An Idealistic Teacher (Part I)

“If a disciplinary issue arises, then you call down to the principal’s office. But I expect you to maintain order in the classroom, so don’t call with every little episode. You’re going to have to get used to what counts as normal at NewField, Jessica.” The gruff instruction from the principal made a lump form in your throat, as you stood in the electric glow of the harsh overhead fluorescent lights of the school office. You couldn’t tell whether his comment about “counts as normal” was a warning, or a threat.
Either way, you were asking yourself whether you could go through with this. You had become an educator for a reason — you were convinced of the value you could provide to children, especially the underprivileged — but NewField was anything like what you’d experienced. At the elementary schools you had become a beloved, award-winning teacher in just two years. Your heels clicked loudly on the hallway floor, and leering looks from the students at their lockers caught the corner of your eye as you walked deliberately toward your classroom, with your binder full of lesson plans and notes in your arms.

You found your classroom full, the unruly students laughing and talking across the room to each other, although they quieted somewhat as you opened the door and walked in. You told yourself to walk more confidently now, striding to the front teacher’s desk and placing your binder down before picking chalk from the small tray and walking to the board. “AMERICAN LITERATURE, MS. TAYLOR” you wrote onto the board in big block letters.

“Hello class, my name is Ms. Taylor, and I will be teaching your section of senior’s English, American literature.” You tried to sound firm and authoritative in your voice. As you looked around the classroom, you were taken aback by the range of students. Some looked like middle schoolers, hardly old enough to be out of their parents’ car seats, others nearly middle aged, some of the boys with full-grown beards. White, Black, Latino — it was diverse, unlike the suburban elementary school where you had taught the two previous years.

You tried to throw yourself immediately into the first lesson, concealing your anxiety and unselfconfidence with the firmness you took in laying out the course material for the semester. As the lesson progressed, you noticed one of the boys in the back of the class was following you with an intense gaze. The boy, who could hardly be called a boy, obviously tall and broad-shouldered. He was wearing a yellow t-shirt, with the name of a construction company emblazoned across the front, fitted tightly around his muscular torso. He wore jeans and tan work boots. He was slinked nonchalantly into his seat, but the laziness of his posture belied his gaze… it was as if he wouldn’t let up, trying to catch your eye.

“Let’s go around the room and introduce each other,” you said as the first lesson outline concluded. You took your roll call list of students, their names and ages and administrative notes. When it was the boy in the back’s turn, you looked at him with curiousity. “I’m Jason,” he said quietly but firmly, as you and he looked at each other directly, pausing for a moment. From the list you saw that Jason was repeating his senior year — he had just turned 20, and he’d been held back once before in middle school, both times for “disciplinary infractions,” according to the administrative note.

You swallowed deliberately and smiled awkwardly. Jason was impossibly attractive. And he was just three years younger than you. His white teeth flashed as he smiled faintly, shifting in his seat, and you noticed the flexing of his forearms as he leaned forward a bit. She hesitated again. “You got plans this weekend, Ms. Taylor?” Jason asked out loud, a hint of teasing in his voice. The class erupted in laughter as your face flushed red and you looked sternly down at the class roster. “OK, let’s keep going,” you said loudly, as the students resumed introductions.

Your curiosity about Jason had led you to visit the administrative office twice over the next several weeks, taking out his personal file. He’d been suspended for having been caught with weed on campus, and the second time for beating another student in a fight over a girl. Jason was a leading wrestler on the varsity team, and his file noted was frequently late or absent because he worked part-time for his uncle’s construction company.

During those first several weeks Jason had regularly flirted with you, or tried to, but you were careful to keep your demeanor. You made it a point to dress conservatively when teaching, and you didn’t pay Jason any more attention than the other students — or not overtly, at least. You caught yourself watching him during the morning quiz time, admiring his soft, brown, tousled hair… imagining what it would be like to run your fingers through, tracing your fingers gently along his face, tracing out his smooth, firm jaw line. He was impossibly gorgeous. Everything about him exuded rough masculinity, which was as intimidating as it was attractive. But however free you let your thoughts run, you didn’t let them show and certainly never thought of acting upon them.

Jason was again on your mind after the fourth week exam. He was absent on the day you gave the test, and he missed the make-up period during lunch the next day when he was allowed to sit for the exam again. During study hall period in the afternoon you found Jason in the library: “Jason I can proctor your exam and let you take it this afternoon after class, but this is your last chance. Otherwise you’ll receive a failing grade.”

“Shit, ok, I’ll be there,” he grumbled. “Please don’t use that language, Jason,” you replied promptly. He scowled a bit and said nothing, glancing away.

Later that afternoon after the final section was dismissed you sat at your desk and began to grade papers. Jason came to the deserted classrooms door and knocked loudly. “Yes, please come in Jason.” He walked to his usual seat in the back of the class, as you stapled together his test papers, and then walked to hand them to him. As you placed the exam on his desk you felt his knee, bump softly into your leg. The soft touch sent a shiver through you, and although there was no reason to think he glanced against you deliberately, you were startled that the accidental touch had such an effect on you. You walked quickly back to the front desk to continue grading.

Time past and you looked at your phone’s clock: “Jason, you have fifteen minutes left. I’m going to turn on my phone timer and I will be in the hallway — I have to talk briefly with Mr. Harrison — but I’ll come back in and collect your test after the alarm goes off.

Minutes past and you heard the alarm from outside the classroom, so you finished chatting with your fellow teacher and returned to the room. You stopped abruptly as you entered. There was Jason, sitting on the edge of your desk, holding your phone. “Jason, what are you doing? Please give me the phone.”

Jason smiled faintly, as he slid off the desk and walked very deliberately, one firm step after another, over to where you were standing. “Here you go, Ms. Taylor,” he said blandly.
“Jason, what were you doing with my phone.” You were breathing hard now, your heart racing.

“I was looking at your pictures,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“What? You have no right to do that. That is my private, personal phone and I’m going to notify the principal immediately of your behavior,” you sputtered in a harsh, accusatory tone.

“I don’t think you want to do that,” Jason replied, looking intently into your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I am obligated to. Your behavior is unacceptable.”

“I think you’re the one who’s going to get in trouble,” Jason said.

“What on earth do you mean?” you replied nervously.

“I texted a picture I found to my phone. It was a pretty hot picture,” Jason said very slowly and seriously now, his faint smile turning up at the edges of his mouth.

You felt a knot forming in your throat, a wave of nausea rolling over you, feeling almost dizzy now. You realized what he had done. You had taken a selfie earlier that week while you were topless. You had taken it to send teasingly to your boyfriend while he was away traveling to a client meeting.
“I don’t think the principal would like you to be sexting your students,” Jason said slyly.

You took the phone out of his hand and feverishly looked at the sent messages. There it was. He had sent it and wasn’t bluffing. Tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Jason, please don’t do this. I don’t know why you would do this. Please. Delete the photo.”
“OK. I’ll delete it,” he replied. “But first you need to do something for me.”

You locked eyes with Jason as warm tears started to dribble down your cheeks. “What do you mean?! What the fuck do you mean by that?” you said desperately.

Slowly Jason let his left hand fall to his waist, and his fingers, as if just absentmindedly playing, flitted slowly back and forth downward… as through his jeans he grasped his cock, rubbing it now, looking intently into your eyes.

“What?!” you gasped.

“Mmmhm,” he said. “First you need to suck my cock.”

You stood still, frozen, a pit welling up in your stomach, feeling as if you might be sick, tears in your eyes and running down your cheeks, as the thoughts ran through your head, and you tried to process what was happening. You knew now you only had one choice. You walked slowly to the door, shutting it, drawing the shade downward.

Jason leaned back onto the edge of your desk, still softly stroking his cock beneath his jeans. You approached him, trembling, your heart racing, as you looked up into his eyes. You reached upward, clasping your long blond hair into your hands and pulling it back into a pony tail. You bit your lower lip now, glancing downward, as you reached your hands to the button on his jeans….

To be continued.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/j3n7ci/an_idealistic_teacher_part_i