The English Teacher

Partly fact but mostly fiction...

Shit! Fuck! Bloody damnit! I pulled the old car off the road into the dirt; dust and stones flying. The car behind me hooted at the unexpected manoeuvre and I raised a finger in his direction. I slammed my hand against the steering wheel in frustration. "Fuck it!" I said again.

I was driving my mother's old Volkswagen, which in itself was a rarity, on my way to photograph a building that was being demolished out on the edge of town. I was hoping to catch the dust and destruction in the last light of day, caught by the last rays of sunlight as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

I was already late, the afternoon practical had dragged on longer than usual and then I had missed the usual bus home from the university campus. I had prepared all my photographic equipment the night before, loaded some high speed film in the camera, upgrading the film speed to give me the equivalent of one thousand six hundred ASA in the hopes of getting moody, grainy pictures.

I had rushed home, loaded the kit in Mom's car and roared away. I was ten minutes out when I realised I had not loaded the tripod. And I needed it! I wanted to do some long exposures, two seconds, five seconds, maybe even longer as the light faded.

I was a third-year student at the local university, studying Architecture, the year 1974. One of my elective subjects was photography and we had the use of a well-equipped darkroom at the university where we did all our developing and printing; black and white of course. In those days there was no such thing as digital anything.

Our final exams and presentations were due in a few short weeks and I was behind in creative material having spent more time than I should have on the final design project of the year. I really needed this series of pictures!

I glanced at my watch, then spun the steering wheel, made a U-turn and raced back towards home. When I turned into our street I saw there was a car parked in our driveway; Mrs Vere's shining Mercedes.

Let me give a little bit of background here, if you'll excuse the interruption.

I attended Highland Park High School, where my mother was the school secretary and Mrs Vere was the English teacher. We had all sorts of names for her, Sir Vere, Verey Strict and so on. As the names suggest, she was strict, humourless and cold. She would send you off for a caning at the slightest infringement, real or imagined; the girls suffering detention day after day. The headmaster must have seen the pattern but he was a sadistic bastard who liked to inflict pain. I hated school!

My parents and the Veres became house guests and then best friends when I was in standard eight, grade ten in today's language. Mr Vere and my father were about the same age and they were inseparable; golf every Saturday, watching rugby or cricket whenever they could. And the pub. The pub! Every evening after work, off to the local for a few pints; more often than not a few pints too many. Mrs Vere was about forty, ten years younger than her husband and my parents. She and my mother were soon as thick as thieves; they did everything together.

I was not a good student, how could I be when I hated school? I was a bit of a loner and excelled in solo sports, running, swimming and cycling. My grades were poor to rotten and Mrs Vere sent me off to a good many thrashings from the headmaster. She humiliated me in front of my classmates, made me do extra homework; generally made my life a misery.

At home, when they visited (which was often), she was rude, bossy and just generally nasty. Why my mother never intervened I will never know; she was a kind loving mother although a little timid. As her and Mrs Vere's friendship developed, she became more and more snobbish and condescending, almost trying to outdo her friend's vitriolic view of the world. She became critical of almost everything.

When I graduated from high school (scraping through with a matric exemption) Mrs Vere called me to one side. I remember to this day (nearly fifty years later) what she said to me; word for word! "In the future, if you ever consider doing anything with the English language... Don't!"

Now, four years later, I tried to avoid being home if Mrs Vere was there. And if I could not avoid being there when she was there, I would close myself in my bedroom until she was gone. Back to the story.

I stopped in the street and wondered how best to get to my tripod without running into Mrs Vere. When I was on my bicycle, I accessed our yard via the neighbour's behind us, being the shortest route to where I normally went, and entered our house by the back door. I also knew that my mother and Mrs Vere always sat in the front room and drank tea. I started the car and drove round the block and parked in the street outside the neighbour's entrance.

The door lock on Mom's old car no longer worked, so I grabbed my camera and ran through the neighbour's yard, over the fence and to the back door where I paused and listened. Faintly, I could hear music. I turned the handle and eased it open. The music was much louder but I could hear no voices. Maybe I would be lucky and be able to grab the tripod and be on my way again without running into Mrs Vere with her snide remarks and demands; "make me tea..." or, "fetch this or that from my car..." Never a please or thank you.

I tiptoed through the kitchen and down the passage en route to my bedroom. As I passed the sitting room door the music was quite loud and I glanced in. I saw there was some odd shape in the middle of the carpet and was about to move on when I heard a moan and then I realised what I was looking at. I nearly fainted with shock! I stood rooted to the spot and stared.

A body on hands and knees, well not hands, shoulders and knees with her arse raised and facing me, the knees well spread. I took in the lumpy cellulite white and blue thighs. Buried between the spread arse cheeks I could see the back of someone's head, moving rhythmically in and out.

As I stood staring (I'm sure my mouth was hanging open) I could make out that another naked female form was straddling the kneeling figure. Mrs Vere was straddling my mother's back and had her tongue buried in her arsehole. One hand was stretching my mother's cheek to one side spreading the deep divide; the other hand was at her sex, fingers deeply embedded. Fuck me!

Well, actually, not fuck me! Her fingers were plunging in and out of her cunt in time with her stiff tongue fucking Mom's arsehole. I have never seen anything as blatantly sexual as that, not that I had seen very much sexually explicit material in my life. In South Africa in the middle seventies, it was more of a crime to be in possession of a Penthouse than it was to murder someone.

As I stood staring I could make out more detail. Mom's back was arched, thrusting her arse out and upwards. I could clearly see the wild growth of dark hair between her legs extending all the way to her anus. The hair was slicked down with moisture, either from Mrs Vere's saliva or from her own natural juices. She was humping her body in time with Mrs Veres thrusting, her thighs quivering with the tension. I could see her pendulous breasts swinging from side to side.

Mrs Vere was in turn humping her own pussy against my mother's back, sliding from side to side and up and down. I could not see her breasts hidden as they were between their bodies. The moaning and slurping noises were faintly audible above the music emanating from the radiogram.

I must have stood and gaped in disbelief for two or three minutes before it dawned on me that Mrs Vere only had to look up from her oral ministrations and she would see me standing in the doorway. I moved to one side, peeping around the edge, unable to tear my eyes away. Almost without thought, I raised my camera, focussed on the entwined bodies and clicked. The music drowned the shutter noise and I wound on. Click. Wind. Click. Wind.

After what seemed like a long time my mother tensed, gasped and screamed. I watched her body shudder and shake, Mrs Veres hand a blur as it rammed into her cunt, her tongue buried deep in her arse. After a few more minutes she collapsed flat onto her stomach, Mrs Vere still straddling her back.

As Moms shuddering calmed, Mrs Vere sat up and I saw her breasts for the first time. They were very white, plump and drooped down against her stomach, the areolae very dark and prominent, the nipples big and angry looking. Her whole torso was covered in sweat and I could make out a drop hanging from the tip of her left nipple, catching the light from the window. Click.

There was a pool of moisture in the middle of Mom's back where Mrs Vere had been humping her and I could make out the moisture trail where it had spilled over, around Mom's neck and into her hairline. Click.

Mrs Vere still had her hand lodged between Mom's widespread legs and I saw her moving her fingers, the muscles in her arm tensing rhythmically, the light playing hopscotch across the skin. Click.

The erection in my pants was hurting, harder than I could ever remember; I tried to move it to one side to ease the pressure. I was distracted by movement. Mom had turned her head and she reached back to grip Mrs Vere's wrist. "...too sensitive!" I could not hear the rest of the sentence because of the music. I looked at her hand holding Mrs Vere's wrist, her fingers pulling out of Mom's pussy, the moisture glistening in the light. Click.

Eventually Mom sat up and they wrapped their arms around each other, their faces coming together. Then they were kissing. I have never seen anything like it! They looked like they were trying to swallow each other's tongues. Mrs Vere was smearing Mom's face with the juices from her earlier intimate contact and Mom was trying to lick her clean at the same time. Click. This was so intimately sexual. I felt that if I were to touch myself I would climax in my pants.

Still kissing, they started to grope each other's breasts, rubbing, pulling nipples, rolling the fat slugs between their thumbs and fingers. Click.

Eventually Mom pushed Mrs Vere down onto her back, lifted her legs up over her shoulders and buried her face into the neatly trimmed triangle of light brown curls at the junction of her thighs. Using her hands Mom spread her wide giving me a glimpse of the rosy inside of her pussy, a view of her very prominent clitoris. Click.

While Mom slurped and licked, the sound coming to me over and above the music, Mrs Vere was torturing her own nipples; pulling them out, digging her nails in, twisting them till I thought they would tear off. Click.

Her eyes were closed, mouth wide open, a red flush covering her chest and face. This went on for quite a long time before I saw her tense, then double up, grabbing Mom by the hair on either side of her head and pulling her face hard into her pussy, animal noises pouring from her mouth. Click.

When eventually she loosened her grip, Mom sat back. Her face was covered in moisture, long lines of slime connecting her chin to Mrs Vere's crotch. She was taking deep breaths and I realised that she had been unable to breathe while Mrs Vere kept her tight against her pussy. Click.

They started kissing again the Mrs Vere was licking her face, her eyes closed, savouring her own juices. Click

Mom was sort of facing towards me and for the first time I was able to study her tits. They were smaller that Mrs Vere's and just as saggy; I suppose that after breastfeeding three children they would end up that way. The nipples were small and tight, a light brown colour. Mrs Vere took one breast in her hand, sort of hefting the weight. Click.

When I tried to wind on to the next frame, I realised I had used up all thirty six exposures. At the same time I sort of came to my senses, realising that I had better get out of here before I was caught. I crept backwards until I reached the kitchen, made it out of the back door without making too much noise, then sprinted to the old car parked in the street and drove away; the planned picture taking would have to wait!

Instead I went to the university and to the darkroom which was accessible twenty four hours out of every twenty hours. Film into canister, chemicals, agitate. Impatiently I shook the canister waiting for the time to pass. Fixative. Eagerly, I rinsed the long string of negatives before printing a contact sheet.

I was so impatient I nearly messed that up. Stop. Think. Act.

It seemed to take forever but at last I pulled the print out of the tray of fixative and hung it up to dry. While I waited I cleaned up after me, ready for the next person. I was so impatient I had completed my task before the print was dry. Hairdryer! I seldom used it to dry a print in case I damaged it but now was the time. The print fluttered about on the line as I played the warm air over it.

At last it was ready for me to look at. I turned the overhead light on and the red safety light off, laid the print on the counter and took the image magnifier and started to look at the results. Up until now my body had been in a sort of hyper-sexual state, erections so hard they hurt, slightly softer when I was concentrating on something else, hard again when my mind flashed back to what I had seen and heard. My underpants were a sticky mess, cold in the cooled air of the darkroom, a large dark stain on my jeans.

As I looked down, image after image, my hard-on was aching for relief. I loosened my jeans and let them pool around my ankles. My underpants soon followed suit freeing my turgid member. Clear liquid drooled from the tip, long strings stretching down to my thighs, my knees, to the ground. I went back to looking at the images. Even though they were so small the images seen through the magnifying glass were clear and explicit.

I could not help myself, I started masturbating, slowly pulling my foreskin over the swollen head squeezing more precum from the tip. Exquisite feelings swept through my body and I stopped moving in case I came. I slowly looked at each image, not to see whether the picture was sharp as I would normally do, but to see the raw sexual nature of the contents. I squeezed my cock, and then I was cumming! I could feel my toes curl, that magical feeling through my stomach, my testicles, and I pumped my hand hard and fast as I squirted long sprays of white semen all over the floor. I staggered back, ending up leaning against the back wall, the last of the semen dribbling over my fingers.

When my breathing sort of returned to normal my brain clicked back into place and I looked at my watch; nine o' clock. NINE O' CLOCK! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I snipped the long strip of film into three sections, slid them into clear protective sleeves. I put the contact sheet into an envelope together with the negatives, looked around to check that I had left nothing behind and then ran out of there; to the car and home.

The next three weeks passed in a blur of exams, presentations and orals. Long days and nights, little sleep and plenty of stress and I was exhausted. I walked around in a zombielike state.

When I developed and printed the architectural photographic works for presentation, I had spent a few hours printing some of the pictures I had taken that afternoon. There was still much work to do on them but that would have to wait till I had more time. The ones I had printed were the pictures of Mrs Vere, her tongue obviously and lewdly penetrating Mom's arse; the one where her sexual juices were strung from Mom's back. Them kissing. The back of Mom's head as she ate Mrs Vere out. None of the pictures that I printed identified Mom as the other person.

I had not spent too much time being creative with the prints, only burning in some of the more intimate sections leaving the remainder slightly underexposed. During the next few sessions I would crop the pictures, be more creative, zoom in on the real sexuality captured on the negatives.

I had masturbated two or three times a day looking at the pictures I had printed, trying to relieve some of the stress of the exams and the sexual demands of my body. I did not have a girlfriend at the time. More accurately, I had not had a real girlfriend with benefits for nearly a year; just my hand and my imagination.

At the end of my first year I had enjoyed four days of sexual enlightenment with my best friend John's sister-in-law, Jenny (story recounted in 'The Beach Cottage'). She was ten years older than me and married to John's brother. We had seen each other a few times since then but it had petered out as the impossibility of the situation had overtaken us. There had been a few girls since then, all very exciting but not nearly as fulfilling as my time with Jenny. None of these affairs had lasted very long; what with my workload, my part-time job and my loner-type personality.

Exams were now at an end and I was at home lying naked on my bed looking at the pictures. I had never thought of my mother in a sexual light; the idea of me having sex with her had never ever even dawned on me. The image of my father, a dour boring man with a big stomach, fucking my mother was faintly distasteful. I assume it must have happened because there were us three sons; but the continued intimacy... I simply could not picture it!

Mom was slightly overweight, had relatively small breasts (size 36B, which I had checked out on the washing line) and she wore conservative white underwear washed grey over time. That aside, her figure was not too bad; discernible waist, wide hips, elegant ankles and feet. One could overlook the sagging tummy, big backside and hail-damaged thighs; she was, after all, fifty years old.

As for Mrs Vere... Until now I had never thought of her as a woman, let alone an object of sexual desire. She was quite short, about five three or five four, probably one thirty pounds. She habitually wore loose suites of floral cloth that looked like upholstery fabric; the skirts falling below her knees, the jacket buttoned up with the blouse, usually white, closed to the throat. She always wore stockings and sensible low-heeled shoes. Her hair was usually pulled back and held behind her head with a big tortoise shell hairclip. Nobody's idea of a sexual person.

On the other hand the pictures showed something entirely different. I guessed full size C breasts, saggy but with upturned nipples. Soft stomach and light brown pubic hair covering a bulging pubis. The pictures showed very prominent labia, the inner ones dark brown and grizzled hanging out between the distended outer lips, capped above with a big clitoris bringing to mind a small penis; her state of arousal testified to by the shiny red head standing clear of its protective hood. The amount of thick woman-cream that was abundantly visible testified, to my eye anyway, to deep sexual desires.

Nobody was at home at the moment, Mom had popped out to the shops, Dad was at work and my younger brother was at school. Mentally, I was frazzled. I wanted a long slow wank and then a nice nap. I had a wad of tissues all ready to catch the load of cum that would inevitably shoot out of my ever-ready cock. I squeezed a large dollop of hand cream onto the palm of my hand and delighted in the smooth coolness as I smeared it sensually over my drooling cock. Aaaah!

At that moment the front doorbell rang, long and demanding, giving me a big fright. I lay there listening, wondering whether I should just ignore it and hope whoever it was would go away.

Another ring, then silence. I lay there with my hand still wrapped around my now partially deflated cock. The next moment I heard the back door open. "Cooeee! Anybody home?" Mrs Vere! I jumped off the bed and frantically pulled on some clothes. I could not immediately see my underpants so shorts then t-shirt would have to do.