Small Piece Of Meat

If you work at a school, like I do, it is frowned upon to date men you work with. They even have little sayings, like "You don't dip your pen in the company's ink"; "You don't get your nookie where you get your cookies"; or "You don't fish off the company dock." My favorite is "You don't get your meat where you get your bread."

I grew up in Northern California and I was raised Catholic. It was not until I went to college that I began to explore my sexuality. I developed crushes on my lesbian roommate Heather and her lover. I also had several hook-ups with men who came in all shapes and sizes. My sexual exploration did not keep me from graduating from college with a Liberal Arts degree. I continued at the same school and a year later, I received my teaching credential. Shortly after that, I was hired to teach at a Southern California public elementary school.

I never broke the dating-at-your-workplace guidelines. I started teaching at a school where all the teachers were mostly women. There was a man teaching sixth grade, but he was happily married and considerably older. That made the no-dating-at-your-workplace suggestion very easy to keep.

The other reason I did not date a coworker was that I had a boyfriend, and we were living together. His name was Tyler, and we met in my third year of college. Tyler was the first man I fell in love with.

It began purely as a physical relationship because he was an amazing lover. He had tremendous stamina, and his cock was thick and long. He could fuck like no one I had before him. He was the first and only man to give me multiple orgasms from just fucking me. He was also the man who showed me different sex positions. We would be fucking with him on top, and after I came, he would turn me over, and I would be on top. He would slow me down, and I would rock on top of him until I came again. He got close to coming, and he would want to be in control again, and we would change positions. Sometimes he would be on top, sometimes doggy, or when I was completely exhausted from multiple orgasms, he would cum in my mouth.

What began as a physical relationship turned into an emotional one. We also had a lot in common, besides fucking. My roommate Heather was a nudist, and she and I would love to go to a nearby clothing-optional beach. When I told Tyler about the beach, he immediately agreed to go. One of the highlights was playing nude volleyball with some of our friends.

After dating for six months, we decided to move in together and found an apartment not too far from our college. We spent the next year and a half making love and working hard to receive our college diplomas. As we both got closer to graduating, the pressure to maintain good grades increased. I studied hard so I could get certified and prepare for my student teaching. Tyler needed to finish his senior project before he could graduate and find a job in his major. My feelings toward Tyler grew stronger and I fell in love with him.

Tyler had his shortcomings, but when you think that you are in love and the sex is amazing, it is easy to overlook a man's faults.

I was able to graduate near the top of my class, but Tyler was not able to finish his senior project, and because he did not finish, he did not graduate. After I got my degree, I received my teaching credential, and I finished my student teaching. I immediately started to look for a teaching position, and I received a job offer in Southern California.

With my encouragement, Tyler finally finished his senior project, and he also graduated, but he still had no job offers. He was sure that he would find a job in Southern California, and he convinced me to share an apartment in Southern California. We found a place not too far from the beach, packed our stuff, and moved down south.

The one-bedroom apartment we found was small, but we made it work. During the first couple of months, our sex life was still amazing, but his shortcomings became more apparent. It also became obvious that he lacked the ambition to find a job. That led to our first huge argument. More arguments followed, and the love I thought I had for him diminished. I wanted to tell him to move out, but I was just too weak to do it. So, instead, we continued to argue.

On a typical weekday, I would come home after a full day of teaching, and Tyler would be in our living room, sitting in front of his computer. He would be wearing boxer shorts and nothing else. Most of the time, I did not want to know what he was up to, so I ignored him. There were times, however, when I could not ignore what he was doing.

"Watching porn on your computer again?"

He never denied it. "I am just watching it until you get home. I wanted to be hard for you."

That line had not worked for a long time. "I don't need you to be hard for me. I need you to get a job to help me pay the rent."

That was when he would get pissed. "While you are at work, I do plenty around the apartment. I'm the one who picks up all the shit you leave lying around."

"How long does that take? What the hell do you do the rest of the time?"

Our arguments got more intense, and the sex was no longer amazing. The sex wasn't even frequent. In March 2020, the COVID lockdown began, and that changed everything. I was forced to teach via Zoom from our little apartment and I knew there was no way I could do that with Tyler hanging around. That gave me the strength to kick him out. I thought he would put up a fight, but he also knew it was over, and a week later he moved out.

The period after my breakup was emotionally difficult. It was easy for me to use the COVID lockdown as a reason for not dating, but the reality was that for almost one year, I just stayed in my apartment. I spent my weekdays teaching classes via Zoom. When I got hungry, my fast food and groceries were delivered and left at my door. The only time I left my apartment was to take walks at a nearby beach. The only sex I had was with my brand-new toy that I had bought online and was delivered by the UPS driver who I spied on through my closed curtains.

When the following school year began, the lockdown rules were loosened, and we were allowed to return to our classrooms. I was more than ready to leave my apartment and get on with my life. A month before school started, I attended my first in-person staff meeting in over a year. At the meeting, I found out there were going to be lots of changes. Most had to do with safety and protocol issues, but there were also personnel changes. The most important one for me was that the sixth-grade teacher had retired. We were told the new teacher would start the following week. I was hoping that his replacement was close to my age and single.

The first time I met the new sixth grade teacher was a few days before school started. This was the time when teachers came in to set up their classrooms for the coming year. I had my back to the open door, busy stacking books, when I heard his voice for the first time.

"My name is Michael. I'm the new sixth grade teacher," a male voice announced.

I was startled by the unknown voice because I thought I was alone. I turned quickly and almost dropped the books I was holding.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. My classroom is across the hall from yours," he continued.

Standing about six feet tall with broad shoulders, he was casually dressed, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved dress shirt. And yes, he was close to my age. Luckily, just like me, he wasn't wearing a mask and what I noticed most was a smile that expressed confidence without being cocky.

I smiled back at him. "I am Ashley. I teach fifth grade."

"I've been looking forward to meeting you. The principal told me I could learn a thing or two from you."

I was not sure what he meant by that statement, so slightly embarrassed, I replied, "I've only been teaching for two years, but as long as you appear to be in control, you'll do fine."

There was an awkward silence, as we both looked at each other, and then I said, "I'll let you start setting up your classroom. I'll come over in a little bit to give you some pointers."

"Thanks a lot. I'll probably have lots of questions."

Then I decided to get bold. "How about we have lunch together, and I can answer some of them for you?" I asked.

"Sure. That would be great. Thanks."

He turned around to walk to his room, and all I could do was stare at his amazing butt.

I kept rearranging books on the shelf, but all I could think of was Michael. Although he had a similar physical appearance to Tyler, I immediately sensed that inside, he was very different. I was surprised that I was nervous going out to lunch with someone I just met. I finished with the books and spent the rest of the morning going over the folders of the incoming fifth graders. By the time I had gone through all of the students, it was almost noon. I grabbed my purse, walked across the hall, and saw Michael sitting at his desk.

"Ready to go?" I asked him.

"Yes. I didn't have much of a breakfast, and I'm starving."

Since he just moved here, I offered to drive. "There is a small sandwich shop a few blocks away, and it's never busy. Is that okay?"

"You know the area. I am sure whatever you pick will be fine."

We didn't talk much on the short drive there. I looked over at him and it appeared he may have been as nervous as me. The deli was not as empty as I thought, so we stood in line to order our food. Michael ordered a tri-tip sandwich with fries, and I got my usual half-tuna sandwich with a cup of soup. We managed to find a table and sat across from each other.

As we ate our food, we both became more comfortable. We chatted about our college experience, and I told him about Heather without going into details, and he told me about where he used to live and the school where he taught. He learned about my Catholic upbringing, and I learned his parents were not very religious. We finally got to the topic of the upcoming school year, and we both agreed that we were both glad to be teaching in person once again.

I started to fill him in on the other teachers at our school, and then I said, "We have some great teachers that have been here a very long time. That means they are set in their ways and may not be open to new ideas."

Michael listened carefully, and said, "I'll try not to introduce any radical suggestions."

"Well, the sixth-grade teacher that was here before you taught at this school for twenty-five years, so anything that is different from the way he did things may be considered radical. But I don't think you will have a problem."

"Why do you think that?" he curiously asked.

I replied, "I think you are the kind of man who takes his time and analyzes things before acting."

He looked at me, thinking about my response, and then completely changed the subject. Out of the blue, he asked, "Are you married?"

"Uh, no." I paused trying to decide how much to tell him about Tyler. But all I said was, "I did have a serious boyfriend, but it did not work out."

Michael gave a knowing nod, so it gave me a chance to ask, "And you?"

"Nope. I was engaged, but she broke it off. That is part of the reason I took this job offer. I needed to start over at someplace different."

We were both quiet again and finished our lunch. I even ate a couple of his fries. When we were done, I drove us back to the school, so we could finish setting up our classrooms. By midafternoon, I had done all I wanted to do for the day and left my classroom, hoping to see Michael, but he had already left.

That night, I had a hard time falling asleep. I was lying in bed wearing only a pair of panties. My thoughts began to drift. I started thinking about the new school year. I was looking forward to being with the kids in the classroom once again. I thought about meeting their parents and the different personalities I would have to deal with. I thought about working closely with the other teachers. Then my thoughts turned to Michael. I closed my eyes and tried to remember exactly what he looked like. Then I pictured him with his shirt off. His shoulders were sturdy and muscular. I imagined him lifting weights in his garage.

Then I imagined him taking off his pants and wearing tight underwear that highlighted his bulge. That was when I slid my hands over my panties and then moved to the inside of my thighs; they traveled over my stomach and ended up on my breasts. In my mind, Michael pressed his body against mine and kissed me. I pinched my nipple, as I imagined being kissed by a man again after such a long time. His lips were soft, and he took his time, not using his tongue, but just brushing his lips against mine.

I looked over at my nightstand and knew what I needed. There were two toys in the nightstand drawer. My recently purchased rabbit vibrator and a dildo I bought a couple of years ago, when Tyler and I were no longer having sex. It was the dildo I wanted, because I could imagine that it would be Michael's cock that I would be holding.

I took my panties off and sat on the bed, with my old friend next to me. I once again caressed my breasts, picturing Michael's tongue licking my nipples. My right hand moved down to my crotch, and I immediately started to respond.

My thoughts were no longer drifting. They were focused on Michael. As he was kissing me, I felt his bulge against my bare vulva. I needed to see his manhood; I needed to feel it in my hands. I lowered his briefs, and his cock sprang free. It was beautiful, pulsating, and large. I opened my eyes, looked at my dildo beside me, and pretended it was Michael's dick.

I took out the lube from the drawer, squeezed it, and slathered the dildo. I groaned as I slowly pushed the imaginary cock into my cunt. I pushed the dildo into me, inserting it as far in as possible. The walls of my vagina stretched as the tip of the dildo went deeply inside me. Then I pulled it out gently, in the same way that I imagined Michael moving his cock inside my pussy.

With my other hand, I circled the tip of my clitoris, pretending it was the tip of his hard cock, my fingers working it in little circles, as I had done to Tyler so many times before. But tonight, I was thinking about Michael. It was his large cock, not Tyler's, that I wanted to touch.

I plunged the shaft into me with a force that was furious and intense. I was moaning and gasping, panting, and groaning. I pressed my back against the headboard and moved the dildo in and out even faster. I called out his name several times, and I came at least three times before stopping. I was exhausted, and my body slipped over the headrest and lay flat on the bed. My pussy was drenched, but I was too tired to get up and clean myself.

The next two days, I was busy putting the finishing touches in my classroom, and I only saw Michael once. We talked about work stuff and did not allow our conversations to become personal. I knew that I was starting to have feelings for him, but I was afraid to show them, fearing to be rejected.

Just as he was leaving, I said, "You'll do great next week."

Then he turned around and gave me a big hug. "Thank you for all your help. I am so grateful for all your advice."

We held each other for a little longer than necessary, and then awkwardly let go before heading to our cars.

After eighteen months, my first day back in the classroom went even better than I had hoped. Almost all my kids were on their best behavior. I knew that I was going to have some disruptive kids, but on this first day, most of the kids were glad to be back in school.

At the end of the day, I stopped by Michael's classroom, and asked him, "How did it go for you?"

With a big smile, he said, "I survived my first day, and I know I am going to like teaching at this school."

The first couple of weeks flew by. Our school had a small teachers' lounge, and Michael and I would enjoy each other's company while eating lunch. I found out more about Michael's past, but most of our conversations centered around mine. Michael was sincerely interested in the stories I told of my college days and was fascinated by Heather's naturist lifestyle. By the third week, I was convinced that I had developed strong feelings for him and had started to ignore my fear of rejection. That made me do something that I never thought I would.

We had just finished our lunch when I asked, "Michael, when was the last time you had a really good home-cooked meal?"

Michael smiled and looked at his unhealthy lunch that he had bought from a local fast-food chain. and answered, "You see what I buy for lunch every day, so you know that cooking isn't my thing."

"I thought you might say that. How about if next Saturday, I cook dinner for you at my place?"

I took him by surprise, and he didn't immediately respond. I began to worry, thinking I may have misinterpreted the attention he was paying to me.

But he finally responded. "Would you like me to bring white wine or red wine?"

Relieved, I replied, "Red will go great with what I'm planning to make."

All I could think of for the rest of the week was spending Saturday night with Michael. I knew that this was not a real date, but at the same time, I was hoping it would be more than just a pleasant evening together. I decided to prepare for the best outcome and not be disappointed if all I got was a thank-you hug for a well-cooked meal.

My father is a first-generation American of Italian immigrants, so every Thursday night, we had an Italian meal. Most Thursdays, my mom made spaghetti with meatballs, but on special occasions, my dad cooked lasagna. The recipe originated in Sicily, and my father taught me how to make it. On my way home on Friday, I stopped at the grocery store and bought all the ingredients to make homemade lasagna. In keeping with my "prepare for the best" mindset, I also bought a box of condoms.

I spent most of Saturday morning cleaning up my small apartment. Not that it was filthy, but this was the first time in over a year that anyone besides me had been in it. The afternoon was spent preparing the food and preparing me.

Since I had made my lasagna dish for Tyler many times, preparing the food was easy. Preparing myself took a lot more consideration. My one-bedroom apartment had a small bathroom with a shower tub. The first thing Tyler and I did was replace the shower head with a removable shower spray. I turned on the water to get it warm.

I took off my shorts and the sweaty t-shirt that I was wearing. I had not worn a bra in my apartment since before COVID, so the only thing left to take off was my boyshort panties. Once naked, I stepped into the shower tub and allowed the warm water to wash over me. I tipped my head backward, and the water flowed over my long black hair. After letting out a long sigh, I reached for the liquid soap and squirted it on my chest. I slowly massaged my breasts and massaged the suds over my nipples. Sliding my hand down my stomach, I spread the suds over the rest of my body.

Washing my long hair was always a chore. Stepping away from the water spray, I squirted the shampoo onto my hands, closed my eyes, and spread it over the top of my head. My fingers started at the crown and slowly moved over my locks, working my hairline, before moving on to behind my ears. I made sweeping circles and then slightly pulled the hair as I squeezed out the suds. I finished by massaging the base of my skull, sliding my fingers through the soapy hair. I stepped back under the shower head and allowed the water to rinse off all the shampoo.

I turned off the water and reached for the shaving gel. I shook the can, released some onto the palm of my hand, and rubbed the gel onto my legs and the area of the insides of my calves. Using the razor, I carefully moved it over my legs, stretching the skin to make sure all the right spots were smooth. I finished by making sure the pits were also clean-shaven.