School Daze


During my final year of high school my English teacher, Miss Jacobs, became pregnant. This alone is not so remarkable. The problem, however, was that Miss Jacobs was a miss and not a missus. Once the members of the school board found out about Miss Jacobs’ pregnancy she was given the option of pregnancy leave (firing her was only an implied threat), after which she was shunted off to another school. Those who banished her probably thought it magnanimous of them to not sew a red A to her blouse before sending her off.

Back then, in the late 1970s, an unwed, pregnant teacher offended the moral sensibility of the small, conservative community in which I grew up. It was as though Miss Jacobs might teach her perceived lower moral standards to us young, impressionable students, or we might somehow become infected with her so-called ‘loose behavior’. The fact that the father of the child was our school principal was of equal concern — although that was only whispered in corners by local gossips at Historical Society meetings and Garden Club shows.

I was born in late October. That meant that on the year that children in my age range began school I stayed home, having missed the minimum age requirement to enroll by mere weeks. My parents argued that there was no logical reason to make me miss an entire year of school simply because my birth date fell less than a month too late. They lost that battle. Rules were rules, and if an exception was made for me then it would have to apply to everyone and anarchy might ensue — or so went the logic of the by-the-book school board.

At first I minded being the oldest kid in my class. Then as I grew older it was no longer an issue. I was perceived as being older, although it hardly mattered to me. I just wanted to fit in. By the time I began high school I was the tallest boy in our class and the first to begin shaving. As a teenager these things really mattered to me. As we all began our final year at Elston High I was eighteen — weeks shy of nineteen. There was another guy in our class named Jason, so I eventually became known as Tall Jason to differentiate us, since I had hit six feet by then.

It was after we returned from Christmas break in January that year when Miss Peters arrived. Sometime later I found out that her first name was Lana. None of us were given any forewarning that Miss Jacobs would be replaced, or why — although we all knew the sordid details from having over-heard our parents discussing it. We only found out about our new English teacher when we wandered into class one Monday morning and saw her sitting behind the pine desk in front of the chalkboard. After we all took our seats and settled-down Miss Peters introduced herself and informed us that she would be teaching us English from then on.

The first time I laid eyes on Miss Peters was one of those clichéd moments that everyone seems to have at least once in their life. I almost expected the world to shift into soft focus and hear violins playing as everything began moving in slow motion. At least that’s how it felt to me. I was in a daze. My cock began to stiffen as I gazed upon the beautiful teacher standing at the front of the class.

For years, a friend and I had been secretly looking through his father’s collection of Playboy magazines. The women I saw on those pages became my standard for beauty: blonde, thin, buxom; the stereotypical Barbie doll type. Miss Peters was the antithesis of all that, yet she was equally as gorgeous, if not more so. She was only about seven years older than me, having just graduated with her teaching certificate. This was her first teaching job and I found that her sometimes nervous demeanour made her endearing and sexy. I hoped that she would never take on the stern, jaded characteristics of my older teachers. She made English fun and interesting — something that I would have previously thought impossible. She was also far prettier than Miss Jacobs, or any other teacher at our school for that matter.

Miss Peters was rather short, just a few inches past five feet, with thick brown hair that hung down a few inches past her shoulders. Her brown eyes seemed to radiate whenever her full lips formed into a smile or she laughed. Miss Peters was thin, yet not skinny. She was svelte and lovely. Her vibrant personality and cheerful disposition made her even more enticing to me. She was anything but a Barbie doll. Usually she wore skirts or dresses, but on the rare occasions that she wore slacks I barely heard anything she said in class because I was too preoccupied with staring at the graceful curves of her firm, round ass and slender hips, or the outline of her thighs through the taut fabric covering them.

Something I noticed almost immediately about Miss Peters was her breasts, or the seeming lack of them. They appeared very firm and conical, yet barely a handful. Russ Meyer would have never looked at her twice, but I could have stared at her all day long. It was only when she wore sweaters kayseri escort or slightly tight blouses that I was treated to the sight of her exquisitely shaped breasts rising from her thin frame. Had she been born in another era her breasts would have been considered the epitome of how a woman’s bust should look. I was reminded of how Napoleon supposedly modeled what became the standard for wine glasses based on the breast of one of his sisters. Had he known Miss Peters, people today would be sipping from glasses whose size and contours were based on her enticing orbs.

English was always the one subject I struggled with throughout school. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that I always did well in other subjects such as math, chemistry and physics. I wanted to study engineering at college, so kept reminding myself that I would never need to know anything about poetry or great works of literature as an engineer. Still, I needed to pass English in order to graduate.

My lust for Miss Peters soon developed into a major crush. That helped cement my enjoyment of English and things that I had never cared about before. Still, my test scores were low. I had thought I was doing quite well in Miss Peters’ English class, until the day I got a term paper back that I had written on Romeo and Juliet. I slumped in my seat, glaring at the red D that Miss Peters had written on the cover page of my essay.

“Could I see you after class for a few minutes, Jason?” Miss Peters said as she handed me my essay.

I scowled and let out a sigh. I looked up at Miss Peters standing beside my desk. I nodded. For the first time ever I dreaded the thought of seeing her later.

After English class ended that day and my classmates headed off to their next classes I trudged to the front of the room holding my term paper. Miss Peters was flipping through a book, preparing for her next class. Her hair was pulled back and held in place by a gold coloured barrette. It accentuated her pretty face. For awhile I forgot about my term paper as my cock began to harden. She looked up at me and smiled. I noticed that she was wearing a bit of dark eye shadow and ruby lipstick, which made her even prettier.

“Now let’s see that paper, Jason.” Miss Peters reached across her desk and smiled at me.

I stood on the opposite side of the desk, feeling shy and nervous while she looked my paper over. She was wearing a long blue skirt and a pink blouse. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone, allowing me to see her upper chest, just below her collar bones a ways. Her skin looked soft and smooth. When my eyes moved further down I noticed that I could see the faint outline of her nipples pushing out at the pink material of her blouse. Up until that moment I had been hoping to think of other things in an effort to quell my erection. Suddenly it was harder than before. Now I feared that my teacher would notice a bulge in my jeans.

“What hurt your grade a lot was careless spelling errors, Jason. Come here and see what I mean.” Miss Peters pushed her chair over, motioning for me to stand beside her to review my paper.

As I made my way around her desk I could feel my cock throb. I stood beside Miss Peters, my thigh brushing against the arm of her chair as I looked over her left shoulder. Her slender hand was resting on my paper. It was then that I noticed her light pink nail polish, which matched her blouse. When I shifted my eyes and ran them over her back I noticed how her blouse was taut and smooth against her body. It took me a few moments to realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra. My heart raced and sweat formed on my palms.

“Now, look here, Jason,” Miss Peters said, pointing to words that she had circled with a red pen. “Look at all your spelling mistakes. Do you know how to use a dictionary?” Her question was out of concern, not sarcasm, judging from her gentle voice.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Well, if you’re not sure about how to spell a word, look it up. Or get your parents to proof read your work. Okay?” she recommended.

“Okay,” I said with a nod.

Miss Peters flipped through the remaining pages of my term paper, scanning it for errors. I looked down at her, wishing I could stroke her back and slip my hands around her to cup her firm breasts. When my eyes returned to the neckline of her blouse I realized that I could see down the front of it as she leaned over slightly. It was then that I saw Miss Peters’ right breast, sloping gracefully from her torso inside her blouse. I nearly let out a groan in surprise and pleasure as I stared at her perfectly shaped peak. It looked as smooth and firm as alabaster. It appeared to definitely be a good handful, I surmised. Her bronze-coloured nipple was hard and surrounded by an areola about the size of a quarter. My heart pounded and my cock throbbed as I ogled her.

“Jason, pay attention. I’m trying to help you,” Miss Peters said, looking up at me. She sounded kıbrıs escort annoyed, a rarity for someone with such a pleasant disposition as her.

I had been oblivious to whatever it was Miss Peters had been saying since I had noticed her bare breast down the front of her blouse. She looked up towards me and caught me leering, then when she noticed the spellbound look on my flushed face she looked aghast. Her jaw slackened a bit and I heard her issue a faint gasp as her pretty brown eyes fell to the front of my jeans. She quickly gathered up the sheets of my term paper.

“I… I think that was all I wanted to point out to you, Jason. Try to be a little more careful about silly mistakes from now on.” Miss Peters handed me my term paper without looking up from her desk.

“Ah… okay,” I mumbled.

Students had begun filtering into the room for their class and I was eager to leave. I hurried back to my desk to retrieve my books and belongings, then dashed out of the classroom and down the hall towards the chemistry lab.

For the rest of the school year I had as little interaction with Miss Peters as possible. My feelings for her had not waned, but I was so ashamed and embarrassed about what had happened that I desperately wanted to avoid her as much as I could. Her demeanor towards me never changed, but I assumed that she must have thought I was a lust-crazed pervert and wanted as little to do with me as necessary.

Ironically, one fortunate result, if any, of all of this was that my grade in English got much better. In an effort to avoid another meeting with Miss Peters after class I studied a lot more. I also worked much harder on subsequent papers and assignments that I handed in to her. My endeavors paid off and I passed English that year with the highest grade I had ever gotten in that subject. My achievement had not escaped the notice of Miss Peters.

On the last half-day of school before graduation I went in to pick up my grades and clean out my locker. While I was standing at my open locker she noticed me and stopped. I felt anxious, but the warm smile on her lovely face put me at ease.

“Congratulations, Jason. I knew you could do it,” she said, seeming as pleased for me as I was.

“Thanks,” I said with a modest smile. “But I had a great teacher. You deserve a lot of the credit, Miss Peters.”

“Thanks. I don’t know if I deserve it, but I’ll take it,” she said with a laugh.

There was a lull in the conversation and I felt nervous. Miss Peters seemed anxious too because I noticed her eyes dart about and she began fidgeting with her wristwatch.

“So, what are your plans for the fall? College?” she asked as her eyes met mine once again.

I nodded. “Yes, I’ve been accepted at Elston Tech. to take engineering,” I said.

“Congratulations! Your parents must be glad that they’ll still have you home while you go there,” she said.

I shrugged. “I don’t know about that. I think they were sort of hoping I’d go to a school further away. But I’m glad. It’s a good school and staying here will mean Mom will still cook for me and do my laundry,” I said.

Miss Peters laughed, then gave me a lingering smile. I loved how she was looking at me; no girl had ever looked at me like that before. But it made me a little uneasy and slightly turned-on.

“Are you going to the prom?” she asked.

“Yeah, if I can scare-up a date,” I said, then shrugged.

“Oh, I doubt you’ll have any trouble with that,” she blurted out, then seemed to be embarrassed by her remark. Her eyes shifted about once more. “I’ve been pressganged into being a chaperone for a few hours for it, so maybe I’ll see you there,” she added.

“I hope so — if I can find a date, I mean,” I stammered.

“Well, congratulations again on doing so well in my class, Jason. Bye for now.”

“Bye…” I sighed, watching Miss Peters walk away.

Finding a date, for the prom or otherwise, had not really been a priority for me that year. I think my unrequited feelings for Miss Peters had rendered me blind to other girls. I had gone to a few parties and met some pretty girls– even had a few intimate encounters with a couple — but it never went beyond that. The truth of the matter was that I was still a virgin, and probably the only one in my class.

Over the next day I thought hard about who I might ask to the prom as my date. Having a date was actually less important to me than simply attending and being able to see Miss Peters there. One potential prom date came to mind: a girl named Krystal I had met months ago. She was friendly, pretty and had given me a half-hearted blowjob in the bathroom during a party one night at a friend’s house a few months previous. When I called Krystal she was surprised to hear from me, but seemed happy about it. Luckily, for me anyway, she had not been asked to the prom yet and accepted my offer. I hung up the phone feeling relieved.

Once prom night arrived I konya escort was nervous. I had wanted to look my best because Miss Peters would be there. I had spent the money my parents and other relatives had given me as a graduation gift and bought myself a new black, double-breasted suit. Krystal seemed to like how I looked when I picked her up at her house, so her reaction boosted my confidence. Hopefully Miss Peters would feel the same. I had borrowed my dad’s car that night and as we drove to the hotel where our prom was being held Krystal’s freshly manicured hand inched up my thigh towards my stiffening cock. She gave my balls a squeeze and smiled at me as she caressed my shaft through my pants.

After we arrived Krystal and I made our way over towards a group of classmates gathered around the punch bowl. From the corner of my eye I saw Miss Peters talking with a few other teachers off to one side of the room. She didn’t notice me, which gave me the opportunity to stare at her a while. She was wearing a black knee-length dress with a plunging V neckline and black high heels. Her hair was done up on her head, with ringlets falling down around the side of her face. Up until that moment I could not have imagined her looking more beautiful than she already did, but that night she was absolutely radiant. The stars in the sky must have been jealous of her. I wanted to go over to talk to her so I could take in her beauty up close, but feared that would seem too obvious.

Krystal and I mingled with friends and danced a little bit over the next hour or so, but my thoughts and my eyes were mostly on Miss Peters. She had noticed me a while after we arrived and beamed me a friendly smile and waved. My cock throbbed as I admired her from across the room. I smiled and gave her a nervous wave.

When Krystal announced to me that she was going out to the parking lot to have a cigarette I was surprised. I had not realized that she smoked, not that I cared. I found an empty chair at the end of a long wooden table and sat down, watching the couples dance and wished Miss Peters and I were one of them. I noticed her look my way a few times, then quickly turn her head when I made eye contact.

I had not really been keeping track of the time, but after a while I began to wonder where Krystal was. Bored and curious, I decided to got out to the parking lot to look for her. I followed the sound of a car stereo blasting Led-Zeppelin’s fourth album. I found Krystal sitting in the back seat of a red Mustang with two other girls. They were passing a bottle of wine between themselves and two guys sitting in the front. I could tell from her speech and boisterous laughter that she was well on her way to getting drunk.

I went back inside and sat back down alone at a table. The DJ who had been hired to play records that night had chosen a good selection of songs. I listened to the music for a while, then grew bored. I was contemplating going home early when I saw Miss Peters approaching. My spirits lifted and my pulse quickened. I could feel my cock begin to stir.

“What happened to your date?” she asked, turning her head left and right.

“Right about now she’s probably either puking up cheap wine in the parking lot or making some guy in a Mustang really happy,” I said with a sneer.

“Oh… Jason, I’m sorry to hear that,” Miss Peters said. She reached out gave my hand a brief squeeze.

It was the first time that she had ever touched me. Her soft skin on mine was electric. My cock reacted instantly and I smiled at her.

“Mind if I sit down?” she asked.

“No. Please…” I said, pulling out a chair.

“Thanks. These shoes are killing my feet,” she sighed.

The music was loud, so it was difficult to make conversation, which did not bother me too much. I was nervous, but more than happy to just be able to sit with Miss Peters and bask in the glow of her beauty. About a half hour later the DJ began playing Nazareth’s cover of “Love Hurts”. Nazareth was one of my favourite bands and this power ballad of theirs was better than most of it’s ilk.

“Would… would you like to dance?” I asked Miss Peters. I felt like I had nothing to lose since we might not see one another after that night.

Miss Peters looked almost as surprised as she did the day she noticed the bulge in my jeans as we looked over my term paper, but she smiled.

“I… I don’t know, Jason. It might not seem proper, since you’re my student.” She was hesitant, but at least her answer wasn’t an out-right refusal.

“I’m not your student anymore,” I reminded her.

Miss Peters thought for a moment, then smiled. “Okay then,” she said and stood up.

I followed Miss Peters out on to the dance floor. My cock was throbbing even before I placed my hands on her slender waist. She seemed nervous and hesitant at first. Several times I noticed her give a wary look over towards the other teachers. Once I lead her into the crowd of other couples dancing she soon relaxed. I pulled her closer until our bodies were touching. Her eyes met mine and she smiled as my hand slid over her lower back.

“You look handsome tonight,” she said.

“Thanks. You look beautiful, but that’s nothing new,” I told her.

Bir yanıt yazın

E-posta adresiniz yayınlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir