Kat and Kelly had been thinking a lot that week about their English teacher, Ms. Valentine, after running into her at the nail salon. She was quite gorgeous and sexy, and had an air of mystery about her. She mostly kept to herself, but all sorts of rumors floated around about her — she was a religious nut, she was into BDSM; she had been a nun when she was younger, she had been in porn when she was younger. No one had no idea how much of it, if any, was true, but it made her the subject of a lot of curiosity.
As it happened they had been assigned to write a short story for English class that week, so working together, they had crafted a story about a high school senior who had a lesbian crush on her English teacher. They changed the names but the characters were clearly recognizable as Kat and Ms. Valentine. In the story the teacher also had feelings for the student, but hid them; then one day they happened to be alone in the classroom, and nature took its course.
As it happened they had been assigned to write a short story for English class that week, so working together, they had crafted a story about a high school senior who had a lesbian crush on her English teacher. They changed the names but the characters were clearly recognizable as Kat and Ms. Valentine. In the story the teacher also had feelings for the student, but hid them; then one day they happened to be alone in the classroom, and nature took its course.
They went through several drafts of the scene where the two finally acted on their passion, trying to make it hot enough to work on Ms. Valentine’s imagination, but not overly graphic or explicit. They tried to be subtly suggestive and seductive, and it must have been working, because they ended up in bed together several times during the writing process — a few orgasms to blow off steam, and then back to work.
On Friday when she was returning the graded stories, Ms. Valentine handed out everyone’s except Kat’s and asked Kat to stay after class to talk to her. Kat and Kelly shared a conspiratorial look as the class filed out, leaving Kat alone with the teacher.
After closing the door, Ms. Valentine walked over to her desk and pulled Kat’s story out of her drawer, looking quizzically at her student. “Katrina... um, Kat... we need to talk about what you wrote here.”
Kat assumed a demeanor or girlish innocence. “Yes?”
“You know that this is very inappropriate. If anyone read this we would both be in trouble, especially me.”
“I’m sorry,” said Kat. “It’s just that you’re so beautiful.”
“Well, thank you, I guess,” answered the teacher, looking down at the paper for a moment. “It’s not unusual for students to have certain feelings for their teachers sometimes. But it’s very important to respect boundaries.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Kat, frowning. “So you don’t like me back is what you’re saying.” For a moment she looked like she was about to cry.
“Kat, I’m a teacher here and you’re a student. And I’m not a lesbian.”
Kat’s eyes immediately cleared. “Haven’t you ever been curious?”
“Well, back in college....” Ms. Valentine started to answer, then checked herself. “This is not a discussion that we should be having.”
“So what grade did I get?”
“I’m giving you a B+, because this was very well written. But don’t put me in this position again, please.”
“OK,” said Kat, and stood to go. Just as she got to the door, she paused and looked back at Ms. V with a twinkle in her eye. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” With that she opened the door and strode out.
Shaking her head, Ms. Valentine returned the story to the drawer.
* * *
Olivia was a few minutes late for dinner with Gina Moretti, having spent almost two hours trying on different outfits. She was conflicted in her decision-making. It was possible that this invitation was perfectly innocent. Olivia had no reason to think it was anything other than what it appeared to be, a friendly former neighbor inviting her to dinner.
But somehow she had the feeling something more was going on. In the end she’d decided to wear a short skirt – but not her shortest – and a sleeveless black blouse that showed a lot, over which she wore a shawl that hid most of it. She adjusted the shawl as she rang the bell, and Gina appeared a few seconds later.
Gina looked every bit the hot mom that she was, wearing a nice flower-print dress and an apron, her hands coated in flour. “I’m just finishing dinner,” she told Olivia. “Come into the kitchen.”
Olivia looked around for her husband and kids, but they were nowhere to be seen. As they sat in the kitchen drinking red wine while Gina finished the meal, it didn’t take long for Olivia to find out that Gina was divorced now and that the kids were with their father that night. That had to mean something, Olivia thought. She was getting hot in the kitchen anyway, so she took off her shawl and draped it over a chair, letting her assets hang out. Seeing Gina take a long, appraising look at her cleavage, Olivia smiled to herself.
There was no time during their meal, though, when Gina showed any signs of a prurient interest in her young friend. She asked Olivia about her studies, her friends, her boyfriend situation – Olivia answered pointedly that there was none, studying Gina’s face for signs of a reaction – and talked about her kids, who were in junior high now. She said little about her ex-husband; Olivia got the idea that he had cheated on her and that it was still a painful subject that she didn’t care to talk about.
After dessert – a rich chocolate mousse cake that was almost a sexual experience in and of itself – they moved to the living room, lingering quietly over one last glass of wine. The sexual tension in the room was palpable; suddenly they didn’t have much to say to each other. Olivia could see that Gina was fidgety and uptight; was it going to have to be her, the teenager, who made the first move on the grown woman here?
After 10 minutes or so of this, Olivia excused herself to go to the bathroom. There she steeled up her courage. It was time for action.
.
* * *
Olivia was a few minutes late for dinner with Gina Moretti, having spent almost two hours trying on different outfits. She was conflicted in her decision-making. It was possible that this invitation was perfectly innocent. Olivia had no reason to think it was anything other than what it appeared to be, a friendly former neighbor inviting her to dinner.
But somehow she had the feeling something more was going on. In the end she’d decided to wear a short skirt – but not her shortest – and a sleeveless black blouse that showed a lot, over which she wore a shawl that hid most of it. She adjusted the shawl as she rang the bell, and Gina appeared a few seconds later.
Gina looked every bit the hot mom that she was, wearing a nice flower-print dress and an apron, her hands coated in flour. “I’m just finishing dinner,” she told Olivia. “Come into the kitchen.”
Olivia looked around for her husband and kids, but they were nowhere to be seen. As they sat in the kitchen drinking red wine while Gina finished the meal, it didn’t take long for Olivia to find out that Gina was divorced now and that the kids were with their father that night. That had to mean something, Olivia thought. She was getting hot in the kitchen anyway, so she took off her shawl and draped it over a chair, letting her assets hang out. Seeing Gina take a long, appraising look at her cleavage, Olivia smiled to herself.
There was no time during their meal, though, when Gina showed any signs of a prurient interest in her young friend. She asked Olivia about her studies, her friends, her boyfriend situation – Olivia answered pointedly that there was none, studying Gina’s face for signs of a reaction – and talked about her kids, who were in junior high now. She said little about her ex-husband; Olivia got the idea that he had cheated on her and that it was still a painful subject that she didn’t care to talk about.
After dessert – a rich chocolate mousse cake that was almost a sexual experience in and of itself – they moved to the living room, lingering quietly over one last glass of wine. The sexual tension in the room was palpable; suddenly they didn’t have much to say to each other. Olivia could see that Gina was fidgety and uptight; was it going to have to be her, the teenager, who made the first move on the grown woman here?
After 10 minutes or so of this, Olivia excused herself to go to the bathroom. There she steeled up her courage. It was time for action.
.
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