Alan Yeager sat at the hotel bar nursing his beer as most of the men around him watched the ball game on the overhead television. The twenty-six year old really had no interest in the game, but had come to the bar with a few new friends in order to be sociable.
The dark haired young man was a history teacher from East Bedford. Five nine with a slim, muscular build; this was his first time at the State Teacher's Convention. It was an experience he had enjoyed immensely.
The funny thing was, it was only because of a unforeseeable series of events that he found himself here at all. Normally, only the most senior teacher at Dwight Eisenhower High got to attend the annual convention. Roger Parks, who was originally scheduled to go, had come down with appendicitis the day before he was to leave. Elizabeth Young, who was the runner up in seniority had already left with her family for a Disneyworld Vacation. After a frantic search by the school administration, there seemed to be very few people who hadn't already made plans for the three-day holiday weekend. It finally came down to Alan and Diane Yee, both of whom had started on the same day. A toss of the coin decided the issue, with Alan racing home to quickly pack a bag to catch the eight o'clock shuttle flight.
The three-day event had been quite interesting Alan had to say. Every school seemed to have a different way of picking delegates to the conference. Some went by seniority like his own school. Others used it as a merit award. Some even just held a raffle. Overall, the different systems made for an interesting mix and a chance to meet fellow educators from across the state and sort of compare notes. There was also the prospect of some really fine dining and the nightly parties that made attendance so highly coveted. Tonight was the last night of the conclave with nearly a third of the participants having already left for home.
Alan glanced down at his watch and decided that five more minutes and he was out of here. He really hadn't been that hungry when most of the delegates had gone to dinner, but he was starting to feel otherwise now. The hotel dinning room was still open for another hour so he should have no problem getting a table.
"Excuse me," a woman's voice said from behind Alan, "but by any chance would you happen to know the three major causes of the Civil War?"
The question took Alan by surprise. Even for a Teacher's Convention, that was a strange thing for someone to ask. Not so strange, however, that he didn't immediately know the answer. Back in high school, he had written his senior history paper on just that subject.
"That would've been..." he started to say as he turned around on the barstool. "Oh my God!" he suddenly said, cutting off his answer as he saw who had asked the question.
The owner of the question stood just a fraction of an inch shorter than Alan. She was wearing a modest blue dress that enhanced rather than concealed a still respectable figure.
"Hello Alan," the middle aged woman standing behind him smiled.
"Mrs. Clarke," an excited Alan said, unsure if he should hug the woman, shake her hand or something else. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I am still a teacher," the white haired woman smiled, "at least until the end of the month."
"You're quitting?" he asked, the tone of his question making it one of disbelief.
"Retiring actually," she smiled.
"No, you can't be retiring," Alan said, "you're only..."
"Fifty-two years old last month," Mrs. Clarke said, finishing his question for him.
"No," Alan replied, unable to believe that she was that old.
"I was forty-four when I had you in my honors class in history," she said. "And that was eight years ago."
Alan took a hard look at his former teacher. In his mind, Mrs. Clarke didn't look that much older than she did on his last day of class. There were a few more subtle lines in her face, but that seemed to be all. Even back then, except for her hair, she really hadn't looked her age. Her hair had turned prematurely white in her mid-thirties. Rather than dye it back to its original shade, she had decided to keep it natural.
In fact, Alan remembered quite well a discussion he and a number and his friends had one night after they'd misappropriated two six packs of beer from Jimmy Smith's garage cooler. The discussion had started off familiarly enough, a comparison of all the girls in school they knew. Who was the best looking; who had the best tits, which they most wanted to fuck, that sort of thing. Eventually, and Alan never really decided if it was the beer or they were all feeling a little bit daring, the discussion had grown to include teachers as well.
That aspect of their talk hadn't gone as far, but it had been almost universally agreed that Mrs. Clarke was the third best looking teacher in school. For an older woman, a few of his friends had quickly added. In Alan's case, he hadn't needed to add that condition to his opinion. The number one and two choices were all new teachers in their early twenties.
"This wasn't a pop quiz, Alan," his former teacher laughed. "You're not going to fail if you don't remember the answer."
Alan realized that his face had become flustered at the memory and was glad that she took it to be because he hadn't remembered the answer.
"Mrs. Clarke, I've totally forgotten my manners," Alan said, changing the subject and feeling like he was back in third period history. "Please have a seat."
"First of all, I think you're a little old to still be calling me Mrs. Clarke," she said. "My name is Maureen as I'm sure you remember. We are, after all, colleagues now."
It seemed strange to Alan to think of himself and Mrs. Clarke, no make that Maureen, as equals. Yet, that was exactly what they were. He might have moved away after college and was teaching in another town, but they were both doing the same thing.
"Can I get you a drink," Alan asked, still thinking it strange to be asking her a question like that.
"It's tempting," she replied, "but I was actually on my way for a late dinner. I'd gotten involved in an interesting panel discussion and lost all track of time."
"That's funny but I was just about to go in to eat myself. I'd be honored if you joined me."
"That would be nice," Maureen smiled. "It'll give us a chance to catch up."
As they ate, Alan quickly covered the eight years since he'd sat in Maureen Clarke's class. He'd gone, as she knew , to Fall River College on a full academic scholarship. It had been largely due to her recommendation to the scholarship board that he had managed to go to college at all. Alan was from a family that barely made ends meet and money for higher education was not to be found. It would be a terrible waste, she had written to the board, to let a mind so perfectly suited for teaching to lay fallow because of a lack of funds. The condition of the grant he had been awarded was that he spend at least ten years after getting his degree in the public school sytem somewhere in the state. It was a condition Alan had been more than happy to agree to.
Maureen Clarke had spent the last decade pretty much as she had the previous one, teaching honors history at Alexander Hamilton High School in Woodbridge. The only major change in her life had been the death of her husband, George, two years before. That was one of the reasons she had decided to take the early retirement that had been offered her. Her heart, she said, was no longer really in it.
"My mom had mentioned that the last time I was home for a visit," Alan offered. "I'm really sorry. I only met him a few times but I remember Mr. Clarke being a really nice guy."
"Thank you," Maureen said, then changed the subject as not to dwell too much on her greatly missed husband. "But what about you? Is there a Mrs. Yeager, or someone in your life?"
"I'm afraid not," Alan replied, "at least not right now. I did fall in love with someone in college. Her name was Yvonne and I really thought she was the one. But things didn't work out and we wound up going our separate ways. I date occasionally but there's no one really special. I guess I get so wrapped up in the kids sometimes that I forget to have much of a life."
"I can understand that," Maureen said, thinking of all the unimaginable hours she had devoted to her own kids.
"Sometimes, it is all worth it," Maureen assured her younger counterpart. "Every once in a while, there's one or two students who really capture your heart. It means so much to watch them strive to learn, and when they do, it gives your life a validation that few people get to have."
She paused a moment then added, "That's the feeling I got when I saw in the alumni notes that you had gotten your teaching certificate. I was so very proud when I read that."
"I think your class was the reason I first thought about becoming a teacher," Alan volunteered. "You made learning such an adventure. I'm not sure I should mention this or not, but I had such a crush on you as well."
Maureen smiled. She knew that many of her students over the years had developed similar infatuations. It wasn't something she would ever admit to anyone but her husband, but she sometimes got a secret thrill thinking that some of those good looking young men might be jerking off to a mental image of her.
"Well as I'm sure as you've learned by now, teachers aren't supposed to even admit that they might have a crush on one of their students," Maureen said. "But I'm sure you knew how special I thought you were."
"I knew," Alan simply said. Then, thinking about some of the quite improper thoughts he'd had about a few of his own female students, Alan wondered if Maureen had ever had such thoughts about the boys in her classes. It wasn't exactly a question he could just come out and ask.
By the time they finished dinner and had a small dessert, Alan was very surprised at how easily the flow of conversation had become. It no longer felt awkward talking to Maureen about anything. For the first time since they'd run into each other in the bar, he actually felt that they really were equals. It came as a surprise to the younger teacher that he and Maureen had rooms on the same floor. A surprise because it made it seem even funnier that they hadn't run into each other before tonight.
"Alan, would you like to stop by my room for a nightcap?" Maureen asked as they stepped off the elevator.
"Don't you have a roommate?" Alan asked, knowing that most of the delegates, himself included, shared a room.
"She went home this afternoon," Maureen replied. "She came up by car and didn't want to get caught up in all the post holiday traffic."
"A nightcap sounds fine then," Alan finally answered.
Over drinks, they talked for what seemed like the longest time. It seemed to the former student that it was the first time in a long time that his old teacher had opened up to anyone. Finally, Alan took note of the late hour and suggested that perhaps he should call it a night and let Maureen get some sleep.
He had just started to get up when Maureen motioned for him to wait. Uncertain, Alan sat there in silence for a few moments.
"Alan," the fifty-two year old said, a hesitation in her voice, "I was wondering if... I mean to say this isn't something I normally do. But I was wondering if you wanted to spend the night here... with me?"
Alan was too stunned to say a word. A silence Maureen quickly took to be a cold disapproval of what she had suggested. "Alan, I'm sorry," she quickly said. "I shouldn't have even thought of such a thing. I hope you won't let a moment's weakness change the way you remember me."
Alan looked into the face of the woman sitting across from him. He didn't see a woman twice his age, or even his former teacher. All he saw was a friend who once cared enough about him to take the time and effort to change his life. A friend who also a woman, a woman he still found desirable.
"There is nothing, that you could ever say or do, that would change the way I feel about you," Alan said as he took her hand in his own. "If you want me to stay, then of course I'll stay. If you just want me to hold you, then that's fine. If you want more than that, well that would be fine too."
This time, Alan had no hesitation about what he should do. Putting his arms around her, he embraced his friend with all of the love he carried for her in his heart.
Neither was really sure who made the first move after that. All they knew was that they were soon kissing each other. Their lips met with a fiery passion, their tongues darting in and out of the other's mouth. Even through layers of clothing, Alan could feel the crush of Maureen's breasts against his chest. He reached up and cupped one of her mounds, producing a soft cry of pleasure from Maureen as his fingers softly squeezed her flesh.
Maureen in turn reached down and pressed her own hand between Alan's legs. She smiled as her fingers found him already hard. Alan's reaction was no less than hers had been.
"Help me with my dress," Maureen said as she stood up and turned around so that Alan could reach her zipper. Alan pulled the zipper all the way down and started to slide her dress off. Maureen placed a hand on his and stopped him. She stepped a few feet away and turned around. It became obvious to Alan that she wanted to strip for him.
Completing what the younger man had started, the white haired woman slid her dress to the floor, leaving her clad in bra, panties and stockings. It was a source of pride to her that despite a small weight gain in her later years, she still never wore a girdle. No one was ever going to ask her to pose for a magazine, but she was in much better shape than most of her friends.
"Tell me the truth, Alan," she said as reached behind and undid the clasp of her bra. "When you were in my class, did you ever think about something like this, I mean seeing me without my clothes."
Knowing that it was exactly what she wanted to hear right now, Alan told her of the informal poll he and his friends once took. He could tell she was impressed on where she had ranked on the survey.
"If I had taken my own survey," she said as her bra came off, "you would've been on the top. I guess it can't hurt for me to say it now, but more than a few times I thought of you when I was in bed with my husband. Imagining that it was you inside of me instead of him."
That answered Alan's earlier curiosity. He wondered what was more frequent that year he'd been in her class. The times she imagined her husband was him, or the times he'd jerked off imagining it was her mouth wrapped around his cock instead of his fingers.
Alan watched fascinated as Maureen rubbed her breasts, her fingers pressing against the hard nipples that just a glimpse of through her blouse was enough to give teenage boys an erection. A lifetime of trying to stay in reasonable shape had left the fifty-two year old with a bust only slightly affected by time and gravity.
Maureen's hands continued downward and she lifted her leg onto the seat of the nearby desk chair. Undoing the clasps of her garter belt, she slowly slipped her stocking down the length of her leg. An action she then repeated on her other leg. Her husband had always preferred stockings to pantyhose and she never saw any reason to change after he was gone. From the way Alan's eyes were following her every motion, it was obvious to her that he was glad she hadn't.
Finally it was her panties turn and once they were gone, Alan could see that the hair between Maureen's legs was a mixture of the original brown, white and gray. What there was of it had been carefully trimmed into a small, soft mound.
"I hope that wasn't too disappointing," Maureen said as she stuck a pose to finish her erotic ballet.
"Hardly," Alan replied, thinking that he'd found Maureen's little performace more enticing than any his last girlfriend had done. If Maureen had any doubt as to the sincerity of his answer, the straining bulge in his pants added to its validity.