I sat quietly in my science class, in the middle seat of the middle row. Not drawing attention to myself ... or her. My teacher. My lover. Yes, I have sex with my teacher. I only half-listened to her lesson. I probably could have taught this class myself. So instead, I watched her movements, her body, her face, her look of almost sadness while most of the students, I won’t call them her students, paid little or no attention, bored, whispering to each other about the game tonight or who was dating who. I waited for the moment when the bell would ring and they would be gone and I would be with her again.

My name? Ricky ... Rick. Just a nerdy 16-year-old Junior with glasses, barely five foot six and 120 pounds. Nothing special. Even my brown hair and brown eyes were unexceptional. Unnoticeable and invisible to all around me. Except for her. Miss Stewart. Miss Cynthia Stewart. Cindy. My teacher, sweetheart, girlfriend, lover. My first.

It started simply enough. The eleventh grade was much like my previous two high school years. I walked into my new homeroom, glancing at the schedule in my hand. It’s 1982, I’m Class of 1984. Fitting. Children all around me, children in half-adult bodies. Hormones raging for the last few years now, turning girls from minor nuisances to amazing wonders, and guys from stupid goofy kids into stupid horny kids. But not me. Ok, hormones yes, girls were interesting, but none were ever interested back. And I stayed away from the guys, not because I’m not gay but because they tended to beat up on dorks like me, especially ones that preferred a science book to a leather bladder full of air.

I sat down in a middle desk in a middle row. I had learned the hard way never to sit in front, i.e. nerd row. And never in back, jock row. I had the same room for homeroom and for sixth-period science class. Same desk, too, since I always arrived early. Not surprisingly, the desk in front of me and behind me seemed to always be the last filled. I bathed regularly, so it was my runt nerdiness, I’m sure. Homeroom, that time where the students are asleep, late or jabbering about last night’s dates or TV shows or whatever.

“Michael Adams?”

“Here”

Roll call for a new teacher. I barely looked up until my name was called.

“Ricky Williams?”

I hated that name, Ricky.

I looked up at the teacher. A double-take. Most teachers seemed to be older than Methuselah, or fat, or ugly, or men. Particularly science teachers. She was none of these. She was small, hardly larger than me. She was young. My first guess was mid-twenties which turned out to be true. She was nice looking even with her hair pulled severely into a bun. Scratch that. She was pretty. Cute. Ok, beautiful, at least to my young eyes. And hers were looking for me.

“Here!”

Her eyes met mine. I crushed. That quick. She picked up some papers and started reading some unremarkable announcements while the kids, not teenage students, but overgrown kindergarteners started jabbering or walking around, or throwing wadded paper balls.

“Quiet! Sit down! The bell hasn’t rung yet...”

No one paid attention, except me.

“I am Miss Stewart. I am your new homeroom teacher and if any of you have the general science class, I am your science teacher.”

Nobody cared, except me. Miss Stewart. Miss, not Mrs, not Ms. She is single. As young and cute and petite as she is and using Miss in her name, I strongly suspected she had applied for Elementary school and ended up in High School daycare. I could imagine her as my 2^nd-grade teacher. Miss Stewart. I could imagine her anywhere but here.

The bell rang and everyone left, except me. I always waited, that way the jocks were busy pushing the other nerds or flirting with their girls by the time I left.

“Miss Stewart, Hi. I’m Ricky, I mean Rick Williams.”

I was standing in front of her desk as she was getting up. It was then that I saw two things; she was my height and she wore a skirt. A professional, business-like one that was a couple of inches above the knee. Hey, I notice things, ok? Especially when instantly crushing on a teacher. Well, my first crush, so I don’t really know about that part.

“Uh, Miss Stewart, if you could, would you change your attendance list to Rick instead of Ricky?”

She looked at me ... and smiled. I think she understood. I also saw that she had bright green eyes with her dark brown lashes, eyebrows, and hair. I also saw perfect white teeth surrounded by perfect red lips.

“Sure, Ricky ... Rick.”

It took me a minute to register what she said, so I added, “I think I’m in your science class. Ah, I kinda like science.”

That was an understatement. My favorite rock star was Granite, get it? Rock? Ok, nerd. She looked down at my books.

“Encyclopedia?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, I kinda read them,” I really need to improve my speaking talent.

She saw my World Book letter G. I started at A last year. The school librarian actually let me take them home, one at a time. She told me, “Well, nobody ever looks at them, anyway.”

Miss Stewart smiled at me, “That’s nice, great! I hope to see you do well in my class.”

The first period kids were starting to pile in, so I said I had to leave and she thanked me. Not sure why. I should be thanking her for being so interested, so pretty, so crushed.

Fast forward to sixth period. I’m first in the room, same desk as the morning. The class is a disaster. Miss Stewart just doesn’t have the authoritarian personality needed for high school. But just before giving up, Mr. Jenson walks in. He’s the vice-principal. He is six foot four and 250 pounds of meanness. The class crashes to quiet. The lesson continues and the first chapter and assignment are made, but as soon as he leaves, the class falls steadily into chaos again.

The last bell rings and the classroom empties in moments. Except me. I walk home, so buses or parents aren’t needed. I am at her desk again.

“Miss Stewart, uh, if you need someone to stay after school to, uh you know, clean up and such?”

“Are you offering, Rick?”

Fuck! Sorry, language ... she remembers my name, my ‘real’ name.

Thus I get to stay, straightening desks and picking up wadded paper and left behind pencils and a book or two. We strike up a conversation and she tells me that she is new to the city, moved from Charleston. She graduated two years ago and had been looking for a teaching position since, taking this one mainly as a last resort. I understood fully.

I told her that I lived about a mile from here all my life and my father had died a few years ago. She said sorry and I thanked her. Anyway, we hit it off. Of course, nothing unseemly, not even a handshake. Not at first.

The days went by, each much the same as that first one Homeroom attendance, now answering to ‘Rick Williams’. Then ending the school day in sixth-period general science that was still a zoo. Well, there was this girl behind me. She figured out that I always made an ‘A’ and I always did my homework. So, she tapped me on the shoulder. At first, I was scared that I was doing something wrong, making her upset but turned out she was just asking if she could see my homework paper. Who was I to withhold anything from a cute cheerleader asking for assistance? She copied my paper and returned. Surprisingly she still managed to make errors, even in copying the correct answers, and not surprisingly, never even thanking me, ‘cause she was immediately distracted by this or that jock behind her. She tapped me every day we had homework, copying yet again.

Poor Miss Stewart sat pretty well talking to herself, with her daily lecture. She had given up trying to control the class after spending the first week or two fighting a losing battle. Only when Mr. Jenson reappeared from time-to-time did the class resume. The first test comes, met with moans and groans.

Test papers graded, Miss Stewart walked by each desk, tisk, tisking, then stopping by my desk, dropping the paper, tapping the circled 100, smiling at me, bent over and whispering good job. I could smell her perfume and her arm nearly touched mine, since I left my arms on my desk. Just a quick glancing touch, forearm to forearm. I crushed hard!

A couple of days later, she asks me to her desk after class.

“Rick, are you giving Ashley your homework?”

Oh shit! Caught ... I stammer, “Uh, well, I ... she...”

She just smiles at me, a cute little ‘naughty boy’ grin, “Don’t, please. I’ll talk to her.”

That smile burns into my mind. She had pushed back away from her desk, legs crossed, skirt short, thighs visible, green eyes looking into mine as if she sees something she likes. I know I sure do see something I like.

She confides, “Rick, you are my best student. I really appreciate it. I mean it. You make me feel...”

I was hoping for ‘excited’, ‘desired’, ‘amorous’, ‘sexy’.

“ ... that I am accomplishing at least one thing here.”

“Miss Stewart, I appreciate that. I like learning. I ... Lo ... like ... you,” fighting not saying the ‘L’ word.

Being an after school helper for Miss Stewart continued, of course, absolutely! I never missed a day! She was now the reason I came to school at all, considering I could probably pass all the finals needed to graduate right now. She always smiled at me as I poured the latest paper wads into the trash and the pencils, pens, notebooks, and trinkets into the Lost & Found shoebox. I always smiled back, of course. Isn’t that what you do when you crush on someone.

I would help her carry her books to her car. I cleaned her blackboard. After school was the highlight of my school day.

This day, she called from back in the storeroom.

“Rick, can you help me get this box down?”

I came like a knight in shining armor on my white steed to find her two steps up on a stepladder, stretching up to the top shelf trying to get a box. My eyes instantly followed the slim curves of her waist, over her hips, down her skirt, now lifted well up her thighs as she stretched, and down her calves to her short heeled pumps. I was in love (ok, lust). I came up behind her, not thinking, just as she was trying to come down with the box. She teetered and my hands were on her waist, steadying her. She stepped back down one step, my head now at her tush level, hands still on her waist. My eyes only watched the curves of her butt cheeks outlined by her tight skirt. See, I can’t say ‘ass’ or ‘ass cheeks’. I’m not an ass man, but when a cute, young female derriere is in your face...

“Oh, Rick. Can you get this?”

I rapidly shifted my hands and my head towards the box as she turned. With both, it and her safely down to the ground again, she turned, staring at me, eye-to-eye only a foot apart. At first, I was afraid she might have been mad at me for touching her like that.

“Thank you, Rick. You are helpful to have around,” talking quietly, almost at a whisper.

She then touched my wrist, which I wasn’t expecting, so pulled back. Our hands ended up together. There was a definite pause where everything seemed to stop. I held her hand. Our fingers touching for what seemed like minutes but was really just a second. She smiled and then looked away, back towards the box. I took a breath and helped carry it into the classroom and unpacked the microscopes it held.

Sixth period was its usual disaster. I felt so sorry for her. Her cute little voice trying to rise about the chaos of the room. There was a jock making out with a girl on one side, right in front of the teacher, right in front of everybody, including me. I watched as their lips fought, she was in his lap and his hand was well up her cheerleader thigh. I squirmed in my desk, my attention split between Miss Stewart and the two lovers.

After class, cleaning up, I saw Miss Stewart sitting at her desk, tears in her eyes.

“Rick, I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”

She was almost ready to cry.

“Miss Stewart, please! Most classes are like this,” I lied, “so don’t take it too hard. High school just sucks, sorry for my language.”

I sat in a chair by her desk. She took my hand as I watched. We held hands for several minutes. Real minutes this time!

“You are so sweet. I really like you. I’m glad you are in my class. You really help, especially by the end of the day. It’s so exhausting.”

She patted my hand with her other one and then let go to wipe her tears. I wanted to do that for her, wipe away her tears, but I just sat quietly, shyly looking at her face.

“I’m sorry, Rick. I’m embarrassed, I shouldn’t be crying in front of one of my students.”

Another tear wiped away.

“Miss Steward, I’m here. I want to help. Whatever way I can. I mean, I’m glad you are my teacher. I like being here ... with you.”

Her face looks up. She looks at me. Her eyes and mine. She blushes. I blush. We stammer for a few moments, then back to the business of cleaning up and leaving for the day.

Mid-terms already. The cheerleader behind me had quit asking for my homework but surprised me. She worried that she was going to fail the test.

She whispered, “I CAN’T fell this test, otherwise my grade will be too low and I’ll be kicked off the squad!”

The HORROR!

I offered to help her, so we met a few times in the library. It was the closest I had been to a girl, sans Miss Stewart, of course. She actually paid attention, and I actually was able to simplify the material for her. Actually, I pretty well could guess what would be on the test so focused more on letting her memorize potential answers instead of actually understanding this ‘useless’ stuff called science.

She said it helped at least. She even passed the test and totally kissed me on the cheek when she saw her grade but we never clicked. Not surprisingly. Nerds don’t get cheerleaders. Right? Anyway, I looked around nervously, hoping the jocks didn’t see that kiss.

But not dating didn’t matter, because I was with my Miss Stewart every day after school. By this time, we had gotten rather comfortable talking together. We talked almost always about some breakthrough in medicine or new astronomical event or I would bring one of my rock collection samples. Ok, I talked, she listened. But she seemed actually interested, not the ‘Oh honey that’s nice’ kind of interest parents have. She talked to me about her life, in high school and college, sometimes touching on her love life. I guess I was a sympathetic ear for her. I did not mind, not at all. Then one day...

“Rick, can you help me? My hair is stuck in the zipper of my blouse.”

She had started leaving her hair down much of the time. Personally, I liked it that way much better, even if I never said so, at least at first. The zipper was in the back, which I ended up having to completely unzip, slowly removing the hair. Her scent overcame the chemical smells of the storeroom. She had leaned up against its counter, her head tilted down, as I worked on the knotty problem. By the time I freed it, I realized that I was nearly up against her backside. She brushed her now freed hair away, exposing the back of her neck and her unzipped back.

“Rick, you can zip me now,” almost in a whisper.

I did. She turned around before I could back away. We were close, really close. Her perfume was heady to my teenage nose. Her eyes smiled at me as she thanked me and I recovered enough to back out of her space. I thought of all those black & white movies, where kisses came at such moments.

I said, “Uh, Sorry, Miss Stewart.”

She did a little giggle and thanked me again, and then, “Rick, please call me Cindy. Miss Stewart makes me sound like an old school ma’am.”

“Uh, sure, yes Miss ... I mean ... Cindy.”

Cindy. She wanted me to call her Cindy! Cindy, Cindy, Cindy.

During one of our after class rendezvous (my term, not hers), came that first kiss.

We were talking about her long-distance love relationship faded, as we put away stuff in the storeroom. She suddenly turned to face me. I was back in her space again, well, she had stepped into mine.

“You have never been kissed before?” she seemed surprised when I told her I never had a girlfriend.

Blushing and looking at the floor, “No ... I guess not.”

She tilted my head up, “Rick, kiss me.”

I stood frozen looking at her. I wanted to grab her, wrap my arms around her. Instead, I didn’t do anything. She smiled, leaned in and we clumsily kissed. Just a peck on the lips. I had been kissed by a girl, by Miss Steward, by Cindy! My Cindy!

I think we both blushed and looked away from each other, sorting out our thoughts. Then we kinda just backed away from each other, trying to come up with small talk for something to say. She started to apologize, but I finally took the initiative. I reached for her hand, holding it, leaned to her, and we kissed again, still just a short peck, but not clumsy this time.

I whispered to her as I came away, “Thank you, Cindy.”

My first kiss.

Then came THAT RAIN DAY. That faithful rain day that will always be in my heart. It started to pour while I was still about halfway to school. I had raced out of my house, wanting to be at school right as she arrived, usually a half-hour before homeroom. I didn’t pay my mother attention concerning the chance of rain. With my father gone, she had to leave to work before I left and didn’t get home for several hours after I got out of school.

Well, I was a drowned rat, sitting outside the classroom door when Miss Stewart came in.

“Oh, Rick! What happened?” as she led me into the classroom.

I put down my books, now including a slightly damp book ‘J’ and she led me back into the storeroom as I dripped. She squatted down opening a drawer. Her typical smooth, dark, business skirt, still in her now open long raincoat, shortened well above her knees as she dug into bottom drawers for some cleaning cloths. She handed some up and I started drying my hair, which she took over after standing back up. I used another to dry my shoulders and chest. Her hands making quick work of my relatively short hair, then used her fingers, running through my hair to fix it as I explained that I was caught while walking to school.

“Oh, we are going to have to dry you off better than this.”

She then proceeded to unbutton my shirt and remove it. She laid it between two cloths then another over my chest. Her eyes were focused on her task as she patted down my chest and back. I just stood there watching her every movement. Finally satisfied, slowing her pace, it seemed like she suddenly saw me. I mean, being a 16-year-old young man, bare-chested, no fat, even if no jock abs, it seemed to cause a shift in her.

She tentatively placed a hand onto my chest, feeling my skin. I’m sure she could feel my heart beating fast and nearly bursting from my chest. She looked up and found my eyes watching her. I said nothing, my eyes saying everything. She leaned forward. Her lips touched mine for just a brief moment. She smiled at my inexperience. She tilted my head and whispered to pucker my lips and open my mouth just slightly. I was a quick learner. We kissed several times. Each kiss a little longer. Each kiss more intense than the last. I felt that this was one of those movie moments where the camera would pan away to a candle flame leaving you to your imagination.

There was a noise out in the classroom, dumb kids were arriving. The spell was broken. She backed away, blushing, whispering to not say anything and stay inside until after homeroom was over. I assured her I would.

While waiting, I put my shirt back on. Clothes drying, likely assisted by my heated body. I had been kissing my teacher. Kissing Miss Stewart. Kissing Cindy. I was in love. The bell rang, she came back in, signaling the coast was clear.

She whispered, “I didn’t mean to do that. This is our secret. Ok?”

I wanted to grab her and kiss her and tell her that I loved her so. Instead, I nodded my head, told her it was fine, I understood, and I would never tell anyone. I didn’t have anyone to tell anyway and I surely did not want to get her in trouble.

That afternoon started awkwardly. She wanting to apologize, but I just acted as if nothing at all had happened, showing her that I was able to understand and control myself. After straightening the room, I gathered up the equipment that was around the room to put it away in the storeroom. I hadn’t noticed that she had gone in there. I thought she had gone out to the office or something. She was standing there, against the far end of the storeroom. I almost backed out, thinking I was invading her space. But her eyes didn’t say that. I came to her.

She put her arms around me, and I awkwardly responded. We stood hugging each other. She whispered that she was lonely. That her boyfriend had left her as their long-distance relationship died. That she had no friends here. I held her close, her body felt soft and warm against me. It felt so strange holding a young woman, a girl in my arms. I had never dated. I had never held a girl so closely. Cindy no longer seemed like my teacher. The age difference disappeared, too. She was a girl who liked me. Me! My head was on her shoulder, buried in her hair. I moved it exposing her neck. I had to kiss it. I kissed her earlobe and down her neck. She turned and looked at me. Our faces inches apart.

“I will be your boyfriend,” I whispered ever so lightly, barely audible.

She whispered back, “I think I would like that.”

Her lips came to mine and my body surged. I am kissing a girl. I am kissing her. She had to lead me. I was so nervous; I didn’t move anything without her guiding me. I felt her body swaying as we kissed. Our hips together. She pushed back slightly against my chest, which pressed our hips against each other more. She took my hand in hers and slid it up her chest to her breast. I felt her breathing, pressing her softness into my hand. Even with her blouse and bra between us, I felt her pliant under my hand. I squeezed very carefully, fearful of hurting her. As I did, she forced her mouth against mine again.

I could have just stayed like this forever. Every motion a new experience. She moved my hand off her breast and slowly down her slim waist, curving over her hip and down to her pantyhose covered thigh. All sense of time and place disappeared. Even my nervousness disappeared, only my youthful inexperience remained. I felt myself stiffen hard, aching for release as my whole body needed to be close to her, to touch her all over. She guided me, knowingly, showing me what to do.

She slowly lifted her skirt up her thigh. My hand stroked the incredible feel of her pantyhose. Her hips began to rock more. She rubbed her body against mine, rocking together like a slow dance. Her legs now spread apart as she hiked her skirt up more with my hand caressed her inner thigh. One of her pumps fell off her foot as she hooked it around my leg. I leaned into her, pressing her against the counter.

My body aching with the fantastic sexiness of this. I felt stickiness in my pants and we rubbed crotches together. My inexperience kept me from progressing without her help. She took my hand, pushing it up between her legs as she wiggled to bring her skirt ever higher. My breathing was heavy, in fits. She kissed me again, her lips pressed hard into mine. Her perfumed body intoxicated me. I was drunk on her sensuality. I wanted her. I never knew how incredibly wonderful two people in the throes of love could be. Every touch sent flashes of desire through me. Were we about to have sex?

My hand touched the gusset of her pantyhose. I came. My body convulsed in short fits.

“Ug, ug, auh...”

She giggled as I grunted. She had forgotten about teen boys. She let me remove my hand and we just held each other, softly kissing me as I recovered. Her own desires tempered by the situation.

“Rick, you are so sweet!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Cindy!” I was almost in tears.

She held me close, then finally, pushed me back some and straightened herself.

“Rick, this is wrong. I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Cindy, this is NOT wrong! Don’t be sorry, I ... I ... Lo...”

She put a finger to my mouth. She knew I what I was going to say, but young, teen virgin boys cannot really know what Love is.

“Cindy, I need one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I need another kiss ... and a napkin.”

She laughed loudly, stifling herself, “I think we need to leave.”

Out at the front door of the school, my books in hand and holding the door for her, she looks out.

“Oh! It’s still raining. I can’t let you walk home in the rain!”

We run to her car and pile in. She had forgotten her raincoat still in the classroom. We both laughed and kidded each other like silly teens. I took her hand in the car as we sat recovering, sides hurting and wet.

She looked at me and quietly asked, “What time do you have to be home by?”

I knew what she meant. I looked at my watch, “It’s only three. My mom doesn’t get home until after six.”

She giggled to herself, ‘Shit, I’m robbing the cradle. I’m crazy.’

I looked at her, “It’s ok. I want you to take me out of the cradle and teach me.”

She laughed, realizing she had spoken her thoughts aloud.

She drove us to her apartment, only a couple miles from the school. We ran into her apartment, again, no umbrellas or coats, holding hands as we went. Oh well, soaked anyway. Inside, she pointed me to the bathroom and gathered towels. She left me to clean up, apologizing that she had nothing for me to change into. Then giggled again realizing what was about to happen didn’t need clothes.

So, she had me just stand there in her bathroom as she slowly removed my shirt, then my shoes, my pants ... My teacher, my lover, was undressing me like a little child. She reached for my underwear. She was no longer undressing a child. She pulled down my white, but now stained briefs, my pecker already back at full attention.

She stared at it, making me feel very insecure and nervous. I was sure I was a complete disappointment. I mean, don’t girls like really big dicks? Her eyes seemed to examine every detail of my nearly hairless prick.

She giggled, finally making up her mind, “I love it! It’s perfect!”

She hadn’t been caring about size. She had been deciding to go through with this. That she was going to take my virginity and simultaneously break the forbidden and commit a serious crime.

She looked into my eyes, “Are you ok with this? I mean, this is...”

It was my time to reassure her again, “Yes! I care so much for you.”

She returned to the moment, “Have you ever had head?”

I looked at her in shock. Head!? I hadn’t kissed a girl until her. She didn’t need an answer. She just unbuttoned her blouse and bra, removed her skirt and pantyhose then dropped to her knees and proceeded to give me a lesson on giving head. I watched as my teacher, my beautiful teacher, placed her fingers and then her mouth over my teenage dick, I almost came again. I would have, had I not burst in my pants not 30 minutes ago. My mind was in overload. My dick was being sucked and slurped by a girl, a woman, my science teacher. I leaned back against the bathroom counter as my hips rocked in rhythm with her mouth. I groaned as the crazy new feelings overwhelmed my brain. I could not believe this was real. That my Miss Stewart was sucking my dick. I looked at her near-naked body below me, her shoulders, hair swishing with her head, her hips and cute rump covered only by her lace white panties.

“OH FUCCCKKK! ARRGH!”

I exploded into her mouth, only minutes after she began. Minutes that seemed like agonizing hours. My body jerked and thrust hard as my balls dumped yet another load. Spurting again and again. It took me a few moments to realize that she had swallowed the first load and the rest was splashed up against her face and being caught in her hand.

“Oh, Cindy! I’m so sorry!” feeling that it was my fault to have exploded so quickly.

She laughed, spitting out some remaining cum, “Silly, that’s supposed to happen! Baby, how was it?”

“Cindy, I love you so!!” she couldn’t stop me from saying that this time.

She stood up, wiping herself on a towel and whispered, “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

She let me clean myself up and use the bathroom, then led me into her bedroom. She pulled off her panties, her back towards me. I was already stiffening again as I watched her now bare bottom and puffy lips between her thigh gap. I realized how petite she was, not much larger than the girls in our class. I had seen her breasts, the size of small bowls, still perky and unaffected by gravity, as they bounced while she had been sucking me off.

She turned down her bed. Pausing, she pivoted around to face me, now standing naked in front of me. A few hours ago, I had barely kissed a girl, now there was a naked woman standing here. Woman ... no, she was still so young, a girl. Woman sounded too old for her. My eyes went immediately to the delta and bush between her legs. Mesmerized by the view. This being long before the Internet and even videotapes, I only had glimpses of Playboy magazines to work with. Nothing compared to having a real live female standing in front of you. One that you knew was going to make love to you in just a few minutes. One that loved you. Did she?