No question about it: Marie Frazier was our favorite teacher.
She taught French at Westminster College in Ithaca, New York, and she was fabulous! I'm not saying she was just a good teacher; there were lots of other things about her that were real nice. Let's face it, most of the lady teachers in our college were kind of on the elderly side, so to see this succulent creature—she was probably in her mid- to late thirties—sashaying around the hallways of the Foreign Languages Department would make any guy do a double-take. She had this enormous crown of auburn hair all around her head—like the "big hair" of the 1980s, but it looked really good on her. Then there was her face: sort of oval, with piercing green eyes, slender nose, small mouth, and rosy cheeks. But that was only the beginning!
She was tall for a woman—about five foot eight, with that "big hair" making her seem even taller. No one would call her slender, but that doesn't mean that she was in any way fat or heavy. Just . . . substantial. Curves all over the place, especially around her bust and butt. Man, you just wanted to wrap your arms around her so bad! And she seemed to know it. I think she deliberately wore blouses that showed a fair amount of cleavage, and dresses that accented that firm, fleshy bottom. The guys in her classes loved it; the girls, not so much. The females glared at her with a mixture of resentment and envy, probably wishing they had the balls—er, sorry, the courage—to dress the way she did.
And yet, she had this air of sadness or melancholy about her. We'd heard rumors that she'd been married at one time, but now she was single. Nobody knew what happened—maybe her husband had run off with another woman. If so, he was not only a bastard, but an idiot! Who'd ever leave the side of this tempting piece?
Marie—we all called her that, since she thought "Ms. Frazier" sounded dopey—was holding this informal summer school class at her house. This was mostly for the guys on the baseball team who hadn't really paid much attention during spring semester, especially when the season started; so we hadn't even gotten a grade, but instead the dreaded "Incomplete," meaning we'd have to make up the work somehow during the summer. She took pity on us and held these sessions in the small, one-story house (with basement) she had a few blocks from campus.
All the guys in the class were freshmen, either eighteen or nineteen, and we were still struggling with the idea that we were now supposed to be "adults" in the eyes of the world. We sure didn't feel like it! Oh, sure, we
looked
like adults: some of us had shot up over six feet, and we were all athletes in reasonably good shape; but whether our emotions had kept up with our bodies was another matter.
So here we were in late August, eight guys and Marie. We'd finally gotten to the last page of Jules Verne's
Around the World in Eighty Days
, and we were all looking forward to getting a passing grade and moving on to sophomore year with a clean slate. When we got to the last page—one guy would read the French text as best he could, and another guy would translate it into English—there was a general sense of anticipation. Finally the last words were read, and we all burst into shouts and applause!
Marie, who'd been standing up at one end of the living room while we were all sitting on various couches or sofas or chairs, said, "You all did great, boys." She had what is called a musical voice—somewhat low, and kind of soft. You couldn't imagine her shouting or getting mad at anyone. She sauntered out of the room into her kitchen and came back with a plate of chocolate chip cookies that she'd baked for the occasion.
We dived into them, all eight of us guys. Well, we deserved it! We really had worked pretty hard, and of course we were all grateful to Marie. She was a peach! And so we decided to show her how grateful we were.
We ended up forming a big circle in the middle of the living room, and Marie ended up being in the middle of it. She had this look of anticipation, and maybe of apprehension on her face, as if she didn't know what was to come. I'll say she didn't! (I'm writing this after all this stuff happened, by the way. So I can say that none of us really planned any of this out ahead of time.) What we did was to start clapping and whooping, and then one of us—a guy named Fred—seized Marie by the hand and kind of whirled her around. She laughed uproariously and stumbled toward another guy, Martin, at the opposite end of the circle. Martin actually caught her around the waist, only because Marie stumbled a bit and was on the verge of falling down; but we were all incredibly envious of him for doing something we all wanted to do from the moment we saw her.
Didn't I tell you she was our favorite teacher?
Well, Martin held her just a wee bit longer than he needed to, and I think Marie was about to tell him to get his hands off her waist. But then he sent her twirling back toward another guy, a big, strong African American named DeShawn, and Marie actually collided with his chest, letting out a comical "Oof!" DeShawn wrapped his arms entirely around Marie's midsection, and that made us even more green with envy. I think he wanted to do more, but instead he just sent her spinning around the circle again.
By now Marie had tossed off her shoes and was just in her bare feet. It was a hot day, and all she was wearing was a floral print dress that came down to her knees—maybe not quite that far, even. In fact, as she was being whirled and twirled around the circle, the hem of the skirt kind of flapped around her and even ballooned up a bit, allowing some of us to get fleeting glimpses of what looked like deep pink underwear beneath.
I think it was those little glimpses that caused some guys to turn things up a notch.
When Marie fell into the arms of an Asian guy named Kevin, he not only held her for a few seconds but pasted a quick kiss on her mouth. That got everybody roaring, and we barely heard Marie say, "Oh, Kevin, you shouldn't do that." But no one paid attention to that. Marie got whirled again—and came right into my arms.
I couldn't help but up the ante a bit—otherwise, I'd feel like a fool and a coward. So I not only gave Marie a long, wet kiss on the mouth, but slipped a hand down to her butt. Of course, this was over her panties and dress—but still, that first feel of her round, firm bottom was glorious!
Predictably, she reached behind herself, pulled my hand away, and said, "Jimmy, that's very naughty."
Again that low, quiet voice. You just couldn't tell whether Marie was really angry or upset, or whether it was all for show. We'd never heard of her going on dates with anyone—so the idea of this incredibly ravishing creature not experiencing the male organ was actually kind of horrifying to us. Poor, deprived Marie!