Sam did not like his history teacher, Eva Tayler. She was trying to poison his life—she tested him often and filled his grade book with failing marks. The other teachers knew he was going to become a footballer and had no time for studying, but she behaved as if she had to prepare him for university entrance exams. He wondered why she had it in for him. Once, irritated, he told her that he didn’t care at all about those wars from the past, and she got angry and threatened to make him repeat the year. The problem with bad grades led to scandals at home, and Sam hated Miss Tayler even more.

Otherwise, Tayler didn’t look evil. She was twenty-seven years old, petite, with a fit body and a pleasant face with a slightly turned-up nose. If one didn’t look closely, one could easily mistake her for a student. Probably to erase her girlish aura, she dressed strictly—in black knee-length skirts and jackets. She always wore formal shoes with low heels.

Sam dug in his heels and refused to study. He saw no point in dealing with anything other than football. He believed he would be able to sign a professional contract with some Second League team and, after a year or two, with a bit of luck, reach the highest level of football in the country. And that stupid Tayler was burdening him with people who had died more than a hundred years ago. He felt like grabbing her by the jacket and shaking her hard to knock some sense into her head. He would never hit her, not for anything in the world, but he seriously considered threatening her physically.

Why did she have to torment him when she could simply give him a passing grade! The other teachers didn’t bother him; they knew what his ambitions were, but this bitch ... After yet another failing mark, Sam slumped at his desk and stared blankly at the ceiling, waiting for the class to end. Eva Tayler was explaining something about some treaties concluded at the beginning of the last century. What a bore! At one point he started looking at the teacher’s legs, covered by the fine fabric of black tights. They were crossed casually, and one shoe was dangling from her toes, swaying slightly. That was how Sam realized that the disgusting Tayler had charmingly small feet and well-shaped calves and thighs. And her breasts weren’t bad at all, even if they weren’t large. Even in the strict expression on her face there was something attractive.

He felt an unpleasant sensation. What kind of idiot was he to find Tayler beautiful!

The strange thoughts didn’t go away. He imagined throwing her onto a double bed in some motel and pressing and kissing her, tearing off her formal clothes with feverish movements. And then ... When he got home, Sam went into the bathroom and began to masturbate, with only Miss Tayler in his thoughts. He imagined her smiling gently and praising him for his skills in bed, promising never again to give him failing marks. Her small, delicate feet were propped on his shoulders and swayed with every thrust; bliss was written on her face, and the skin of her thighs and belly was like silk ... Sam was appalled at himself. He found his longings extremely perverted. First, she was his enemy. Second, she was a full ten years older than him. And she was his teacher, for God’s sake! He vowed not to look at her during classes. But he wasn’t very successful at that task. He became even more distracted and even less capable of learning anything in history class. It seemed to him that she was looking at him suspiciously. Could she be guessing what was going on in his soul?