Miss Wong stood at the front of the classroom, erasing her notes about Crime and Punishment in order to make more room, but all I could focus on was her plump, shapely ass wiggling back and forth underneath her tight, charcoal pencil skirt. I had had a crush on her from day one of my senior year, when had I first walked into her classroom at the end of the day and saw her sitting behind her desk, her ruby red lips wrapped around an utterly enviable pen, her dark, crescent eyes slightly obscured by her glasses. It felt like I had been struck by a thunderbolt, and ever since then, she had haunted my thoughts, took center-stage in all my wet dreams, and starred in a number of masturbatory fantasies.
At times, I wondered whether she knew. I wasn't nearly as subtle about my interest as I should have been, but she didn't exactly make it easy on me. During the first few weeks of school, she wore button-down shirts, against which her ample breasts strained vigorously, and she often stood at such an angle that I could peek between the gaps of her shirt and get a fleeting glimpse of her overflowing bra. Once winter arrived, the tight sweaters came out, emphasizing her every curve, highlighting the swell of her breasts. How could I possibly tear my eyes away from such temptations? You wouldn't blame a cat for eyeing a canary, would you?
She never did anything explicit, but the number of times she bent over in front of me and touched my arm gently while explaining a difficult concept couldn't simply be a coincidence. At times, she leaned in close, and her full breasts pressed against my shoulder while her perfume surrounded me, and I felt as though I were in heaven. Was I delusional, to imagine my teacher had an interest in a boy ten years her junior? Maybe, but if it were a delusion, I'd gladly reject sanity to hold onto it.
I knew the older teachers were jealous of her; we all did. It was no secret that they resented all of the attention she got, not only from her students, but even from the male teachers and fathers. I looked at the silver lining, though: my English grades had never been so high. My mother had even bought her a gift basket after seeing my first report card, after she had stopped crying tears of joy. Yes, there was definitely a bright side to being unable to tear my attention away from my teacher.
And now, as she spoke to the class and gestured dramatically, describing the murder of the old woman, her chest jiggled slightly, and I found myself yet again wondering what she looked like underneath that cherry red sweater, what color her nipples were, how they would feel between my lips were I to gently suckle them to hardness ... Were her breasts sensitive? Was she shy? Would she cover her nude body and blush, averting her eyes from me? Or was she bold and brazen? Would she encourage me to drink her in, proudly displaying her body to me? Suddenly, her voice interrupted my daydreaming.
"Jason, can you come up to the front and help write down everyone's thoughts for me?" she asked.
My eyes widened. My jeans bulged from my earlier thoughts, and now she wanted me to get up in front of the class, in front of everyone. I looked from side to side hastily, praying that another Jason had joined the class within the last five minutes without my knowing. "Me?"
"Yes, you. Come on," she beckoned. "We don't have all day." She held the chalk out to me in her palm, waiting for me to take it from her. I gulped, but there wasn't any way out of my predicament but time, time and diligent concentration on the topics on baseball, hobos, and that one time I had walked in on my father on the toilet.
I stood up and made my way to the front of the room as though there were a guillotine waiting for me, keeping my eyes bolted to the board. So long as I could keep my back to the other students, no one would be able to see my dong trying to escape through the front of my pants. I thought I heard a slight giggle as I passed Amy Medeiros, but it might have just been my overwhelming paranoia. I took the chalk from Miss Wong's hand, and my fingertips brushed against her palm. My stomach fluttered from the touch, and I nearly dropped the chalk in surprise, but I had made it without everyone discovering my erection: mission accomplished.
I positioned my hand an inch away from the board, ready to take down whatever notes my peers said. I looked over to Miss Wong to wait for her to begin calling on pupils, but her eyes were focused on me, about three feet lower than I was expecting. I turned slightly, hoping to hide my arousal, but she just looked back to the class with a self-satisfied smirk on her thick lips.
I was thankful that no one else could see my cheeks; I was certain they were as red as they felt. But what about Miss Wong? Had she seen my hard-on? God, she must think I'm a pervert ... Was she going to tell the principal? What if she called my parents? I wrote mechanically, my mind miles away from the classroom, specifically, at the top of an unusually tall cliff, high above an acre of jagged rocks, tipped with diamonds, wired to dynamite, and at ground zero of an incoming thermonuclear ICBM.
The next ten minutes were pure torture. I had no way to hide myself, not without calling everyone's attention to me, anyway, and if having Miss Wong staring at my bulging crotch was bad enough, it'd be even worse with another forty eyes focused on me. At least teachers weren't allowed to tease me ... were they? I was pretty sure she'd get in trouble if she called me Boner Barry or whichever clever nickname my peers would bestow upon me if they learnt of my predicament. Every time she turned to me to tell me what to write, her eyes glanced downwards for the briefest of moments at my lap. I could feel her stare burning into me, and I wondered what was going through her mind. Her face was inscrutable. She could be hiding her disgust with a fake smile, she could be amused, she could be turned on, or flattered, or she could simply be remembering an especially delicious sandwich.
Finally, blessedly, my prayers to every deity I had been able to remember from Mister Katze's ancient history class were answered by a ringing bell. I scurried to my seat, my cock throbbing within my boxers, while everyone was distracted with putting away their things. I was free, free as a bird!
"Jason?" asked Miss Wong sweetly.
Free as a turkey, in an oven, on Thanksgiving Day...
"Do you mind staying after class? I have something to discuss with you," Miss Wong said. A chorus of "oooh's" followed as my classmates laughed at my misfortune. I was in trouble, and they knew it, even if they were fortunately ignorant of the details.
My last classmate left the room and the door closed. The ticks of the clock thundered in the silence. I stood in front of her desk, waiting for her to say something to me. She looked up at me and adjusted her glasses. She took a deep breath and steepled her fingers. My heart fibrillated wildly in my chest. I just wanted her to say something. Anything was better than this deafening silence.
"Jason, I was going over your notes from last week, and I happened to notice that in the margins, someone wrote 'Miss Wong' in a heart." Okay, I'd like to have silence back now... "Do you know anything about that?"
I tried to speak and failed. My lips fumbled about, but no words came out. My mind raced, trying to imagine excuses. "I have a crush on a different Vivian Wong." "That's not a heart, it's an upside-down ass. I think you're an asshole." "Someone broke into my house, stole my notebook, wrote that in the margins, and then slipped it into my folder just before I turned it in." I sighed in resignation. Nothing for it but the truth.
"I wrote it, Miss Wong..."
"I see ... There was something else I noticed today, about which I wanted to ask you. When you were at the board, it appeared that you were ... how should I put it ... over-excited? Now, I understand that you're a healthy young man, but I'm afraid I must ask you to attempt to avoid it in the future. It's extremely distracting."
"I'm sorry, it won't happen—" My brain rewound her last sentence in my head. "Distracting?"
She rested her head on my hand and looked down at my crotch intently. "Extremely so. How am I supposed to teach when your cock is distracting me like that? Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me not to get down onto my knees and take care of that myself? Do you have any idea how wet I was getting watching you struggle with your hard-on, trying to hide it from me?"
"Call me Vivian, Jason. I've noticed your stares all semester, and I have to confess, I'm flattered that a young, handsome stud like yourself would pursue an old woman like me when your pert little classmates are surrounding you."
"You're not old, Miss, I mean, Vivian. You're gorgeous! I've had a crush on you ever since I first saw you," I confessed.
She purred with delight. Her dark, crescent eyes looked up at me from over her glasses. "My my, you're already such a heart-breaker. You're going to be such a Lothario when you're older. Tell me, Jason, do you have much experience yet?"
My cheeks burnt. "Well I mean, I made out with Danielle at the movies once..."
"So you're a virgin? Have you ever received a blowjob? Have you ever even seen a woman nude? And on your computer doesn't count; I know all about what you high school boys use the internet for."
"I, well ... not exactly ... No..."
She giggled, and I could feel my dick shriveling up, trying to hide from this humiliation. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jason. I wasn't laughing at you being a virgin. It's just that you're so serious. It's no big deal to still be innocent. You're still young. How old are you, eighteen?"
.... There is more of this story ...