The Day I Fucked Crazy Carrie

INTRODUCTION & DISCLAIMER - In Melbourne Australia in the year 1991, young English teacher Brad Roberts has two problems. One his cousin's fat unemployed mate is freeloading at their house, and two a pretty but crazy 18-year-old student Carrie Adams has developed a crush on him, and is engaging in no end of stalker-like behaviour with her teacher. When Brad works back one Thursday afternoon, Carrie invites herself to help her teacher reorganize his classroom. Will Brad be able to resist Carrie's advances, or will he succumb to temptation?

Please note this story contains some toilet scenes and references to menstruation which may not be to everybody's taste, otherwise please enjoy reading 'The Day I Fucked Crazy Carrie' and be sure to rate and comment. All characters engaging in sex are aged 18 or older and all events are fictional, with any similarity to real persons living or dead coincidental and unintentional. There's also a little Easter Egg in this story. Please leave a comment if you find it.

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The year 1991 was so far proving to be a bad one for my football team the Lions, who just couldn't take a trick and nearly every game resulted in a heavy loss. Much like my football team, 1991 was turning into a year where I was unable to win. When I was at home, he was there. When I left home and went to my job as an English teacher at a high school in Melbourne's north western suburbs he wasn't there. But she was there.

Just who were 'he' and 'she'? I shared a house with my cousin Tim who came from Gippsland, and one day in January he asked me, "Brad, is it okay if my mate Tyrone from back in Traralgon comes to stay? It's just for two weeks, he won't be a problem, he just needs to sort out some family issues and he's kind of stuck."

I had never seen or met Tyrone, but didn't think it would be a problem. After all, it was just two weeks and it might be fun having a house guest stay with us to watch sports and drink beer. "Sure Tim," I said. "Not a problem at all."

It was now May and the 210 kilogram frame of 23-year-old Tyrone still languished in the house, crashing on our couch and living there rent free. Tyrone, who was also not a great fan of deodorant or soap filled no part of his day with work or study, he simply was an unemployed bludger who lived on the dole and sat on the couch feeding his fat face, watching television and playing Nintendo all day. Tyrone did no housework, and would leave a mess for Tim and me to clean up when we got home from work.

The only time Tyrone would leave the house was to waddle to the local shopping center to buy junk food upon which to gorge himself or to hand in his dole form at social security filled with liberal untruths about jobs he had applied for. Tyrone one dropped an ATM receipt out of his pocket, and I saw the grand total in his bank account - $1.67 -- so he obviously wasn't saving up to afford a place of his own.

And it turned out that Tyrone's 'family issues' were his long-suffering parents finally losing patience with their unemployable obese son who couldn't work in an iron lung, kicked him out and disowned him. Tyrone's older sister refused to allow her brother to move in with her and her husband (sensible her) and in fact the husband set a dog on Tyrone to get of him once and for all.

Looking at the morbidly obese Tyrone I wondered that perhaps another reason for him leaving Gippsland was to prevent this region of Victoria breaking away from mainland Australia under Tyrone's weight and perhaps becoming another state like Tasmania or territory like Norfolk Island? I was well and truly exasperated with Tyrone, but was now losing the strength even to protest to Tim about him.

I said nothing when I came home to find Tyrone had drunk all my beer during the day and was now sitting on the couch in his underpants burping while playing computer games. Just like I said nothing when Tyrone devoured an entire ice-cream cake I had in the freezer to take to a family party at Easter. And I was becoming just a little too accepting of the bizarre things Tyrone did.

Like when I was watering the plants on the back patio, I turned around and saw Tyrone's massive frame standing there, chucking a piss all over the paving bricks. When I asked him why he hadn't used the toilet, Tyrone grunted about the 'patio being closer' before sticking his dick in his pants and going back inside. I did and said nothing more, and hours later at work wondered why I couldn't find the strength to do anything about Tyrone. Although as I watched his massive bulk waddling through the house, one painful step at a time with his fat thighs rubbing together, a certain song originally written and recorded by Carol King and a cover version of which by young American singer Martika had been a massive hit last year entered my head and refused to leave.

The stress at work was probably the reason why I couldn't bring myself to take a stand against Tyrone at home and tell my cousin that I wanted his stupid mate's fat lazy arse out of the house. I had started teaching at this high school from the start of 1990, and when I got older, married and had a family I most definitely would not be moving to within its catchment boundaries to send my future kids here. It wasn't the worst of the worst high schools in Melbourne, but far from the best. It was full of bogans and bullying and unruly behavior was pretty common, the school developing quite a reputation and not a good one.

At work I could cope with most things that were thrown my way, except for her. Her name was Carrie Adams, and having turned 18 early in 1991, Carrie was a VCE student in Year 12 and I was her English teacher. She was also a complete and absolute fruitcake with the attention span of a goldfish, a total nutcase who said whatever thoughts entered her mind, overshared about personal things best left to oneself and loved being the center of attention. Oh, and Carrie had a huge crush on me that she was anything but secretive about.

I could not say exactly when Carrie's crush on me started, I think the origins were last year when two things happened. One, Carrie broke her arm after falling off a ladder when she was helping clean the gutters at home. I saw her struggling to put some text books in her locker with her arm in a cast and helped her with it. Two, towards the end of the year I helped Angela the drama teacher with the production of the school musical. Carrie was not among the cast of the musical. This was a good thing as she could not sing although this didn't stop her attempting to do so while listening to her Walkman and sounding like a tomcat serenading a queen while on heat. However she was part of the crew and that had us working together, and given I had helped her with her broken arm a few months earlier this was the catalyst for her crush.

At the school there were other young male teachers better looking than me for Carrie to get a crush on, such as some of the PE teachers. Why did it have to be me? At 24-years-old I was nothing special, just really average, light brown hair, five feet ten and a skinny frame. And I was a bit of a square, nothing cool about me at all. When I was at high school myself I was never good at sports, and never in the popular crowd. Yet I seemed to drive young Carrie Adams crazy. Well, crazier than she already was.

Waking one Thursday morning to a cloudy and overcast day with the weather unusually warm for early May in Melbourne, I was confronted in the kitchen to a horrifying sight. There stood Tyrone in front of the refrigerator, naked apart from a pair of ill-fitting underpants drinking from the carton of milk, his fat stomach forming something like an apron in front of him.

Despite his laziness, it seemed Tyrone was something of a multi-tasker. He proved he could scratch his balls while drinking milk. He also proved that he could belch while drinking, milk bubbling back into the carton and dribbling over his fat face in the process. Thoroughly disgusted and keen to get away from the great fat pig, I got off to work in a big hurry. On the way I saw the usual gangs of bogans in their black tee-shirts and jeans, riding around on their BMX bikes looking for Year 7 and 8 students to bully and chase on the way to school. A group of girls meandered their way towards school, not even trying to hide their smoking. Outside the school gates about six rappers were performing, doing their dance moves while playing their huge radio at high volume.

Pulling my car into the staff car park, I was wondering when I would first catch sight of Carrie today. My answer was quick in coming. Behind some oleander bushes, I saw an all-too-familiar female figure awaiting my arrival, who let out a squeak of excitement and rushed towards me, giving me a huge wave.

"Hi Mr. Roberts!" squealed Carrie, clearly delighted to see me.

I was somewhat less delighted to see Carrie, but was polite and professional. "Well hello to you, Carrie."

Today, Carrie's slim 5 foot 5 figure was as usual attired in a strange combination of clothes. On her top half she wore a lightweight blue jumper with a big cartoon rabbit on the front. On her bottom half Carrie wore a bubble skirt -- a very short bubble skirt -- mauve in color with orange polka dots. Carrie's feet were attired in long white socks with yellow smiley faces on them that came down to just below her knees, black leather girl's t bar shoes on her feet.

It was rarer for Carrie to leave her long dark brown hair loose or tie it up in a simple pony-tail or a bun. More usually she would do something attention grabbing with it, like wearing big, brightly colored bows in a high pony-tail, or tying her hair back in pigtails. Sometimes Carrie's hair would be in braided pigtails, other days like today loose pig-tails, held in place by two scrunchies, a red one on her left pig-tail, a green scrunchie on her right pig-tail. Next to Carrie I looked very conservative -- a white short-sleeved shirt, black trousers and shoes and a black tie that made me look a bit like a Mormon missionary.

"Are you looking forward to school today, Mr. Roberts?" Carrie asked enthusiastically. "I sure am, now you're here to make it such a great Thursday."

Carrie's big brown eyes looked at me through the lenses of the prescription glasses she wore. She had nice eyes with long lashes, and these should have been the highlight of her very pretty face, and in many ways they were. But without doubt Carrie had the crazy eyes, and the way she either looked at me directly without blinking or her eyes would dart around all over the place was a clue to her mental instability.

It was unsettling at best and it wasn't only me that felt that way. Carrie's quirky and odd ways and her outrageous fashion sense should have attracted the attention of the many bullies in this school, male and female. However all bullies gave her a wide berth, they were afraid of her and I had heard one group of boys and girls discussing her, saying that they 'wouldn't want to cross that crazy bitch Carrie Adams.' I agreed with their sentiments.

"Yes, I am looking forward to today Carrie," I said. "It's Thursday and that means it's a day closer to the weekend, where I get another chance to watch my football team lose."

Carrie laughed, the teenager's giggle sounding much like the laugh of a hyena, with a kookaburra mixed in. Some younger boys looked across in alarm, as Carrie continued to laugh with her mouth wide open. Carrie had unusually large teeth. It wasn't like she had a problem with an over-bite or under-bite or uneven teeth that could be fixed with orthodontic work, they were just noticeably large for her mouth. They did not diminish her good looks, but it was noticeable.

"You're so funny, Mr. Roberts. That's what you get for following a football team which hasn't won a premiership since the Second World War," laughed Carrie. "Now I just need to get some things sorted in my locker, so I'll see you later."

I was relieved to see the departure of the teenager, but of course remained professional and polite. "See you later, Carrie."

"Sooner rather than later," Carrie giggled with her crazy laugh, before giving me a wave and going on her way. I saw the teenager reach through her bubble skirt and adjust her knickers, but whether Carrie had genuinely uncomfortable panties or whether she did it deliberately to get my attention was not so certain.

One of the more uncomfortable things about Carrie in recent months was the way she would dress and act provocatively around me, or talk about her bras or her knickers in conversation. The bubble skirt young Carrie had worn to school today was not the only short skirt she wore, she had others. Like just two days ago she had worn a tartan miniskirt, appeared to drop her pen and bent over in front of me to show her pure white panties as the skirt rode up.

Last week Carrie was wearing a navy blue pleated skirt and she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs in class to give me glimpse of the white knickers with blue flowers she wore underneath. Then another day Carrie had dressed fairly normally for her -- black blouse, black mini-skirt and black stockings, and again was opening and closing her legs to try and tease me with glimpses of the pink panties that covered her crotch. She had also left the top two buttons of her blouse open, showing me the pink fabric of her matching bra and her C-cup cleavage.

Even when Carrie wasn't wearing a skirt it could be difficult. Carrie was wearing stirrup pant leggings in class one day, and bent over her desk, her nicely shaped bum in the air and her panty lines and the shape of her vagina between her legs clearly visible. Her tight blue jeans and her overalls which she often wore to school also served to accentuate Carrie's fine feminine figure.

Worst of all was the school swimming carnival in summer, where Carrie came up to me wearing a yellow bikini with white polka dots, the young girl shamelessly flirting with me as usual. The wet bikini showed off the shape and cleavage of Carrie's teenage tits, and the shapes of both Carrie's front bottom and her back bottom. Despite being exasperated by the obsessive attention of the 18-year-old not to mention that I was growing afraid of her, in her bikini Carrie was hot all the way from her long brown hair down to her bare feet. It made me think of things a teacher must never think about with his students, and I had to sit down in a big hurry to hide a growing problem at the front of my shorts.

Carrie's morning ambush of me this morning was nothing new, in fact it was more surprising when it didn't happen than when it did. I often saw her hiding behind bushes, walls or cars waiting for me to appear so she could set up a chance meeting. Other days I was just plain unlucky. Like last month there was no Carrie waiting for me when I parked my car, nor when I entered the main body of the school. This was a good thing. Walking down the hallway, I noticed that the laces on my left shoe had come loose and bent down to tie them, only to my frustration the lace broke as I was tightening it.

This just happened to be outside one of the girls' toilet blocks, and I paid little attention when I heard the sound of a toilet flushing, a cubicle door open and the girl washing her hands. I did pay attention however when the external door to the girls' bathroom opened, and who should emerge but Carrie, adjusting her overall straps and her panties. Genuinely meeting me at random rather than one of her planned chance meetings seemed to excite the teenager and she rushed over to me, acting like she hadn't seen me in a decade when of course she had only seen me the day before.

Another time Carrie wasn't waiting for me to arrive one Monday morning, and to my relief she was absent all day. Even better, she was away Tuesday as well and the week was looking even better. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and of course Carrie was back on Wednesday, hiding behind the bushes until my car arrived. I was then given a lengthy apology from the girl for her two day absence, asked if I had missed her because she missed me, and then given the explicit details of the food poisoning that had kept her off school, specifically how she spent most of the time throwing up into a bucket and/or sitting on the toilet suffering diarrhea.

Carrie was not a student in my home room, I supervised a room in the yellow house, while Carrie was part of the green house. Unfortunately for me, Carrie's home room was just opposite from mine, and her home room teacher was Artie, a man aged in his 60s who was just counting down the days to his retirement, and he didn't give a shit about what the kids in his home room did or didn't do.

So Carrie would be in my home room most of the time, would pop back into her own when Artie arrived so her name would be marked off, then return to mine. I had tried reminding Carrie that she needed to stick to her home room and not enter mine, but while she was certainly good at talking Carrie was no good at listening plus had the attention span of a gnat, so the next day the same situation played out. I wished I was a teacher assigned in the blue house and Carrie was in the red house and that our home rooms were on the opposite sides of the school, but alas it was not to be.

While Carrie should not have been coming into my home room to talk to and flirt with me, there was no keeping her out of period 4, which was just before lunch. This was simply because it was Year 12 English, I taught Year 12 English and Carrie was in Year 12 English.

As usual the teenager took her place near the front, and did not take much care to preserve her dignity when she crossed her legs, letting me see up her short bubble skirt and that she was wearing white panties with pink flowers today. Not wanting to be accused of perving on a Year 12 girl's underwear, I hastily turned my attention to the board and the lesson for the day about the novel the class was studying.

Correction, the novel that they were supposed to be studying. Apart from Crazy Carrie, none of them were interested in the slightest in the book, which was an American novel set in Salem Massachusetts during the witch hunts of the 1690s. A sea of young faces -- bogans, slappers, stoners, goths, slackers, losers and rappers -- glared at me for having the audacity to waste their time by making them study a boring novel and then boring them even further by wanting to discuss the aforementioned book and do assignments about it. That it was the period before lunch and many of them were busting for their nicotine fix didn't help matters.

Undeterred, I pressed on with my lesson. "Now, this book is an interesting one in that it has a number of different narrators throughout," I said to my indifferent class, whose expressions indicated that they thought it anything but interesting, and in fact the opposite. "It's very good that we can see the same events in the story through the eyes of the different characters and have their perspectives."

I wrote the name 'Henry' on the board, and said. "Now one of the more interesting characters is Henry, the farmer. Who can tell me what sort of character Henry is?"

Carrie's hand was the only one to rise. "Yes Carrie," I said.

"He's a puritan," she said. "Very religious, very God-fearing and he doesn't have a sense of humor."

"Yes, that's correct Carrie," I said. "Henry is a very religious, pious and puritanical man by his words and actions. However, I was thinking more of Henry as a narrator. What type of narrator would you describe Henry as?"

I hoped another class member would attempt this question, but none of them did. Only Carrie's hand went up, so I had no choice but to pick her again. "Yes Carrie."

"Would Henry be an unreliable narrator, Mr. Roberts?" Carrie asked, the young girl again crossing and uncrossing her legs to show me her knickers in the process.