School's Out [Ocean View Series]

Mr. Johnson dedicated his life to ensuring no child would suffer the same experience. He wanted the students to feel empowered they could do anything. And he did not suffer those who disagreed with his mission.

"I'm used to a different... caliber of student," explained Miss Carter carefully. "Growing up, I was very interested in school. I went to Oceani Victoria. At my student teacher placement, also at Oceani Victoria, those students were very interested in school. But the students at Ocean View Middle..." She ran out of words.

"Are as interested in school as a fish is with clouds?" Mr. Johnson finished for her.

"Yes!" said Miss Carter. "They don't care about learning."

"Surely some of them do," said Mr. Johnson.

Miss Carter shook her head. "Not a one. A student asked me if Hamlet was a sandwich. He wanted to order one."

"I see," said Mr. Johnson. "And you're worried because he didn't know what Hamlet was?"

"I was worried because he tried to order a sandwich in the English room."

"I see," repeated Mr. Johnson. "That is troubling."

Miss Carter sighed and shook her head. "I got into this profession to help kids. But if they don't want to be helped, what's the point?" She glanced at Mr. Johnson, her gaze lingering on his barrel chest. "Why did you get into it?"

"I never had sex ed," he replied.

Miss Carter started. "What?"

"Sex ed stands for 'sexual education,'" clarified Mr. Johnson.

"I know that."

"I never want a child to go through what I went through. Life is too short to grow up ignorant. I'm here to make the school a better place," said Mr. Johnson.

Miss Carter smiled. His idealism touched her heart. Perhaps she was too hard on the kids.

"I never got a sexual education because my school was too ill-equipped," continued Mr. Johnson wistfully.

"You poor thing," said Miss Carter. "You don't know what you're missing out on."

"I've had sex," clarified Mr. Johnson quickly. "I'm no virgin. But I don't understand how babies are made."

"You... don't understand how babies are made?" Miss Carter repeated. This was unimaginable for her. How did he not understand basic biology?

"That's right," said Mr. Johnson. "I know it involves sex. But what kind? Oral? Vaginal? Anal? Probably not a tit-fuck, but then again—"

"Have you experienced all of these?" Miss Carter asked. It was a very forward question. But Mr. Johnson was struggling like a— he was struggling like a... he was struggling, alright? And the direct approach seemed best.

"A few. But I don't have any kids yet," said Mr. Johnson. "Which is too bad."

"You want kids?" asked Miss Carter. Her ovaries perked up. She wanted kids of her own to raise and shape and instruct. Two, a younger one and an older one. She wasn't picky about gender, race, sexual orientation, or religious affiliation. Miss Carter was an equal opportunity mom-to-be.

"More than anything," said Mr. Johnson. "I just haven't found the right woman yet."

Miss Carter uncrossed her legs, subconsciously stretching them wider in Mr. Johnson's direction. Her skin prickled. There was something about his calm, fatherly demeanor that spoke to her.

"I bet you'd be a great dad," said Miss Carter. "But you'd better learn how to impregnate your wife first."

"My future wife," said Mr. Johnson. Miss Carter's legs spread two centimeters wider. Her saliva glands flooded her mouth.

"Well... I substitute teach biology," said Miss Carter. "I could run you through the basics."

"That would be swell," said Mr. Johnson, his deep voice cracking for the first time since puberty. He never used words like "swell." There was something about Miss Carter that turned his mouth dry, his brain fuzzy, his cock sensitive. He wished he could salivate more.

Miss Carter straightened up, taking on her teacher posture. It was important to radiate certainty when teaching. Otherwise, she'd look like a know-nothing Tik-Toker.

"First, the male of the human species gets aroused. His genitals become erect. The woman becomes aroused, begins to make lubricant. Then the male slips his penis inside the woman's vagina until he orgasms. The sperm swim to the woman's ovaries with the intention of impregnating an egg."

"A real egg?" Mr. Johnson asked. His eyes widened. "Like, a chicken egg?"

"Where do you think chicken eggs come from?" Miss Carter asked. She meant it as a joke.

"From..." Mr. Johnson looked her up and down, his eyes widening in shock. "From... girls?"

"No, from chickens!" Miss Carter snapped. "Human eggs are different."

Mr. Johnson nodded. "Right, of course." All of his blood was in his dick, which he now understood he needed to put into a vagina to impregnate his future wife. Everything was falling into place for Mr. Johnson. He was taking off his blinders and emerging into a brand new world.

Miss Carter looked at him expectantly. "Any other pressing questions? Misunderstandings I can clear up?"

Mr. Johnson shook his head. "No." He wasn't ready to stand up, not without an embarrassing erection broadcasting his arousal from his pants. "I misjudged you when I arrived, Miss Carter. You do care about education."

Miss Carter smiled. She was developing a crush on Mr. Johnson, although she didn't know it. His handsome charm, his muscles, his foolish notions about how children were made. "Thank you. It helps when I have a good student."

Mr. Johnson stood up slowly, adjusting his slacks with care so Miss Carter wouldn't notice his large erection.

He failed.

"I'll catch you later," said Mr. Johnson, awkwardly shuffling away.

Not if I catch you first, thought Miss Carter.

#

The next day, Miss Carter sat reviewing more papers. This student had turned in a report 500 words short, out of 510 required.

A gentle knock came at the door. "Come in," she called, reading the piddly paragraph.

Mr. Johnson stepped inside with a small wave. His other hand was concealed behind his back.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Living the dream," said Miss Carter. "F" she wrote at the top of the paper. Her handwriting was perfection. It was the most magnificent "F" ever bestowed, and its magnificence was totally wasted on Suzy Cameron, who would throw away her paper without looking at it.

Mr. Johnson revealed the surprise behind him. Two fast food sandwiches rested in his palm, with two cold beverages in his fingers. The sandwiches were more fast than food. Miss Carter smiled all the same. Her stomach growled.

"I'm a vegetarian," said Miss Carter.

"So am I!" said Mr. Johnson. "May I join you?"

"Sure," said Miss Carter, tossing aside the poorly crafted essays. Mr. Johnson pulled up a chair from desk D1, sitting across from Miss Carter at her desk. His sandwich smelt of mustard. Her sandwich smelt of oil. It was greasy and filling, just as fast food should be.

"So tell me," said Mr. Johnson between bites. "How does the woman produce lubricant?"

Miss Carter spat out her drink, which was only half as embarrassing as Mr. Johnson's blunder. "You know, this could constitute sexual harassment."

The color vanished from Mr. Johnson's face. "Oh my non-denominational god. I am so sorry. I never meant to make you uncomfortable." Mr. Johnson slapped his forehead. "How did I not see that?" He gathered up his sandwich in a hurry. "I'm going right now to turn myself in. I wish you a very professional day."

"Relax," said Miss Carter, grabbing him by the arm. "I was joking."

They froze for a moment, happy for human contact. Mr. Johnson sat back down and placed his sandwich back on her desk — their makeshift table.

"You know, touching me that long could also constitute sexual harassment," said Mr. Johnson.

"We've both got something on each other," said Miss Carter. "Détente."

"De-what?"

"We're deescalating," said Miss Carter. "Becoming friends. Building... relationships." She let the word linger, baiting her hook.

"I'd like to be friends," said Mr. Johnson. He paused. "And build relationships."

Miss Carter's heart fluttered. That pause was the green light she needed. "Some women get wet when their partners go down on them. Some women like getting spanked. Some like getting their nipples pulled, or their ass eaten. There's a myriad of ways to get your partner off." Miss Carter leaned forward. "Me, I like it when a man nibbles my earlobes while he rubs my clit." She shivered in excitement.

"Uh-huh," said Mr. Johnson, scribbling her words furiously on his hand. When he left, he would photocopy his notes and study them. He wanted to make sure his future wife would be wet. He wanted her to have a good time. "What about tongue?"

"Tongue is good all over this," she waved her hand in front of her pussy, hiking up her skirt a tad to give him a better view. "All in here."

"Uh-huh," agreed Mr. Johnson, writing with his left hand now. He'd run out of space on righty. "What else?"

"Listen to her body," advised Miss Carter. "Her gasps, her moans, her voice. Does she break out in goosebumps when you kiss her neck? When you stroke her thigh? Does she..." Miss Carter broke off. She fanned her reddening face. Somewhere between saying, "Come in," and now she'd accidentally revealed more about herself than she meant to.

"Go on," said Mr. Johnson.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," said Miss Carter. Her neck was flushed, and her nipples were harder than the LSAT. If she kept talking like this, she'd be rubbing one out in her hybrid sedan on the drive home. Miss Carter cared about the environment.

Mr. Johnson leaned back, giving her space. "Sorry if I've overstepped again. My nickname in high school was Oaf."

"Because of your numerous verbal blunders?" asked Miss Carter.

Mr. Johnson's face fell. "No, because of my size. I was changing the subject."

Miss Carter's face flushed again, this time from her own embarrassment. "My nickname in high school was Hot Tub Girl."

Mr. Johnson's eyebrow raised. "Why did they call you Hot Tub Girl?"

Miss Carter groaned. "I let Dave Mathews feel me up in a hot tub once."

"The band leader?"

"No, just some guy with the same name. You know how teens are. Once something like that gets around, it sticks with you. I've never been in a hot tub since," Miss Carter explained sadly.

Mr. Johnson wanted nothing more than to put his arm around Miss Carter and hold her close. It was instinctual. Sad woman? Need make feel better, his monkey-brain thought. He wanted to hold her against his broad, muscled chest and tell her that it was okay, high school was buried in the past. Hot tubs were safe territory now.

But he couldn't hold her. So instead he said, "It's okay, high school is buried in the past. Hot tubs are safe territory now. Everyone should be able to enjoy a hot tub." It was less effective without the physical contact, but it would have to do.

Miss Carter smiled. There was something about Mr. Johnson that put her at ease. Maybe it was his dazzling smile. Perhaps his muscular body. It probably wasn't his hereditary sleep apnea, not that Miss Carter knew about that. Yet.

"It will take more than a few kind words from my boss to make me overcome my phobia. But thank you," replied Miss Carter.

"I'll leave you to your grading," said Mr. Johnson, grabbing their empty sandwich wrappers and throwing them away as he walked to the door.

"Thanks for lunch," said Miss Carter.

"Thanks for the company," smiled Mr. Johnson.

Miss Carter had a floaty feeling in her chest the rest of the day. It was like she was walking on a cloud, or on really good drugs. When Ms. Hapsburg snarled at her in the hallway, she scarcely noticed.

It wasn't until she was at home watching True Crime: The TV Show that night did she realize she had a crush on Mr. Johnson.

#

The next day, Miss Carter waited eagerly for the knock at the door. Grading was out of the question; she was too excited to see Mr. Johnson again. Her mind kept drifting to his deep blue eyes and thick dark hair. What was his middle name? What hobbies did he have? What was he packing in his pants?

A gentle knock interrupted her daydream. "Come in!" she exclaimed. To her delight, Mr. Johnson appeared in the doorway.

"Good morning," he charmed as he walked over to her desk, stopping on the opposite side.

"Good morning," she flirted.

"How's the grading?" he frivolled.

"Long and hard," she coquetted.

They laughed.

"I have another technical question," Mr. Johnson said. "And stop me if this is too forward."

Miss Carter's body warmed. No question was too forward today.

"Do women prefer being licked like this?" Mr. Johnson stuck out his tongue and made lapping motions in the air. "Or like this?" He shook his head side to side, his tongue flopping left and right.

"That's a personal choice, I'd think," said Miss Carter. "What are you doing with your hands at the time?"

"Either squeezing her tits, like this," he said, squeezing and rubbing an imaginary woman. Miss Carter yearned to be his imaginary woman. "Or getting inside her, like this." He held his index and middle fingers together and pushed up into his imaginary partner.

"I like it when he rubs like this," said Miss Carter. She took his hand and brought it to her chest.

Mr. Johnson froze. It was like her body was liquid nitrogen. His pants swelled.

"Go on, rub," said Miss Carter, savoring his hand strength. His thumb caressed her nipple over her blouse. A sigh of lust hissed from her nose.

"What do I do with my other hand?" Mr. Johnson asked.

"Put it here," said Miss Carter, guiding him to her pussy. "Now, rub in circles."

Mr. Johnson did as he was bid, and Miss Carter let out a light moan.

"Gentler," breathed Miss Carter. Her body tingled at his masculine touch, and she closed her eyes in pleasure. His hands explored her body, savoring every moment of contact.

His hands vanished. Miss Carter opened her eyes. Mr. Johnson skirted around the desk, joining her on the teacher's side.

"I was getting uncomfortable leaning over like that," he explained, again taking her breast and pussy in his hands.

"I want you to be comfortable," said Miss Carter, and she slipped her hand into his pants. My god, he's packing serious meat, she thought. His cock was like a baseball bat, and his testicles two professional grade bowling balls (16 pounds, 8.5 inch diameter (this is hyperbole, if you or a loved one's testicles are that large and heavy, see a doctor)).

She stroked him gently, savoring the feeling of his tremendous organ in her hand. She had to have it.

"How about we put that hypothetical question of yours to the test?" offered Miss Carter. Mr. Johnson nodded vigorously, and she spread her legs, hiking her skirt up to her waist.

Mr. Johnson kneeled in front of her chair and buried his face in her pussy, yanking her panties to the side to begin his feast. And feast he did. His tongue licked and battered and caressed and grazed and fondled and lapped and swept and oscillated and danced and sucked her pussy until she was a wet, sticky mess.

Miss Carter's skin was blazing and her body was desperate for Mr. Johnson's johnson. But his tongue wasn't done yet. It rubbed and soothed and stroked and brushed and tickled her until she released her joy. A firm hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream as she came, saving Mr. Johnson's eardrums and Miss Carter's job. If a scream of pleasure that intense got out, there'd be no hiding their illicit affair.

Her legs wrapped around the back of Mr. Johnson's head, squeezing him with all her might. Her heart was racing like she'd run a marathon, and her body had just as many endorphins. However, there are fewer medals for oral sex. Mr. Johnson did it for the love of the game, not for awards.

"Your future wife will love this," said Miss Carter breathlessly.

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Johnson. "I'll do that to her when I meet her."

"What do you hope she'll do to you in return?" Miss Carter asked coyly.

"Love me back," said Mr. Johnson.

He's as sincere as a puppy at the animal shelter, Miss Carter thought. She wanted to scoop him up and adopt him as her naive husband.

"I meant physically," added Miss Carter.

"Oh! I'd hope she'd go to town on my balls," said Mr. Johnson. "Not enough women go to town on the balls. They're as neglected as a puppy at an animal shelter."

"I was just thinking that same simile," said Miss Carter. She licked her lips, bent over, then went to town on his balls.

Mr. Johnson's mind went blank. Pleasure neurons fired at maximum velocity. His brain played hallucinations involving Miss Carter: They were on their first date, and she was going to town on his balls. Their wedding night and she was going to town on his balls. Dropping their two kids off at soccer practice, and she was going to town on his balls in the minivan.

Mr. Johnson had it bad for Miss Carter. Which was actually good, because she had it bad for him. When two people have it bad for each other, it's a double negative, and ends up being positive.

Mr. Johnson's johnson exploded, emptying the contents of his balls all over the back of Miss Carter's blouse. The cum came in torrents; he was emptying a hyperbolic 32 pounds of semen. He put his fist in his mouth to stop his groan from echoing through the halls.

When she was satisfied he'd purged it all, Miss Carter returned from going to town on his balls. Her back was coated with his seed, and she could feel it dribbling.

"That was fantastic," said Mr. Johnson breathlessly.

"Thank you," said Miss Carter.

"I don't know if my future wife could live up to that."

"I can think of one way."

"How?"

"If your future wife was me."

Mr. Johnson leaned back against her desk. "That's an intriguing idea, Miss Carter. Perhaps we can discuss it more after dinner tonight?"

"Sounds wonderful," said Miss Carter. "I'll need to go home and change first, though." She could feel his mess trickling down her back.

Mr. Johnson took off his blazer and wrapped it around her shoulders like a mantle. "I'll pick you up at six." They stared at each other for a moment as excitement brewed in their stomachs like coffee in the teacher's lounge. They were starting on a magical journey together. Not a magical adventure with wizards and goblins and the like; but a magical journey of discovering someone you've been waiting for your whole life. A journey not everyone gets to take, and is much more special than any trip with a goblin wizard.

Mr. Johnson squeezed her hand, then departed. He kicked his heels together in the hallway. She was the one for him.

Miss Carter returned to her grading. There was one more paper. 510 words, exactly on the money. It was titled, "Moby Dick: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Whale."

Miss Carter's smile grew as she read. This student, Chumbawamba Loukoumades, knew his whaling literature. She'd reached him.

Maybe Ocean View Middle wasn't so bad after all.

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