Though you may think I'm a slut after reading my tale, I'm not. Really, I'm not. What happened was just a momentary lapse of judgment brought on by anger and jealousy and jumpstarted by drinking too much wine. I'd never do something so immoral and so dangerous again. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

Let me start at the beginning. I married "John" at the tender age of 20, and he was not much older. We were still in college - he for business, me for education — when we met through a mutual acquaintance and fell madly in love at first site. You've heard the story before.

But unlike most stereotypical college guys, John was actually ready to commit to a long-term relationship before I was. We had only been going out for a couple of months when he proposed marriage. I felt rushed, but everybody told me what a great guy he was (and they were right) and urged me to reel in such a fine catch before he got away.

It was a small wedding with just a few friends and family, and the reception was held in the little rec room by the pool at our student apartment complex. Then everybody went home and we went back upstairs to our crappy little apartment to get ready for work at our crappy part-time jobs with midterms looming the following week.

Like most young newlyweds, our social life immediately and unexpectedly changed. At first, we kept partying with our friends and enjoying the busy college scene. Slowly, tho, it began to feel awkward, and we found ourselves left out more and more often. Though I loved John dearly, a little part of the back corner of my brain longed for the days of flirting and freedom. I sometimes wondered if I had made such a serious commitment way too early. That independent streak is probably why I never quite got around to officially changing my last name.

Fast forward a couple years. In the summer after graduation, John was about to start an internship at a local company and I had my pick of elementary school teaching positions in our college town. But out of the blue, everything changed again. At a family get-together, John's uncle unexpectedly offered him a plum job at his firm. The pay was more than he'd ever dreamed that he'd make just starting out. The downside was that we'd have to move upstate.

It ended up being a speedy decision. We couldn't possibly turn down so much money after living on a tight student budget for so long and with student loans weighing us down. Within a week, John had received a hefty signing bonus and bought himself a Lexus, I was driving a humongous SUV, and we were apartment hunting in the big city.

We could have lived comfortably (though not luxuriously) on John's salary, but I still wanted to teach. It wasn't easy getting my foot in the door. We'd moved into one of the biggest school systems in the state and it was only two weeks before classes began. I had no experience and, more importantly, I didn't know anybody in town who could help me land a teaching position.

After interviewing repeatedly with no offers, I got a phone call from a principal who'd seen my resume somewhere. I was thrilled at first, but less so when he explained that the position was in a junior high dropout prevention program for kids with serious behavior problems. The principal, Mr. Reynolds, practically begged me to take the job, going on and on about how there were only 12 students in the class and how he was trying hard to get a full-time teacher's aide.

I told him I'd think about it, hoping that someone else would call with a better opportunity. But a few days before school started and with no other job in sight, I bit the bullet and reluctantly accepted.

I'd never taught kids older than 7 or 8 years old, so the thought of teaching a classroom full of juvenile delinquents in their mid-teens made me very nervous. The fact that my "classroom" was actually a trailer way out on the edge of the school grounds didn't make me feel any better. But when the 9 boys and 3 girls shuffled in on a humid August morning, I faked confidence and toughness and quickly put them to work.

To my surprise, things went pretty well. There were some difficult days at first, but I soon realized that my students were mostly just big kids who wanted attention. Once in a while, I'd ask Mr. Reynolds about that promised teacher's aide, and he'd shake his head sadly. "The red tape is unbelievable," he complained.

"Where's the sex?" you ask. I'm getting to that. Well, actually, the problem began because I wasn't getting much of it. John's regular work hours were 9-5, but he often stayed much later. When he got home, he was usually too exhausted to fool around. My brain understood that he wanted to justify his family-influenced hiring by working harder than anybody else, but my heart (and more importantly, my crotch) did not. While in college, we had enjoyed relatively wild sex a few nights a week. Suddenly, I was reduced to masturbating after eating a frozen dinner by myself. I toughed it out, waiting for him to get settled.

But in the spring, John's schedule got even worse. Instead of staying late at the office, he began to come home for a quick dinner and then leave again for vague "training sessions". He got evasive when I asked about what he was getting trained for, not divulging any details. Even though we'd hardly had time together since we'd started our new jobs, I'd trusted him completely before this. Now, a small cloud of suspicion began slowly growing in my mind.

I was getting my hair done after school and must have really needed someone to talk to because I ended up telling my troubles to a stylist I hardly knew. She pursed her lips skeptically as I rambled on and on, then gave me her verdict. "He's cheating, girlfriend. If I were you, I'd follow him and bust his ass. Do you want some gel in your hair?"

She had voiced what I had been thinking for weeks. It all fit so cleanly together - first the long hours at the office, then the mysterious "training sessions", plus the fact that we never seemed to have as much money as we should have in our bank account, plus the occasional puzzling phone call from a woman who asked to speak to John but never wanted to leave a message.

These are all classic signs of an affair, but there was more. For one, John has insisted that we were not ready to raise a child. I was in no rush to have kids either, but now I wondered what his motivations really were.

Also, ever since we moved to the city, I kept telling John that we should buy a nice house instead of throwing our money away on apartment rent. I was always scanning the real estate listings, but John always found something wrong with every house I pointed out — too big, too small, too close to the highway, too expensive — always something.

Finally, I found a house that looked perfect. John reluctantly agreed to come along right after work to look at the place. I loved it, but he complained that the price was just too high. I asked what was the point of working so hard to make money if we couldn't enjoy it, and he said he'd work on it.

Now, I'd figured out why he didn't want to buy a house or start a family: he was planning on leaving me.

A few days after the disappointing house tour, John left again after dinner. I followed him, hoping I wouldn't see what I believed I'd see. It thought for sure he'd spot my huge SUV on the road, but I took advice from old detective movies and kept a couple of vehicles between us.

John drove into the suburbs and pulled into the parking lot of a posh strip mall. I parked a discreet distance away. A voluptuous redhead immediately came out of an office and walked to his car. They talked and smiled for a moment, then she got in and they drove away.

I didn't need to see any more. Angry tears clouded my eyes on the road home.

The next day at school was pretty rough. You'd expect the kids to be a little wild - it was a Friday and there were only 3 more weeks of school left until summer vacation. Combine that with a very distracted teacher and you have the makings for a day of classroom strife.

On top of that, the office sent me a new student. The new kid's paperwork said his name was Ricky Villa and that he was 15 years old but still in 6th grade. Ricky was about my height (5'4") with a slight build and a dark complexion. He was quite the ghetto boy wanna-be with baggy jeans, an oversized jacket, and tough-guy demeanor. I pointed him to the empty desk at the back of the room and gave him the same work as everyone else, figuring it was too late to try to catch him up. Little did I know that this new student would forever change my life.

Ricky was quiet most of that day, but most of the other kids were unmanageable. By the afternoon, I had declared martial law. The students were to do their work in silence or face my vague but terrible wrath.

A few minutes before the final bell, I was walking up and down the rows keeping order. "Hey Ms. Kelly," Ricky whispered softly as I passed his desk. "I'm gonna fuck that ass of yours." As an attractive young teacher in a school full of pubescent teenagers, I'd occasionally heard similar comments directed at me in the hallways. In those cases, a stern teacher look had always made the hormone-crazed boy turn his head and slither away.

But when I directed my meanest gaze at Ricky, he looked me right back in the eye with a greasy smile. "Fuck that ass," he whispered again and almost imperceptibly lifted his hips off his seat, raising his crotch lustfully. This time, it was me that backed down. Feeling my face flush, I hurried back to my desk and pretended to grade papers.

I got myself together pretty quickly. By the time the dismissal bell rang and I was fighting the Friday traffic, I had almost forgotten all about Ricky.

But that night, I dreamt that my brash new student was sitting at his desk grinning lecherously and thrusting his crotch over and over into the air. I just stared at the unnaturally huge bulge in the front of his jeans, seemingly unable to turn my head.

The following Saturday was the first day in a while that John and I spent a lot of time together. We hiking in a nearby nature preserve, then dressed up and ate dinner at a fancy restaurant we'd been meaning to visit. But I was irritable and distracted the whole day, my mind filled with thoughts of Ricky's gyrations and my husband's infidelity. I knew John wanted to make love when we got home, but I faked a headache and went to bed early.

On Sunday, John said he had an important meeting in the afternoon.

"What kind of meetings do you hold on Sunday???" I fumed.

"Important ones!" he yelled back.

"Well have a fucking good time!" I yelled as he slammed the front door.

After a while, my angry sobs died down and I drifted off to sleep. Once again, the image of Ricky at his desk floated before my mind's eye. Still groggy, my hand slipped into my shorts and I began to masturbate. After lazily fingering myself for a while, I abruptly woke up enough to realize what I was doing. I knew it was horribly wrong, but I still couldn't stop. "Ricky!" I gasped as the biggest orgasm I'd had in weeks washed over my body.

My fantasy made me feel a little uncomfortable about going to school the following day. I wondered how I would react when Ricky walked into the classroom, and irrationally wondered how he would react to me. But the students, including Ricky, were as quietly miserable as they usually are on a Monday morning and everything seemed to be normal.

That changed later in the day. During math, I wrote a problem on the board and asked for a student volunteer to work it out. I noticed that Ricky was holding two of his fingers together and licking them sensuously. Since he sat in the very back on the room, I was the only one who could see this. Frowning, I called on another student and wrote her answer on the board.

When I turned back to the class, Ricky had pushed his tongue between his fingers and was staring at me. With his free hand, he pointed at my crotch, then at his tongue between his fingers, then back to my crotch. I suddenly understood that he was pretending to lick my pussy.

My face turned bright red. Quickly cutting off the lesson and assigning the homework, I returned to the refuge of my desk. I avoided looking directly at Ricky, but out of the corner of my eye, I could still see that he was still performing cunnilingus on his fingers.

That evening, I masturbated while thinking about Ricky once again, letting myself imagine that it hadn't been just his fingers he had been licking.

The rest of that week was an exercise in sexual tension like I've never known. Several times on Tuesday and Wednesday, Ricky did or said something obscene, never letting anyone but me see him. By Thursday afternoon, I was no longer as shocked by his lewdness. So when he murmured yet another passing come-on, I impulsively shot back. "You're not man enough," I responded, and to my surprise he smiled that greasy smile. I instantly regretted encouraging him.

That evening, John called to say he wouldn't make it home for dinner. At 9 o'clock, he still hadn't come home. I was beyond pissed, fuming silently on the couch staring at the TV. When I heard John's key in the lock, I pretended to be asleep. He tried to explain, but I ignored him and he eventually went to bed alone.

At school the following day, I found myself in a recklessly vengeful mood. As it so happened, Ricky started his flirtations early that Friday. "I've got plenty for you, bitch," he mumbled when I handed him the spelling test first thing in the morning, answering my comment from the day before. He punctuated his remark with an emphatic crotch grab.

Obviously, he was trying to shake me up again, but today his brazen taunting just fed into my manic state of mind.

On the way back to collect his test, I purposely overshot his desk and placed my hand on his lap while whispering, "Lemme see what you got, stud." I noted with satisfaction that I had shocked him for a change.

I soon realized that my action had changed the rules. Not only had I responded to my teenage student's sexual advances, but I'd also added physical contact to our dangerous game. The next time I passed by Ricky's desk, he tried to grab my ass. He did it again a few minutes later and succeeded in touching me. When I walked by again, I purposely paused for a moment to let him get a good feel through my jeans. I knew the situation was rapidly getting out of control, but I was in such a frenzied mood that I just didn't care.

I gave a history test after lunch. Since Ricky had only been in my class for a week, I gave him a different assignment instead. Once everyone was quietly working, Ricky raised his hand and I came over.

"I don't get this part," he said, pointing to a paragraph in his textbook on the far side of the desk from where I stood, that greasy smile dancing on his lips.

"Let me get a closer look," I said, playing along and leaning over his desk. His hands immediately flew to my hanging breasts. They're not huge but they're definitely not small, and the teenager's hands were full as he roughly kneaded them through my school t-shirt.

I had asked for the tit grab, but then he shocked me again. "Lemme see what you got, bitch," he hissed as he reached between my thighs and squeezed the crotch of my jeans really hard. I almost fell over. I straightened up and hurried back to my desk, nervously glancing around to make sure no one else had seen. Thankfully, my students were all head-down over their tests - all except for Ricky, who leered at me for a minute before abruptly turning his head and beginning to write.

Sitting with my head in my hands, the outrageousness of my behavior finally hit me. When the final bell rang, I quickly collected all the papers (ignoring Ricky's continued remarks), shot out of the classroom door with my students, and drove straight home.

I really wanted it to end right there, but my marital worries wouldn't let me think straight.

It was Memorial Day weekend, so I suggested to John that we go away and try to work out our problems. He seemed confused and said that was impossible anyway since he had another Sunday meeting.

That killed Saturday. We barely talked, and I ended up going shopping and spending way too much money on clothes I didn't need.

On Sunday afternoon, John was off to his "meeting". I followed him again just to be sure. He drove to the same strip mall and met the same redhead. I considered running her over with my Navigator as she walked to his car, but thought better of it and left without announcing my presence.

I accepted that my marriage was doomed and was overcome with an unnatural calm. I even felt a sense of relief that I was still young enough to enjoy having my freedom back. I decided to return home and go about my business until I could figure out how to deal with the situation.

The first order of business was grading my students' history exams. I plowed through piles of lousy essays until I came to a short note scrawled on tattered notebook paper.

"Dear Teach," it read. "Im gonna fuck yore juicey pussey. Come on bitch you know you whant it." My heart jumped for a moment, but then the poor grammar brought out the teacher in me.

"At least the horny little prick can spell 'bitch'," I reflected as I circled the misspellings and put punctuation marks where they needed to go. I wrote a big 'F' at the top of the page, then smirked to myself and added, "See Me".

I had finished my grading and the sun was setting when the phone rang. It was John, telling me that the training session was running late. Before he hung up, I heard a woman's laughter in the background.

The tears welled up again despite my best effort to stop them. I got out a bottle of red wine to drown my sorrows, but the more I drank, the more my sadness was replaced by anger. It slowly built inside me until I was seething with rage and just snapped. I hurled the empty wine bottle against the wall with a shriek, shattering it into a million pieces. Screaming incoherently, I snatched up anything in sight and flung it around. It's a wonder the neighbors didn't call the cops.

When my tantrum died down, I crashed down on the couch sobbing pitifully, the living room in shambles, my eyes staring unseeingly at the contents of my school bag strewn across the carpet. All of a sudden, two items on top of the mess came into focus: Ricky's obscene note and his student information card. On the card was his phone number and address.

Without thinking, I dialed his number. Ricky answered and I asked if he was home alone. He said no, sounding unsure who was calling. Without explaining, I told him to meet me at a park near his house. "This bitch wants to see exactly what you've got," I said and hung up.

I stumbled to the SUV, still wearing the loose sweats I'd worn all afternoon and still pretty drunk. I'm not sure how I got to that park all the way across town, but when I arrived, Ricky was already waiting under a streetlight. He hid his bike in a hedge when he saw that it was me, and smiled that greasy smile as he climbed in. I drove without a word, but my whole body trembled with intense anticipation. I was sure Ricky could hear my heart pounding like a bass drum from the passenger seat.

We headed right for a nearby office park - the office park where John worked. Of course, all the lights were out in the building — he wasn't there. I pulled into a dark parking space at the back of the deserted lot and shut off the engine.

I was all over that boy in an instant, attacking his baggy jeans like a starving woman ripping into a package of Oreos, popping his youthful dick into my mouth just as fast. I easily deep-throated his small shaft - something I'd never done with John - and pushed my nose against his sparse pubic hair. But just as I began to enjoy the feel of his hot cockhead against my tongue, he came all too quickly. I hungrily swallowed his load of adolescent sperm in one gulp.

John hadn't been my first lover, but I'd been faithful since we'd become an item back in college. I hadn't felt another man's lust, tasted another man's cum, wanted another man's desperate thrusts in a long time. I wanted it then, badly, even if Ricky wasn't exactly a man yet, even if he was my student.

"Fuck me," I gasped, peeling off my sweat pants. I'd taken out my SUV's rear benches for cargo room, so there was plenty of space for rutting on the carpeted floor. I crawled from between the front bucket seats to the back on my hands and knees, waving my bare ass as a beacon for Ricky to follow like a bee to a flower.

I flipped over on my back and barely had time to spread my legs before the boy was on top of me, plunging his half-hard erection into my juicy slit. Within a stroke or two, his teenage prick was rock-hard once again, and he pounded away with desperate thrusts.

I figured this cocky kid (pardon the pun) couldn't possibly be a virgin, but still the thrill proved too much and he came again quickly. It usually takes me a while to reach orgasm, but the sensation of this man-child's spunk flooding my burning pussy was enough to send me over the edge as well. I yelled and clawed his smooth ass, holding him deep inside.

We remained motionless for a moment catching our breath until he tried to kiss me. For some reason, that sobered me up a little. I rolled him off of me and pulled on my sweats, then climbed back to the front and started driving.

"What's the matter; am I too much for you, teach?" he asked as he plopped beside me in the passenger seat, his jeans still down to his ankles, re-stiffening erection bobbing lewdly. I didn't say a word, just dropped him off at the park where I'd picked him up.

"See you Tuesday, Ms. Kelly," he called with sarcastic cheerfulness as he climbed out. I nodded in response and drove home in silence.

John got back to the apartment only a few minutes after I'd finished cleaning up. I was already in bed pretending to sleep. He kissed my forehead. "This will all be over in a few days," he said quietly, almost apologetically. I silently cursed him in my thoughts and rolled over.

The holiday on Monday was unpleasant to say the least. John kept trying to talk, but I didn't want to listen. I almost wanted him to go away so I could call Ricky again, or at least finger myself while thinking about my new teenage lover. But John hung around me all day like a sad puppy dog. I thought it was pretty pathetic. "If you're going to leave me, at least do it like a man," I mumbled when he was out of earshot.

Tuesday, it was back to school. I had spent half the night dreaming of desperate groping and fucking in the dark and awoke in my manic mood once again. I knew Ricky would be even bolder after Sunday night. I decided that I wouldn't discourage him.

On my Saturday afternoon shopping trip, I'd bought a skirt that ended just above my knees, barely meeting the teacher dress code. Zippered slits all the way up the outside of both thighs added to the daring look. I wore it that morning and spent some time in front of the mirror experimented with opening the slits more or less. I finally decided against showing off anything unnecessarily and left them fully closed. But when I got to school that morning, I pulled Ricky's desk back until it was even with my desk chair. I planned on giving my young stud a private show if the opportunity presented itself.

The school day began and Ricky did not disappoint. As soon as he entered the classroom, he casually copped a feel on the way to his desk. It went on from there. His hands were furtively on my body whenever he had the chance, and I often returned the attention by grabbing his ass or crotch. My pussy was moist and my body burned all day.

That afternoon, the students worked silently at their desks and I finally had my chance. I sat in my chair and made sure Ricky was looking. Then I seductively unzipped the slit facing him and slipped my leg out so that it was completely exposed from my ankle to the waistband of my panties. Gradually, I rotated my knee in his direction until he could just see the inside of my thigh. He grinned that greasy smile again and unzipped his fly, his boxers popping out like a tent over a tent pole. My eyes widened and I was about to flash even more skin, but right then another student's hand shot up. I quickly fixed my skirt and went to help, hoping no one could smell my sex.

We kept secretly flashing until the bell rang. I gave him a good look at my panties between my spread-open thighs, and he pretended to write while his cockhead peeked out over the waistband of his boxers. And while I didn't have a specific end result in mind, I must admit that I knew what would probably happen.

After school, I delivered the students to their busses and began the long trek back to the classroom, my heart pounding. I hadn't seen Ricky get on his bus and I couldn't recall him leaving the classroom at all. As I walked up the steps to my portable, I could guess where he was and what he wanted to do.

Ricky managed to shock me yet again. The boy was sitting on my desk chair facing the door with his jeans pulled down to his ankles, stroking his relatively small but very stiff dick.

"Where you been, bitch?" he demanded before I could speak. "I almost creamed on your desk waiting for you!"

"Why waste it there," I replied, locking the door, "when you can cream in your teacher's mouth?" I slowly kneeled and leaned forward, teasingly kissing his cockhead until he jammed it between my lips. He was right about being close to cumming — after only a few seconds of desperate sucking, I felt his boy-seed spurt in a torrent against my tongue and down my throat.

"Shit, fuck!" he gasped. "Bitch, you made me do it again! I want to take my time!" With that, he hopped to his feet and grabbed the zippers on either side of my skirt, roughly opening the slits up to the top. He positioned himself behind me and I understood what he intended to do. I bent over to shimmy out of my panties, then remained in that position and laid my torso on the desk, spreading my legs a bit and raising my ass invitingly.

Ricky flipped up the back of my skirt and whistled. "I knew I'd be fucking that fine ass," said my randy student as he grabbed my hips. I flinched, thinking he was going to enter me anally, but instead felt his 15 year-old dick slip into my very wet pussy from behind.

Ricky meant what he said about taking his time. He paced himself, thrusting under control as he reached under to clutch my breasts through my blouse, wrinkling the pile of tests on the desk beneath my torso. My guess had obviously been correct — this was no inexperienced virgin.

As I enjoyed the efforts of my young but skillful lover, I realized that my face was inches from a framed picture of John on my desk. Every time Ricky pounded into me from behind, my nose almost bumped into my husband's smiling image. The revengeful irony was delicious. "Fuck you, you cheating bastard," I whispered to his photo with real hatred when I felt my student fill my womb with another warm blast of semen.

Ricky had missed his bus, so I offered him ride home. I was still feeling naughty and my Navigator was high enough that people in smaller vehicles (almost everything on the road — that thing was huge) couldn't see our laps. So I unzipped my skirt slits again, this time with my panties tucked away in my purse. Ricky flipped the front panel to the side to expose my sex to the sunlight and pawed at my thigh as I drove. At a stoplight, he reached over my leg and slipped a finger into my slit. I jumped, juices flowing, and had to push his hand away to regain enough body control to drive.

Before we'd traveled another block, he'd unzipped his jeans and pulled out his renewed erection. I knew what he wanted and readily complied, steering with my left hand while giving him a handjob with my right. He tugged at my arm at the next red light and I followed his wordless command again, engulfing his cock in my mouth just as he spurted, letting my student ejaculate into my body for the third time that afternoon.

I'd been circling his neighborhood as we messed around, so it only took a couple of minutes to reach his run-down apartment complex. Ricky gave my breasts a good-bye squeeze, then smiled his greasy smile and got out. As I carefully steered around the group of kids playing in the street, I slipped a finger into my pussy. I took my time getting off, even going a few miles out of the way to masturbate on the freeway, finally making myself come while parked in front of my own (and much nicer) apartment building.

Then I noticed that John's car was already parked in its spot. He never got home so early and I was unsure what to make of it. I put on my panties, fixed my skirt, and straightened my hair before going to see what was up.

I was stunned when I opened our apartment door and saw John's redhead sitting on our couch sipping coffee and chatting merrily. She looked much older from close up than she had from across the parking lot. "So he's finally going to leave me today, and for that old broad," I thought to myself.

"Honey, is that you?" John called from around the corner. He dashed into the foyer and gave me a quick hug, then held me by my shoulders. "Erin, I must admit that I haven't been exactly truthful about my training sessions," he said, a big grin on his face. It certainly was an odd expression to wear when one has unpleasant news to deliver.