The Day I Fucked Crazy Carrie

Frank had some of these Year 10s in his English class this afternoon, and I while I was trying -- and failing -- to convince some Year 11s that English Literature was interesting at least my class was just sitting there like stunned mullets clock watching and acting bored. Frank's bogan students next door were mucking around big time.

"Get that bloody textbook off your head you stupid boy, it's not a hat!" yelled Frank at one boy. "It would help if you weren't away at least one day a week, Missy!" he stormed at one girl who complained about getting a D on her essay. "Oh, you're allowed to truant are you girly?" he shot back at her smart-ass reply, the girl angrily stating that she was allowed to take frequent absences from school. "Go and stand at the back of the room, your back to the class, you do not answer me back." Then another boy opened his mouth. "You use language like that in front of your grandmother, you foul-mouthed little shit? Get up the office!" Frank roared. Then came another boy's voice yelling 'busted!' after his departing classmate, followed by Frank. "What did you say? You got nothing to say to me now? Good, sit there and write out the rules of this class." All was quiet for a few seconds, then Frank bellowed, "What are you laughing about, boy?" at another male student who found all this to be something like a sitcom, a comedy movie or live comedy stage show.

The final bell of the day sounded, and my class were out the door within seconds nearly creating a mini tornado in their haste to depart. It sounded like the same thing was happening throughout the school. I looked out the windows to see the student body hastily departing into the afternoon. They were keen to get to the shopping center and games arcade, to the public transport system to create chaos, to bully their victims or cause no end of trouble in a hundred other places in the local area.

They were not the only ones making a hasty departure, teachers and school support staff also seemed like they could not get out of here quickly enough this Thursday, and within 20 minutes the school was as quiet as if I was here on a Sunday. I could have gone home too, but knowing that the icon of all layabouts had his fat arse on the couch, stuffing his mouth with food and probably messing up the VCR at the same time, I stayed where I was. The mental images of what Tyrone was doing at home were bad enough, I didn't want to go back there and see them for real.

Instead, I got to work on reorganizing this classroom and the supplied, and enjoyed five minutes of peace and quiet before I heard a familiar young female voice. "Knock, knock. Yoo-hoo, Mr. Roberts!"

I got that now familiar feeling of dismay, turned around and there was Carrie, smiling and giving me a big wave. "Um Carrie, what are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm your Girl Friday," Carrie announced, walking into the classroom. "I overheard you saying to your boss earlier that you were going to stay back to sort out some things, so here I am to help you. So, what do you need me to do first?"

Carrie's crazy eyes looked at me through the lenses of her glasses, her pretty face filled with anticipation. I had been going to say that I didn't want or need her help, to go home like everyone else, but for some reason I just couldn't bring myself to do so. Instead I said, "There's a huge stack of text books in that tub over there. If you could go through them please and pull out any that have any have graffiti written in them and then sort them by title that would be great?"

"Right onto it, Mr. Roberts," said Carrie enthusiastically. She pulled out one of the books and turned it open, immediately bursting into her crazy laugh. "You mean like this one?"

In red pen somebody had written on the introduction page, 'Written by a poofter for poofters about poofters.'

"Yes, exactly like that," I said.

For the next 45 minutes Carrie and I worked together in the classroom, and I noticed that young Carrie had trouble standing still. She would sit on a desk with her knees slightly apart giving me glimpses of her panties up her skirt, or she would cross and un-cross her legs to flaunt even more of her knickers. When putting things away on a high shelf her short bubble skirt would ride up to show the back of her flowery undies.

During this time we talked about the book Carrie's class was studying and other books we had studied in the past. It was somewhat disturbing that Carrie interpreted one book in which a young man kidnaps a girl he was infatuated with to keep her locked in a cellar and admire her forever as 'romantic', and that it was amazing that a man would go to such lengths to prove how much he loved somebody. She also said she wished a man would prove his love to her by means of a similar gesture. I kept my emotions in check and thought about my unsuccessful conference with the guidance officer, deputy female principal and head English teacher about my concerns about Carrie. They might have taken me more seriously if they had heard this.

Sitting on a desk, her knees apart showing me the slightest hint of panty fabric up her skirt, Carrie raised her hand.

"Yes Carrie?" I asked.

"Mr. Roberts, can I please go to the toilet?" Carrie asked.

I laughed. "Carrie, it's okay, you're not in class, you can go any time you like. As a matter of fact I was about to go myself, I really need to pee."

I shook my head. Was Carrie's over-sharing contagious? Now I was doing it. Whatever the case, young Carrie seemed somewhat impressed that I needed to urinate. She jumped off the desk and gushed, "Well what a coincidence, I need to pee too!"

Evidently this was worth a high-five, and I exchanged the gesture Carrie offered to me and we headed downstairs out of the deserted school. "It's like there's been a nuclear holocaust and we're the only two survivors in the world," Carrie giggled. "Imagine that, just the two of us alone in the world together. The survival of the human race would depend on us."

I ignored the somewhat creepy comment, and we headed for the toilets. In this part of the school there was a male staff toilet and a female staff toilet, with the girls' toilet block for the students a bit further down the hallway. So when I opened the door to the male staff toilets, I was amazed that Carrie did not continue walking, but rather attempted to go into the men's toilets with me.

"Um Carrie, what are you doing?" I asked the girl nervously.

Carrie looked impassive. "Going to the toilet."

"Um Carrie, you need to use the girl's toilets down there," I said.

My student obviously didn't think it a big deal. "Oh, I don't want to walk all that way. And there's nobody but us around, so what's the problem? If I was at your house, or you were at my house, we would be using the same toilet."

Again, I probably should have done something more to stop this but didn't, and Carrie entered the men's toilet with me, where there were two stalls, a urinal and two sinks. "Oh, your cubicle doors are painted blue, in the girls' toilets they're yellow," Carrie remarked, looking around her new surroundings.

"Um, yes," I said as Carrie made for the stall closest to the urinal, the place I was heading.

Carrie stepped inside and giggled, pointing at the toilet seat. "Now I know I'm in a men's toilet, the seat is up." She laughed again, put down the toilet seat, and closed and locked the cubicle door, the lock changing from the green vacant to the red engaged position.

I stood at the urinal, unzipped my trousers and pulled down my undies and began to pee. However I was distracted as from in the adjacent bathroom stall there came the splashing, tinkling sounds of Carrie peeing into the toilet, the sound of her piss filling the entire bathroom. I didn't pee all that much, but Carrie sounded like she had drunk a carton of beer, the young girl kept right on peeing and peeing and peeing even after I finished, shook, pulled up my pants and zipped up my trousers, flushed the urinal and headed for the sink. It was as I washed my hands that the sound of Carrie peeing began to slow down and then came to a stop, followed by the sound of her unwinding toilet paper from the roll. I knew she was using the toilet tissue to wipe her wet pussy after her tinkle, god this was so inappropriate on every single level.

I heard Carrie's voice from the stall. "Mr. Roberts, I wasn't 100 percent honest before. I don't only need to pee, I need to have a poo as well."

My skin blushed bright red. "Um Carrie, I'll just head out now."

Carrie giggled. "Mr. Roberts, it's okay for you to stay, I don't mind."

"Don't you want some privacy?" I managed to stammer, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I'm on the toilet in a stall, it's not like I'm sitting on the loo right in front of you," said Carrie. "I want you to stay, we can keep talking. We'll be bathroom buddies."

"But aren't you embarrassed?" I said.

"Why would I be embarrassed, pooing is one of the most natural things in the world," the teenager assured me. "Now, if you'd followed me into the girls' toilets and were standing outside the stall while I was on the loo and I was uncomfortable with it, then that wouldn't be okay. But there's no problem here at all. I'm not bothered at you being there while I'm pooing on the toilet."

I was sure my superiors at school wouldn't share this view -- in fact I think they would take the opposing viewpoint if they knew I was in a staff male toilet talking with a female student who was sitting on the loo -- but it was too late now.

In the stall, Carrie passed wind loudly, the young girl's fart echoing in the toilet bowl. "Oh excuse me," Carrie giggled, before she farted hard on the toilet again. After Carrie farted a third time there came a series of plop-plop-plop noises in the toilet as Carrie pooped, her feces splashing into the toilet water.

Even as Carrie unwound some toilet paper and I heard it rustling as she used it to wipe her bottom, Carrie was talking to me about things she was studying in English. Still finding it hard to believe that I was standing here talking to a teenage girl while she was pooing on the toilet, I managed to engage her in conversation for the whole time Carrie was sitting on the loo.

I wasn't sure how long Carrie was on the toilet, it seemed like 10 hours but of course it was closer to 10 minutes. Carrie was not at all bothered that I could hear all of her private toilet noises from her bottom and her wiping her anus with toilet paper, me able to hear every time Carrie advanced the toilet roll to get more toilet tissue. It also didn't seem to bother Carrie that I could smell her toilet smells that were drifting out of the toilet bowl, throughout the stall Carrie was using and into the main area of the bathroom. Carrie's poo wasn't the smelliest I had ever smelled, but the young girl had most definitely stank the toilet out and it would be obvious to anyone who entered the bathroom after her departure that she had just emptied her bowels.

Part of me wanted out of the bathroom more than anything else in the world, but another part of me was filled with fascination as to what my shitting student was doing in her bathroom stall. Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself bent over to look under the cubicle door, where I saw Carrie's black t bar shoes, her white knee-length socks with yellow smiley faces and her white and pink floral knickers down around her ankles.

My conscience reprimanded me for perving on the knickers of a teenage girl while she was on the toilet and I straightened up, but then I found myself initiating conversation with Carrie even though it was obvious from the sounds that she was actually pooing. Again, young Carrie didn't seem bothered, and casually answered my question as she got more loo paper and wiped her stinky teenage arse. And once more, I crossed a serious line by peeking under the partition to perve on Carrie's lowered panties again, liking the sight of her knickers around her ankles. What was wrong with me?

Carrie then unwound toilet paper six times in a row, and I presumed that the teenager was finishing cleaning herself up after her poo. This was confirmed when Carrie flushed the toilet a few seconds later, the young girl calling out, "Finished!"

The toilet door lock changed back from engaged to vacant, the still door opened and Carrie emerged, the teenager adjusting her knickers through her skirt after pulling them up when she finished on the toilet. The young girl made straight for the sink and I watched her as she thoroughly washed her hands with plenty of soap and water, the sound of the toilet cistern refilling continuing.

"I think that's the first time that toilet's seen a vagina, it's probably freaking out," Carrie giggled as she turned off the taps and dried her hands with some paper towel. She stopped and sniffed the air. "Sorry about the smell I made."

"I can't smell anything," I managed to offer.

"Liar!" giggled Carrie. "If you really can't smell my poo, go and see a doctor and get your sense of smell checked out. Hey, fun fact for the day, did you know that girl poo on average is much smellier than guy's poo?"

"I um, didn't know that," I stammered.

"Go into the girls' toilets here during recess or lunchtime when everyone's been in there for a shit and you'll soon see for yourself, or should that be smell for yourself," said Carrie. She then stopped and reconsidered, then giggled. "Actually, don't go into the toilets with all the teenage girls and smell our poo. You'd probably get arrested."

"Yes, I would," I agreed, horrified by the very thought of this scenario. "How about I take your word for it, Carrie?"

"I should know, I'm a girl," Carrie said, somewhat stating the obvious. "And it's much worse when we need to go to the toilet when we're on our periods. My brothers at home dread it when I have my monthlies and they need to go into the bathroom after I've been in there sitting on the toilet having period poos. If you have any sisters, you would have known about that."

"I don't have a sister, just two brothers," I said. "I do have some female cousins though."

Carrie again giggled as the toilet cistern refilled and stopped, replaced by a whistling noise. "Well if this had been last week, you would have found out just how bad a menstruating girl can stink out the toilet." She pointed into the stall. "One thing I did notice, you still get allocated the same cheap, single-ply toilet paper the school puts in our bathrooms."

"Yeah, they do," I said.

"At least there was paper though when I went in there," said Carrie. "In the girls' toilets here, we're always running short of or out of toilet paper. Sometimes it's a bit of a challenge to find a stall which has enough paper for you to use to wipe your bum. Like last week, I needed to go to the toilet one afternoon before I went home, and I had to collect the near empty remains of seven toilet rolls so I would have enough loo paper for me to sit down on the toilet and have my poo-poo."

"That um, must be quite irritating for you Carrie," I said, still wondering why I was standing in a bathroom with a female student talking about her toilet experiences at school, having been standing talking to her through the stall door while she sat on the toilet and had a crap.

"Even at home it can happen," said Carrie. "During the last school holidays, my grandma took all the toilet rolls, all the tissues, all the table napkins and even all the paper towels into her bedroom and locked herself in, said she wanted to do arts and crafts with them. And of course it had to happen just when I was desperate to go to the toilet and do number twos. I really was in a 'when you've got to go, you've got to go' situation. One false move like farting, bending over too fast or sneezing and I would have soiled my panties and pajamas with my dirty, stinky poo."

"So what did you do?" I asked, dismayed that I was genuinely interested in this story.

"I got some newspaper and used it to wipe my bottom, then burned it down the back yard after I finished on the toilet," said Carrie. "After that I was glad that I wasn't born in the early part of the century where people used newspaper as toilet paper most of the time."

She turned and led the way out of the bathroom, and I had a surge of fear that the principal would still be here and see me emerging from the male toilets with one of my female students from Year 12. Luckily he wasn't there and nor was anyone else, the school despite it still being daylight was as quiet as a graveyard and Carrie and my own footsteps echoed in the empty corridors.

"Reminds me of home, in bed late at night and I hear footsteps in the house when everyone else is in bed asleep," said Carrie. "It's worse when I have to get up at night to go to the loo and I hear the footsteps in the kitchen or along the corridor on my way to the toilet."

"That must be quite scary," I said.

"You get used to it, living in a haunted house," said Carrie. "Anyway what are we going to do about it, move? My folks have fuck all money anyway, we can't afford to move house."

I thought maybe the ghosts that Carrie claimed occupied her house might feel like a vacation and they could come to my house and scare away fat freeloader Tyrone. But one sight of the obese bludger who made Billy Bunter look like a prisoner of war from the Burma Railway in World War 2 and the ghosts would probably freak out and return to Carrie's house as fast as possible.

Carrie eagerly rushed up the stairs in front of me, and again I found myself perving up the young girl's short skirt and at her knickers. I shouldn't have been up-skirting Carrie or indeed any female student at this school, but Carrie's white knickers with pink flowers were so pretty I could not help stealing glances at her teen panties all the way upstairs and feeling a stirring in my groin.

"So, what would you like me to do next?" Carrie asked.

"Well, as soon as we've re-shelved the text books then I think we can call it a night and you can head home, Carrie," I said. "Thanks for all your help."

"No problem at all, I'm only too happy to help my favorite teacher," said Carrie. "Actually though, I was hoping you could help me with something for another of my classes."

"Sure, what subject?" I asked.

"Human biology."

I laughed lightly. "Human biology? That's a bit out of my experience."

"Oh, I don't think it is," said Carrie. The young girl again sat on a desk facing me, doing that leg cross and uncross thing to flash me glances of her knickers again. "You have a penis, and I have a vagina." As I stood astounded Carrie opened her legs and pointed under the hem of her bubble skirt at her panty covered crotch. "When you get into my pants and insert your penis into my vagina, that's all the human biology study I need."

"Carrie wait ..." I managed to say as she leaped off the desk, her pretty but crazy face filled with eager anticipation. She ran across to me, leaned up and kissed me on the cheek, and I gently held her off.

"What's wrong, Mr. Roberts?" Carrie asked.

"Carrie, you know very well what's wrong," I said. "We can't do this, so please stop."

"I'm 18-years-old, it's not like I'm underage," Carrie pointed out. "You can fuck me all you like."

"Yes, but you're my student, and I am your teacher," I said. "It's strictly forbidden. I'd be in so much trouble, fired and banned from teaching ever again. Even if we weren't student and teacher, you're 18 and I'm 24, that's too much of an age difference."

"It's just numbers, and would you find it odd if you met a guy who was 34 and his girlfriend 28? Or if you had a conference with two parents, and the father 44 and the mother 38?" Carrie mused. "No of course not. And yes you would get in trouble if you got caught fucking me, but who's here to see it? It will be just our little secret, and I know you want this." Carrie pointed under her short skirt, and then giggled. "And even if you deny it, I'll still know you're lying. If I didn't turn you on, why do you have this?"