My Writer's Cramp Pieces

The School Teacher

What if you fell in love with your child's teacher?

The School Teacher

         She was a slinky number, and her smile dropped burning coals on my heart. If only she hadn’t been my son’s second grade teacher, I would have made advances the first time I saw her.

         I waited for November before I made any contact. At conference time, when she sat across from me, looking so official, reeling off grades and standards, it was all I could do not to seize her and kiss those warm, tender lips. But my son was sitting there with an angelic smile on his face. My son has never been angelic -- not before. I realized then that he was in love with the teacher, too.

         As she talked, I scooted over closer, breathing in her scent. All right, I admit it – chalk dust and modeling clay -- which she had laid out for younger siblings -- wasn’t the aroma of love, but it didn’t seem to bother my seven-year-old, and it sure didn’t put me off.

         Her hair was a fluff of chocolate and cream. Her eyes, blue as my son’s water picture – the one with the T-rex swimming after the brontosaurus, were attentive. I made sure she knew I was single, and gave her a full-force smile as I waved goodbye. Then I patted my son on the head for his excellent report card and sighed heavily.

         I saw her at the Winter Holiday Music Program, and then at the Spring Parent’s Night. She glowed with beauty, and I glowed with lust. My son got over his crush towards the end of the year. That relieved me considerably, but by June I was panting.

         Little Joe went to his mother’s for summer vacation, and I was free finally to make my move. I knew she was teaching summer school. I checked on the hours and stopped by at dismissal. If she was surprised to see me with no little Joe in tow, she never said. Instead she guided me back to her room, and offered me one of those little kinder chairs. I perched and smiled.

         We passed the usual discussion about my kid, and then I moved in on the kill. “Shaara, “ I said, “I’ve been waiting all year to ask you out. Any chance that you’d been interested in dinner and a movie?”

         Her smile traveled from smooth, dainty lips, across her freckled nose and up to her eyes. I watched, mesmerized. When she nodded, I sighed and smiled back. We sat there for a couple of minutes simply smiling at each other. It was incredibly sexual. Don’t ask me how.

         Neither of us was real willing to part, but she had a meeting in the school library. I took her hand and shook it. Her fingers were warm and soft. Good thing I was going home to a cold shower!

         The date progressed nicely: a little chat, a pleasant steak and fries. She ate with small mouthfuls, and then her tongue danced across her lips and the napkin dabbed coyly, I could barely eat. I lusted worse than before.

         The movie was the usual: bad cop, good cop and citizens in between. During the love scene I pulled her closer. She didn’t resist. Her body felt as hot as mine. I wondered if she felt the same way about me as I did about her.

         Afterwards I took her to Starbucks. We sat and talked until 2:00 am. Then it couldn’t be avoided. I drove her home and faced the moment of rejection or success.

         “Shaara, I’d loved to see you again. Tomorrow? We could go to the pier and eat lobster…”

         Again that devastating smile. My lower extremities were panging plenty. Shaara was almost more than I could handle and still remain calm and poised.

         The time was agreed on. I walked her to the door. I’d already determined that I wasn’t going in. Not with Shaara. This was real. Despite the evidence to the contrary, I wanted to go slowly.

         I gently turned her head and lowered mine. Lips met lips. I worked on gentle and light, but Shaara wasn’t listening. She had her fires, too. We singed. We bonfired. We melded beautifully. I don’t remember how I ended up inside. Promises one makes to one’s self sometimes fall in disarray. Whatever, I can tell you one thing -- the night was worth the long wait.