End of School Term [Ocean View Series]

End of School Term [Ocean View Series]

The School Bell Rang

The sharp, high-pitched ring of the bell pierced through the hallways of the Ocean View Middle School building, echoing and reverberating through the air. For all the residents of this building, the bell served as a constant reminder of when to eat, when to sit, when to walk, and when to relieve themselves. In effect, it was the judge, jury, and executioner of the young minds that filled its confines.

This bell, on this particular day, rang with a special significance. It declared the start of summer break at this acclaimed institution. The students, cloistered and imprisoned within the walls of their school, burst free like caged birds flying from a shackled pen.

Behind a desk in the furthest corner of the school, entirely forgotten, Miss Carter breathed out a content sigh. "Thank goodness those little rascals are finally gone," she thought to herself. The constant chatter and noise that used to fill the corridors had vanished, as the students scurried out like rodents fleeing a sinking ship.

Miss Carter, an eighth-grade English teacher, saw the inevitable fate of students during this specific phase of life. They were caught between childhood and adolescence, resulting in an uncomfortable cocktail of self-consciousness and awkwardness. It was this air of discomfort that made her classroom an even more stifling environment, an added box amidst the other well-organized structures within the school.

Her classroom, a small, cramped haven of knowledge, was located in the far reaches of the hall, tucked away in a quiet corner. The walls were adorned with pictures of famous authors and their impressive quotes, along with dozens of shelves of books. To the left of her desk was a whiteboard, plastered with the creative output of her students. In front of the desk were neatly arranged desks and chairs, designed to limit and contain the movement of the students. The order went as follows: A3 for Charlie Lester, C1 for Suzy Cameron, and D5 for Hoobastank Spanakopita.

As aforementioned, these students made quite the ruckus. The Ocean View Middle students' reputation was one of poor behavior and lackluster grades. They were not particularly exceptional athletes or artists. The only ambitions they held resided in the lowlands of mediocrity. Leftover gum dangled from beneath each desk, and the students left behind a trail of stale gum stalagmites on the asbestos floors. Work ethic was not something the administration sought from its students.

Being a middle school teacher was challenging enough. But Miss Carter faced an additional obstacle: she was quite an attractive woman. She had shiny black hair, a smooth, untroubled complexion, sparkling sapphire eyes, and a delicate nose that tilted slightly upward. The way Miss Carter wore her hair up in a bun enhanced this sex appeal, granting her professional power and presence. Her figure was in great shape, with a taut ass that looked phenomenal in any pants she wore. Her breasts were generous, adding to her overall appeal.

This sexiness earned her negative attention from all the gropes and leers that festered within the school's population.

The first leg of this trifecta was the students. The male students were utterly irrepressible in their desires for a teacher they found alluring. They blatantly fawned over her, often pontificating about their overactive race car beds or their desire to touch her breasts. Their unruly hormones led them to resent her for her irresistible beauty.

The second leg was the other teachers. Many of them, both men and women, couldn't help but be aroused by her physical appeal. The men didn't hide their desires at all, attempting to impress her with their non-race car beds and speaking about wanting to touch her tits with their dicks. As for the women, they were not only jealous, but they spread rumors about her indiscretions. They constantly tormented her with lies, suggesting she'd slept with every one of the school's educators.

The third leg, then, was the parents. This population, which were more often than not henpecked provincials who frequented this institution, were mortified by the mere sight of Miss Carter. They felt that these students, particularly their own children, should be shielded from her sexiness, arguing that they were still too naive and pure to be exposed to her beauty. They demanded that she be replaced by elderly, repellant nuns that could better keep their children sheltered.

'A few key points need to be highlighted. Across the globe, youngsters younger than middle school were being drafted into armies and tackling battles for despots, desperately yearning for an education - especially from someone like Miss Carter. They had no choice but to kill for dumber reasons. Thus, the parents at Ocean View should possibly loosen up a tad.

The parents formed half of the issue. Besides urging Miss Carter to keep her flawless beauty hidden, the wives were displeased that their husbands found her captivating. Their husbands couldn't help it, but the wives behaved as if they had the power to prevent this. They resented Miss Carter for potentially taking their partners, even though she never attempted anything of the sort.

The husbands were even more ruinous. They were distressed that there was a single, more attractive woman in the area who had their attention. Their egos were bruised by the sight of Miss Carter. They felt ashamed that she was more attractive than their wives, wives who they'd married knowing full well they were marrying down. They detested Miss Carter for surpassing their beloved partners in looks.

By the last day of her first year at Ocean View Middle, Miss Carter believed no one enjoyed her presence.

This assumption was accurate.

Miss Carter hailed from a different upbringing than many of the parents, grandparents, great-grandparents, and great-great-grandparents of Ocean View - she had never left town and churned out offspring with the fervor of a Pez dispenser. Raised in an exclusive private school, Oceani Victoria, further along the coast, students took Latin and Greek in fourth grade, learned calculus in fifth grade, and read at a collegiate level by sixth grade. It wasn't just college freshmen, but students herself, who could achieve such feats.

The pupils at Ocean View Middle exhibited a different caliber. They were less conditioned, more inclined to inhale or consume glue. They clashed in the corridors, classrooms, at the beach, playgrounds, fields, and streets. They were noisy, pungent, and relentless in avoiding any personal growth.

Miss Carter relished the serenity as the final pupil left the premises. She had a few more days of grading papers, clearing up, organizing her classroom before she was free for the next two months.

Her summer schedule was already planned. Since her graduation three years prior, she'd been following a consistent routine. Spending her days reading, gardening, then embarking on a ten-day cruise in July. The cruises involved lounging on deck reading book after book, tanning in her swimsuit, meeting a dapper European man who was happy to ravish her. Then back to the uninterrupted routine of gardening, reading, and pursuing a tempting American man who could satisfy her desires. European men had a perfect record of 3-0 in snagging the affections of Miss Carter. American men, on the other hand, managed a whopping 2-4,237. The US was losing miserably.

To clarify the preceding paragraph, Miss Carter had enjoyed sex with every one of the three men she'd met during her cruises, and she had meaningful relationships with two American men. However, despite this, 2,000 other American men had attempted to woo her, while just two had accomplished the deed.

A knock at the door rupupt this daydream. She removed her feet from the desk just as Principal Fereder, who looked at least thrice her age, limped in. His hair had grown coarse, popping out from every possible orifice. He adorned glasses with lenses nearly as wide as Miss Carter's hips. His eyes were sunken, his skin wrinkled, and his spiri was hunched.

With an air of authority, Mr. Fereder ran the lkicule like a prison warden. The school's discipline was fierce and merciless. He would have appreciated the right to physically discipline the students and the teachers, but he was disappointed when the ruling bodies had taken away his stick. He was a mutated replica of the past, yet the district obstinately chose to keep him on rather than replacing him. They hoped he'd pass naturally without any interference.

Mr. Fereder had no interest in letting go. Year after year, he returned to Ocean View Middle (go Condors!), coercively demanding their submission.

"Miss Carter," Mr. Fereder wheezed, completely out of breath from his wander through the fluorescent halls. "Please report to the auditorium in fifteen minutes for our faculty meeting."

"I will," she acknowledged, impeccably aware of the time. She'd always been as punctual as a Japanese Shinkansen bullet train. She arised at 6:30 each morning and retired by 10:30 every evening.

Sensing her dismissal, Mr. Fereder hovered in the doorway, lecherously eyeing her. He had no compulsion to alert any of the other faculty about the meeting. He was just there to gawk.

"Did your final day go smoothly?" he questioned.

"It was just fine," she confirmed. A red pen clicked into action to grade papers. Graduation was still years away, so her work was simpler than today's Single-Write Approval System.'

Miss Carter responded, "Nope, not a hint."

Mr. Fereder replied, "So be it." He briefly gazed at the school's Aphrodite statue before departing.

Miss Carter heaved a sigh. This type of action is what sparked the dried ovary rumor initiated by Mrs. Hapsburg. At least Miss Carter knew she'd eventually pass beyond her prime beauty. It was an irrational desire; she could just as easily wish away hiccups.

Personally, she'd cease to exist before her appearance deteriorated significantly. However, this isn't relevant to the story. Only I, as the narrator, possess the sensitive information regarding each character's lives. I respect the privacy of my subjects and refuse to disclose Miss Carter's hidden affairs. Perhaps I'll write a sequel.

At precisely 3:28 pm, Miss Carter commenced her two-minute trek to the auditorium. Exactly at 3:30, she claimed her lonely seat in row G. The velvety curtains concealed a proscenium of gray concrete blocks. Each chair smelled like stale teenage scatalogical emissions. Echoing tones of cream, lemon, and cherry hues displayed their faded glory.

Chairs D-J accommodated the educators. They snickered to themselves and shot unfriendly glances towards Miss Carter. This clique withheld an invitation to Miss Carter.

At 3:33, Mr. Fereder lumbered onto the stage. It demanded 18 minutes to transition from Miss Carter's classroom to the central stage microphone.

"Good morning," he mumbled.

"Good morning," coincided the teachers.

"Um, afternoon. No, evening," he stuttered, befuddled.

He planned to retire following that sentence's completion.

"A proper introduction is prudent," said Mr. Fereder, motioning towards their new principal, Mr. Johnson. He faded into unimportance, never to return. The teachers were perplexed by Mr. Fereder's abrupt retreat. Moments later, Mr. Johnson sauntered onstage, his chiseled visage revealed.

Mr. Johnson possessed a youthful smile, a solid chin. Distinguished dark hair framed his face with a stylish pompadour. Astounding blue eyes mirrored Miss Carter's, as captivating and as untainted as the blue of her eyes. An air of aristocracy adorned his black slacks and eminence-inducing necktie. His left yoke was void of a wedding band.

Miss Carter doubted his principal status due to his unprecedented youthful allure. Mr. Johnson was thirty-three years old, an ample age for a Principal.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Johnson affirmed.

Puzzled, Miss Carter mumbled, At least he knows the time of day.

"Good afternoon," the teachers, in unison, replied.

A second request for a greeting exasperated Miss Carter. She believed if Mr. Johnson's introduction was inspiring enough the first time, a demand for a repetition wasn't necessary.

"I wish to express my gratitude for your attendance," Mr. Johnson stated. "Mr. Fereder preferred to prevent disruption in the children's routine and was anxious to commence his retirement. Thus, I assumed the position."

For the ensuing 30 minutes, Mr. Johnson outlined his visions for the school which would be crucial if this novel were about education. Sadly, it's a tale about carnal affairs. Briefly, he vowed alterations while also assuring the status quo would remain. The revisions would be imperceptible, causing minimal disruption. Expectations of progress advance towards a yet-to-exist technology, funded poorly and lacking detail.

Hence, Miss Carter exited the proceedings with a profound sense of disquiet regarding the upcoming year's alterations. Mr. Johnson exhibited little gravitas, she concluded, as intriguing as a crushed soda can by the roadside.

A parallel recollection from Mrs. Hapsburg crossed Miss Carter's mind. The former perception of Miss Carter was similar to what she felt for the new principal.

When it comes to teachers and their summer vacations, it's not always a time of relaxation. In Ocean View, due to the low pay, the majority of Miss Carter's colleagues had to take on a second job during the summer. From roofing houses, cleaning homes, to flipping burgers, many of her coworkers worked alongside or under their previous students. The public and politicians didn't seem to mind this state of affairs.

Miss Carter, on the other hand, was one of the few who enjoyed a true summer break. She had some spare change from a modeling contract she'd signed when she was 22. Her face graced billboards across Appalachia and the Midwest, but not in Ocean View, which was a positive, since the city had no billboards at all.

She scribbled a red X across a sluggish metaphor in the paper. The author had compared a punctual character to a Japanese bullet train. "Tired, tired, tired," she thought. She gave the paper a failing grade and continued.

The next student's essay was from Hoobastank Spanakopita, who had a dream to play for the Ocean View Seamen, the city's AAA baseball team.

Miss Carter rolled her eyes. Hooba had never displayed an ounce of athletic ability. He was as round as a heavy prize-winning hog, with half the brains and twice the appetite. He didn't seem to care about baseball or sports. He couldn't even count to nine innings. Hooba was immersed in a fantasy about his own abilities, as were many people in this story.

A soft knock came at the door. Miss Carter prepared herself for an interruption, a flimsy excuse to check her out, a casual perving. But no one burst in.

The knock came again. "Come in," she invited.

Mr. Johnson swaggered in and astounded her with a bright smile. He approached her desk with his hand extended. He possessed a dominating gait, the kind that conveyed, "I'm in charge here."

"Hi, I'm Mr. Johnson," he introduced himself, squeezing her small hand in hislarge fist. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she replied, observing him through her thick-rimmed reading glasses. He was even more attractive up close.

"English is your subject, right?" Mr. Johnson inquired.

"I'm actually French-Canadian," said Miss Carter.

"I didn't realize Ocean View had French-Canadian classes," he exclaimed. "Bonjour!"

"No, my ancestry is French-Canadian," she clarified. "I teach English, yes."

"Oh," he chuckled. "I thought I had the wrong school." He walked around the room, examining the wall with photos of renowned writers: Hemingway, Shakespeare, Le Guin, Austin, Melville, Cervantes, Angstrom, the heavyweights.

On the whiteboard were students' attempts at haikus, a leftover from last week's project. Mr. Johnson strolled over to the whiteboard next, rubbing his chin. Miss Carter followed, determined to create a favorable impression on her new boss. It also gave her an excuse to observe him from the back. The sight was worth it.

"The following works were submitted for the final," said Miss Carter. "The students were tasked with creating a haiku."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't a haiku follow a strict 5-7-5 syllable structure?" Mr. Johnson asked.

"It does," she answered.

"Then why are there so many with—" a brief pause while he counted. "Forty syllables?"

"They mixed it up with iambic pentameter," she explained. "The English department in this school lacks resources."

"It seems mathematics also lacks resources," Mr. Johnson joked. He sat on a desk and reclined, considering the whiteboard. Miss Carter noticed his bulging muscles through his shirt and pants.

"What did you do before this?" she asked, sitting on the next desk and crossing her legs. Her tights tightened, suggesting her smooth skin was encased in black. Mr. Johnson, being a true gentleman, maintained eye contact with the whiteboard.

"I taught gym," he said. "Easiest job in education. Get paid to hit balls at kids all day," he quipped.

"That would surely wipe those smirks off their faces," she joked back.

"I was kidding," Mr. Johnson responded. "Miss Carter, I sense you're not a fan of kids."

"It's not that," she clarified, turning away. "It's just... it's hard adjusting to life in Ocean View."

"Share with me," he urged, eager to bond with his new employee and to connect with an alluring woman. His instincts roared in his head, pushing him to find a mate.

Mr. Johnson was single and very unattached.

This individual had devoted numerous years to the welfare of children. His earlier education was poor, even by the standards of Ocean View. Mr. Johnson himself had attended school at Ocean View West, the poorest, most neglected part of Ocean View's educational system. His textbooks advocated for a stationary Earth, mathematics was still known as Al-Jabr, and sex education was non-existent.

Mr. Johnson aimed to ensure that no child would go through the same experiences he had. He wanted students to believe in their ability to accomplish great things, and he was not one to tolerate those who disagreed with his mission.

"I'm accustomed to another... type of student," Miss Carter cautiously explained. "Growing up, I had a strong interest in education. During my teaching experience at Oceani Victoria, the students there were enthusiastic about school as well. However, the students at Ocean View Middle..." She trailed off.

"Are as disinterested in education as a fish is in clouds?" Mr. Johnson completed her sentence for her.

"Absolutely," said Miss Carter. "They don't care about learning."

"I'm sure some of them are genuinely interested," Mr. Johnson countered.

Miss Carter shook her head in disagreement. "None whatsoever. One student asked me if Hamlet was a food item. He wanted to order it."

"I see," Mr. Johnson said. "So your concern is that he tried to order a sandwich in the English room?"

"Yes," said Miss Carter. "That's concerning."

Miss Carter sighed and lowered her head. "I entered this profession to assist young people. But if they don't want help, what's the point?" She directed her gaze at Mr. Johnson, focusing on his large chest. "What inspired you to get involved in education?"

"I never had sex education," he replied.

Miss Carter blinked in astonishment. "What?"

"'Sex ed' stands for 'sexual education,'" Mr. Johnson clarified.

"I'm aware of that."

"I've had sexual experiences," Mr. Johnson clarified further. "I'm not a virgin. But I don't fully understand how babies are born."

"You... don't comprehend how babies are created?" Miss Carter repeated, incredulous.

"That's correct," said Mr. Johnson. "I understand that it involves sexual activity. But what kind? Oral sex? Vaginal sex? Anal sex? Most likely not rectal sex, although—"

"You've tried all of these?" Miss Carter inquired, her question direct and unusual.

"I've dabbled in a few," Mr. Johnson replied. "But I don't have any offspring yet."

"You desire children?" asked Miss Carter. She felt a strong desire to raise her own offspring, to shape and guide them. A younger one and an older one – she wasn't discriminatory about their gender, race, sexual orientation, or religious affiliation. Miss Carter wanted to be a mother to them all.

"Very much so," Mr. Johnson shared. "I just haven't found the suitable partner yet."

Miss Carter uncrossed her legs, subconsciously widening them in Mr. Johnson's direction. Her body reacted to his gentle, paternal demeanor.

"I believe you'd make a terrific father," Miss Carter confessed. "But you must learn how to conceive a child first."

"My future spouse," said Mr. Johnson. Miss Carter's legs spread two centimeters. Her mouth flooded with saliva.

"I conduct biology substitution teaching," said Miss Carter. "I could give you a general overview."

"That would be perfect," said Mr. Johnson, his voice deepening for the first time since puberty. His words made Miss Carter's mouth dry, her thoughts fuzzy, and her dick hard. She longed to provide more saliva.

Miss Carter stood up, assuming a confident teacher posture. It was crucial to project confidence when instructing. Otherwise, she'd seem like an uninformed TikToker.

"Men get aroused first," she began. "Their genitals become erect. Women reach arousal, produce lubrication. Then, the male inserts his penis into the woman's vagina until he climaxes. The sperm travel to the woman's ovaries, hoping to fertilize an egg."

"A genuine egg?" Mr. Johnson wondered, perplexed.

"Where do you think eggs come from?" Miss Carter teased.

"Nope, from hens!" Miss Carter replied firmly. "Women's eggs are not the same."

Mr. Johnson nodded, his attention now completely on the subject at hand. He'd been pondering how to impregnate his future wife, and it seemed everything was falling into place for him. He was taking off his rose-colored glasses and stepping into a new world.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" Miss Carter asked, watching him curiously.

"No, I think I understand now." He couldn't help but grin. "I had the wrong idea about how babies are made."

Miss Carter nodded. "I can see that." She could, however, also see a new spark in his eyes - a kind of enlightenment.

Mr. Johnson felt a little embarrassed and nervously hesitated for a moment. "I misjudged you when I first saw you, Miss Carter. You seem to care about education."

Miss Carter smiled. She had been secretly admiring Mr. Johnson too. His good looks, his muscles, his naive thoughts about reproduction. "Thank you. It helps when I have a dedicated student."

Mr. Johnson got up from his seat, trying to cover his embarrassing erection.

He failed.

"I'll see you later," said Mr. Johnson, feeling very awkward as he quickened his steps to leave.

"Catch me first," thought Miss Carter.

The following day, Miss Carter was once again at her desk, reviewing more papers. This student's report was lacking 500 words out of the required 510.

The door suddenly opened, and in walked Mr. Johnson, greeting her with a small wave. Mr. Johnson was holding two sandwiches and two cold beverages. The sandwiches looked more like fast food items, and he secretly hoped Miss Carter liked them.

"How's it going?" he asked, filled with nervous energy.

"Living my best life," replied Miss Carter. She glanced at the report in her hand, scribbling an "F" on it. "This student definitely didn't make an effort."

Mr. Johnson's face fell. "I can help you make up the word count if you want."

"No, it's fine. Just give it a failing grade." Miss Carter tossed the report aside and took one of the sandwiches from his hand. The smell of mustard wafted through the air. His sandwich, on the other hand, was tangy with oil. Both were conveniently greasy, just as fast food should be.

"So," said Mr. Johnson, taking a bite of his own sandwich, "I have a question. How does a woman's body make lubricant?"

"You could literally have said something ruder," said Miss Carter, dropping her voice. "This could be considered sexual harassment."

Mr. Johnson's face turned pale. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He quickly put his sandwich down and started to rise from his seat. "I'm going to tidy up the room and leave now. I wish you a productive workday."

"Wait," Miss Carter said softly, grabbing his arm. "I was kidding."

Their eyes locked, and he couldn't help feeling cuddly and friendly toward her. "Sit down," she suggested, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her.

Mr. Johnson sat back down, and they shared the temporary table - her desk. He continued to eat, resisting the urge to drool over her words about what women like.

"How about this?" he propositioned with a question. "How does a woman's body make lubricant?"

"Let's not get carried away," Miss Carter replied with a smile. "Some women get aroused when their partners perform specific acts - like going down on them, spanking, or even biting their nipples. Every woman likes something different." She got a little too close for comfort and leaned in, getting distracted by his attention on her. "Me? I like it when my partner nibbles my earlobes while stimulating my clitoris."

Mr. Johnson froze briefly, his mouth slightly ajar as he processed her words. "Yeah... anything on that?"

"Yes, tongue's good. Touch your partner's body and listen to her reactions. Does she make sounds when you kiss her neck? Does she shiver when you touch her thigh? There's a variety of ways to arouse a woman." Miss Carter couldn't stop the excitement growing within her as she shared her desires with him.

"Tongue is a popular option, I guess." Mr. Johnson then scribbled her words on the palm of his other hand. He would make sure his future wife was aroused and satisfied. "What else?"

"Be attuned to her body," Miss Carter instructed. "Her breathing, her moans, her voice. Does she tremble when you kiss her neck?" She paused. "And yes, tongue is good everywhere."

Body language is important to discern what a woman likes, he realized. "When I'm with her, I'll pay close attention to her reactions and make sure she's having a good time."

Mr. Johnson, a tall and muscular man, sat back in his chair and motioned for Miss Carter to continue speaking. She hesitated, her cheeks flushed and a hint of arousal in her eyes. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea," she replied nervously. Her nipples hardened, betraying her arousal. If she kept talking like this, she might just satisfy her desires in her electric car on the ride home. Miss Carter was a strong environmental advocate.

Mr. Johnson understandingly leaned back, providing space between them. "Apologies if I've overstepped once more. In high school, they used to call me Oaf," he confessed shyly.

"Due to your many verbal mistakes?" inquired Miss Carter curiously.

Mr. Johnson shook his head. "No, it was because of my size," he explained. "I was attempting to change subjects."

Miss Carter blushed, mortified by her earlier remark. "In high school, they called me Hot Tub Girl," she confessed with a hint of embarrassment.

"Who was it that gave you this nickname?" Mr. Johnson asked curiously.

"Just a fellow student with the same moniker," Miss Carter explained. "High-schoolers can be cruel. Once a figure of speech is associated with a person, it never goes away."

Mr. Johnson regretted not being able to comfort Miss Carter. He wanted so badly to hold her close, feeling his broad chest comfort her. This woman needs cheering up, his internal monologue expressed. Instead, he simply said, "Past is past. Hot tubs are now a safe environment."

Miss Carter's face brightened. There was something about Mr. Johnson that made her feel at ease, perhaps it was his luminous smile, his muscular build, or it could have been that he had sleep apnea, but she was unaware of it at the time.

"It'll take more than kind words from you to let me overcome my fear," said Miss Carter, "But thank you."

"Enjoy the rest of your grading," bade Mr. Johnson, gathering their empty food wrappers to throw away as he walked towards the door.

"Thanks for the meal," replied Miss Carter, returning his charming smile.

Mr. Johnson's heart skipped a beat when he heard she had a crush on him. Following that revelation, Ms. Hapsburg's scolding no longer left a scratch on his true bliss.

It wasn't until Miss Carter settled down to watch True Crime: The TV Show that she realized she had grown fond of Mr. Johnson.

Excited for Mr. Johnson's visit the following day, Miss Carter went about her grading anxiously. Her thoughts wandered to his striking blue eyes and his thick, dark hair. What was his middle name? Did he have any hobbies? What did he have underneath?

A gentle knock disrupted her daydreams. "Enter!" she invited enthusiastically. To her delight, Mr. Johnson walked in.

"Good morning," he greeted playfully, striding confidently towards her desk, positioning himself on the opposite side.

"Morning," Miss Carter greeted, mirroring his playful demeanor.

"How's the grading?" asked Mr. Johnson, trying to lighten the mood.

"Time-consuming and taxing," replied Miss Carter, currently dreaming about him.

"I have a technical question for you," said Mr. Johnson, attempting to keep it casual. "Is this too personal?"

Miss Carter's cheeks warmed as she considered his question. No question was too personal today.

"What do women like being licked?" asked Mr. Johnson, pantomiming sucking motions in the air. "Or shaking like this?" He demonstrated side-to-side head motions, his red tongue bobbing in the air.

"Liking this is a personal call," Miss Carter weighed in. "What role do your hands play?"

"If I massage her here like this," said Mr. Johnson, plugging a hand into an imaginary breast, "or maybe thrusting like this?" His other hand mimicked an imaginary thrust into an unseen partner.

"Some prefer being caressed in this way." Miss Carter motioned his hand towards her chest.

Mr. Johnson froze, his pants stretching uncomfortably. Her body gave off an almost icy aura. The room filled with silence.

"Rub gently," Miss Carter instructed, leading his hand to her chest. His moon-like fingers brushed over her breasts and she sighed in pleasure.

Mr. Johnson paused abruptly. Her body felt ice-cold. His erect members, trying to break free, couldn't.

"Massage in circles," Miss Carter requested, her voice dropping into a purr.

Mr. Johnson obliged, his fingers circling and caressing her breast. Miss Carter's body shivered in delight, her eyes closed in enjoyment. He pushed the boundaries of their touch with enthusiasm.

Suddenly, Mr. Johnson's hands vanished. Miss Carter opened her eyes, feeling as if she was trapped in a frozen tundra. Mr. Johnson stepped behind the desk, moving to sit on the teacher's side. "You're invited, if you'd like," he whispered, sitting beside her.

Miss Carter gasped, her body warming despite her earlier reaction. What was it about Mr. Johnson that made her feel safe and desired? His smile... His muscles... Maybe his sleep apnea, but she didn't know of it yet. "It takes more than your comforting words to break the wall," she whispered.

Mr. Johnson smiled. Nothing could potentially erase the past. "Hot tubs are now safe spaces," he reassured her.

"I was finding it quite uncomfortable staying in that position," he expressed, continuing to hold her breast and pussy.

"I want you to feel at ease," replied Miss Carter, reaching into his pants. My goodness, he's well-endowed, she mused. His cock was like an electric baseball bat, and his testicles were the size of professional bowling balls (16 pounds, 8.5 inch diameter - this is an exaggeration, check with a doctor if you or a family member's testicles are this large and heavy).

She gently stroked him, relishing the sensation of his enormous member in her hand. She wanted him.

"How about we give that hypothetical question of yours a try?" suggested Miss Carter. Mr. Johnson nodded enthusiastically, and she spread her legs, raising her skirt up to her waist.

Mr. Johnson knelt in front of her chair and buried his face in her pussy, pulling her panties to the side to start his feast. And feast he did. His tongue licked and assaulted and caressed and scraped and touched and licked and brushed and caressed and tickled and sucked her pussy until she was a damp mess.

Miss Carter's skin was burning, and her body craved Mr. Johnson's member. But his tongue wasn't finished yet. It massaged and stroked and brushed and tickled her until she let go of her orgasm. A strong hand covered her mouth, suppressing her moan as she came, preserving Mr. Johnson's hearing and Miss Carter's employment. If such a powerful moan of pleasure were revealed, their illegal affair would be exposed.

Her legs wrapped around the back of Mr. Johnson's head, holding him tightly. Her heart was racing like she'd completed a marathon, and her body was flooded with endorphins. However, there are fewer accolades for oral sex. Mr. Johnson did it for the thrill of the game, not for titles.

"Your future wife will enjoy this," mentioned Miss Carter.

"Great!" exclaimed Mr. Johnson. "I'll do that to her when I meet her."

"What do you think she'll do to you in return?" asked Miss Carter teasingly.

"Love me back," answered Mr. Johnson.

He's as sincere as a dog up for adoption, Miss Carter thought. She wanted to take him in as her innocent husband.

"I meant in a physical sense," clarified Miss Carter.

"Oh! I'd hope she'd go all out on my balls," said Mr. Johnson. "So many women neglect the balls. They're as ignored as a dog at an animal shelter."

"I was just considering the same simile," said Miss Carter. She licked her lips, bent over, and started giving his balls a nice rub down.

Mr. Johnson's mind went blank. Pleasure neurons fired at maximum pace. His mind formed fantasies involving Miss Carter: They were on their first date, and she was giving his balls a good rub. It was their wedding night, and she was rubbing his balls. They were dropping their two kids off at soccer practice, and she was stroking his balls in the minivan.

Mr. Johnson was infatuated with Miss Carter. This was lucky for him, because she was infatuated with him. When two people are infatuated with each other, it becomes a contradiction, resulting in a positive outcome.

Mr. Johnson's manhood erupted, ejecting the contents from his testicles all over the back of Miss Carter's blouse. The ejaculate flowed heavily; he unloaded a hyperbole-filled 32-pound load of semen. He put his fist in his mouth to containing his cry from being heard throughout the halls.

Once she decided he was finished, Miss Carter returned to rubbing his balls. Her back was covered with his spunk, and she could feel it dripping.

"That was just tremendous," said Mr. Johnson.

"Thank you," replied Miss Carter.

"I'm not certain my future wife could match that."

"I can think of one way."

"How?"

"If your future wife were me."

Mr. Johnson leaned back against Miss Carter's desk. "That's a fascinating notion, Miss Carter. Let's discuss it further following dinner today?"

"Sounds fantastic," said Miss Carter. "I'll need to go home and change first, though." His spunk was seeping down her back.

Mr. Johnson removed his blazer and draped it over her shoulders like a cloak. "I'll pick you up at six o'clock." They stared at one another for a moment, their hearts swelling with excitement like coffee in the teacher's lounge. They were embarking on a magical voyage, a voyage of finding someone you've been yearning for your entire life. A journey few people experience, and more special than any journey with a magical creature.

Mr. Johnson squeezed her hand, then left. He stomped his heels together in the hallway. She was the one for him.

Miss Carter returned to her grading. The last paper was 510 words, spot on. It was titled, "Moby Dick: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Adore the Whale."

Miss Carter's face lit up as she read through the paper. Chumbawamba Loukoumades, her student, showed his knowledge of whaling literature. She felt victorious.

Perhaps Ocean View Middle was more tolerable than she had initially thought.

Read also:

• Kristin, Tasha, and I: Chapter 2
• A Memorable Visit to the Beach
• A Collection of Attractive Siblings for My Lesbian Affections - Chapter 3
• Spotted at Workplace

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