My son is in the 2nd grade and his school was having their teacher/parent conferences. For those who might not know it is where parents are invited to spend twenty to thirty minutes talking with their son or daughter's teacher about their progress during the year. Now my boy is a good student and we hadn't received any complaints from the school so our conference was a formality at best. Knowing this my wife didn't reschedule her yoga class and opted to miss it.
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I was thirty when it happened. I fell in love. She was perfect. She was everything I could have ever wanted in a mate; beautiful, smart, funny. She wasn't bitter though she did have quite a temper. She was determined and goal oriented. She had a cute face and a banging body, though she didn't realize she had either. That was probably because she was young. She was very young, and she was my student.
I guess I need to start at the beginning. My name is Kenneth Ellerson. I teach higher math, and coach JV and Varsity Girls basketball at a coastal Georgia high school.
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She always said there was something special about me. I never thought I'd find out what she meant. Her name was Alexis Johnson. She was my high school science teacher and I'd always had the hots for her. The chick was absolutely gorgeous. She was about 5'5" with light brown skin and a smile that could draw a grin from a failed suicide attempter with diarrhea.
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I lay in the bathtub, watching steam rise from the warm water. I should have felt relaxed, but I did not. I waited apprehensively. Nothing could calm my nerves. Not the dozen candles that lit the bathroom. Not even the New Age CD that filled the room with the comforting sound of the ocean washing against the shore.
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I'm Sam. Or at least I was.
I woke up to the sound of an alarm. I'm not sure why I didn't notice at first that something was up, but the only light was a crack in the window curtains and that was on the usual side of my bed. The alarm was a different tone, but my mind was groggy from having just woken up so it didn't register. I sat up, and flicked on the light switch for the lamp to my left. I had to stretch slightly further than usual.
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I was always amazed at how someone from my past unfailingly seemed to turn up on opening nights of exhibitions. It didn't seem to matter which city I was in, some old school friend, long lost family member or an acquaintance from the photography fraternity seemed to find the ads for my openings in the small print and turn up to say hi.
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Robert Kyle had finally had it.
Everyday he allowed his American History class the last five minutes of the period to themselves. And everyday during those last five minutes, the female student sitting directly in front of him would do something to give him a raging hard-on.
Dropping a pencil. Re-tying a shoelace. Tossing something in the wastebasket and missing by a mile. All three caused her to have to bend over.
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"Heaton? Paul Heaton?" My assistant addressed the class of sixth-form boys.
"Here, Miss." The teenage boy nonchalantly raised his arm.
"When this class is finished Mrs. Horner wants to see you in her office. I've already informed Mr. Rotheray that you'll miss his lesson." She handed him a slip of paper and left the classroom.
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Dave was having a hard time staying focused. The exams were complete, the term papers graded and the students were gone. A few more forms to complete and this school year was over! In just a few days, he'd be in the Keys - fishing with his college buddies.
"Mr. Becket?"
He didn't even have to look up from his paperwork. He knew the voice all too well.
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As I have mentioned in an earlier story ("Teaching Kaci"), I worked as a professor of English at a small but expensive New England college for about thirty years. The college had a mandatory policy of "retirement at 65", but I had decided to take mine about five years before that. My wife had died of cancer some years earlier, and I wanted to spend what remained of my life doing some traveling. I even thought about the idea of moving to Paris if I could get a small apartment.
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