My last class of the day was geometry with Mr. Laker, and it ended when the bell rang. My desk was on the side of the room opposite the door, so I was going to be one of the last to leave. I was in no hurry. The halls would be filled with kids hustling to their busses and cars. I, of course, was on my way to see the buxom Ms. Brooks and her, no doubt, juicy pussy. There was no point in me swimming against the tide of rushing students. I loitered at my desk, getting my books put away just so into my pack, when I heard Mr. Laker clear his throat.

"Edward, can you do me a favor?" he asked.

I hesitated, my big cock was already filling out in anticipation my rendezvous, but then I said, "Be glad to." I liked his class and it never hurts to stay on the good side of a teacher.

"I need to get some papers to Mrs. Latimer in the office before she leaves," he said. "Would you mind running them up there?"

"No problem," I said. The man had broken his leg and he was about as awkward as you can get on a pair of crutches.

"Thanks, they'll be ready in just a second," he said.

He began to fill in some sort of form. The seconds turned into minutes as a couple of students came by to ask questions. But finally, he stuffed his papers into a manila envelope and sealed it. "If you'd put this into Mrs. Latimer's hands, I'd appreciate it," he said, holding the envelope out for me.

"Okay," I said as I took the papers and headed out the door.

"Thanks for waiting," he called.

There's no running in the halls of good old Franklin High, but I hustled up to the office in a sort of foot-skimming-the-floor lope. I didn't want Ms. Brooks to get the idea that I'd lost interest when I didn't show up immediately after the last bell. When I entered the office, there was a man at the counter talking to Mrs. Latimer.

Mrs. Latimer looked the part of a school secretary. She was fiftyish, slight of build with mousy brown hair and glasses. Even on her best days she looked harassed and nervous, and now she looked doubly so.

"I waited in her classroom, after I managed to find it, and she hasn't returned. I know she doesn't have any after school activities planned today. I really need to see her," the man was saying in a demanding tone. He made a point of looking at the huge aviator style watch on his wrist.

The man was my height, a shade over six feet tall. He had short cropped blonde hair. He probably outweighed me by thirty pounds though, most of it muscle. He had huge biceps and forearms and his pectorals were practically breast-like. His knit shirt was tight enough to reveal his physique along with a company logo and the words Mech-Specialist Engineering. Way over on the opposite side of his shirt was a scripted "Bob."

"I ... I really don't know," Mrs. Latimer said. She turned to me. "Edward, have you seen Ms. Brooks? Her husband is looking for him ... I mean her." The woman was practically desperate.

"Uh ... yeah," I said slowly as I handed Mrs. Latimer the envelope. "I think I saw her going into a room down on hall eight." This was an interesting development.

"Hall eight?" said Bob. "How do I get there?"

Before Mrs. Latimer could say anything, I said, "I'll show you."

"Oh thank you, Edward," said Mrs. Latimer. She clutched the envelope in both hands and turned to her desk.

"Down this way," I said as we exited the office.

As we walked away, Mr. Brooks stepped up beside me and said, "You can just tell me where it is."

"I don't mind," I said. "The numbering system for the halls makes perfect sense if you're looking at a map, but not so much if you're walking around." Which was true; hall eight was in no way attached to halls seven or nine. After several turns we stopped in front of the class room where Ms. Brooks had jerked me off earlier. It suddenly occurred to me that this might not be a great idea. I wondered if I could lead Bob away and then double back some how to warn her. But Bob Brooks was making impatient noises. There was no way that he wouldn't start opening doors on his own.

"Let's try this storage room, I think she went in here," I said. I rapped on it hard with my knuckles.

In a few seconds, the lock clicked and the door opened outward a few inches. Ms. Brooks looked up at me with mischievous eyes. She had unsnapped her top several inches and my eyes feasted on quite a bit of cleavage. "Hi," she said in a low voice.

"Hi, Ms. Brooks," I said. At least she was fully, if sexily clothed. I pulled the door completely open. "You're husband's here looking for you."

I'll have to admit that the woman kept her cool. Her eyes widened a bit, but then she calmly stepped back and began to snap her blouse to the throat. "Hi, Bob," she said. "What's up?"

Bob and I stepped into the room. I'd forgotten about the gooey mess I'd made earlier, but it wasn't there. The student desk looked freshly cleaned, at least in contrast to the other slightly dusty items in the room. On its seat was a roll of paper towels, a bottle of cleaner-disinfectant and a half-full small plastic waste bag.

Bob was pretty oblivious to all that though. He said, "My timeline for this afternoon is shot to hell. I've been trying to call and text you."

"Oh," said Ms. Brooks. "The battery on my cell was low. I turned it off. What's wrong?"

"Mr. Parker has changed the meeting to five o'clock. Plus, I've found out that he's old school; he wants to see the plans on paper, not a computer screen. So here's what we have to do. You go downtown to Stevens and Son, they have one of those big printers, and pick up the plans. I've already called them; they'll have them ready. Then you can change and meet me at Tanglefoot Country Club." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and extended it to Ms. Brooks. "Here are the directions. I wrote them out very clearly."

Ms. Brooks looked at the paper with a pained expression. "Bob, you know how I am with maps or directions. Can't you just pick up the plans and then swing by to get me at the house?"

"I would," he said, "but Sally's plane is delayed. I need to pick her up so we can discuss the changes in the presentation. We'll be lucky to make the meeting on time as it is." When Ms. Brooks failed to move to take the paper, he said, "Come on, Connie, you know how much we need this contract."

Her eyes flashed. "Yes, I damn well do know. I..."

"I can help," I said without thinking.

They both turned to me as if I'd just beamed in from outer space.

I shrugged and said, "I know where Tanglefoot is, and I'm sure I can find the other place." I slipped the paper from Bob's fingers and checked the address of Stevens and Son. "Yeah, I know where that is."

"That would be great," Bob said looking at his wife as if to say why not?

"Well, Edward, if you don't mind," said Ms. Brooks.

"That's great, pal," Bob said as he checked his watch and slapped me on the shoulder. "I'll see you there, babe," he said to Ms. Brooks. He pecked her on the lips and disappeared out the door.

Ms. Brooks was unusually quite as she gathered up her things from her classroom and we left the school grounds in her car. She had a white Camry that looked as if it had seen better days. I got her pointed in the direction of Stevens and Sons. We rode in silence until we had to stop at a light. I glanced at her, she glanced at me, and then she burst into a fit of giggles.

"What?" I asked.

She giggled some more as she reached over and squeezed my arm. Finally, she managed to say, "Nervous reaction. I almost fainted when I saw Bob." She slapped the back of my hand. "And how did you run into him, anyway?"

I told her the story of Mr. Laker and his papers. "It's just as well," I said. "If I hadn't gone to the office, we'd have been in the middle of you know what when Mrs. Latimer started yelling for you over the PA system. That would have ruined the mood." Mrs. Latimer's announcements were a school legend. Her voice would start out in a nervous quaver, and then she'd over compensate and speak too loudly and too directly into the microphone. Her announcements usually ended in an unintelligible whooshing garble.

"I doubt it would have ruined my mood," she said with a grin.

"Still feeling it?" I asked. I put my fingertips on her knee and then slid them up the inside of her thigh as far as her dress would let me."

"You have no idea," Ms. Brooks said.

We arrived shortly at Stevens and Son. I ran inside their office and took receipt of a fat cardboard tube about four feet long. I tossed the tube on the rear seat of the Camry and we were off again. She really was bad with directions. I had to practically guide her back to the school before she recognized where we were and she could turn for home. Again, she was cool and quiet.

A few minutes later, we pulled onto the concrete pad in front of her garage. Her house was a ranch style, sitting on a country road opposite a hayfield. I followed her through the front door into a tiled foyer. There was a potted plant just inside the door, and a coat rack with a couple of jackets and an umbrella hung on the opposite wall. Ms. Brooks firmly closed and locked the door behind me. Then she dove at my pants.

"Oh god, Edward ... right here, right now," she said frantically. She pawed at my pants and shorts until they were down to my knees. My cock hadn't anticipated this sort of welcome. It was drooped over my balls. The head dangled down there at mid-thigh.

"Mmm..." said, Ms. Brooks, "even soft it's the most exciting thing I've ever seen." She lifted my flaccid dick in her palms and gave the head a wet, loving kiss. Needless to say, my cock didn't stay soft. You could count my pulse as it throbbed back into a full hard-on.

"Suck on it, Connie," I said. It seemed like a good time start using her first name.

She pressed her mouth against my cockhead, French kissing the cum-slit. That tickled, but I loved it. She kept that up for a while, and then I began to push my distended head against her lips. She took the hint and opened wide. Of course she could get only a few inches into her mouth.

"That's it, baby ... suck on that big cock," I told the top of her head.

I really started to enjoy the feel of Connie's long tongue as it slid all around my oversensitive glans. Her hands worked up and down on my thickened shaft. Soon, I could feel the pre-cum start to ooze thickly from my cock-slit.

"Ohhh, look at all that teen-cream," she giggled as she ran a finger up my pencil thick cum-tube. The clear, syrupy liquid flowed into her palm, and then she quickly used it to slick down my veined shaft. She kept that up for a while, alternating between sucking down my pre-cum and using it as jack-off lube.

Finally, she took her mouth off my pulsing dick and said in a voice that was half demanding and half pleading, "Edward, fuck me now, baby, fuck me now."

"Sure," I said with a slow smile.

Connie reached under her skirt and pulled off her panties. Unlike her fancy, black lace bra, her panties were basic and flesh toned. As she tossed them aside, I could see that the crotch band was soaked with pussy juice. She bent from the waist and leaned against the wall. "Come on, Edward, right here," she mewled. She lifted the hem of her skirt to her waist and spread her legs. Her pretty, pink, glistening pussy lips were in full view. Her yearning hips twitched with desire.

I'd like to say that I strode to her in a manly fashion, but the truth was that with my pants around my knees, I had to sort of waddle. Once there, I grasped my cock-shaft and worked my oversized plum of a cock-head in-between her juicy cuntal lips.

Mmm ... there's nothing like the feel of a pussy. The heat, the velvet smoothness, the oily slick wetness of it all that engulfs ever micro-inch of a guy's dick. The feeling of penetration and conquering. Or ... maybe I'm over thinking it. Anyway, it felt awesome. I pushed until Connie moaned loudly.

"Oh god ... I've never felt so full," she said.

I looked down and saw that I had inches still unused. Well, save something for later, I thought. "You're tight and hot," I told her.

She gave me a low chuckle. "I couldn't imagine a woman who wouldn't be tight on your big fucker," she said.

"True enough," I laughed. I put my hands on her twitching hips and worked up to a nice steady stroke, one that I knew I could sustain.

"Yes, yes, yes ... fuck me baby, fuck me baby," Connie chanted in time with my thrusts. I kept my pace nice and even despite the fact that she was moving her ass and demanding more.

"Edward, honey ... faster pleeeeeeeeease," she begged. I gave in and stepped up the pace as she moved a hand to her clit. She was furiously fingering herself. I could tell because her fingertips bumped over my cum-tube about three times a second.

"That's it, that's it, baby" she moaned. "Yes, yes ... ohhhh yessss ... oh my god, oh my god ... OH FUCK, FUCK YEAH," she screamed.

I had her on her on an orgasmic high and I wanted to keep her there. The stretched walls of her pussy quivered and shook on my awesome cock. I lunged forward, plunging more of my pile driver into her sucking cunt. At the same time, I grabbed two big hands full Connie's magnificent, firm tits.

"HOLY SHIT," she exclaimed. "Never so fucking full, never, never, never ... OHHHHHHHHHHHH." She was coming again. I straightened up, pulling her back against my chest. Her erect nipples dug into my palms. I lifted her onto her toes with every stroke. She seemed to be coming continuously, and I would have loved to keep her that way for long minutes, but I couldn't. I'm in good shape, but Connie Brooks is not a petite woman, and I was bouncing her full weight into the air about once a second.

I bent forward and released her boobs. She steadied herself against the wall and sighed the sigh of a well fucked female. She shook her head to clear it and lazily raised her wrist in order to see her watch. Suddenly, she was walking across the foyer and I was left with a great big juicy hard-on waving in the wind.

"Sorry, Edward, but we're running out of time," she said as she scooped up her panties and disappeared around a corner. "There's a guest bathroom on the left if you need it."

"What the fuck?" I muttered – talk about the ultimate cock tease. My first impulse was to track her down and finish off what had been a very hot fuck. I took a half step and almost tripped over my pants.

I started to laugh at myself. Oh well, I had sort of signed up for a quickie; I just hadn't been quick enough. Plus, I had left her hanging earlier in the day. Maybe the universe was balancing out it's ratio of orgasms.

Holding my cock in one hand, and holding my pants with the other, I walked across the Brooks' living room and went down a hallway to their guest bathroom. I closed the door and contemplated leaving a massive sperm calling card on the counter and commode and pretty much every other surface in the room. But no, that would probably just piss off Connie. Right now she was eager to make her beautiful breasts and slick pussy available. No need to make her change her mind.

I used a washcloth and cool water to clean off my cock. That took the edge off, believe me. Next I splashed some water on my face and took advantage of some mouthwash I found in the mirrored cabinet. After tucking in my shirt and running my fingers through my hair, I declared myself good to go. I returned to the living room and took a seat in what had to be Bob's recliner. There were some technical journals and car magazines in a rack next to the chair. I got absorbed in an article about Ford Mustangs, my dream car, until I heard footsteps.

Ms. Connie Brooks had transformed herself from sexy teacher to a sexy party girl in a remarkably short period of time. She had put up her hair. Diamonds, or at least something that looked like diamonds, graced her ears and throat. Supported by the merest of straps, her black cocktail dress started halfway down her cleavage and ended in a pleated skirt several inches above her knees.

I stood as she approached. "Wow, you look great," I said, and ran the back of my fingers lightly down her exposed breast flesh.

She shivered and said, "Mmm ... stop that or we'll never get out of here."

"Would that be so bad?" I said in a low voice, and gave her my best boyish grin.

She touched my arm and said, "I'm sorry I left you hanging, but yes, it would be bad. We need to make a good impression on William Parker. And giving him the idea that we don't care about being on time is a bad start."

"Unless he's one hundred percent gay, I'm sure he'd forgive a lot for you," I said.

"Thank you kind sir," she said as she nestled a black clutch in the crook of her arm. "Let's go."

Several minutes later we were negotiating the streets of the part of town known as Tanglefoot. It's an upscale neighborhood with lots of cul-de-sacs and streets that wound around and up and down rolling hills. Tanglefoot Country Club was buried amongst those streets. One crucial turn to the club was onto Big Bottom Road. The street sign of which was stolen on a regular basis by teenage boys. Boys who thought it hilarious to nail the sign on a teacher's door on Halloween. I know because ... well, I hear things ... you know? And ... okay ... at worst, I was only a coconspirator.

We parked near the door to the club's dining room. I grabbed the cardboard tube of plans from the rear seat as Ms. Brooks walked around the front of the car.

"Edward, thanks so much. I never would have found this place on my own. I really need to get one of those GPS units," she said, and then she stopped in midstride. "I just realized ... how will you get home? I suppose Bob could take you once he gets here."

I shouldered the tube as if it were a rifle, showing Ms. Brooks that I clearly intended to carry it inside. "Don't worry; I'll call my mom from inside. I don't live far from here."

I held the door for Ms. Brooks and we entered our second foyer of the day. To our right was the club's lounge where a dozen or so people sat drinking and snacking. In front of us was the door to the dining room, but between us and that door was a cadaverous looking man who perched on a stool behind a podium. He nodded at Ms. Brooks and said "Hello, Edward," to me in a carefully neutral tone.

"Afternoon, Mr. Ames," I said cheerfully.

"Will you be dining with your parents?" he asked.

"Ah ... do they have reservations?" I asked. He ran a gnarled finger down the page of his reservation book, looking like a man seeking a name from a list of plague victims.

"Six-thirty," he said.

"Cool," I said. "That solves how I'll get home," I said to Ms. Brooks. Turning back to Ames, I introduced Ms. Brooks.

"We're supposed to meet someone named William Parker," she said. She gave me a look that said I had been holding out on her.

"Yes, Mr. Parker," said Ames, his face actually lifted a couple of notches above dour. Parker, or perhaps Connie's spectacular figure, must have made an impression on the old fart.

After a thirty second phone call to home, telling Mom that I would meet her and Dad here, Ames led us across the dining room. A few early diners were at tables that overlooked the golf course, but we headed to the opposite side of the room. There, three tables had been pulled together and stripped of everything except tablecloths. A man was seated sideways to the table with his legs crossed. He was sipping, what I guessed was liquor, from a low glass. A taller glass holding ice water or maybe a drink sat nearby.

Mr. Ames gestured to the table with a small bow to Ms. Brooks. As I passed him, Ames gave me a hard look. He has suspected for a while that something had happened between me and his daughter and granddaughter. He isn't wrong, but that's a story for another time.

"You must be Mrs. Brooks," the man said as he stood and lightly took her hand. "I'm William Parker. Your husband said to anticipate the most beautiful woman in the club."

Ms. Brooks laughed deep in her throat. "I doubt very much that my husband said any such thing, but thank you," she said.

I'll have to say that this guy could get away with such a cheesy line. He was good looking and a touch taller than me. His silver-grey hair and goatee were perfectly styled; his teeth were white and even. He was wearing a dark three piece suit without a tie.

"This is Edward Garrison, one of my students. He's kindly offered to help me this afternoon," she said in introduction. Parker and I shared a hello and a firm handshake.

"Please have a seat," he said, gesturing to a couple of chairs. "My assistant will join us shortly; she went to powder her nose.

I put the cardboard tube of plans on the table. A server came by and we ordered drinks: a latte for Connie and a soda for me. Connie and Parker were passing pleasantries back and forth when a movement caught my eye. A young woman in a red sheath dress approached our table. Her figure was every bit as spectacular as Connie's. Her oval face was attractive if not classically beautiful. Her blonde hair fell in gentle waves halfway down her back. When she reached the table I stood and said, "Hi, Katie."

She looked at me for a long second and then recognition dawned in her eyes. "Edward," she exclaimed. She took a couple of quick steps and hugged me. I was a head taller than her despite the heels she was wearing. She looked up and said, "Wow, you've really grown."

"You know one another," Parker said.

"Oh sure," said Katie, "I use to be..."

Don't say it, don't say it, I thought desperately.

" ... Edward's babysitter," she finished.

They all had a good chuckle at that one. I managed to smile and nod. She took a chair next to Parker.

"I apologize for moving up the time of this meeting," Parker said. "Katelyn and I have a dinner to attend, and then we have to catch a plane back to Alaska."

"You've been in Alaska?" Connie asked.

"Oh yes," said Parker.

He launched into a tale about an old abandoned army depot, found munitions that hadn't been disposed of properly and a couple of grizzly bears. The man could really tell a story. Connie went "ohhh" and "ahhh" and "really?" at regular intervals. Katie chipped in with a few details. I was fascinated with his tale and kept my mouth shut. His story ended with an explosion and the bears hightailing it for the Canadian border. In a bit of good timing, it also ended as Bob Brooks and his partner, Sally, arrived.

Sally was tall and slim with auburn hair that curved gracefully at her chin. I figured that she was around thirty. Her good looking face had high cheekbones and shrewd, dark eyes. Introductions were made all around. The plans were taken from their tube and unrolled across the tables.

The discussion had something to do with an industrial park. Bob did most of the talking, with Sally filling in some details. Ms. Brooks added to the conversation. I shouldn't have been surprised that she was so knowledgeable about the project, but I was. Anyway, it was all beginning to sound like gibberish to me and my eyes wandered up to Katie. She looked at me. I gave her a shrug and look that meant I had no idea what they were talking about. She smiled, and then putting a hand on Parker's arm, she whispered in his ear. He nodded and Katie stood, tilting her head to indicate that I should follow her. The others didn't seem to notice when I left the table.

"That techno-babble gets boring," she said when I joined her.

"I'll say. Can you follow it?" I asked.

"Some," she said, "but it got deep pretty quickly in there. They have only a few minutes to convince William to drop a few million on their project."

"Huh," was all I could say to that. We had wandered back to the foyer. Katie had gone up to the exit, but then stopped; we could see that it had been raining for a while.

"So much for a walk outside," she said. She thought a second. "Let's try this way."

She led us through the lounge. It was filling with golfers, mostly men, who had been driven inside by the bad weather. A wake of silence followed Katie's passage. Frankly, her ass was as nicely defined as her cleavage. We went down a hallway past the lounge's restrooms and stopped at set of double doors. She opened one and peeked inside. "We can talk in here," she said.

I'd been in this room before. It was used for meetings, private parties and the like. A few work lights in the ceiling cast just enough light to keep someone from tripping over the furnishings. There was a dry bar in the corner with stools stacked on top. We pulled down a couple of the stools and sat side by side.

Writer's note: We now pause in Edward's narrative to glance into his early years and the history between him and Katie. Don't worry, you'll like it.

At the age of nine Edward discovered that if there was pressure on the area between his legs, such as when he shinnied up a pole or out a tree limb, then he would get a really strange, but nice, sensation down there. A year later he learned how to achieve an even more awesome sensation by playing with his penis in the bath. He was masturbating, of course, but he didn't know there was a word for it.

By age eleven he knew what masturbation was and he was doing it two or three times a day. Although he wasn't aware of it, he was a jerking off a cock that was already larger than the average grown man. He could have used both hands on his long pole of a cock as he lay in bed and reached for an orgasm. But he needed to keep one hand free to hold onto the wad of tissues he used a catcher's mitt. Because his distended cock-head became so sensitive when he came, he would hold the tissues an inch or two away from the tip. The impressive amount of spurting boy-cream would make liquid splats as it soaked the paper. Edward would then add more tissue as a sort of cover up and toss the whole mess into his bedroom trashcan.

Edward's mother, Rose Garrison, was a beautiful and intelligent woman, but she stayed pretty much in denial about sexual issues. She dutifully coupled with her husband about once a week. She thought the tremors she felt in her pussy during those times were orgasms, but in truth, she was missing out on the earthquake of a good come. As far as sex was concerned, she couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

Each Wednesday, as part of her pre-cleaning before the actual cleaning service showed up, she would pluck the trash bag out of the can in her son's room. She saw the tissues and smelled the earthy-sweet smell of boy-cum, but she shut her mind to the sheer volume of it. Nevertheless, she knew what her son was doing, and she told her husband that it was time to have The Talk with the boy.

Franklin Garrison, Edward's father, was a tall, good looking man, every inch the prototypical All-American Football Player he had been. He dearly loved his wife, but their once a week or so couplings didn't fulfill his prodigious sexual appetite. He didn't want a mistress, but he had the encrypted computer file version of a little black book of phone numbers. He traveled for an insurance company and didn't lack for female companionship when he was out of town. Edward was destined to inherit his father's good looks, athleticism and outdo his father's prodigious sex drive.

Franklin never went into a meeting unprepared, so he filled a legal pad page with notes on the facts of life and called Edward into his office. An hour later, Edward knew where babies came from and how they got there in the first place. Franklin couldn't help but throw in the importance of the clitoris, nipples and other sensitive parts of the female anatomy. He ended with: "Son, masturbating is a normal part of a boy's sexuality. There's an old joke that ninety percent of men masturbate and the other ten percent are pathological liars. But it's sort of like going the bathroom, people know you do it, they just don't want to see the evidence of it."

Edward put two and two together; he couldn't believe that he had been dumb enough to simply throw his cum filled tissues in the trash for his mother to find. For two days he was too mortified to touch himself. But then a dream about one of the Disney Channel's teen queens left him with a pair of cream filled shorts. Subsequently, he was went back to losing his load several times a day. Now however, he was careful to flush away the results.

One day about a year later, when he was twelve, Edward's mother came to his room. "Honey," she said, "your Uncle John has died."

"Oh, I'm sorry was about all he could say on the subject. John was his mother's older brother. Edward had never met the man. He knew that John had had some brushes with the law, but his Uncle's lifestyle was a taboo subject in their house.

"Your father and I are going to fly out tomorrow afternoon for the funeral and we'll be back late the next day," she said.

"I'm not going?" he asked.

"No, honey, you'd be bored to death." She winced at her choice of words.

"Okay," he said. He'd been to a funeral. It wasn't something he wanted to do again anytime soon. "Do I have to stay with Aunt Mary?" he asked, dreading the answer. She was his mother's very fat, and not a lot of fun sister. He usually had to stay with her when his parents went out of town.