This Ain't Literature

I'd been about to say, "I'll come over if you'll ride my dick when I do."

I knew at once that that was the perfect response, the one she craved: she wanted a man who'd whip out his cock, lay it on the counter, and brusquely order her to suck it. But this was Ms Brett, who'd taken me on a field trip to the Holocaust Museum. Who'd made me Student of the Month just last April. No way could I say that to her.

Yet.

So instead, I put on a slow smile to buy time and gave a sigh, making strong eye contact with her as I did. "It wouldn't be weird for me, Ms Brett," I said softly, carefully, my voice as gentle as I knew my hand would be the first time I dipped it into her panties. Before I coaxed her to pull my dick out. "Not at all."

I saw no pantyline on her retreating ass when she left the store. Had to be a thong, I reflected, my cock a surging rod.

Fuck.

* * *

"So, yeah. Just practice those G, C, and D chords, and I'll see how you're doing next time." Finn Brett, his hair as cowlicked as it could possibly be, stared doubtfully down at the Ovation in his lap. He was a solid-looking kid for his age, but the guitar was definitely big for him. "And, look, if your fingers hurt?" I waggled my left fingers in his face. "We've all been through it. They'll feel better."

"Yeah?" He clearly no longer believed I was a rock star.

"I promise." Casa del Brett was one of the charming little cottages they'd built on the North Side around 1920, with the big porches and the dormer windows. Ms B had it furnished nicely, with sort of a 1950s vibe. The floors needed refinishing, but I wasn't going to say anything about it. She'd answered the door barefoot, in a pair of shorts that crept just slightly higher on her legs than I'd been expecting, and a bright red shirt with, alas, only a small v-neck. Her hair had been up in a massive wad of curls at the top of her head. Then she'd gotten me a Coke and left me in the living room for an hour with her offspring, the whisper of her bare feet filtering to me from elsewhere in the house as she puttered.

I'd been lying in Ahab's the other day, when she'd been afraid it might be weird for me coming here. It definitely was weird.

"Mommy! We're done!" The kid screamed at the top of his lungs, right there beside me on the couch, and I nearly recoiled; if guitar didn't work out, the kid was a natural grunge vocalist.

"Good, honey." Ms Brett showed up from the kitchen, beaming at us, and I let my eyes fall easily down her body as she stood in the doorway. I'd seen her teach in skirts, of course, but I'd never seen so much of her legs, smooth and slightly tanned, the skin of her thighs bulging slightly from the shorts in a way that made my mouth dry. "Head on upstairs, okay? And say thank you to Mr Louck."

"Thanks, Cam," he piped dutifully, and I smiled as I played him out with the opening notes of Walk, Don't Run. It sounded like ass on the acoustic Ovation, but he seemed totally captivated; I reminded myself I should bring an electric sometime.

"No problem, short stuff. I'll see you next time." His mom and I watched as he bounded from the room, leaving me to strum finger-light chords while Ms B smiled at me.

"I could tell he enjoyed that, Cameron," she gushed. "See? I was right. You should be a guitar teacher."

I wanted her to sit with me, so I very deliberately stayed right where I was. She was looking very sexy today, those legs really doing it for me, and as I thought about the five weeks or so I had before I reported, I decided there was no good reason why I should wait to try and fuck her. If it didn't work out? Big deal. But if it did? Well, the more pussy I got off her the better, obviously.

Besides, I reminded myself that she wanted me. All the signs were there.

I looked up at her, doing some quiet arpeggios, showing no sign at all that I planned on moving. She figured it out after watching me for about half a minute, her lips twitching into a smile while one eyebrow rose up her forehead. "Mind if I sit?"

"Of course not." I hoped she couldn't hear the slight gloat in my voice; this was her home. Her couch. And she was asking to sit with me. I threw in a blues line: nothing complicated once you practice it enough, even on an acoustic, but she looked impressed anyway as she sank into the other end of the couch. "Cash or check?"

I played a bit more, ignoring her for a second, while she waited patiently. Then I started. "Can I ask you something, Ms Brett?" I said softly.

She looked surprised, but also curious. "Of course, Cameron. What's on your mind?" She had her legs crossed at the ankles and her near arm along the top of the couch, her breasts on display. I saw no signs of her wallet.

I strummed one last C. "I was wondering why you picked me in April. For Student of the Month."

She went pink at once, but chuckled. "You know the answer to that. It was on the certificate."

I rolled my eyes. "'For academic achievement.' Yeah, no. I didn't have the highest grade in your class or anything."

She took an errant coil of hair around her finger and played with it, something I'd seen in class often. "No. But it was high enough." She cocked her head, smiling. "What's this, Cameron? Are you fishing for a compliment here?"

Yes. "No." I resumed playing, shaking my head as if it was no big deal. "I was just curious."

She was biting her lip when I glanced back up at her, as if she wasn't sure whether she should say something, and instinct told me I should just keep playing until she decided to. "There's more," she finally said, speaking low. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods?"

She grinned suddenly, wickedly, then shook her head in mock indignation. "You shouldn't swear in front of me, Cameron."

"Their Eyes Were Watching God, Ms Brett," I snapped smoothly. Once she'd gone from pink to scarlet, I smiled to disarm her. "No. I'm kidding. What's your secret?"

She glanced theatrically from side to side, her face alive, and I wondered what she'd do right now if I just stood, dropped my pants, and shoved my dick in her mouth. I shook my head a bit; shit. I needed to get laid again. "You know the big English Department award? The Howland Trophy?"

Of course. It came with a $15,000 scholaraship and it went to the school's best English student. "Mmhmm," I replied slowly, back to my chords.

She shrugged, her boobs jiggling pleasantly. "You were supposed to win it."

That did surprise me. I stopped playing. "Say what?"

She smiled. "You were my choice, Cameron. Mine and Ms Downes. We both wanted you, and eventually we got Rick Davis to vote for you too."

I shook my head. A muppet named Lindsay Yamaguchi had won it, though I couldn't be angry at her; I'd gotten her to suck my cock a few weeks later. "Lindsay deserved it."

"Bullshit," she snapped, showing no qualms this time about the profanity. "You did, Cameron. Mr Lynn eventually vetoed it, because... well, because."

"Because why?" Mr Lynn had been another fan of mine, actually. Ms Brett looked uncomfortable suddenly.

She shifted on the couch, her hands in her lap. "You're not going to college, Cameron."

I tossed my blond hair back. "Sure I am. Eventually." She looked over at me through her lashes, and I shrugged. "We can't afford it."

"Community college?" She licked her lips. "You could have afforded it with the Howland Trophy."

"Well, I didn't know I was up for the Howland Trophy. Did I?" I started playing again, minor chords, very quietly. I made sure I sounded nonchalant. "I'm not a community-college guy, anyway. I want to go someplace good. As soon as I can afford it."

"I'm glad," she smiled, her dimples deep in her cheeks. "I want you to. You're so smart."

I just shrugged back at her. "Don't worry about me."

She nodded, still smiling at me, and then she drew her legs up onto the couch under her butt. The shaved skin of her calves was just inches away from me, and I gazed with no shame at her thighs. After all, she wouldn't have put them up there if she didn't want me to look, I reasoned. I imagined her, later, fingering her clit while she thought of me, and my cock gave another of its patented lurches up against the back of the guitar. "What's your plan, Cameron?"

I trailed my fingers off the strings. "I thought everyone knew," I said calmly. "I'm joining the Air Force." Her eyes went almost comically wide as her mouth dropped open. I enjoyed her reaction. In a flash, I saw that I could maybe play it to my advantage. I raised my eyebrows. "What?"

"You're joining the Air Force?" She clasped her hands cutely to her chest, which also had the effect of pulling her shirt tighter over her tits. "No way."

"A lot of kids from our class are joining the military," I pointed out mildly, which was true enough. Guidance had let the recruiters do the hard sell this year. "Hard to beat the college benefits, and you get a crapload of VA benefits I think."

"But Cameron!" Her voice was hushed. "You could get sent off to fight! You could be killed!"

I laughed easily. I'd already been though all this with my mom. "I'm joining the Air Force, Ms B. As, like, a linguist. I won't go anywhere dangerous." I shrugged and plucked a jaunty G chord "The recruiter had said they'd probably teach me Spanish or something. Like, maybe, Thai? They said I could request what I wanted, and I'm not picking Arabic."

She was silent for a minute or so, then Ms Brett managed a smile. "Wow. I had no idea." She hesitated, then smirked. "I married my husband when he was in the Army. There's nothing like a man in uniform, Cameron, and you?" She gave a throaty giggle. "You'll be fighting them off with sticks."

I rolled my eyes. "You know me, Ms B," I laughed with her. "The whole point is that I don't fight them off." She nodded, looking at me speculatively; I wondered whether tales of my pussy-getting prowess had made their way into the teachers' lounge. I figured they probably had, at least in some form. She was looking at me differently now, more levelly. I decided to push. "I guess I'll need to fight them off, though. I don't think basic training is co-ed."

She smiled, and that was different too: it wasn't her usual radiant grin. This was more subdued, but no less genuine. Warmer, perhaps. "I doubt it." She cleared her throat. "Well. I'm sure you'll be leaving plenty of broken hearts back here, though."

"I think you'd be surprised, Ms B." I stretched my legs out more comfortably, needing badly to reach behind the guitar and adjust my cock. My hard-on was raging by now. I sensed it was time to go; I wasn't going to get in her pants today. I still had five weeks. I winked at her. "Besides, I don't kiss and tell." I made sure she was looking straight back into my eyes as I nearly whispered, "Ever."

She drew a deep breath. "That sounds like a good policy," she was saying as I laid the guitar beside me on the couch. When I got to my feet, my jeans were tented neatly; if she was looking, she'd definitely see it.

"Keep the guitar; Finn can practice with it. Maybe we can work out a deal before I leave, like, for you to buy it for him? When do you want me back here, Ms Brett?" I was looking straight into the shallow V of her shirt, the shadows there deep and tempting.

She looked up at me and licked her lips, her light brown eyes gazing through thick lashes. I wanted, badly, to fuck her. "Whenever you can make it, Cameron," she replied with quiet gravity.

I smiled back down at her. "Text me, then."

* * *

She was back in her car the next day, coming by the window while I was training the new hire, one of next year's seniors. "Look," I told him, pointing at the monitor when I saw her Toyota. "Guess who that is?"

Jeff, never a model of mental quickness, squinted at the big sunglasses in the monitor. "Cute," he allowed. "Big boobs." He'd been in her Gothic Lit class the year before.

I stifled my smile as he took her order: a Vietnamese, large.

* * *

I decided about midway through Finn's second practice that I was not sitting on the couch next to the next Dimebag Darrell. Hell, I wasn't even sitting with the next Kirk Hammett.

The kid could manage the chords I'd taught him, though it was clear he hadn't really touched the guitar since my first visit. But what I sensed from him wasn't a lack of callus or a lack of ability, but a lack of curiosity; the boy was not really interested in how the guitar was supposed to sound.

I thought about saying all this to his mother afterward, when she came through to send him back upstairs and sit at the end of the couch for a chat; apparently, this had become our ritual, and I wasn't complaining. But how to explain to your old English teacher the nuances of the mystical connection a talented guitarist needs to have with his axe?

So all I told her was, "He hasn't been practicing, Ms B."

"As, I seem to recall, certain high school seniors last year didn't do their homework on time," she shot back at once, and that put an end to that part of the conversation. She arched her eyebrow, her full lips pursed in that way I remembered from class, the way that said she was wise to my bullshit. And then her smile, never far away, peeped back out. "I'll put the guitar away." I saw she'd shoved the case under a little side table across the room.

"What?" I strummed a soft chord. "You're not interested in me serenading you?"

She giggled. "In literature," she reflected, her dimple fluttering in and out of being, "that usually leads to romance, Mr Louck."

"This ain't literature, Mrs Brett," I smirked. "It's just guitar." I played some light Chet Atkins-y stuff, just to show her how easy it was.

She was looking straight into my face now, the dimples now gone completely. "You have a nice day, now," she murmured.

I nodded. She'd remembered, from back when I was giving her the Ahab loyalty card. I cocked my head. "I guess that's my cue to leave, then."

"No." It burst out of her, clearly without her thinking about it. From the lizard-brain she had in there, responding to... pheromones? Hormones? Both? She took a deep breath. "You don't have to leave, I mean. I was just... you know. From that time I came into Ahab's."

I laughed. Somewhere upstairs, Finn flushed a toilet. "I remember, Ms B. It was only, like, a week ago."

"Seems longer," she nodded, relaxing against the back of the couch. She was back in shorts today, and a tanktop with the armholes stretched by her tits. I lounged in a pair of my own shorts and a long concert t-shirt. Our bare legs were about two inches apart at the knee. She frowned, deciding whether she should say something, then decided she ought to. "It was weird seeing Jeff in the drive-through with you the other day."

"He's a brand-new hire. He's going to be taking over for me."

She smiled a bit. "He's got the worst crush on Shannon Boyle."

"Boyle? The history teacher?" I probably ought to have kept my mouth shut at that, but it was way too juicy a conversation to leave aside. "I think she has sex with her students, Ms Brett. Did you know that?"

She stared at me for a long, deep moment, somehow not awkward, the dimple starting back just for a moment. "You hear all kinds of rumors," she replied carefully.

"Wow." I shook the room with a dramatic E minor. "So it's true!"

She was scarlet, her lip firmly between her teeth, looking away; she was so clearly trying to keep her mouth shut, but I already knew she'd tell me anything I wanted to know. I could read it in her face. Fuck. I could almost get her to do anything, I realized with a sudden flash of insight, my cock fat and long against the Ovation's back. "I can keep a secret," I wheedled quietly, but she didn't need the push.

She wanted to tell me.

"She and Ms Torrey. Gina Torrey."

"The math one?" Torrey was built like a gymnast, the Olympic kind, with no tits. She barely came up to my chest.

"The math one." She licked her lips, a grin growing slowly. "There's a story about the two of them... umm... I guess you'd call it 'sharing.' One of their students." I enjoyed the way her eyes lit up when I let myself look shocked. "Obviously, I wouldn't know the details," she hastened to add.

"Wow." I'd never had Torrey, but Boyle had been a singularly sexy lady. My mouth went dry at the thought of scoring her. "No shit," I mused.

"Nope. No shit at all," Ms B agreed, no longer very concerned about swearing. She glanced up as we heard Finn's door close, and it occurred to me to wonder where Mr B might be. There were pictures of him here and there, and clearly he lived here. She stirred. "Ms Dubinsky too, I think."

"Really!" That was news to me, but she hadn't really been someone I'd noticed. "Huh." I leaned forward over the guitar and stared at her knee. "It's almost always women, though. Right?"

"Now that you mention it..." She gave a short laugh, a forced one. "Wonder why."

"Well." This conversation was going interestingly. Her leg was crossed over the other, the foot swinging slightly like a playground tether ball. "There's got to be, like, a common denominator?"

"Disinterested husbands," she said at once, but then she glanced guiltily at the family pictures over the mantle.

"Nah," I shrugged easily, sensing tension and wanting none. Everything in me told me she shouldn't be thinking about the elusive Mr Brett. I wanted the dimples back. I waited until her eyes met mine again, my next reply clear in my head. She looked up at last, a little furtive perhaps, and I choked up on the bat and took my swing. I delivered the line smoothly, with a certain an ease, a lopsided smile, pitching my voice so that she knew I was serious but not too serious. "I think it's just that younger guys are freaking amazing in bed."

Ms Brett's mouth dropped open, her eyes going wide, but I saw at once that it had worked; the dimples were waiting as soon as she got her mouth under control, her eyes narrowing just before she laughed, long and hard, her tits jiggling hypnotically, and I decided on impulse that she wouldn't mind me staring at them.

So I did, smiling.

It took her awhile to settle down, and I gazed at her the entire time, my body loose, my manner nonthreatening. She was a beautiful woman when she was happy like this. "Goddamn!" she said at last, tears in her eyes. She was looking at me now, seeing where I was staring, and when I raised my eyes to hers she looked very coy. "Why, Cameron," she sighed, "I'll bet they are."

I sensed it, right there, a river being crossed: whatever it was I was doing with her, I was definitely doing it. Everything in her face and body told me so. I had to actively suppress an urge to lean forward with my lips extended. Things were moving quickly now. I was careful to match her tone. "Bet they are what?"

She wasn't smiling anymore, or at least not in the same way. "Freaking amazing in bed." It came out as a husky, wheedling burr.

I paused, the guitar between us protecting my raging hard-on, looking closely at the way her mouth had stayed open just a tad. She looked... ripe. That was the only word that came to me in the moment, and it was the right one: she was sitting forward a bit, looking up at me through her lashes, her bare leg just that tiny bit closer to mine. I needed to be careful; I'd never played a woman like this before. I had to watch my mouth.

Wanna find out? No. Too soon.

Ever wanted to fuck a student? No. Too creepy.

I've never had any complaints. Almost. But too out of character, ultimately.

So I just lifted the guitar off my lap and slid it along the back of the couch toward her. "We should put this away," I told her, my own voice thickening along with my cock, and as expected Ms Brett dropped her eyes straight to the front of my shorts. I was sure my erection was painfully obvious; sure felt like it was, and when her mouth dropped open a little bit more I had my answer.