Hot For Teacher(121)

I shake my head. “I’ll have it all figured out soon,” I promise, though I’m preoccupied with the thought of a single room. With a door to hers.

Shit! Was this really going to happen? Am I ready for this?

“Good. Let me know.”

I reach for the doorknob, but her voice stops me.

“Simon. You’ll need this pass to give to your first period teacher.” She slides the slip to the edge of her desk, her fingers brushing mine as I take it.

Holy shit. I can’t believe I’m finally going to get my hands on Miss Shields. I wonder if she wants me to call her Miss Shields when I’m fucking her, or if she’ll prefer Katie.

“Thanks,” I say, giving her a devilish smile, and leave the office.

I’m going to have to find Number Ten, and fast. I wasn’t expecting Miss Shields to submit so quickly.

I’m feeling a little stressed about the whole thing. I don’t have much time.

As I make my way up the steps to class, I’m in total shock. It was one thing to fantasize about something. It was another knowing it could quite possibly happen.

I don’t think I was misreading the vibe Miss Shields had been throwing out. Because it definitely seems like in less than a month I’m finally going to know what it’s like to have Miss Shields.

I’ve spent three years obsessing over Miss Shields. Now, in a couple measly weeks I would taste her, devour her, and treat her like the woman she is.

I’m so lost in my thought that my mind doesn’t process what I see when I get to the top of the stairs. But as I walk toward my classroom, I can see Arleen at the end of the corridor.

She seems to be in a heated discussion with two girls. But I can’t make out what they’re saying. My smile fades as I take in the encounter and feel an urgency to get to her kick in. I pick up my pace and before I know it, I’m scowling and jogging in their direction.

“You’re next,” one of the girls snips. She’s hovering over Arleen threateningly.

The two girls spot me before I can get to her and run in opposite directions. Arleen’s hair is a mess, and her backpack is on the floor. By the time I reach her, the girls are gone.

“What was that? Are you okay?”

She swallows, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, she’s scowling at me. “It’s fine, Simon. Go away.”

She sounds angry with me, and by the way she’s gathering her books and shoving them into her bag, I can’t help but wonder what the hell I did wrong.

My hands go up. “What?”

I’m dumfounded.

“Arleen, wait!” I call behind her, trying to catch up. “Who were those girls, and what were you talking about?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Please. Just go.”

I stop in the hallway in front of my classroom and watch her scurry to the steps. It’s just getting weirder and weirder with this girl.

I have no idea what this is all about, but I’m going to need some answers when I see her again at the church ruins.





Chapter Ten


Number Four: The Ford Ranger

January 3, 2014 (Seven months ago)

The debate team made a quick trip to Garfield Heights for the day. A debate was being held for the semi-finals in order for our team to move on to the Regionals in March.

It was supposed to be an ordinary trip, nothing special. But I’d been up the night before researching the debate topic, and I found myself alone on the bus when I woke up from an impromptu nap. The rest of the team was inside a McDonald’s when I heard my name being whispered.

It was Bobbi, a.k.a. the F-Series Ford Ranger.

Typically, we really only see the Ranger in bodybuilders or lesbians. They’re a rare occurrence, indeed, and if I wasn’t so shocked by her forwardness, I probably would’ve tried to get her off me. Yet there was something so unique about the situation that it compelled me to let her continue.

Practice is practice, after all.

She used brute force, letting her four-wheel drive keep up her pace. And like the Ranger, probably could’ve hauled a four-foot-wide piece of plywood on her back while straddling me. But with her big titties bouncing up and down, and the force of her thrusting, I kind of felt like she was using me as a post to grind against. There was no magic. No after-spooge cuddle. Only a pat on my back when she finished six minutes after she’d begun.

She didn’t even care whether or not she got me off.

Which, to be honest, I was thankful for. It had almost been painful.





Chapter Eleven


I’m actually twiddling my thumbs. I look down and watch the absurdity of them, smoothing out the wrinkles in each one as I debate what I’m feeling. Whatever it is, I can’t remember a time I felt so unsettled. Then again, I don’t remember a time I was ever worried about a friend who might or might not be in trouble somehow.