Hot for Teacher
My parents can't believe my report cards this year. I usually do really badly in English. I find it boring. I hate reading old books. But this year I've got straight As. I do all the extra credit. I attend all of the extra help sessions.
Here's why....
Meet my teacher, Mrs. Murphy.
What you see is an attractive, mid-30s married woman who teaches English at my school. But the longer she stands in front of the class, I start to see her differently...
I begin to see more of Mrs. Murphy than she would want me to see.
Mmmm....
Black bra, with matching black panties today, Mrs. Murphy? How sexy....did you wear them for me?
The lace top...I saw that when I looked down your blouse when you called me up to the desk to go over my essay. You told me you like how creative my mind works. You allowed me to explore and be free with my words. You dared me to write whatever came to mind, it didn't matter what, just as long as it was original and it kept your interest.
So I wrote about my infatuation with you.
You challenged me to be more descriptive. You criticize me for holding back. "Devlin, a real writer reveals all. Draw me a picture with your words."
OK, I said.
That night I went home and finished the image in my mind.
Mrs. Murphy grinned when I handed in the revised essay.
That night she read it after her husband went to sleep. She closed her eyes and imagined herself, standing in the front of that classroom, with Devlin alone in his seat.
She imagined herself just as he saw her.
Here's why....
Meet my teacher, Mrs. Murphy.
What you see is an attractive, mid-30s married woman who teaches English at my school. But the longer she stands in front of the class, I start to see her differently...
I begin to see more of Mrs. Murphy than she would want me to see.
Mmmm....
Black bra, with matching black panties today, Mrs. Murphy? How sexy....did you wear them for me?
The lace top...I saw that when I looked down your blouse when you called me up to the desk to go over my essay. You told me you like how creative my mind works. You allowed me to explore and be free with my words. You dared me to write whatever came to mind, it didn't matter what, just as long as it was original and it kept your interest.
So I wrote about my infatuation with you.
You challenged me to be more descriptive. You criticize me for holding back. "Devlin, a real writer reveals all. Draw me a picture with your words."
OK, I said.
That night I went home and finished the image in my mind.
Mrs. Murphy grinned when I handed in the revised essay.
That night she read it after her husband went to sleep. She closed her eyes and imagined herself, standing in the front of that classroom, with Devlin alone in his seat.
She imagined herself just as he saw her.
7年前