Put Your Lips Together and Blow

"Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover."

Truer words have never been spoken. Except for the lover part. She was my teacher, but in my mind...? I was obsessed with her. She was attractive, beautiful, even, but not like cover girl beautiful. Curvy in all the right places and partial to form-fitting outfits that showed off her nice breasts and amazing hips. She had sculpted legs, but she wasn't statuesque. Fairly petite, actually. She didn't smile much. In fact, in class she was a bit of a tyrant, but then, it was nearing the end of the school year and every teacher was having trouble keeping our attention. But she often smiled at me.

Miss Stevenson never lost my attention. Well, not quite true. I was usually more focused on watching her move around the classroom than I was on whatever she was saying. And as she moved, my gaze would frequently drift down to admire the way her breasts filled out her blouse, or the way her hips rotated as she walked to the black board.

She caught me a few times, too. She never commented on it, just gave me a smile and kept on teaching. Once, as I was leaving class and turning back for a last admiring look, she was watching me go and gave me a wink. A wink! Sometimes, as she walked around watching us write, she would pause at my desk to point out a correction and let her hip lightly graze my arm. I wouldn't think of anything else the rest of the day.

Yeah, I had it bad. She could have been teaching 15th century economics and I would have been smitten. But she was trying to teach us Spanish and it was hopeless. Spanish! What the hell was I ever going to do with Spanish?!? I was miserable at the language. Unmotivated.

We were all hopeless and she knew it. The math and science nerds were in Herr Jurgen's German classes and nerds that they were, they ate that stuff up.

The hot girls were in Mrs. Anderson's French class. They all had plans to bum through Europe on their parents' credit cards before starting college, so they applied themselves to the language of romance.

The rest of us were in Spanish class because we were required to take a language and it seemed like Spanish would be easier than anything else. Wrong. Dead wrong.

Senioritis had hit me hard. It was my last semester of high school. I was 18. I'd learned everything I wanted to know. I was bored and just wanted to be free. I would discover that college could be just as confining, but at least in college there's the illusion of choice, independence, being treated as an adult.

I was managing to hold down a C in Spanish and I had a distant hope of pulling that up to a B. I could barely string a sentence together, but I had learned enough to be able to read the silly language, and most of our tests involved reading comprehension.

We spent one additional hour a week in the language lab. I was a good mimic. I could fake accents and the voices of famous actors. So despite not knowing what I was saying, I could say it well enough that Miss Stevenson rarely found a reason to correct me. I could see that B on the horizon.

I played guitar in a garage band and had immersed myself in speakers and amplifiers and effects boxes and monster stereo systems. So when I overheard Miss Stevenson complaining to another teacher one day about the broken down state of the language lab, I offered to help. Couldn't hurt my grade any, right?

The lab had no budget and I suppose she figured I couldn't make things worse. So we met there after school one day and she gave me a rundown of the problems: static or hum at some of the stations, no sound at all from others, balky switches on the teacher's console, frayed cables, etc. I went to work while she graded papers.

I found several problems within the first ten minutes or so. The connections at many of the student desks had been poorly soldered. Wires had broken free or shorted. No surprise, no sweat. Next, I went down to her desk, got onto the floor and pulled open the steel access door on the teacher's console. More of the same, plus spider webs and rust. I could make things better.

As I was lying on the floor looking up into the cavernous cabinet, I heard the telltale swish of nylon against nylon. Shifting my position just a bit, I found myself looking at Miss Stevenson's gorgeous stocking-clad legs, which were crossed and tantalizingly within reach. Her right shoe dangled as she absently bounced her foot up and down. Her skirt was high up on her thighs. The nylon changed the color of her skin as it stretched around her lovely knees. Oh, Lordy, what a heavenly sight.

I didn't dare stay down there very long, so I closed the door of the cabinet, stood up, and managed to crack my head against the underside of the desk.

She let out a shriek.

"Are you ok?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Let me look at your head."

She had already gotten up. I was still on my knees. My head throbbed. She came around the desk and started parting my hair, looking for blood.

"Where did you hit it, Alex?"

"Right here somewhere. I don't think it's bad. I just whacked it hard."

She ran her fingers over my scalp looking for some sign that I needed hospitalization, but fortunately there was nothing.

"I don't see anything. You'll probably have a headache. You hit yourself pretty hard. Scared me to death!"

I got up and she was smiling. I felt no more pain.

"Just a klutzy move on my part. I was distracted... I just wasn't watching where I was going. I'm fine. I have a hard head. I'll be fine."

She reached out and squeezed my left arm briefly.

"I hope so. Did you find anything down there?"

I gave her my assessment, that there seemed to be a lot of frayed wires and corrosion. I told her that I could do most of the repairs pretty easily but I would have to bring back my soldering iron and some basic tools. She seemed encouraged about the news.

So we agreed to meet again in a week and I would attack her list in earnest.

"Thank you, Alex. You can't imagine how happy I am that you might be able to get the lab back into shape! If you do, you'll be my hero. So, same time next week?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you sure you're ok? I could drive you home."

"No, ma'am. Thank you, I'm fine. Just a little embarrassed. I only live a couple of miles from here, so I'll just walk."

"That's too far, Alex. If you collapsed on the way home from a brain aneurysm, I would feel terrible."

She smiled and I knew she was pulling my leg. But hey, wasn't this what I had been hoping for?

"I am feeling a bit weak." I smiled back at her.

"Give me 5 minutes."

Five minutes became ten, but I didn't mind. We left school together and walked out to the staff parking lot. It was empty except for a red Toyota Celica GT all by itself under a maple tree.

"Nice car, Miss Stevenson!"

She smiled.

"This is my baby. I call her Cherise. Hop in. You might have to push the seat back. Your legs are way longer than mine."

But your legs are way more interesting, I wanted to say. She slid into the car and her skirt rode up to just above mid-thigh. She tugged at it a bit, fumbled with the key, started the engine and revved it a bit until it purred.

Then she dropped it into first gear, dumped the clutch, and we were off with a squeal.

"Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to do that. I'm a little distracted, I guess. It was a long day. I always look forward to unwinding with Cherise."

She drove fast through the parking lot, out the entrance, and roared down the two-lane road towards town. I loved the acceleration and the sound of the engine revving, and I loved the way her leg moved as she clutched her way through the gears. I pretended to watch the tachometer, but my peripheral vision was locked on her shapely thighs.

"I forgot to ask where you live? Are we going the right way?"

"Yes, ma'am. Just take a right on Overtown and head out towards Wakefield. I live just beyond there."

"That's a lot farther than 2 miles, Alex. You were really going to walk all this way? And to think, you almost gave up a chance ride in my hot little sports car!"

She laughed.

"This is way better than walking. I appreciate the lift. And you're right, this is a great car, and you're a great driver."

"Don't tell anyone, but I've gotten quite a few speeding tickets. I like driving fast. I bought this car because I liked the way it handled and, to tell you the truth, I thought it might turn out to be a guy magnet. That part didn't work out, but I can still tear up the roads."

"I only have a VW Beetle myself, but I would love to own a Porsche."

"Great car. I would have figured you for a muscle car guy."

"No ma'am. I think most of them are overrated. They've got speed on the straights, but they don't handle in the curves like foreign cars do."

"That's something I've noticed about you."

"What's that?"

"You seem to like curves."

She smiled mischievously and I flushed red. Then she sped up, taking the next few curves faster and faster. The Celica hugged the road. We got to the turnoff faster than I had hoped.

"Up here, make a right."

She downshifted and took the right turn fast and wide.

"Next left, then ahead on the right, the green house."

She pulled up to a stop at the edge of the pavement and a cloud of dust blew past us. I grabbed my books, opened the door, and wrestled my way out of the low-slung little bomber.

"Thank you very much, ma'am. My head is feeling much better now."

I smiled and she smiled back.

"It's the least I can do, Alex. And, if you don't mind, since we'll be working together after hours, I would like it if you called me Amy. Not in class, but when we're working together. I understand your southern manners, but all that 'yes ma'am, no ma'am' makes me feel old."

"Yes, ma'am. I mean, Amy. I'll try to do that. Thanks again."

As soon as I closed the door, she dropped the clutch and went roaring off down the road. I watched her until she was out of sight.

***

The week passed quickly. Anticipation. I half expected her to forget, or cancel, or something. But she checked with me to see if we were still on and then met back in the lab after school. I got to work on the desk problems first. Those were mostly simple re-soldering jobs.

She was grading papers, I was fixing broken connections, time was rolling along. Maybe 30 minutes into my work she got up and stretched and wandered back to watch. A wisp of smoke rose from the connection as I applied the solder and then blew on it to cool it down.

"How did you learn to do this?"

"Model trains. I have an uncle who's an electrician and a model train enthusiast. He taught me about basic electronics and supplies me with parts as he comes across things that might be useful."

"Nice. My dad was handy with things like that, but he never taught me what he knew. Could you teach me to do that?"

"Sure. It's really simple..."

"So a dumb girl should be able to do it?" She smiled.

"Oh, no, ma'am. I didn't mean that."

"Amy. And I'm just pulling your leg. Tell me what you're doing."

"Well, the wires just need to be connected to the terminals in a way that they won't shake loose or corrode. The solder does that."

"Show me."

She moved closer and bent down to watch.

"See, this wire has come loose from the connection. Most of these seemed to have been badly soldered to begin with. First, I strip the insulation off with this tool. The wire is made up of a bunch of individual smaller wires... it's called stranded wire. You twist those together tightly, then clean off the old contact by heating it up and pulling off any bits of broken wire, like this."

I wiped the iron over the connection, melted the old solder and pulled off the debris with my needle-nosed pliers.

"Now we wrap the bare wire around the terminal a few times, apply some heat, and when it gets hot enough, feed the solder into the joint."

The silvery metal liquified under the heat of the iron and wicked into the joint.

"Now you blow on it to cool down the solder. And that's it. Tight as a... tight and strong."

I wiggled it to show her.

"That's so cool. Can I try?"

I guided her through the process of prepping the wire and cleaning the terminal with the iron. She was standing beside me, bending down over the table, concentrating on what she was doing. Her arm brushed against mine as she worked. Her perfume was flowery. And from this angle, the scooped neckline of her dress was drooping open. I was torn between making sure she didn't burn herself and looking into the space between her beautiful white breasts just inches away from my face.

"Just touch the soldering iron tit... I mean, tip... to the terminal and hold it there."

She looked at me funny, then glanced down at her dress and giggled.

"Concentrate, Alex. I don't want to burn my fingers."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

"Amy, remember? It's ok. There's a whole lot of hotness going on right here, isn't there? So now I solder it?"

"Yes, ma'am... Amy, yes, you should be hot enough."

"I'm sure I'm hot enough, Alex, but what about the wire?"

She giggled again, then flowed the solder into the joint.

"That is so cool."

"Take the iron away now and blow on the connection."

"That reminds me of a famous movie line. 'How do you whistle? You just put your lips together and blow.'"

And she did. She bent down close to the wire, pursed her red lips, and blew. Sexiest blow job I had ever seen.

"Let me do another one, but this time I want to do the whole enchilada."

So we moved to another desk and I had her sit while I stood over her and coached. The view from over her shoulder was just as magnificent as before. I started getting hard. Shit.

Miss Stevenson was busy working on the wire, prepping the joint, getting everything set. She picked up the solder in her right hand and the iron in her left, but the cord was stuck on something. She gave it a tug with a sweep of her arm and her elbow caught me right in the crotch, hard.

She didn't realize what she'd done at first, but when she turned her head she could see plain enough where she'd hit me. She looked up and saw me grimacing, and flushed red.

"Oh, Alex! Oh, I'm so sorry. That was clumsy of me. I... Oh, my, I really am sorry."

"It's ok. I was standing too close. You better solder that joint."

She gave me an embarrassed smile, looked at my swelling crotch once more, then went back to work.

Just as she was blowing on the connection, a siren started wailing. Neither of us registered what it meant for several seconds, then it dawned on me.

"Is that the tornado siren?"

"Oh! It must be! Is it a drill?"

"I don't think so. They test it on Saturdays."

She nodded.

"We better go see what's happening."

I unplugged the iron, she grabbed her purse, and we exited the lab. Across the hall, big windows looked out onto the parking lot. The sky was black, rain was coming down in sheets, and as we watched, a bolt of lightning cracked through the turbulent air just over the next hill.

An announcement came over the PA system.

"Any staff still in the building please go immediately to the storm shelter. A tornado has been spotted in the area. Drop what you're doing and head for the shelter on the first floor near the auditorium immediately."

We both took off at a trot. Miss Stephenson led the way down to the first floor, through the empty halls, and across the lobby towards the shelter. Outside, trees were twisting and bending violently, and the large windows looking out on the front lawn seemed to be groaning under the strain.

The storm shelter was in a basement equipment and storage area, down among the school's heating system. It wasn't large, but someone had calculated that there was room enough for the students and staff if everyone crowded in.

Miss Stevenson took a few steps down into the gloom and stopped dead.

"The shelter is down at the bottom to the right, Miss Stevenson."

She looked up at the concrete roof of the stairwell, down into the dimly-lit corridor, listened to the drone of the electric pumps and blowers, and shook her head.

"I can't go down there, Alex."

"It's ok, Miss Stevenson. It looks worse than it is."

I took her hand and started to lead her down the stairs, but she snatched it away and stayed frozen on the steps.

"No, Alex. I can't. I'm claustrophobic. I can't go down there. You go ahead. I'll find someplace else. I'll be fine, really. Go ahead."

I took a moment to comprehend what she was saying.

"Miss Stevenson... Amy... I'm not going if you aren't going. Come on. Let's find another place."

We retreated up the steps and into the hallway. The building seemed to be trembling under the force of the wind and rain. I could no longer hear the siren over the noise of the storm.

"I know a place."

I took her hand and led her at a run to the boy's locker room. We went inside and I found the equipment room. It was a small storage room in the middle of a cluster of offices that held towels, cleaning supplies, balls and bats and football helmets and all manner of stuff. It had a heavy fire door, the only entrance. I opened it, turned on the light, and escorted her inside. Then I closed the door and made some space for us to sit in a corner of the room. The floor was a bit dirty, so I grabbed some bath towels, laid them out and invited her to sit.

She looked around and shook her head.

"This is just as bad as the basement."

"It's way better than the basement because it's above ground. It's not a tomb, just a room. It'll be ok. We're here together and I won't let anything happen to you."

She smiled at that and sat down.

We'd no sooner gotten settled than the lights flickered and went out. I'd left a decent amount of space between us, but when the room went dark she reached for me and pulled me beside her. We could hear heavy objects thudding against the building.

"Alex, hold me, please. I don't like this. Put your arms around me and hold me. I feel like this room is getting smaller every minute."

I did as she asked and held her with both arms. My right arm stretched across the rise of her chest. She nestled her head into my neck. Her hair was in my face and smelled like... hell, I don't know what it smelled like, but it was amazing.

"It's ok, Amy. I've got you. We'll be fine. And hey, in the dark, you can imagine that we're sitting in the middle of a huge field with no walls at all, right?"

"We'd be pummeled by rain and hail if we were. Maybe even impaled by fence posts."

"True. Being impaled would be bad, so by comparison..."

The room was warm. Amy was warm. Her breath was warm on my neck. You'd think that in the middle of a storm powerful enough to flatten the building I was trapped in, sex would be the last thing on my mind. You'd be wrong. I was hard, getting harder, and my dick was trapped uncomfortably in my underwear. Fortunately, the lights were out.

There was another loud bang as something else bounced off the building. Amy yelped. I don't know why, but I kissed her on the top of her head. It seemed like the right thing to do. Then I was aware of what I'd done and felt awkward.

"You're being very kind to me, Alex. I'm being a sissy. I've never been in a tornado before. I'm scared. I'm supposed to be the one who's taking charge, but here you are taking care of me. You're a brave guy and I'm glad you're with me. You didn't have to do that, you know. But I wouldn't have known what to do if you hadn't brought me in here."

I was quiet.

"I don't mean to embarrass you, but I couldn't help notice earlier... uh, how should I put this... that you were looking at my... chest. It didn't bother me. In fact, I have to say that I'm flattered. It's been a long time since a man looked at me like that."

"I'm sorry, Miss Stevenson..."

"Amy."