Your erotic stories

Yet another academic year. Yet another dean's speech. The main hall was crowded with all the staff stuffed in there to hear the good word. To be honest, everyone was there for the subsequent traditional free drink. So everyone was polite enough to pretend to listen to the speech, glancing left and right, waving hellos to colleagues but giving little attention to the sacred word.

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"You'll have to take Sex Education today for 4C, Miss Martin." Just the words I'd been longing to hear, I don't think. "Why me? Doesn't Mrs Annot take that?" "Normally," said the Principal with a grin, "but she just called in sick and you're the only one with free time for that period. Don't worry. The kids are only around fifteen. You can handle then with no problems."

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Lisa was nervous. Her last test had come back with a multitude of red marks all over it and a big fat F in the corner. If she failed her algebra class, she would have to go on academic probation, and her GPA might even lower enough that she would lose her scholarship and have to drop out - she couldn't afford the college's exorbitant fees without help, and her parents didn't have any money to pay toward her tuition. She shuffled from foot to foot, dancing nervously on the spot outside her professor's office, waiting for him to invite her inside.

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I think it must have been some kind of temporary insanity. What other way is there to explain where I found myself that day? Driving in my car, naked from the waist down, not knowing exactly what was going to happen when I reached the address that was written on the paper lying on the seat between my bare legs.

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I took a seat at the back of the classroom, hoping that she wouldn’t notice my presence amongst her regular classmates. While far from full, there were many students already there and I was glad that I was in time to choose the seat I wanted. I had worn a cap with the school logo on it, and I figured that with any amount of luck even if she did see me, she’d take me for one of the students that she didn’t don’t know very well.

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By way of background, you might want to see my earlier stories Nightime Disturbance and She Wants Rid. Fortunately, Lisa the girl's virginity I took "properly" in She Wants Rid didn't become pregnant and I didn't really see much of her before we both started at our respective universities. This is another true story also set in the late 1980's when there were no such things as MILF's. Instead sexy older women were known by the colloquial term of "Mrs Robinson's." The following is the true story of my encounter with a certain Mrs R.

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I don't know how I get myself into these situations. As a new teacher, I expected that I'd get the shitty jobs around the school. One of those shitty jobs turned out to be chaperoning a herd of seniors on the school's weekend ski trip. There were four teachers in all trying to keep 45 kids in line. Well, I guess they weren't exactly kids - most of them were 18, which is the legal drinking age here in Alberta.

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Kate double-checked her hair in the glass window of Professor Foster's front door. She wasn't sure why, but the 18-year-old wanted to look her best for her teacher. Probably because it was her first day on the job as his babysitter. "Normally, I'm reluctant to do this during the semester," he'd said at the end of his last lecture, "but my wife and I are really in a bind.

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I was just entering second year of college and decided to rent a room instead of going back to residence. It was so noisy there and the food sucked. So I thought finding a room would be better. Checking the Student Housing Office on campus I found a couple of places that seemed interesting. After checking them out, I decided to take the room at Mrs. Johnson's house. Mrs. Johnson, or Mary as she wanted me to call her, was about 60. She had a full time job but needed the extra cash from my rent to make ends meet.

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My job is pretty boring. Most people say that, and most people truly believe it. None of them have to deal with what I do though. I give trumpet lessons at a place called Up the Scale. All day I deal with zit-covered, teenage brats that are taking trumpet lessons at Mommy and Daddy's expense. The worse they play the trumpet, the more they come back. It's like their parents are deaf or something.

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