Then something happened. A couple of students started to be mean to her, nothing much, but it kept going and going, and in such a way that they technically didn't do anything wrong. It was an attitude, and it spread from the first couple of students to some of the others. From outside, it was a small problem, but anyone who's been a teacher know that it can ruin an entire year.

***

He glanced at her, still standing at the back of the classroom, pretending to take notes. It was worse today, and he felt for her. She moved with little jerks, threw her hair back, irritated. She'd lovely hair, even though she joked about it. Now she seemed to want to cut it off with a sharp knife. Eventually, he couldn't stand it any longer. He had to do something, and he felt pathetic when the only thing that came to mind was to help her tidy up. She didn't notice. The silence spread from her, filled the space between them.

"Excuse me," he said as their hands accidently touched over a couple of papers. He backed away, didn't want to offend.

"No," she said. "Excuse me. I'm having a shit day."

"I noticed."

"You did?" She laughed half-heartedly. Her strict demeanor never left her, but when she smiled it was amazing, like a loving authority. But this was not that. It was a sad smile. She sat down.

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"Have you tried speaking to the principal?" he asked, and sat down a couple of seats away from her, hands between his thighs.

"That won't help."

Once again, he realized that she had more experience than him, this included. He felt like an idiot.

She sighed. "Sometimes it's best to simply keep going, ignoring it until it all goes away. Eventually, it usually does."

"But ... you seem sad?"

"I am. I'm lonely, most of all."

"Your daughter?"

"I love her."

"That's not what you meant."

"No."

They rarely discussed their private lives, she least of all. He would have cherished this chance under different circumstances. Now he just desperately wanted to help her.

"Maybe we can take a cup of coffee in the cafeteria? No students allowed."

"You're sweet," she said. Her smile was less sad, more tired. She thought about it. "But I have to prepare. My next class starts in 16 minutes."

"I understand," he said. "Another time. And go ahead, start preparing. I can take care of this." He waved his hand at the mostly empty desks.

"Thanks," she said, and got up. Him too. Her phone pinged, distracting her for a second. When she looked up, they were standing next to each other, not passing by any longer. Their faces were close, and shifted towards each other. Her mouth was slightly open.

You've experienced it, standing close to someone, and somebody shifts, you don't know who, and you are edging closer, inch by inch, until you are close enough that a kiss is inevitable. They didn't kiss though. She placed her delicate hand on his chest. Her eyes were big under the fluorescent light.

Answering her slightest pressure, he sat down again, admiring her from below, the soft tone of her breasts under the sweater, most of all her face. Surprised she continued forward by her own momentum. Maybe she'd just stopped a kiss, and now his chin touched her belly. He could feel her heat.

Neither moved away. They stayed like that for a long time, until not moving became consent.

Trembling, her hands started to unbuckle her jeans, and she swallowed a couple of times, staring furtively at the door. It happened that students came in early. She pulled her pants and panties down, kicked off her shoes, and stepped away from them, placing herself against a desk and sitting down, one white sock on top of the other, her smooth legs leading his eyes to the dark shadow between her thighs. His knees landed on her crumpled jeans as he hastened forward.

Placing her feet on either side of him, she stroked his hair as he kissed her on the inner thigh before he couldn't hold back and pressed his open mouth to her, breathing her in and opening his mouth further, letting his tongue taste her for the first time, in their first kiss.

She moaned. One hand grabbed the desk to steady herself. The other grabbed his hair, but not painfully. She just didn't want him to leave.

Slightly sour and bitter, with the clean taste of her hot skin, he felt her folds underneath his tongue and against his lips and even his nose. Gasping for air from excitement he pushed her hard against the desk, making it scream against the floor. Something fell on the other side. They didn't care.

With his hands he stroked her soft legs to her middle and her belly. He wanted to keep going, to feel her small breasts, but he didn't want to lose focus on what he was doing.

She sounded like a marathon runner. Sweat poured down her skin, making his hands itch for more, and to stop them from shaking he used his fingers on her, bending two of them inside of her, fingertips against smoothness. Taking a moment from kissing her he looked up.

Forcing down deep breaths she said, "You know there can never be anything between us."

"I know," he said. "I just want to do this thing for you. I ..."

I love you.

She closed her eyes, and clenched down there. A mini-orgasm forced juices between his fingers and her, collecting in the palm of his hand, dripping down her thighs to the floor. Not sure if she wanted him to keep going, he stopped with his fingers still inside of her, moving softly.

Lying down she used her legs to pull him closer. Freeing his fingers, he cleaned them and the palm of his hand with his mouth, before going down on her again, making out with her, filling the room with wet noises, barely covered by her soft moans, so much lower than his girlfriend's. Already missing them he wanted to hear her orgasm against his face.

As she screamed, she put one hand over her mouth, muffling it. The other one moved his hand under her sweater, molding him around her breast. It was the same hand that had been inside of her, and he felt and imagined her juices mingling with her sweat, feeling her nipple beneath his fingers, squeezing it lightly.

A hard bounce against the door made her push him away, and without ever seeing her breast and losing the wet warmth of her afterglow he was sitting on the floor in shock, watching her put her pants back on, straightening the desk. She helped him off the floor, and not without feeling she straightened his collar and his damp hair. It glistened like hair oil.

Just a minute ahead of time she was ready. He'd sat down, the better to hide his erection. While it happened, he hadn't thought about it, but as the students emerged from the corridor, he knew that he would never experience any release. At home, he would fuck his girlfriend, but it wouldn't be the same, being with one person while thinking about another.

Some noticed the strange smell, but they loudly explained it by complaining about the old air conditioner, and soon forgot. He kept smelling her all over his face. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. For a long time, he sat like that, trying to remember everything.

Shit, he thought, as he felt someone moving against him. It could only be a curious student, imagining that he was asleep. Therefore, he smiled before opening his eyes. But his smile faltered.

She stood next to him, taking a moment to glance around the working students. Noone saw, and she stroked his shoulder. He raised his hand, feeling for a second her soft fingers curl around his, before she went away. Someone had raised their hand. From underneath her hair she smiled.

Maybe it wasn't the end. Maybe she would remember him, and the next time she felt unhappy, he could be there for her again. It would be love, or something like it.