Always a Teacher

Even after nearly thirty years of teaching, students still surprise me. Events occur that find you completely unprepared. This was mine. I was putting a few plants from the farmer's market into my trunk when I was interrupted.

"Hello Mrs. Thompson."

I looked up to see Tony, one of my former students. "Hello Tony. Are you enjoying your summer so far?"

"Yeah."

I could tell by his answer that he had something he wanted to say to me. I looked at him expectantly. Tony had been one of my favorites, and I had written him several glowing recommendation letters for college. Most had been superfluous; there was no question that the University was going to accept him.

"I've graduated high school...," he smiled, full of the confidence of youth.

"Yes, I know, and you're going to the University."

"Yeah, so I'm not your student any more."

I paused with a smile. "Obviously."

"And I'm 18."

"Yes, I know."

Suddenly he seemed unsure of himself, in that millisecond change that my kids so often do, converting from thinking you are just a tired old fool to a genius who knows the answer to every question.

"So I was wondering if you and I could get together sometime," he blurted out.

Years of working with young men and women had heightened my sensitively to the "question within a question," when my students had something on their mind that they couldn't—or wouldn't—articulate. This was one of those moments. I looked at him and tried to figure out what he meant.

"You mean like go to dinner or something?"

"No. I mean...well yeah, we could go to dinner...or something." I looked at him, mystified. "I mean, I wonder if you would like to...I mean I want to be...alone with you."

Realization dawned on me and I could feel myself blush. My jaw must have dropped, and he looked away. Kids can be so incredibly fragile at that age, desperate for your approval. I didn't quite know what to say.

"You mean...alone...with me," I asked slowly, so the implication was clear.

"Yes," he swallowed, looking into my eyes.

I let out a strangled laugh. "Tony, I'm older than your mother," I whispered.

"I know."

"What about Amy?" I knew he and Amy had been dating for the entire senior year.

He shrugged. "She's left."

I smiled quietly at him. "Tony, I'm, umm, very flattered, but we really can't."

"Why not?" Again that simple look in his eyes, thirsty for understanding.

"Well, because people will talk."

"But I'm not your student any more," he pleaded, full of innocence, as if that was all there was that was stopping us.

"I'm older than your mother."

"I know," he repeated, reaching out to take my hand in his. I looked down at his hand and then back at his face as I slowly twisted my hand and pushed his away.

"No, Tony. I'm sorry." I tried to smile to soften the blow. I could see the wound in his eyes as he pulled back.

"I'm sorry I offended you," he said quickly with a nod, turned and walked away.

My heart was thundering as I got into my car and drove home. I hadn't been with a man in four years, ever since Frank, my husband, had gotten too sick from cancer. He had died three years ago, and I lived the quiet life of a widow. I had been on a few dates with more age-appropriate men, but had never gotten past a light peck. What in the world could Tony have been thinking? Had I somehow missed his overtures as a student? Yes, he smiled at me with bright eyes, but so did all my good students. He was well liked at school; surely, he could have found a girl his own age. I poured myself a drink as soon as I got home and tried to calm down. He was barely a dozen years older than my oldest grandchild was.

When Frank had gotten sick, we had changed our eating habits. I had kept at it after he passed and had taken to fitness classes. I had taken good care of myself, but I had nothing compared to those high school girls. Time isn't kind to women. What in the world had he been thinking? I thought I knew him. He was a good kid, a really good kid. I had no doubt he was being sincere in his overtures.

In some ways, caring for your students is the worst part about being a teacher. And so, I found myself sitting alone in my living room, staring at my phone, wondering if I had made the right the choice. There was a knock on the back door, and I jumped—I had just hung up the phone! Sure enough, Tony was at my back door. Dear God," I thought, "How did he get here so fast?"

I let him in from the night and noted a fine sheen of sweat on him. I motioned to the sofa with a smile, but he paused in front of me, studying my face. The door swung shut and he leaned forward, took me in his arms and kissed me. No preliminaries, just hungry, animal lust as his tongue split my surprised lips. I started to struggle but soon faded. My God, I had forgotten what a kiss could be like. I finally recovered enough to push him off and we stood aside, gasping. Apparently, he and I had different ideas about what "talk about it" meant. I gathered up some courage and glanced into his eyes. He was hungry, eager, confused, panting at me in need. I paused in indecision and he jumped, sweeping me up in his powerful arms again and kissing me passionately. I had no chance. I had been married for nearly thirty years and mindless passion had left around year four. If a part of my mind protested, I could no longer hear it. He lifted me to his hips and walked with us to the back of the house. I motioned the way and he deposited me on my bed, pausing to pull off his shirt. I used the break to protest.

"We shouldn't do this," I offered half-heartedly.

"Yeah," he grunted before lowering himself on me.

He worked open the buttons of my blouse while kissing me and I helped him with my bra. He made quick work of my skirt and then I was nude beneath him in the near darkness. I was wet already. He stripped off his shorts and kissed me, and I instinctively reached down and guided him in. He pushed it home in one powerful thrust and I groaned at the sensation. Then he started to move. Whatever he lacked in technique, he certainly made up in enthusiasm. He went at me hard and fast, as if there was a race to win. I hadn't been loved like this in...decades. I wondered if my bed frame was going to survive the night. His skin, his sweat, his groans, all fed my senses and I tried to give it back to him, rediscovering lost parts of my femininity. His stamina was remarkable, much longer than I had experienced before. He came in me, long and hard, and the first thought in my mind was that I had set a bad example by not making him use protection. I laughed in quiet happiness as I caught my breath, finally pushing him off me. He slid to my side and I fanned myself with my hand before opening my eyes. He was lying on his stomach, looking at me intently.

"So was I good?" he whispered, as if afraid of the answer.

I chuckled. "You were fabulous." He seemed happy with my answer. I smiled at him for a moment. "So how was it for you?"

"Even better than they said it would be."

My attention snapped to him.

"You mean that this was...your first time?"

"Yes," he nodded. Oh dear God, what have I done. "Was it that obvious?" he begged.

"Oh, no, you were great, absolutely great," I smiled and cupped his face.

"So I did it good?"

"Yes, yes, it was wonderful."

He smiled at me and kissed my hand. I decided to try to offer a suggestion.

"You could also do it a little more gently," I said. He looked at me inquisitively. "You know, like slowly and tenderly. Women are soft, and sometimes it makes it nice to be gentle and stroke my skin."

He thought about it for a moment. "Yeah," he smiled, "Gentle like." He nodded and smiled at me and I reciprocated.

With that, he slid back over me and entered me again. I squealed in shock and amazement...it had only been moments since he had cum, and yet he was ready to go again. He kissed me and started to move slowly and gently, his hands stroking my body as I had asked. It was absolutely perfect. A forgotten sensation started to build in me and I quivered as my first orgasm in years shook me, and still he loved me. I hung on for dear life. His thrusts became more erratic and he came again, this time quickly rolling off me.

"Amazing," is all I could get out before falling asleep.

I awoke to find him asleep also, holding me. I smiled for a few minutes before dragging my exhausted body out of bed and to the bathroom. Everything hurt. Even my lips were sore from kisses. I cleaned up and couldn't stop smiling at myself. I had no robe in the bathroom so I returned to bed nude. Tony was awake and took me in his arms again. He started kissing me and I felt him against my leg. I started to wonder if I would survive the night. He moved over me, but this time I stopped him and got some lotion for him to use as lubrication. Even though he did it tenderly it was a little painful, but I let him enjoy himself. We fell asleep again. I awoke to feel him rubbing his erection against my leg. My goodness, he was insatiable. I demurred and ended up giving him a blowjob instead. Sunlight trickling through the windows woke me, and in the harsh new light I was a more than a little embarrassed at what we had done. I quickly covered up with my robe and made us breakfast. Tony was eager to do it again, but I stopped him and told him we couldn't be together. He protested, professing his love for me, but eventually seemed to understand that I just couldn't keep up with him, that he needed to find a girl his own age. We kissed for a long time and then said goodbye.

Years passed, and the occasions I ran into his mother were always strange. He seemed to be doing well. I met a really nice man my age and remarried. One day a card appeared in our mail, an invitation to his wedding. You can imagine how awkward I felt when his beautiful young bride stopped by our table at the reception and told me that Tony often talked about everything I had taught him.

Hopefully, not everything.