TEACH ME: A sexy student teacher romance

by T. J. LONG

  I remind myself to be careful and promise to avoid any interactions with her. Summer is almost over, and then I’m sure I’ll hardly see her around since college will be back in session.

  ***

  My eyes spring open as cold water rushes over my head and trickles down my body. I’m wide awake now. I’ve got a long ass day ahead of me and I’m trying to get back into the routine of waking up early. Work starts in three weeks and I’ll have to be there every day at 6:00 a.m. That’ll be interesting. Don't get me wrong, I am very excited about my new job, just not as enthusiastic about the 5:00 a.m. wake up call.

  A loud knocking distracts me from my early morning shower. I hurry and rinse the remains of the soapy lather from my chest and arms. My eyebrow arches in suspicion. “Who could that be?” I ask as I grab my towel from the countertop and haphazardly wrap it around my waist so I can get downstairs quickly before the early visitor leaves.

  The water drips from my hair onto the hardwoods as I make it down the stairs. My hand raises to comb the stray, wet strands off of my forehead with my fingers. The knocking comes again. “I’m coming,” I say in a rush as I finally hit the last stair. I grab the doorknob and pause.

  I close my eyes and say a small prayer that it isn't Taylor. I don’t know why it would be her, but she’s the only one in the neighborhood I’ve met so far. All I need right now is to have her see me naked with this dinky towel barely covering me. Any other time it would be the start to a damn good time, but I can’t go there with her. I’m hopeful the more I say it, the more I’ll believe it. She’s off limits.

  When I open the door, I attempt to hide my body behind it as to not flash whoever the early visitor is. It’s definitely not Taylor, that’s for sure. I send a quick thank you to the heavens.

  A family stands before me, including a woman, possibly in her fifties but with definite work done to her face. Her skin is pulled tight and is so shiny that it’s reflecting the sun. The husband is older and bald, or maybe they are the same age and he just skipped the plastic surgery. The kids who look to be identical twin boys are standing close together and smiling from ear to ear in my direction. They look like good kids—probably middle schoolers. I wonder what school they go to.

  I hope I’m not offending these nice looking people with my nearly naked, still dripping wet body. The wife has a basket in her hands that reads “Welcome” in large black lettering. We all stand there silent for a moment.

  “Oh. Mmm,” the woman finally lets out a surprised but gleeful sound.

  We make eye contact for a moment, and then I watch as her eyes glide down my bare chest to my V shape that is on show. She licks her lips and takes her eyes even lower until they reach my package. I stifle a laugh.

  “Well, we are,” she raises her eyes from my crotch, “the Fratelli family.” She points to her husband. “This is Frank.” Then to the twin boys next to her. “Ricky and Robbie. Twins, if you couldn't tell. And I’m Courtney.” She smirks, eyeing my package, again.

  Women seemed to notice me more the older I got. I guess because I take an interest in my appearance, and with all the construction I do for the foundation, my body has gotten bigger, stronger, and leaner over time.

  “Uhmm,” I clear my throat. “Hi, so nice to meet you all. I’m Josh,” I say to them. I reach down to make sure the towel is as secure as it can be. They don’t make bath towels big enough to adequately cover me, so I do the best I can with what I have.

  “Oh, we are so sorry to have, ummm, interrupted your shower,” the wife says with a shit-eating grin that she’s desperately trying to hide.

  I look down and bite my cheek so I don’t laugh out loud. “I’m sorry. I heard the door and rushed from the shower. Is that for me?” I say, pointing to the basket in the wife’s hands.

  “It sure is,” she says, eyeing my body again with a grin that could make the devil blush.

  My cheeks feel warm from the attention I’m receiving. Even though women often take notice of me, it mostly consists of stares and smiles from a distance. I’m not as used to someone a foot away eye-fucking me, especially not in front of their spouse.

  I look away because I don’t want the husband to get uncomfortable and think I’m interested in his wife, but when I look at him, I notice his eyes are also on my body. He’s weirdly staring at my ab muscles. I can’t tell if it’s curiosity or jealousy that's drawing him to me, but it’s making me uncomfortable. I’m definitely not used to attention from a husband and wife team. And, needless to say, I am not into that sort of thing.

  I clear my throat to see if that’ll draw his eyes up to mine but to no avail. I want this awkwardness to end, but I can’t exactly reach for the basket since I’d need two hands for that, and one has to stay firmly on the towel or I’ll be flashing them. Not that the wife or husband would seem to mind. What kind of neighborhood did I move into?

  “Would you mind setting it down for me?” I point to my towel and then motion with my free hand that I can’t let go.

  “Oh, sure, sure. Not a problem,” she says with a smirk.

  When she sets it down, I see her peer to the side to see if she can look up my towel. Damn, she’s got some balls to do that in front of her kids. I bet if my towel slipped from my body her and her husband still wouldn't look away. I shake my head in humorous disbelief that this is happening.

  “Thanks so much for the basket. Sorry you caught me like this.” I give them an apologetic smile, even though I know I probably just made their day with my nakedness. I slowly begin to shut the door so they know I want to end this strange encounter. “I’ll see you around. Thanks again for the basket,” I add, and as soon as the door closes, I laugh to myself.

  Thankfully, the rest of the day goes smoother than the morning. I meet up with Bill, or Dr. Warren, which is what I will have to call him while we’re at school. He takes me on a tour of the grounds, and the school is breathtaking. He tells me it was founded in 1799, the second oldest preparatory academy in the country. The outside of the building is made of large, grey stones that reach high into the sky, making it comparable to a medieval castle, purely striking.

  After the tour, we make small talk until we reach the office where I sign a few more papers and am then handed the key to my private classroom, which I can tour alone. As I am walking down the hallway to my room, my mind drifts from who I was after the breakup to who I am now. It’s crazy what a few months can change. I never in my wildest thoughts would have imagined myself being a lush that slept all day and had zero drive, but I guess heartbreak and betrayal fuck you up in lots of different ways. I am happy to put that darkness behind me and welcome the sunshine, literally and figuratively.

  I put the antique barrel key into the large wooden door and turn the steel knob. The space is a huge blank canvas that I am able to decorate however I see fit. I close the door behind me and saunter toward the front of the room, stilling a moment to drift my fingers over the wooden desk tops on my way.

  “This is unreal,” I say in a thrilled tone, grinning from ear to ear.

  When I make it to my desk, I hop onto the edge and pretend to be in teacher mode. I furrow my brow. “That’s not correct, but…” I lift my finger to point at the imaginary student, “good try.” I giggle at my impromptu teacher bit, I think I’ll have to do some practicing before classes start. I don't want to come off inexperienced, even though I am.

  Bill printed me off the list of my future students. There are approximately 15-20 students in each period. I’ll need to remember to stop and get a printer so I can start creating welcome packets at home this week for each one.

  I look at my watch for a time check. “Shit.” I still need to make it to the furniture store. I found a local, sustainably-sourced company not too far away, but knowing how horrendous LA traffic is I’d like to get there and shop well before closing. I looked online last night and I already have a good idea of what I’m getting.

  I make it to the store with an hour to spare. The showroom
is big and I am stressed trying to find everything I want in the small time frame that I have. I’m thankful when a woman comes up to me and asks if I need help. “Yes, please,” I say swiftly. “I already know what I want, but I don't know where everything is. Could you please help me find these?”

  She smiles at me as I hand her the list of items I found online, and after only thirty-five minutes, I am headed for the door with receipt in hand. I feel a sense of accomplishment, probably because this is the first time I have furnished a place on my own. I always had my mom or Julia’s help. I’m happy to have done it solo this time and impressed that I picked out items that even the sales lady thought were well-suited.

  The heat of the day is fading away, and the sun is lowering. But before I can head home, I have to stop at the one place all men hate: the grocery store. I need to fill my bare cabinets and fridge with something other than delivery pizza boxes and beer. If for no other reason then to show my Mom on FaceTime later to set her mind at ease.

  I make it to a store that Bill told me about and quickly browse the aisles. The shelves are stocked with mostly organic and gluten-free products. I typically don’t buy this stuff, but I’m already here so I start throwing things in my cart that look good. When it comes to food, I don't discriminate—I’ll eat pretty much anything. Though that could stem from my time away in developing countries; you eat to survive, not for taste.

  With my cart a quarter filled, I decide that’s enough for now and head for the checkout. I want to get home and relax on the deck. After the productive day I’ve had, a little rest and relaxation is just what I need. I knew buying a home with one would be a good decision.

  When the cashier gives me my total, I think she is making a joke, but when I laugh and say, “Good one,” she only blinks at me like I’m an idiot. I look down embarrassed and grab my wallet and swipe my card, wishing I had ordered a pizza again instead.

  The sun’s just begun to set as I pull into the driveway. Shades of purple, blue, and pink are painted in the heavens, mesmerizing me. I get out and walk around to the trunk to unload my haul. I spent way more money at the store than I ever have. No one told me how much more expensive groceries were in LA. I don't have an issue with spending money on necessities like food, but the total for the amount of things I got was robbery. I’ll have to find a less fancy store to shop at from here on out because I spent damn near $300 and I only have four bags of groceries, a long way away from the few bucks it took to get a huge bowl of beans and rice in Guatemala.

  As I pull the bags from the trunk, I hear a noise to my right.

  “Hey there,” Taylor says in a timid voice, most likely unsure of how I’ll respond given the last time I saw her she was peeping into the window like a little creeper.

  The memory makes me smile, even though it shouldn't. She’s holding a basket in her arms that’s half her body size.

  “Hey.” I smile at her. “Don’t tell me that’s for me.” My head bobs to the large basket that she’s barely able to see above.

  She tucks her lips into her mouth and nods her head up and down. “My mom is the welcome basket queen in these parts,” she jokes.

  I’m glad she isn’t being as quiet as she was the other night.

  “Well, hey, my hands are kind of full here.” I nod to the brown paper bags. “Why don’t you follow me in and you can put that thing down. I’m sure it’s heavy.”

  “Okay,” she says while darting her head around.

  Thankfully for me and my full hands, I’m able, with a little elbow grease, to get the door open without having to put the bags down.

  “Where should I put it?” she asks as we enter the foyer.

  “In the kitchen. You can follow me.”

  We make our way from the entryway to the open kitchen. I set the bags down on the kitchen island and watch her do the same with the basket. She brings her hand to her face and moves a stray piece of hair from her forehead. The small movement attracts my attention, making me notice her side profile. I try, incognito, to take in her appearance without her noticing. My head stays still, while my eyes peer to the left.

  She licks her full lips and brushes a hand over her hair again; I wonder if that’s a nervous habit. Her throat bobs and I see her suck in a deep breath. Then her head turns swiftly in my direction. My hand comes up and I scratch my ear while darting my eyes to the ground. I clear my throat and attempt to look up again.

  “The place looks nice,” she says. The corners of her mouth raise into a smirk.

  As she turns to me fully, I can't help but stare. The light in the room catches the blonde flyaways on the top of her head, making her appear to have a halo. I stay still, staring in adoration at a woman that is practically a stranger to me. Why do I feel a pull to her? Yes, she's good looking, but there’s something other than her looks, something not tangible that is drawing me to her.

  I shake my head to get back to reality. “Thanks. It’s bare, but my furniture should be delivered soon.” I laugh as my shoulders shrug.

  “I haven’t been here since they did the remodel; it looks amazing,” she says as she eyes the new kitchen. I take notice of the grey sweatshirt she's wearing with a trojan emblem on it and assume that must mean she goes to USC. That's impressive; it's a top school. She must be smart on top of beautiful.

  My hand rubs the grey marble island, and I nod my head in agreement. “The kitchen sold me. That and the deck.” I try my best to keep my eyes off of her but it’s tough. I reach for the basket to help distract me. “What goodies do we have in here?” I poke around the basket. “Cheese, rosemary crackers, chocolates. Even a wine magazine? Wow, you’re right, your mom is the welcome basket queen.”

  She tilts her head. “Well, technically, she gives those to everyone. She is the owner and publisher so she likes to self promote.” She chuckles and I join along.

  “That’s awesome. I’m more of a beer drinker myself, but I’ll give it a skim.”

  “There are recipes in the back of it, and trust me, you’ll want to test them out. My mom is a professional.”

  “She’s a good cook, huh? What about you?” I ask curiously.

  She lets out a huff of air. “Me? Haha. Not so much. But my mom went to Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, so she’s the real deal.”

  “Very cool. I’m a decent cook myself. Maybe I’ll try one out and have you taste it.”

  “While not much of a cook, I do love to eat. So I’m down.” She blushes.

  Shit, why did I say that? I look at the basket again. “Oh, I love these things,” I say excitedly as I point to a package of shortbread cookies.

  “What are you looking at? I can’t see.” She moves closer so she can get a better look. “Oh, yeah,” she drawls as she raises her eyebrows. “That was actually my contribution to the basket. You should open it now so I can have one.” She smiles gleefully and nods her head up and down.

  I look at her, open-mouthed, and squint my eyes. This girl is way more forward than the one I met outside my window. Maybe she isn't as shy as I first perceived. “Let me get this straight, you want me to open up MY basket and MY package of cookies so I can give YOU one?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she says with a confident smile. “What?” She laughs. “Why are you looking at me like that? Sharing is caring. Didn’t your mom teach you that?”

  Damn this girl. I’d give her the whole basket if she asked for it.

  “You want a cookie? Fine, you can have a cookie.” I untie the plastic, reach inside, and grab the package.

  Our fingers brush together as I hand her the bag, causing our eyes to connect. Everything stills. It’s a western stand-off—who will be the one to look away first? Another moment passes before her eyes drift down. They slowly fall to my mouth. It instinctually causes me to lick my lips, and fuck me if that doesn't cause her to lick hers too. The wetness on her pout is making me forget that she’s my neighbor and very off limits. I wonder what her lips taste like. One kiss wouldn't be harmful, right?

  Ugh
, pull it together, I tell myself repeatedly. I look down fighting the urge that has taken over me. I clear my throat and rub the scruff of my jaw, regaining my composure and leaning my back against the kitchen island.

  “Don’t eat all of them,” I scold, while holding in a laugh as she opens the packaging. Her brow furrows, and she gives me an evil eye, but I can see the smirk she's fighting.

  “Maybe I will, or maybe I won't,“ she says in a sassy tone that makes us both go back into that stare off. This time, I break first and lean my head back, wondering why I keep finding myself in positions that can screw up my plan of focusing on myself.

  She breaks my inner scrutiny by asking, “Are you going to eat one?”

  My head raises to see her handing me a cookie. If I’m eating, then there's zero chance for me to slip up and kiss her. “Yes, I’ll take one. They are mine, after all.” I whisper, loud enough for her to hear.

  “Ha ha.”

  I chuckle softly. “Why did you put the cookies in if you wanted them for yourself?”

  “Well,” she says as she leans against the island and opens the package of cookies, "my mom heard the Fratelli family stopped by early this morning with a basket.” She stops talking so she can take a big bite of cookie. Crumbs stick to her lips, and I watch, entranced, as her tongue makes an appearance to slowly swipe them away.

  I nodded my head in agreement. They certainly did stop by. I wonder if me and my little towel made the gossip rounds around here yet. “They did,” I tell her.

  “When she heard she wasn’t the first one to give you a welcome to the neighborhood basket, she kinda lost it.” She looks up at me. “She had a basket already prepared for you, but when she heard about the Fratellis, she took a ton of extra snacks from our pantry and added them in.” She points to the cookies. “Those were mine.” She smiles as the last bite enters her mouth.