The class of seniors wrote their essays furiously, racing against the clock. Miss Smith paced the rows to discourage cheating but mainly to be of ready assistance. She walked the aisles of seats, her high heels clicking against the floor. Being the Friday before spring break, the high schoolers' minds would quickly shift from Shakespeare to the beach.
She stopped at the front of one of the rows and looked down at the student sitting directly in front of her: Trevor Hampton. He had been hunched over his desk the entire class period, writing madly. She watched him finish writing the last sentence. Then he glanced up at Miss Smith with his sky blue eyes and gave her a quick smirk. It was his signature move--wait until he felt her presence near him, look up, and give an eat-shit-and-grin look as if to say, "I fucking nailed your assignment." She couldn't remember a time that he didn't do it. She appreciated his willingness to take on her timed writing challenges and smash the fuck out of them. Knock them out of the park. Blow her mind. (She wanted to blow his mind.) He was highly intelligent, contributed during lectures, paid extra attention by staying after class and making light conversation about the piece of literature they'd read. Not only was he her best student; he was her favorite one, too.
He was taller than she was--even when she wore her heels. He wore his hair short, and most of the time he wore deck shoes and khaki shorts. He had a tight, squeezable ass, and his eyes made her knees weak. She knew what a fuckable young man he was turning out to be, maturing quickly. He had sex appeal, and it attracted the high school girls. His current girlfriend was also in the class, and when it came to him, she was giddy. She was a silly girl, giggling too loudly at his jokes, and always taking selfies. They were almost always together. He was either talking about Dungeons and Dragons with the nerds or talking football with the jocks. Everyone liked him. He hadn't always had sex appeal. He had slept through her sophomore English class and basically didn't give a fuck about school. But something changed, and so did his physique. He went from a scrawny, shy sophomore to a sexy, confident senior.
The timer on her watch sounded and, looking away from Trevor, she announced that time was up and for them to put their pens down. She gathered the essays just in time for the final bell of the day.
Trevor lingered behind as everyone filed out of the classroom boisterously, ready for their break. He stood beside his desk. He was wearing a clean T-shirt that showed his chest and jeans that made her look at his crotch. His hair was light brown and kept trim.
"So, Miss Smith, do you have any exciting plans for your break?"
"Spending way too much time in the library, but maybe I'll have time to stick my nose in a book." She, herself, would spend some time grading those timed writings and the other part in the library conducting research for an upcoming summer conference where she would present on Teaching Literature in the Digital Age.
"Me, too," he added, "--the library. I got a sneak peak at the syllabus for my first college classes in the fall, and I'll be reading two of the texts to stay ahead." A head. She'd like to give him head. Right there. Her thoughts were unusually naughty so she had to look away from him and pretend to organize a few items on her desk: put all the pencils and pens in a coffee mug on her desk, pick up the stack of timed writings and tap them on the desk into a perfect, symmetrical pile.
"I would think you'd be playing Dungeons and Dragons or hanging out with the football team."
"Well, Miss Smith, football ended in January," he chuckled. "And my D&D companions are taking a long rest--in South Florida."
"Ah," she spoke embarrassingly. She was trying too hard again, she told herself.
"Have a relaxing spring break, Miss Smith," he said in a deep, silky voice. "Maybe I'll see you at the library."
He headed for the door, his notebook tucked at his side, his strong hand cradling it. She'd like to run her hands over his ass, unzip his zipper and pull out his cock. She had to get herself together.
She tucked the timed writings into her satchel, threw the bag over her shoulder, turned out the lights and stared across the room. The room would be quiet and dark for the next 9 days. She liked that idea of peace and solitude--and she looked forward to it a little herself.
That night she rewarded herself by buying a bottle of champagne. It was spring break afterall. When she got home she drew a hot bubble bath and poured herself a tall glass. She undressed and got in, the warm water caressing her legs, her hips, her breasts. She needed this break, she thought. Needed to draw a hard line between the past and the future--the past that involved a long ass winter and taxing school year and the future that involved summer and Todd and fucking and being with colleagues that loved Shakespeare as much as she did. She soaked in the tub and sipped her champagne before the water turned tepid, then she rinsed off and pulled her silk robe around herself.
Her satchel sat on the table just inside the front door, and she felt it calling to her. She opened it and pulled out the stack of papers, shuffled through them until she found Trevor's. It was titled "The Role of Sex in Shakespeare's The Tempest." He had written about sex. She laughed. Of course he did. She sat down with the last of the champagne and read through his paper. Just the thought that she was holding the same paper he'd been hunched over for almost an hour made her wet. He'd breathed on the paper, touched the paper, put his thoughts down about puns, metaphors, innuendos, and the theme of sex on this paper. Did her interest in him border on obsession? It was only a fantasy. It wasn't illegal. Unethical? Maybe.
When she was naked under the covers, she imagined Trevor. In this fantasy he was leaning against her classroom desk, and he slowly pulled her over to embrace him. Then he was tugging her skirt and panties down; she imagined him sitting down in her desk chair and motioning for her to sit on his lap; then she was straddling him.
Her hand ran down her nightgown and between her legs; she was already wet.
Then she imagined him pulling out his young cock and rubbing it against her clit, over and over. She imagined being his first, though that was realistically unlikely. His girlfriend had a reputation. So she imagined teaching him a few things he didn't already know about sex, like how to make her cum with only his tongue. The thought of his face between her legs quickly sent her into an orgasm.
