Erotic Stories

by Karolina Rich

  Four years later, my loans were discharged, but I loved the small town I now called home, I loved the school where I worked, and most of all, I loved my students. I had the opportunity to move and find a better-paying job, but I couldn't stand to leave. That didn't stop me from using the prospect of going out of state to leverage the county into paying for me to go get a master's degree and start a Ph.D. program, though.

  Angelina was her class valedictorian. Not only was she smart, but she was drop-dead gorgeous. I try not to stare at my students who look older and dress more provocatively than kids did when I was in high school, but Angelina stood out. And it wasn't because she dressed slutty. She was always perfectly groomed, wholesome without looking uptight. I don't recall her ever overtly flirting with me, but she was always ready to engage me in a conversation or debate in a way that was years ahead of her classmates.

  She had an air of worldliness to her that was rare in a community where people lived on the same streets as their parents and few people, if any, ever left town for good. "Provincial" is how I would describe the people here. They're good folks, most of whom make a living off coal mining and farming, but they have a small world view. Angelina was different. It was as if she knew there was more to life than doing the same thing her parents had spent a lifetime doing.

  Maybe it was because, like me, she didn't quite fit in. In a community where every fifth person's last name was Adkins, Lewis, or Jones, the Benardos were conspicuously different. Her parents were from Belize and came to the United States before she was born. Angelina's father worked for a while as a migrant farmer, but somehow got a job in the Kentucky coal mines.

  He eventually quit working underground and founded a trucking company which became fairly successful. His wife opened an Italian restaurant and the two of them were living the American dream. Sounds funny, huh? A family from Belize serving manicotti, carpaccio and spaghetti. Of course, I don't have much room to talk; I'm a Chinese guy named Marc Thompson living in Kentucky teaching American and European history.

  Despite having to overcome a noticeable accent and the fact that their skin was darker than everyone else's, the Benardos melded into the community because they were hard-working and honest, and that counts for a lot around here.

  Angelina was the oldest of five. When she graduated, she got a scholarship and went off to school at the University of Kentucky. Quickly doing the math, I figured she was a junior, but knowing her, she probably had enough credits to be a senior. One of her brothers was in my AP American History class this year and another brother had taken it two years before. Both were smart, but neither of them could match their sister. She scored 5s on the AP American and European History tests and I think she got the same—or close to it—on the AP English test, too.

  I held her for a second then let go. She hadn't changed much.

  She had a full head of beautiful, soft dark hair that went down to her waist. Her big brown eyes twinkled as if she knew something you didn't. She had perfect skin. Her body was perfectly portioned. Angelina was quite simply the most beautiful Latina I had ever laid my eyes on.

  Years ago, she had asked if I would take her out to dinner and I turned her down.

  "Grading papers on a Friday afternoon?" she asked me in her cute southern drawl. Having grown up in Kentucky, she talked more like a debutante than a girl whose parents were from Belize. "And on Valentine's Day at that!"

  It's not like I had anything better to do. I lived in a small town with few single girls that appealed to me, and although no one would ever admit to it, folks around here did not take kind to interracial dating, and that left me with lots of lonely nights.

  Valentine's Day is one of those days I tried to forget about. Being a construct of the flower and greeting card industries, all it does is depress me and everyone else who is alone. The kids had spent the day passing candy, flowers and stuffed teddy bears around school. A couple of them even gave me the token Valentines you pass along to your grandparents, the pastor and teachers.

  "Mid-terms are coming up and I have got to get these papers done before I get swamped with exams." My heart started to race as her fingers brushed my hand.

  "Those can wait." There was something different in her voice. Forcefulness. The Angelina I remembered had been quiet, almost timid. She was different.

  Angelina put her arms around my neck. My hands reflexively went to her waist.

  Her cheek pressed against mine. I could feel her breath in my ear.

  "Do you remember my graduation?" she whispered. "I asked if you wanted to take me out to dinner. I was eighteen. You were my favourite teacher. I was no longer your student. You knew I liked you. And you liked me."

  I did like her, but it was in a platonic teacher-pupil way; I would not let myself be attracted to one of my students, especially one like Angelina who had so much ahead of her once she got out of the one-horse town where she grew up.

  "You said, 'Come see me when you're twenty-one.' That was almost three years ago. Today is my birthday."

  My stomach jumped and my hands tensed around her waist.

  "You owe me dinner," she said softly.

  There was a quiet desperation in her voice. Almost pleading.

  I pulled back and stared into her eyes. I didn't know what to do. I took a deep breath.

  "Umm . . . Sure." My reply was nervous. "Let me finish up here and then I've got to go home and change. Can I pick you up in an hour and a half . . . say, six o'clock."

  "Well . . ." She fidgeted for a second. "That might be a little tough . . . My parents don't know I'm in town."

  "What—" I started.

  "They think I'm at school. I just drove home today without telling them."

  "Why?" My heart skipped a beat.

  "Because I wanted to see you, Mr. Thompson."

  "You can call me Marc now, Angelina." I gave her a puzzled look. Impure thoughts raced through my head. "Where were you planning on staying?"

  "With you, Mist—um . . . Marc." Her confidence faltered for a second.

  I didn't know what to say. She seemed to have the whole thing planned out. Part of me said that I should have called her parents right then. But another part of me thought, She's an adult now. She can make her own decisions. Go for it!

  "Okay, let me get my things and we'll go back to my house."

  We let go of each other and I gathered up all the papers on my desk. I avoided making eye contact with her. I shut off the computer, locked all the file cabinets and turned out the lights in my room.

  I led her out of the building and we went to our cars. She followed me back to my small house. All the while, I couldn't stop thinking about her alluring eyes and beautiful face.

  Pulling into the driveway, I went into the house, dropped my stuff inside the door and then went back out to help Angelina with her bags. Before we left the school, I mentioned that if she didn't want anyone to know she was in town, she should probably park in the garage. Not that word wouldn't get around soon enough. It's a small town and my neighbours were sure to notice an extra car pulling up to my house.

  Still, she parked in the garage so no one would notice who it was; her secret visit would be under wraps for a little longer.

  Once inside, she had a small duffel and some things in a hanging bag. I showed her to the small guest bedroom and gave her the 60 second tour. With no student loans to pay off, I had managed to buy a small three bedroom house. Unfortunately the sink in the small bathroom wasn't draining properly, so I told her to use the bathroom off my bedroom.

  I had converted one of the bedrooms into my computer room and library. I had a small living room with a couch and a TV that sat off the kitchen. Around front, there was a nice porch and I had a big backyard which I gladly paid one of the neighbour's kids to mow.

  "Let's go some place nice." Angelina shot me a mischievous look as she took her things into my room.

  I gathered up some clothes and went to the guest bedroom to change. If we were going ou
t to a place that didn't serve family-style or have a drive-thru, I wanted to be in something nicer than a polo shirt and khakis. As I was thumbing through the phone book, I heard Angelina to into the bathroom.

  Since Angelina didn't want her folks to know she was in town, we were going to have to go somewhere else. I knew of a nice family-owned restaurant a couple towns over, so I called and made a last-minute reservation. They were packed; it was a Friday night and Heart Day, so they were booked up. It's a good thing I knew the owner because he managed to squeeze me in after a cancellation.

  I went over and knocked on the door to the bathroom.

  "Angelina," I said.

  "Yes?"

  "I'm going to run down to the store for a minute. Do you need anything?"

  "Not right now."

  "Okay, I'll be right back. I left my cell phone number on the counter if you need to call me."

  I went out the door and jumped in the car. The IGA was right up the street from my house. I picked up a silly birthday card and bought a couple of the few remaining roses. I had the woman at the flower counter make them into a corsage.

  "Big date tonight, Mr. Thompson?" Her son was in one of my American History classes and her daughter had graduated with Angelina.

  "Yeah, I guess so," I grinned sheepishly. Word of this was going to get around town quick. If you want to keep any secrets, don't live in a community that has only one stoplight.

  "Who's the lucky girl?" she asked. I could see her mind racing, going through all the single women in the county I might have asked out.

  "Someone from out of town." That would throw her for a loop.

  "Well have a happy Valentine's Day," she said. I knew that as soon as I was out of sight, she was going to start calling around to see if anyone knew who I may have been seeing. I chuckled to myself and wondered how much energy they would spend trying to figure it out.

  There were a few other things to pick up, then I headed back to the house. The door to the bedroom was closed, so I figured Angelina was still changing, putting on makeup or doing whatever it is girls do before they go out. I sat down at my kitchen table and went back to grading papers.

  A short time later, the bedroom door opened. I heard Angelina's soft footsteps as she walked over to where I was sitting.

  My jaw dropped when I looked up.

  Angelina was wearing an elegant red dress. A colourful sash hung from her thin waist, resting on her shapely hips. Her hair was down almost to her waist; the light shimmered off the thick black mane that covered her bare back. She had a black lace choker around her neck to draw attention up from her delicate curves. A little bit of makeup highlighted her cheekbones and soft features. There was a look in her eyes. Anticipation.

  "Wow," I said before thinking. It took me a couple of moments to find my voice to say anything else. "You look fantastic. . . . I feel underdressed now."

  I got up and went into my bedroom and found a jacket and tie to match my shirt.

  "Where are we going?" she asked when I returned.

  "Savannah's," I replied. "We have a reservation in about an hour, so we'd better get moving."

  It had been a while since I had gone out on a real date and I nearly forgot about the flowers. I helped her with her coat, and we were almost to the door when I turned around and went to the refrigerator. I got out the corsage.

  "May I pin this on you?" I asked.

  "I would be delighted." There was a twinkle in her eyes.

  My heart racing, I pinned the flowers above her left breast. I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra.

  It took me a minute to stop my hands from shaking. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. A shiver ran through my body.

  "Thank you," Angelina said, flashing me a delighted smile. "They're very pretty."

  "Best I could do on short notice."

  "Then you did very well."

  She took my arm and I led her out to my car. I opened the door for her and then got in myself. I looked around, but didn't see any of my neighbours obviously spying on me.

  We were both nervous. We hadn't seen each other for close to three years, and the tension was palpable.

  I tried to engage her in a variety of small talk. I asked how school was going. She wanted to know about her brothers.

  Mostly, I tried not to stare and marvel at her beauty. When I last saw her, she was a drop-dead gorgeous girl. Now she was a drop-dead gorgeous woman.

  The drive on the curvy Kentucky state roads took us almost an hour. I tried to pick the nicest place I could afford. Savannah's was actually a little out of my price range, but since I didn't go out much and hadn't had a Valentine's Day date in years, I figured I could splurge this weekend.

  Located in an old farm house, Savannah's features decidedly upscale French-style cuisine in a friendly, romantic setting, which seems oddly out of place in rural Kentucky. Still, they did a fair amount of business because the food was so good, even if it was a little pricey, especially on "big date" nights. When we walked in the door, everyone's eyes went immediately to Angelina. She drew admiring and envious stares from all the patrons and staff.

  I gave my name and the hostess seated us in a private corner booth. The lighting was low and the setting intimate. We looked over the menu in the soft candlelight. I ordered the shellfish risotto, Angelina had the roasted veal chop.

  We sat there, fidgeting nervously for several minutes.

  "Angelina," I finally said. "Why are you here?"

  "Because you promised."

  "No, really . . . Why me?

  She took in a deep breath, searching for the words. "You were the best teacher I have ever had. You care about each of your students. You cared about me. You are fair. You are kind. You are everything I ever wanted. And I couldn't have you."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

  "Mister Thompson . . . er, Marc . . . Did you know that I never went out with any of the boys in high school?"

  All I could do was shake my head. I did know that, though. She was untouchable, and not in the bad way. She was way out of everyone's league and they all knew it. Some of the boys were intimidated by her brains and her beauty. Others just wanted to get in her pants. She would have none of that.

  "They asked me. But they didn't really like me. They thought I was hot or that maybe I'd let them feel me up or play with my butt. You respected me. You made me a better student. You pushed me to study and do well on tests when all other people could see was a pretty face and a funny name. I noticed you checking me out a time or two, but you never made a move. And when I tried to flirt with you, you ignored me. Not because you didn't like me, but because you were the teacher and I was the student."

  There were tears in her eyes.

  "I practically threw myself at you after graduation. It hurt when you said no. But I realised that it wasn't because you didn't want me, it was because to you, I was still a child. I've grown up, Marc."

  I could tell she felt funny calling me by my first name.

  "You're only eight years older than me. I'm almost as old as you were when I started in your class."

  We both smiled slightly. I felt her take my hand.

  "I'm not your student any more," she said quietly. "I'm not a child and I'm not the daughter of our small town. I'm a woman now. And I want you to have me."

  "Angelina," I managed to whisper. "Surely you can do better than a high school teacher in a po-dunk Kentucky town."

  The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "I can. I graduate in a year. Less if I want. I could have doctors or lawyers or even a congressman's son. But I don't want them. I want you."

  "Why?"

  She took a deep breath. "Because you convinced me that I was special. That I could do anything, or be anyone I wanted to be."

  There was love in her eyes. It scared me.

  She had obviously been planning this for quite some time. All those years ago, I had noticed that sometimes she went out of her way to talk to me or stand close t
ogether. She paid more attention to me than her classmates sometimes. I was convinced that it was just a young girl's infatuation and that once she went to college she would meet someone and forget all about the folks she had known growing up, including her high school history teacher. It turns out I was wrong.

  Our dinner arrived and we ate quietly. Since it was Valentine's Day, a photographer came by and took our picture together. I also told the server that it was her birthday, so the wait staff brought her a double-layer chocolate fudge cake with a candle on it and sang to her.

  "Happy Birthday." I passed her the card I had bought. It was a cheezy birthday card that you can find at any grocery store. Inside, I had scribbled something about her birthday and Valentine's Day and signed my name.

  She reached into her purse and handed me a card. My hands trembling, I opened it.

  Between two doves was a ribbon in the shape of a heart. I flipped to the inside. Underneath the card's sappy Valentine's Day text, was Angelina's flowing handwriting.

  Marc,

  You have been a fabulous teacher to me and a good friend. I have never been able to tell you how much I care about you and what you have meant to me. I hope you'll let me into your life.

  Love,

  Angelina

  I put the card back in the envelope. I looked up at Angelina. She took my hand and squeezed it. There was a fire in her eyes.

  "Thank you," I whispered.

  We finished dessert and left. On the way out, the hostess passed me a pair of the pictures we had taken, which must have just come off a photo printer in the back.

  I asked Angelina if there was anything else she wanted to do while she was home.

  "As long as it's with you, I don't care," she said gently.

  We drove around for a little while. We held hands. I was stalling for time. There's not a lot to do that's close to where we live, especially if Angelina didn't want anyone in her family finding out that she was in town. I ended up driving home.