Slave To Seenu
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Can I See You After Class? Part 1 free porn video
"Why do we have to learn about this gay stuff anyway?
I heard a couple less than stifled laughs at this. Sean Baggett played the part of the class clown on the days he wasn't asleep in the class. Unfortunately, I had him in seventh period, right before athletics, which meant the senior health class stank of testosterone and Axe-Body spray, and the students were interested in anything and everything else other than health.
I live in Wallowa, Oregon, a small town where abstinence-only education lives where it belongs: homeschool and those creepy polygamous compounds in the middle of the wilderness. At Wallowa Senior High School, as with all public schools in the state, health class focuses the second semester on sex education. After all, how much time can one person really spend on cautionary tales about the dangers of drugs and alcohol?
I had worked as a paramedic in my twenties, which had been amazing! But after a decade of being first on the scene... well I wanted a change. Compared to chasing down calls, saving lives, and dealing with the deaths, teaching seemed a relaxing way to make a difference. Besides, it gave me more time to spend with my husband, even extra time off, not to mention a regular workweek without any 24-hour shifts.
I didn't count on the kids. Despite all being technically adults, most behaved like animals. Getting through the simple things like the illustrations in the textbook proved bad enough. On days when I had to actually deal with something the least bit lewd, like putting a condom on a banana, Shane and his friends turned into sophomoric jackals hooting and hollering like I was reading off dirty jokes from a truck stop wall.
"Mr. Baggett," I said through clenched teeth. "Be respectful for the lesson."
"I mean come on, who cares about a bunch of queers looking at us at practice, y'know, unless they're in the shower?" Sean called out.
"Sean!" My voice became strict, in a tone patterned after the other teachers I observed. "Are you going to spend another day explaining yourself to Mr. McAbee?"
He had already spent more than enough time discussing his behavior with the principal.
"Why, who cares about a bunch of faggots?"
More laughter.
And then, I'd had enough.
"Mr. Baggett," I said, annunciating loudly. "If I had your last time, I do not think I would be so quick to use that particular word. I can't help but consider several unfortunate nicknames your friends might discover."
The whole class exploded at this, instantly turning on Sean. I know it probably wasn't the most appropriate response; it's certainly not in the handbook, but I couldn't help beaming. Even Savannah, the quiet, dark-haired girl in the back of the class gave a loud chuckle, the first time I think I ever heard her laugh. Red-faced, Sean shut his mouth for the rest of the lesson, and I learned later (with some embarrassment), that the nickname had indeed stuck.
I still wasn't sure if I would come back next year. Maybe it was because I only taught eighteen-year-olds, all anxiously awaiting whatever came next and disdaining every stalling second of their childhood, but the experience did not really resonate with me. I don't know what I expected, obviously, less than: You're right Mrs. Reese, outercourse and mutual masturbation are fun ways to experiment sexually and my virginity is not something to be embarrassed about or Gee thanks Mrs. Reese, last night my boyfriend and I had sex and DID NOT get pregnant and he DID NOT give me his HERPES because you taught me so much about condoms!
But there were things I liked. I mean... not to brag, but I knew what I was talking about and had the body that made people want to listen. I guess I just didn't realize the extent to which each of the boys in my class would objectify me, and how I would respond to it. I suppose when you think about it, only someone with a very strategic sense of denial or the kind of vanity that requires extra room for their ego could possibly look at their own body without seeing something they dislike. And then, once you settle down into marriage, the compliments and sex become more of a perfunctory routine than anything that actually boosts the self-esteem.
And yeah... I know it's kind of weird, given an almost twenty-year age difference, but something sparked with the sudden attention, especially teaching sex education. It became important to always look good again, I made sure to style my straight dark red hair, to do my make-up, and to pick out my clothes with intent every day.
My students (not that I was interested) noticed my large breasts, even underneath professional garments, and I needed to always be wearing something that did not show them off too much without looking like a nun. They snickered and made disgusting comments about my heart-shaped ass whenever I bent over. In a way, I felt eighteen again, commanding the attention of the room anytime I wanted to talk about sex. Being the center of attention had always interested me when I was their age, and knowing that every time I said words like penis, breasts, and vagina I turned on more than just one head did something for me.
The rest of the class progressed on autopilot. Giving the same lesson eight periods each day tends to make the last fifty minutes into somewhat of a routine, so long as some cro-magnon like Sean didn't interject. The bell rang, and I sat behind my desk, careful to adjust my skirt as I sat down to sift through the growing stack of papers.
"Miss Reese?" Came the quiet voice in front of the desk. Like a lot of students, she mixed up any formal pronunciation of Miss, Ms., and Mrs.
She caught me off-guard, most of the time students can't wait to get out of any class. But Savannah lingered, her pretty face failing to hide a look of extreme apprehension.
"Can I get a note... to come by after class..." The words came out meekly, as the girl chewed absently on her left thumbnail, her pouting lips nearly covering the rest of her thumb.
"Uh... sure... but Savannah. You know you are doing very well in my class."
"It's... well... um.. It's about something you said today in class," Savannah seemed barely able to form the sentence. I strained to even hear her.
"Of course..." I said scrawling out the note on an index card. "I'll see you at 3:15."
"Thanks, Miss Reese."
She seemed to almost trudge out of my classroom. I noticed her slender shoulders slump and her hands self-consciously rubbed down the hem of her short skirt as she made her way towards the door. And despite my best effort at professionalism, I couldn't help but noticed that tight, bubble butt protruding out of that thin piece of fabric. I wondered why I hadn't really paid much attention to her before, maybe because she sat in the back of the class, did her work, and never caused me any problems. So I couldn't help but wonder what she needed to talk with me about.
It preyed on my mind all through my eighth period, as I stumbled through the now well-rehearsed lesson. What could this girl want? Her tone suggested that it was something more important than grades or an absence. I guess I was most concerned that she felt my comment about Sean Baggett was inappropriate. We were in a fairly liberal state, and it seemed likely she had a gay friend or relative.
The time ticked by until the bell rang, and I found myself again sitting at my desk, this time watching the door, waiting anxiously for Savannah. As she entered, I again noticed that she didn't seem to have her usual energy. Though quiet in class, she played on the volleyball team and got along tremendously with the other girls. Now that I thought about it, it seemed that her demeanor had changed drastically in the past month or so. Instead of bouncing into the door, she kind of shrank through it.
Which is disappointing, considering the top she's wearing.
The thought immediately disturbed me. After all, even though she was legal, I knew better. But her long-sleeved blouse, cut in a low-circle, showed off more of her breasts than she probably realized. Despite their size, they seemed almost perky, as if ready to bounce right out of her bra. Her skin was a dark bronze, perfectly complimenting her naturally dark features, her body toned and almost ridiculously thin from a lifetime of tournaments and training.
Savannah came down and sat in the chair/desk combo directly in front of me. She nervously looked around, and then compulsively moved her jet black hair out of her eyes. Her brown eyes looked down at the floor, unable to meet mine. I got up patiently, and closed the door to the classroom. I wondered what kind of trouble she was in. My mind immediately jumped to pregnancy, and I already had a speech planned about her different options.
"What did you want to see me about, Savannah?"
I tried to be casual and moved in front of my desk, leaning my ass against the edge. It didn't really work.
"Um...."
"Look, I know it's probably really difficult for you, whatever is going on. But I promise, I'm not going to freak out, or call your parents about anything you tell me. Call it student-teacher confidentiality."
Not a thing... I know.... But whatever.
"Well... you like were talking... about sexual orientation in class today, and you said stuff about how hard it was for a lot of gay and lesbian teens..."
The gears in my mind ground against each other as I rapidly switched my planned response.
Was she coming out to me?
I couldn't think of an age-appropriate response. When I was in high school, my volleyball team went to state, and I went on to play through college. Not that the sport necessarily attracts lesbians, but I had my first sexual experiences with women, and even identified as a lesbian during college, way, way before I met my husband. Still... trying to untangle everything exactly, to explain coherently to a high schooler...
Even sitting down, she almost met me eye level. I didn't know her measurements, but she stood at least a few inches taller than me. Her left hand again went absentmindedly to her temple, running through her hair.
"Well... again anything you want to tell me is between us. And as I said in class, especially where women are considered, sexuality is a fluid spectrum. Most people, myself included, are not entirely gay or straight. When writing for Indiana State University, Dr. Alfred Kinsey theorized that sexuality could be measured not in either gay, straight, or bisexual, but on a scale from one to seven."
"One to seven?"
"One being completely or almost completely straight, and seven being completely or almost completely gay or lesbian. That's not the idea though, the point is most people fall somewhere in the middle, without knowing it. It's why girls can do things with each other only at parties or guys do things with each other only in prison. The numbers might be the opposite way around, I can't quite remember."
"Oh... well I guess then... I kind of feel like a six..." Savannah said.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Well, Savannah I don't think the idea is meant to be taken literally, it's more a concept explaining that you can be more gay than straight, rather than all or nothing."
The silence lingered for a second, and I mentally kicked myself for being so technical.
"So what makes you feel like a six?" I asked.
"Uh... like a lot of things..."
"Like what?" I pried.
"Well... I guess I haven't really enjoyed anything with my boyfriend." She said without looking up from her shoes.
"So you are sexually active?"
She nodded.
"And... things with your boyfriend?"
I'm not exactly sure where the line is, but I felt myself tiptoeing close to it. Even so, what exactly should I do, just let this girl drown so I can keep my job? I guess it's one of the advantages of my career. I was, am, and will always consider myself a fucking paramedic and can always go back.
"I dunno... I mean... he's like super hot and cool, I guess. Just... it doesn't really do anything for me."
"Well... a lot of guys his age aren't really experienced, despite what they might say. It's very likely your boyfriend doesn't really know what he's doing. I remember my first time... well maybe I shouldn't...."
"No... go ahead, Miss Reese."
"It's really too much..."
"No, no... I mean for most teachers, yeah it would be. But you're teaching sex class. Plus, I mean, you're like not a real teacher."
"Excuse me?"
"Oh I don't mean it like that, Miss R. Just that, everyone knows it's your first year... I mean you were doing really cool sh-, I mean stuff before. You're not like an ordinary teacher, you're like cool."
It came out so genuine, so real, and I guess after a year of teaching brats, I needed just anything so much.
"Uh... okay... um... what do you want to know?"
"You said something about your first time?"
"Oh... yeah... I was probably a little younger than you are. I thought I was ready, now I know I wasn't. Like a lot of teenage boys, he had no idea how a woman's body worked."
"Really?"
"Oh yeah.. Couldn't find the clitoris with one of the "YOU ARE HERE" maps at the mall."
She burst out laughing.
"Oh, I'm sorry that was too far..."
"No, no, Miss Reese... it's not like you haven't said worse in class."
"Oh?" I laughed. "Like when?"
"Like today, with Sean, you know the whole football team's already calling him Bagget the Faggot."
"It's not exactly Oscar Wilde..." I said. "Now I feel bad."
"Don't!" She insisted. "He had it coming. But what about your first time, Miss Reese? Did your husband get better?"
I laughed.
"Oh... um... it wasn't my husband."
"It wasn't?" Her head perked up. "Of course not, I'm sure you had lots of boyfriends. You're like, so pretty."
"Oh... thanks... " I said, feeling flattered if a little uncomfortable.
That awkward silence lingered a little, and I found myself pressured to fill it with anything. So I started rambling, the words coming out without the necessary care required for such a loaded conversation.
"I was around your age when I first did anything with a guy. He went straight for it, and I was so excited to feel like an adult, so I let him. It just hurt the entire time. It never felt comfortable, but I wanted him to like me, and just powered through it."
"Really?"
"Um... so don't do that. I was young and stupid. If you can't communicate with your partner about what your needs are, they don't deserve to be your partner. You have a lot going for you, Savannah. Don't worry about the opinions of some teenage boy. The guys you are seeing now... they're kind of placeholders, like practice... for down the line."
"I mean, I guess I figured it's high school, I mean it's probably not forever... just it kind of sucks to be told like a stupid kid."
"I really, really didn't mean it like that. I'm so sorry."
"No, I get it, Miss Reese, you weren't trying to be condescending."
"Look, bear with me, I don't want to get into too many teacher cliches. You're just a really good student with a bright future."
"Thanks, Miss Reese... but... I mean how would you know... Did I get an A-plus in condom skills?"
I gave a laugh.
"Well of course... that and you were able to hear the word vagina without giggling, so yeah. Plus, you know word gets around. There's this magical place, with a ratty old couch, a bunch of copy machines, and an old refrigerator storing lunches from the '70s where teachers actually get a chance to talk to each other during their conference period. Word gets around."
"Yeah.." She looked down. "That's kind of what is bothering me... word getting around."
"I'm so sorry, I've been blabbering about myself. What is the trouble?"
"You know I'm on the volleyball team, right?"
"I happen to know you're the best middle on our team."
She blushed.
"Well... I mean, we are all pretty close. Me and the girls on the team."
"Uh-huh..." I said absently.
"I mean... we change and shower together, for games and such... and..."
"You have noticed things about your teammates."
"They... have sort of... noticed me noticing."
"I understand..."
Then the words starting spilling out.
"It's not like it meant anything! And I'm not the only one! Rachel is already out as bi, and no one gives two shits. THAT'S no big deal... but I linger a few times, looking at Tiffany's tits, and... and.. It's like I'm just the biggest dyke and no one wants to talk to me."
"Hey... it's okay... calm down..."
"And it's not even like she has that great of tits. I just... I mean yeah they are nice, but mine are bigger! Her nipples are just different, and I mean yeah they are interesting... "
"How are they different... No, nevermind. Wait, is this Tiffany Mulberry?"
"Yeah..." She said.
"Oh well there's your problem. That girl is a bitch."
She laughed hard enough to give a little snort.
"If you tell anyone I said it, I'll just deny it, but I do have her in class. She spends all her time trying to push those tiny tits out juuust a little bit further so that some of the boys will notice."
"Really?"
Something about her and this conversation just made me feel completely comfortable, like I was talking to a friend rather than a student. Sure, it crossed my mind that I certainly was going too far and getting too graphic for any talk with a student, but I wished someone older had pulled me aside when I was her age and had a similar talk.
I wanted to help her. I guess I saw a lot of myself in her. We shared a sport, a similar figure, even if she seemed a lot tauter than me nearly twenty years later. There was a very natural connection, and I suddenly felt as though my time as a teacher finally meant something. Maybe this explained how I could have gone so far so suddenly, or maybe it just reminded me too much of my own experiences, back when we did more than just stare at each other's breasts.
"Look... about Tiffany... I'll say this. So far, in seven months of having her in my class, I am certain that the most intelligent thing ever to dribble out of her mouth was her boyfriend's cum. Every one of those millions of sperm has a microscopic chance of becoming a reasonable, respectful and intelligent human being. Unfortunately, I believe that train left the station long ago for poor Tiffany Mulberry, so don't let her worry you."
Long before I finished talking, Savannah almost collapsed into her desk, overcome with an genuine belly laugh. I waited for her to settle down, before continuing.
"Girls her age a pretty immature, even if they get a pass compared to the knuckle-dragging boys lumbering their way through the halls. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if she shared an interest."
"Oh?"
"Yeah... I mean when I played, a lot of the girls fooled around with each other. I mean... it started as practicing kissing, and then... well things went a little further. Most of the girls, I don't keep in touch with, so I can't tell how they ended up. But if every girl who had an experience with a girl turned out to be a lesbian, we would simply form a matriarchy, and imprison Channing Tatum as our sole source of semen for artificial insemination."
"Jesus, is bisexuality really so common?"
"It's the culture. Men encourage girls to try things with each other. And girls tend to feel more comfortable about their bodies in front of other women. It doesn't carry with it the stigma associated with males performing gay sex, so most girls try it out at some point."
"So did you? Like, experiment?"
I considered carefully for a few seconds before deciding to answer honestly.
"My first sexual experience was with a woman..."
"How, how did it happen?"
"Oh god, I'm not being inappropriate, am I?"
"No, no, no, no, no! I want to know. I mean, if it was like Mrs. White, ewww... but it's not bad imaging you doing anything sexy."
"Not bad, huh?"
"You know what I meant," she teased.
"Well... we were both on the volleyball team together. She was a little older, and I had no idea what I was doing. I hadn't even masturbated. We got to be friends, and I started asking her some questions. She had been known to have experience. Next thing I know, she's giving me my first orgasm."
"Oh wow! Did you do it again?"
"Uh... many times... with other girls as well... we did a lot more stuff," I said, my voice growing softer as I remember some of the wilder times with my college volleyball team.
Then, it had been a sort of a tradition for the player who got the game ball to put on a strap-on in the shower and pick a girl or two (or three) to bring to orgasm. Of course, anyone could have refused, we only considered it all just good fun, so the secret never got out, even if our coach did have her suspicions about the length of time we spent in the locker room after a victory.
"Wow... and you're married! Do you... um ever have any thoughts about girls?"
"Sometimes..." I admitted.
"How, how does that work?"
"The same way I imagine for my husband. I know he too has thoughts about other women, and manages to keep it in his pants. But I guess I don't quite consider myself completely bisexual, more heterosexual than bi-flexible but... with the right girl..."
Why am I telling her this? Could I be any more suggestive?
I noticed her fingers move down to the hem of her skirt, adjusting her legs in a subtle way that allowed me to see more than enough of her panties. They were white, almost transparently so, and I was sure if I could have stared any longer, I would have been able to make out every inch of her lips. Somehow, I tore my eyes away and managed to mumble some words.
"Who's the right girl?" Savannah asked, her lips pouting.
"Someone a long time ago... when we were both your age. But I am happily married now. Matt is wonderful. Still I wouldn't take back all the experiences I had for anything. So if you are curious, don't worry about it. I imagine Tiffany is just as interested, or else why would she notice you and made such a big deal about nothing? It's classic deflection."
"Maybe you're right," Savannah admitted.
"So take things slow with your boyfriend. Maybe he's not the right fit, hopefully, he's someone you can talk about your feelings within a way that makes you feel comfortable. If not, maybe a friend..."
"I really enjoyed talking to you, Mrs. R. It made me feel much better."
"Anytime you need to talk, Savannah."
She started to gather up her bookbag, and made her way to the door, her backpack slung over one shoulder as she turned to leave. I saw her turn back her head, slowly and seductively (at least I thought) chewing on her finger as she looked back at me. Her skirt had ridden up a bit and I could almost make out the beginning curves of her ass when she bent over to pick up a stray pencil from the floor. She flicked it deliberately, taking her time as her ass swayed back and forth in front of her, and now I could see that her lacy white thong didn't quite cover the bottom of her ass.
I let out a moan in spite of myself and found my fingers covering my mouth in shock. Savannah stood up slowly, and pushed down her rumpled skirt, before turning to smile back at me, as if she knew exactly the effect she had on me.
"I'll see you on Monday, Miss Reese. Thanks for all the special attention."
I could only nod.
Immediately after she left, I locked the door to my classroom. I slammed down the laptop and turned my chair to swivel away from the tiny window in the door. I pulled up my own light gray skirt and pushed my panties aside, finding my lips thoroughly soaked. It was wrong, I knew it, and I didn't care. That just made this all the more sexy. My fingers moved around in a clockwise circle as my hips bucked back against my own touch. I let out a soft purr... then my breathing almost seemed to stop... my heart started racing. And before I knew it, I had my first orgasm on school property since I was a teenager, thinking, of course, about one of my students.
Nadene
- 17.09.2020
- 10
- 0
- Category:
- Lesbian
