***Author’s Note***: *You have been warned, Reader. There is no sex in this chapter, and everything here is world building. That being said, Chapter Three is coming tomorrow or the day after, and things pick up after this. Because I cannot post links (even within the subreddit), please check out my profile for part one, then parts three and the rest until I get this figured out.*
***
I teach three English courses for a total of six classes a week. *Introduction to Literature* (Eng/190) on Mondays and Wednesdays, *American Literature* (Eng/230) right after English 190, and the third on Tuesdays and Thursdays, twice a day. Heather was i*n English Composition *II, my first Tuesday/Thursday class. I don’t teach Fridays, having elected to hold office hours instead. Not this week though. After calling in sick on Thursday to fuck my student, I decided it would probably be best to stay home, so I left my office unattended, hoping my teacher’s assistant would sit in. Not that I warned her about it. What I was really trying to do was avoid Heather, though I was loathe to admit it.
Instead of doing my job properly, and facing my problems, I hid at home and buried my head in mountains of red ink. I graded and graded, knowing I wouldn’t find a single paper from Heather in the pile. I had to think of something, but at the same time I had to stop thinking about her. It was going to be difficult to justify the rise in her grade if I was questioned. After a brief epiphany, I decided to prepare assignments for her from my other, easier classes. I printed them out and stuffed them in my briefcase. Maybe at least this would stop her from taking everything public.
Whenever I let my mind drift I could almost feel the texture of those socks against my cheeks. The scent of that skirt and her tight little slit lingered, causing erection after erection. I became desperate, losing track of how many times I came Friday; standing by the shower, aching cock in hand as I made yet another deposit into the bowl.
Her words rolled around in my head all that day, causing near constant frustration:
>”*I’ll even be your little girl. I’ll call you ‘Daddy,’ if that’s what you want.’****‘***
>
>”*…you came to my dorm room and took advantage of me…**”*
>
>*’‘Does that make me a dirty little girl? Can I be your whore…Daddy? Please?**”*
>
>”*I’ll be good for you, I promise.**”*
I was still married, even if only by default, and felt ashamed of what I had done. But every time I felt guilty over Amanda I thought of Heather again and became instantly hard. If I were almost twenty years younger, I would be chasing her all over campus. As I drifted off to sleep I knew that I was lucky I had gotten what I had. I also knew I was going to wind up paying dearly for it in the end.
By the time Saturday rolled around I was slightly better. Time and distance had conspired together to push her from my mind. My libido had calmed some from the effort of grading. I spent that day correcting assignments as well, the papers seeming to pile up faster than I could grade. That seems to be common in college academics. A glutton for punishment, I had each class write a paper per week, sometimes as an expansion or an edit of the previous one, but often on a whole new topic. Typically they were at least two pages, if not more. I’m a firm believer that teaching them to love the English language involves teaching them to write it well, even if I have to undo the failures of a standardized education program to do so.
I had been subsisting off of ramen and microwave dinners for two days straight when my phone buzzed on the desk beside me. Without looking, I flipped it over to silence it. Minutes later it buzzed again. I flipped the phone back onto its case and looked at the caller ID. It was my brother. I swiped the green handset icon up, unsure if I wanted to talk to anyone at the moment. I love him, but when I get involved in something it’s often difficult for me to switch to a new task.
“Hello?”
“Mark! What’s up man? I haven’t seen you for weeks. You all right?” If Derek was calling, typically it meant he had a reason. Neither of us usually called just for the sake of talking. It just wasn’t us. It always seemed to me that the women I knew communicated for the sake of communicating, where my brother and I didn’t talk unless we actually needed discuss something.
“I’m fine, man. Semester’s wrapping up, and I have papers going on. Students are trying extra hard to pass.”
“Yeah, man, I know that. Chem’s been brutal this semester. I need to see what I can do to keep a ‘B’ there.”
“I know you’re not failing anything…” I said. My brother may not have had a future as an academic, but he certainly cared enough about football to keep his grades up. I wondered idly if he wanted a favor. He’d never asked for one before.
“What? Nah. My grades are cool man, I just worry about slipping. Practice takes a lot of time. I just don’t want to be in *that* position, you know?” My thoughts drifted to Heather, and her grades. *Had she been with him, too?* I wondered. I discovered that I didn’t want to know.
“So, what’s up then?”
“I was thinking maybe we could grab a beer or something man, I got some stuff I want to talk to you about.”
“Um- all right,” I responded. My brother was in his third year at college and had never asked me out for a beer. We got along great, but there was a definite separation between us. Part of it was age. I was a sophomore in high school when he was born, and by the time he had grown old enough to really hold conversations I was in college, and only home on weekends. I had been a very small part of his life.
Another divide was our parents. Mom had died of a stroke while he was in high school and I was across the country. I came home for the funeral, but he blamed me for not being there for the rest of it. Derek had handled everything for both our parent’s deaths, as I had been gone both times. It had taken us a while to reconnect, but we were coming together slowly.
The final divide was college, actually. Being together at the same school made it harder to get together than either of us would have liked. Our positions made allegations of favoritism easy. We both made sure he never signed up for any of my classes, and I had explained to him at the onset that I would never intercede on his behalf unless the need was extreme. That meant no pulling for favors from my colleagues. He needed to ensure that the success was his, and his alone.
“Sure,” I continued. “When do you want to get together?”
“I was thinking tonight, if you’re not swamped,” he said. I sighed. I needed the break, but didn’t want to admit it.
“How about The Anchor?” I asked. “I can be there in about an hour.” We chatted briefly, but the conversation ended quickly. I finished up my current paper before grabbing my coat and locking up.
Like all bars these days, the Anchor was non-smoking, and I appreciated it. Unlike most bars, however, this one sported a genuine ship’s anchor at the center of the bar. Surprisingly, there were no other naval accoutrements. Someone had told me once that the owner was a Navy veteran. It felt right to me, though I didn’t know why.
The tables were lacquered wood, jutting out from walls and set between red vinyl padded booths. I had the impression that this used to be a chain restaurant before the economy collapsed. There was a full kitchen, menus to go with it, a well-stocked bar, and unobtrusive lighting. Now that the economy was recovering I suspected it would do well. There wasn’t much to do in the winter but drink and fuck, and this was still a college town.
I recognized the woman tending bar and waved to her on my way through the door. She was a large, fleshy blonde who had been one of my students several semesters back, well before the attempt at dissolution of my nuptials began. She was pursuing some sort of Liberal Arts degree, and had needed several English courses, two of which I taught. She was bright, energetic and intelligent, but music was where her strengths lie, not English. Her dishwater hair was tied back in a bun. She was bartender and, occasionally, cook.
“Hey, stranger!” I said, walking up.
“Hey yourself, Mister Rikes!” She clearly had relatively fond memories of our classes.
“Pam, it’s just Mark now. I’m not your teacher anymore.”
“It’ll take a while to get used to calling you that. I may slip up. What can I get you?” I scanned the taps behind her, selecting something amber and inexpensive; or, at least, as inexpensive as a bar could get. Pam poured and I paid, leaving a five dollar tip. I had been a gas station attendant while I paid for my education, and I still managed to come out with student loans. I knew she needed the money.
“I’m looking for my brother,” I said conversationally.
“He look like you?” she asked.
“A little. Shorter, stockier, same nose.”
“Don’t think I’ve seen him come in, but he may have slipped past me.” I nodded thanks and asked about her graduation. She was slated to get her diploma at the spring ceremony.
“It’ll be nice, ’cause the ceremony is outdoors, and the snow’ll mostly be gone,” she added.
“Congratulations,” I said, “I’ll be there cheering you on.” I left her with a smile. I wandered the bar and dining area, checking the meager dance floor. There were only two people on it this early in the evening, and neither were my brother.
By midnight this place would be packed, but for now it only half-full. Televisions projected football highlights from last week’s game on mute, and one held a group of people playing poker. After a brief circuit of the place, my brother was nowhere to be found. I grabbed a booth and positioned myself to watch the door.
My mind wandered back to Heather. I wondered how much less trouble I’d be in had I been a more responsible educator, or she a better student. Part of me wanted to see her again tonight, but the rest of me dreaded the possibility. Besides, other than her student email, I had no way to get ahold of her. While I waited on my brother I pictured her on the dance floor, her tight ass swaying in time to the music. Would she dance with another girl, trying to keep the guys away, or would she flirt shamelessly, taking some lucky boy home? Why not both? Why not me? I drained my glass, hard again.
Derek entered a few minutes later, snapping me out of my thoughts. A football player, he was broader than me, but clean-shaven where I was scruffed, and with semi-long brown hair that had natural waves to it. Mine was short in contrast. The girls loved him. I stood up to hug my brother, and he enveloped me, making me concerned about cracked ribs. Derek had gotten mom’s height, while I got her build and Dad’s reach. Derek outweighed me by at least fifty pounds, almost all of it muscle. We sat down and I raised my hand towards the bar. Pam waved back, and after a moment a pretty blonde waitress appeared.
“Hey, Mark! What can I get you both?” she asked.
“Hey Chel,” I answered, “have you met Derek? My brother plays for the school.” She shook his hand lightly and tucked stray hairs out of the way behind her ear. Her hair wasn’t terribly short, but it didn’t reach her collar. She had streaked a large section in the front purple since the last time I had seen her.
Derek ordered a pilsner, and I ordered a second ale. I followed the drinks up with a large order of chili cheese fries for both of us, and two hamburgers with everything. Chelsea wandered off, order in hand, and Derek and I each caught the other watching her ass. The gray leggings made it look amazing in the low light. I chalked up my attraction to the beer and tried to let it go.
“You know her? Of course you do, she’s probably in your class, or something,” Derek said.
“I’m know her sister too, actually,” I answered. “So, what’s up, man? This is rare.” There was a long pause while Derek considered what he was about to say. I almost changed the subject to make him comfortable, but he finally spat it out.
“I don’t know, Mark, I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Student loans are creeping up, and I still have another year to go. I’m worried, you know? What if I’m not employable when I graduate? I may need internships and everything. I’m already talking to the banks about deferment options.”
“If you need money, Derek…?” I asked with a shrug. I didn’t have a lot to give, but I’d take out a loan for my brother if need be.
“That’s not right. Thanks, Mark, but no.” he said. There was a pause and a deep breath before he spoke again. “I’m thinking about joining the Army.”
“What? Why? What about finishing school? What about your loans? What if you get shot?” I was more than slightly incredulous. I had so many questions I wanted to ask.
“I won’t get shot,” was his response, “and I’m not running from the loans, man. The army’s going to pay them after I finish school.”
“For what, though? What do they get out of it?” I asked. “Who talked you into this?” I knew the burden of student loans, having been paying them off for nearly fifteen years. I still had about six more to go, but the payments were small, manageable. I had learned to work my debts around them. Our food came, and we spoke for quite a while, having beer after beer. I was buzzed, but the food kept me from being drunk. I appreciated Chelsea’s attributes more and more with each drink she delivered and tried hard not to compare her to Heather. I failed.
Derek explained to me how the recruiter had come to visit the football team, explaining to them that if they were to join for a six-year term that their student loans could be repaid. I asked him about going to combat, and he admitted that it was a possibility, but not very likely as he would be in a medical unit. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea, and told him so, but in the end I’m not his parent. If Derek wanted to join the army, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. It wasn’t my life. I raised my hand and Pam sent Chelsea over with yet another beer.
“I can’t imagine the army having a sports medicine program,” I said.
“They do at WestPoint,” he said, “but I’m not going there. They have a Physician’s Assistant program,” he continued. “If I qualify to join, then I’m pretty much accepted to it. I already took all of the chemistry and anatomy courses. They’d send me off to boot camp, and then officer school, and then to school to become a PA.”
“That’s a lot, man, are you up for it?”
“They’ll want me to do six years man, and one of those is nothing but training. They’ll give me a job, and I’ll be debt free when I get out. I can do some more school if that’s what it takes.”
“All right, man, be careful. I love you.” It was all I could really say. We chatted about different things until the place became too noisy to speak comfortably. The jukebox had been eventually replaced by a DJ, and the dance floor was starting to fill.
I didn’t mention Heather, the camera, or the blackmail. He knew her, even if they weren’t friends. As a cheerleader, she was at all of his games. I had seen her on the sidelines watching him and the rest of the team at least once a week for the last six months. I pictured my student tumbling and flipping, her cheer bottoms exposed to everyone night after night. I was a mess, and I knew it. I finally raised my hand towards Pam again. It took a while before she saw me.
“You know her, too?” he asked over the music.
“What?” I asked distractedly.
“You know the bartender, the waitresses, what’s up?
“Chelsea’s the bartender’s little sister,” I said, nodding towards Pam. “I taught her, all of her sisters, and her best friend remedial English almost every night for a year. She’s just being nice to me.”
“A year? Fuck.” He mouthed.
“She needed to pass,” I said. “Besides, she was a good student, and her sisters got the English classes before they hit college. They didn’t get credit, but they knew the material and I’ve had a few in my classes since then.”
The check came, and I pulled out my credit card. It was a not insignificant amount. Derek watched Chelsea again as she wandered over to the next table. I got the feeling that she was bending over a lot more than usual, probably for his sake. My paying for the tab was understood in advance. Derek’s only source of income was student loans for at least the next year, and I had promised him years ago that food and drinks were on me until his schooling was done. Thankfully, he rarely took me up on it. Chelsea returned with my card and the receipts a few minutes later. Had she unbuttoned her top a little more? I hadn’t noticed so much cleavage earlier.
I penned in a decent tip and passed it back. This wasn’t my crowd, nor was it my music. After thanks, and a brief hug goodbye, Derek sat back down. Chelsea took my now vacant spot and stripped off her apron, either off duty or on break. I watched them flirt as she twirled her hair and I left to go back to my apartment.
Sunday was blissfully quiet. I graded papers, read, and played video games. Derek didn’t call, nor did I expect him to. I idly wondered about him and Chelsea, though it was none of my business. She had always been cute, but I wouldn’t even entertain the thought, especially now that I was sober. I remembered her she was still in high school, and she was closer to a little sister to me than anything else. But if she and Derek wanted to have a go at it, more power to them. Maybe she’d keep him out of the Army. I spent the rest of my Sunday cleaning my refrigerator of beer and then restocking it, lest my milk get lonely.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/8l535u/the_army_heathers_story_chapter_2_mfteacher