Hot For Teacher (37 page)

Number Eight: The Ford

June 6, 2014 (Three months ago)

I honestly hadn’t planned this. Francesca, the Ford, had been eyeing me in debate all evening, and I’d returned the glance from time to time. But I certainly didn’t expect to have her bent over the sink later that same night in the faculty bathroom at the high school.

I wouldn’t have thought that kind of thing happened in real life—I mean, it was a dream come true. If I would’ve known joining the debate team would guarantee easy access to all kinds of pussy, I would’ve signed up so much sooner.

I made a mental note to carry condoms at all times, and gave Francesca extra points for spontaneity. She was definitely a Fusion rather than your ordinary Focus: you’d never look at her twice, but once you took her for a ride, you couldn’t help but be surprised that for a mid-size vehicle she had one hell of an EcoBoost engine.

It wasn’t as if I didn’t respect these girls—I did. I respected them over and over and over again.

We both got something out of the arrangement: They got a chance to experience the thing all their girlfriends were talking about (because I knew exactly how much they talked about all of my many attributes), and I got another chance to perfect my exceptional extracurricular skills.

Which is exactly what I needed if I wanted to prove to Miss Shields—
Katie
—that I could be the man for her.

I stared into the mirror at my reflection with a smirk. Francesca threw her head back as I brought her to orgasm, but I covered her mouth so she wouldn’t scream.

She was really pretty.

Definitely a Fusion.

Too bad all I wanted was a Jaguar.

The next day at school after my random run-in with the mystery girl in the woods, I walk through the halls in a daze. My mind can’t focus on anything—not on Miss Shields or the debate topic or my classes. All I can see is a gorgeous face with mascara running down her cheeks. A simple touch in a darkened building.

The seventh period bell rings, and just as I make it out to my car, I remember that it’s Tuesday and I have to meet with the debate team to research our topic.

What was our topic again?

I’ve got to snap out of this!

I swing by the restroom on my way to the English department to check my hair, and as I reach the library, I turn the corner to find my seat.

The library is in the center of the school, and all of the bookshelves are low, keeping an open view of four hallways that lead to it.

All voices hush as soon as I enter, and I see the girls whispering. Out of reflex, my eyes search for Miss Shields, but she’s not here yet.

After finding a few discussions online about same-sex classrooms, I scan the information and know which stance to take. Most of the conclusions to these debate subjects are so obvious; it’s painful to have to explain my reasoning to anyone. But it’s worth it for
Katie
.

I stand from my seat and pan the room. Miss Shields is walking down the hallway toward the library, and the swing in her hips makes me instantly hard.

I imagine that the reason she slows her pace is to make sure I’m taking in every second of the sexual tension between us. She’s wearing dark stockings, and a red and white polka-dot dress. The buttons that keep the dress together are straining over her ample tits. In my fantasy, Katie puts her finger in her mouth and sucks, simulating what she wants to do to my aching cock. My eyes home in on the white lace bra that’s just barely visible. I wonder if her nipples are hard, and what they would taste like when I teased them with my tongue.

Miss Shields reaches the library and stands at the edge of the carpet, folding her arms over her chest. She turns to speak to a student I hadn’t noticed had entered just behind her.

I don’t see
her
right away, because my gaze is fixed on Miss Shields’s ass. But then a small movement catches my eye—a slight flick of long, dark hair—and I turn to focus on the pretty face behind Miss Shields’s shoulder.

The girl from the woods.

It seems ridiculous that I’d let something take me from my fantasy so easily. In my mind, I already had my hands up Katie’s dress. But something about the girl from last night makes me forget about it instantly. I find myself—inexplicably—only seeing, only thinking about the girl I had only met the night before.

“Good afternoon, everybody!” Miss Shields says. “We have a new student on our debate team. Please welcome Arleen Carson.”

Arleen Carson.

My mystery girl officially has a name.

It’s a weird name. An
old
name.

Katie gives a swift nod and glances over to me. But for the first time since I can remember, I’m not paying any attention to her.

Miss Shields clears her throat and continues. “The topic for Thursday’s debate is: Same-sex education and whether it aids in educational growth or hinders necessary socialization. I’ll be over here.” She points to a table in the opposite corner, where she’s already placed her laptop and papers to grade. “Feel free to come to me with any questions you may have.”

We split up into two large groups, and sit at separate tables for researching. Arleen has pulled up a chair at the corner of my team’s table, and I try not stare. Yet, I find myself gaping at her like an idiot.

Arleen isn’t a supermodel, but she’s definitely pretty. I had already forgotten since last night. Her hair is lighter than I thought, too. I wonder what it feels like. Is it as soft as it looks?

Stop being such an emotive douche, Simon!
I yell at myself.

“Simon?” Juliana asks. “Do you already know which side you’re on?” She licks her lips slowly, which really just makes her look like a drooling, rabid animal. I squint at her. Does she realize she looks as though she’s trying to eat her own face?

“Yep. I’m set,” I say, smiling.

“Let’s hear it, then,” Juliana challenges.

I shrug. “It’s really a no-brainer. I’m not saying I would ultimately enjoy a classroom with all guys, but when you think about the end-goal, what education
should
be, the answer is simple.” I look around the table at my rapt audience. But Arleen isn’t swooning or smiling or doing any of the normal girl things I have become used to. Arleen sits in the corner, seeming disinterested.

So I began to speak louder. You know, in case she’s hard of hearing or something.

“In order for our society to grow and become stronger, we need to be educating our students in the best ways we can. All the studies point to this being beneficial for the student, causing the number of yearly graduations and successful careers to flourish. In one study, it suggests males learn better in a warmer classroom, while girls in a cooler one. For an optimal learning environment, this is what needs to happen. I only see it as beneficial. Besides, it’s not like we wouldn’t see our friends of the opposite sex during lunch or after school.”

I hear a murmur to my left, but choose to ignore the sniggers that follow. Pretty sure it was a snide remark about what I was known to do after school hours.

“There’s also another study that says teenaged boys are embarrassed to take elective courses such as choir or art classes. It makes them appear feminine. If we offered courses that were males-only in our school, it would eliminate any ridicule or shame in taking them.”

“But your vision is skewed.” The whisper comes from the corner of the table.

“Excuse me?” I chime, appalled that anyone would question my logic.

Arleen sits up straighter and looks me straight in the eyes.

“Teenagers are young and impressionable,” she begins. “If we start segregating our sexes, who’s to say the next step wouldn’t be to separate social classes, minorities, and people with disabilities? Each child learns differently, and yes, there are ideals for those environments, but what would our system be producing but students, and eventually adults, who believe that everything should be catered to them? We live in a world of people who feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. No. This would be stoking that unstable fire and allowing it to burn everything around it. You put a student like
that
in the real world and they’ll never survive.” She looks around the table briefly and then her eyes lock on mine again. “Who here was on a community sports team when they were younger?”

All of us nod.

“And how many trophies and awards did you receive?”

“One every year, even if just for participating,” replies Josie, a girl on our team.

“And how is that fair?” Arleen’s eyebrows scrunch together and her posture straightens.

“I don’t understand the connection,” I say.

“This idea of same-sex classrooms, along with every trophy you ever received for ‘participating,’ has only clouded your idea of what the real world is all about. Out there,” she points toward the window, “you aren’t entitled to shit. People aren’t going to cater to your every wish and demand. If we start separating boys from girls—putting you in a class where success is likely—it’s only catering to the idea of your sense of entitlement. In the real world, men and women work
together
.
Work space temperatures
aren’t monitored. They don’t care if you’ve read Hemingway or whether or not you’re an alto or a bass. If you don’t get the work done, you’re going to get fired. And I can tell you with absolute certainty that they aren’t going to give you a trophy when you leave for simply participating.” She shakes her head and her expression turns grim. “They will tell you you’ve failed. And if you’ve never heard that sentence in your life, the first time comes as a total blow. If we segregate students, we’re adding fuel to the fire and creating a country full of pussies.”

I try not to grind my teeth but I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.

My cheeks burn and my mind spins. I look around, and even the girls in the Simon fan club have shifted their eyes and are staring down at the table.

I lost a debate. This is a first.

Fuck. I don’t lose. Ever.

I glance back at Arleen, and she’s packing up her backpack.

She’s not smug. She’s not rubbing it in. She made her point, and she beat me. It’s clear she has nothing more to say.

Even Miss Shields is a bit shell-shocked by what just happened, she seems as surprised as everyone else. I can’t even summon up a flirty smile for her.

Because right now, I’m sort of blown away by the girl who has just so eloquently put me in my place.

I jump up from my seat while everyone else is gathering their books, and follow Arleen into the hallway.

“Hey!”

Arleen doesn’t turn; she just keeps a death-grip on the strap of the backpack over her shoulder and continues walking at a swift pace.

“Hey!” I call louder.

“Not now, Simon. Not here. I’ll see you tonight,” she says over her shoulder as her fast walk becomes a jog.

What? Why?

Tonight?

“Simon? Can I see you at my desk, please?”

I’m ripped from Arleen-induced stupor by the sound of Miss Shields’s voice. Regretfully, I tear my eyes from Arleen’s retreating form and follow Katie to her classroom across the hall.

“So,” she begins, crossing her legs. The lace from her thigh-highs catches my eye but I’m finding it hard to focus on anything but the girl who just walked away from me.

Miss Shields leans back on her hands, her chest popping out, and I can almost see the lace of her bra through her sheer shirt. I think absently about running my tongue up between them, but then I thought again about Arleen handing me my ass earlier.

She’d been pretty awesome. No one outwits me. And even though I still cringe a bit from it, I’m impressed with her all the same.

And she wants to meet me later. A flashback of Arleen’s cold hand sweeping against mine makes me smile.

“What was all that about?” Miss Shields asks.

“What?” I ask distractedly, only barely noticing her tits on proud display.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose a debate before. I think that shows you’re coasting a bit. You need to do some more research. Don’t you agree?” She runs her hand through her hair. Is she trying to be flirty?

What’s wrong with me that I can’t summon up any sort of sexual innuendo? I’m missing a perfect opportunity! Am I losing my edge?

I think about Arleen again and her pretty face and even smarter mouth.

“Yeah, I think I need to do a lot more research,” I agree, though not in the way Miss Shields had suggested.

Miss Shields has a funny look on her face, and suddenly sits up to discreetly straighten her shirt. This time I look at her chest and am relieved when my dick wakes back up.

“Good. Get back to it then,” Miss Shields says with a small smile.

It isn’t long after I get home from school that my thoughts drift back to Arleen. Who is she? Where did she come from? At what point had I invited her into my thoughts? And why is the desperation to find out all these answers making the words in my head stutter and tongue-tie?

She said she’d see me tonight.

I can only assume she wants to meet me at the ruins. I’ll go, of course—mostly so that the mysteries can be solved and I can go back to my routine. These small interruptions never last long.

I leave my house before Mom and Dad get home from the country club, grabbing a sandwich on my way. It’s still light when I arrive at the cedar tree, but there’s no sign of Arleen. So I sit against it on the ground and wait.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but the only reason I know I’ve fallen asleep is when I’m startled awake by a voice.

“Hey.”

I flinch for a moment, and allow my eyes to focus on her. The sun has gone down and I have no idea what time it is, but she lightly kicks my leg and repeats her greeting.

“Hey. Wake up.” She gives me a sideways smile.

“Hey,” I repeat with a stretch.

“How long have you been here?” she asks.

A silence lapses when I realize I have a hard-on.
Shit!

The leaves rustle and I can see the moon peeking through the swaying branches. “I’m not sure,” I finally say, discreetly placing my backpack on my lap. “It was still light when I fell asleep.”             

She nods, sitting down beside me.

“So what was up with debate after school?” I begin, too curious to put off the question any longer. A part of my pride was still stinging. “Are you passionately against a classroom of all girls, or were you just trying to make a point about the pussies in the suburbs that get handed their diplomas?”

She shrugs me off, as if the question – or the answer – isn’t interesting enough to hold her attention. “Can we make a rule?”

“What? A rule?”

Looking out toward the dark woods, she chews the inside of her cheek. “Let’s not talk about school while we’re here.”

I can feel my eyebrows scrunch together at her randomness. “You’re bizarre.”

I see the gleam of her white teeth flash momentarily before she covers her mouth. Her smile fades quickly, and for the first time since she sat down next to me, she makes eye contact.

“I’ve been called worse.” She picks up a stick from the ground and starts fiddling with the pebbles in the dirt.

“So you’re not going to answer my question?” I ask.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Nope.”

I’m at a loss. We have nothing else in common to talk about. That’s what we do in high school: we talk about high school!

“Why do you come here?” she asks.

“Why have I always come here, or why am I here tonight?” I ask her teasingly.

I can’t see her blush, but her shifting has told me I’ve made her feel uncomfortable somehow. So I try to back up and answer her question.

“Sorry.” I feel my stomach turn a little at the thought of making her uneasy. “I come here to get away.” Looking around the crumbling structure, I find a memory to share with her. “When I was eight, my dad and I were out in these woods. We’d come here to try to find new plant or insect species that I could research.” I shrug and huff a laugh, trying to play off how pathetically loserish I must sound. “A storm came, and this was the only place close to take shelter. It was a pretty bad storm. A tornado touched down in the county to the east of here.”

“But you both ended up okay?”

“Yeah. Dad sprained his ankle, though. And we slept here until the next morning. Mom was really scared.” I look down in thought, remembering the way these woods looked then. They’re much denser now—or maybe it was because I was so small that the trees seemed farther apart.

Dad took his coat and propped it up using the cedar tree and some twigs to assemble a makeshift tent to keep us dry. We stayed awake, talking all night. It was that night I’d decided to put away my dreams of becoming Spiderman and focus on becoming a storm chaser.

But sometime a year or two later, I abandoned that dream as well.

“The night of the storm is the last memory I have from when my family was normal.” I try to speak easy, but the sentence comes out as more of a whisper.

I hear her swallow as she continues moving the dirt around with her stick.

I’m not sure what it is about her. Maybe it’s the fact that we met here, where I always felt safest. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t feel like she expects anything from me. But for the rest of the evening all I can do is mutter truths and stories from my past—random shit that shouldn’t matter but somehow does.

And she laughs when she should, nods when it’s appropriate, and doesn’t speak a word. She continues to let me ramble on and on about everything and nothing.

It’s the best conversation I’ve had in my life—which isn’t saying much, considering how few
real
conversations I’ve had in the past few years.

It isn’t until I’m home and about to sleep that I realize all the things we talked about were the reason I used to go to that place by myself to think. It felt good to get it all out—to feel like I could say those things without being judged. And to not worry about what signs or signals she’d give me.

Constantly thinking about how to get in a girl’s pants is pretty damn exhausting. And it was nice relating to a girl in a way that had nothing to do with getting her naked.

Not saying I
didn’t
want to see Arleen naked.

Because I did. But I also liked talking to her too.

Huh.

Interesting.