| Straight: Serial Stories: Teacher: Teacher: Part I (1/6) |
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She must have been at least forty. I didn’t get a close look at her face because of the dim lighting and overactive smoke machine, but I saw enough to know. Bleached blonde hair fell onto her tanned shoulders and back that wore dark freckles from sun-damage. Her long neck showed the familiar signs too, but her petite body was tight and attractive in her short, black, silky dress and the way she threw herself about told me she was fit enough. Three or four of the lads from the stag party I was with were fooling around with her on the dance floor and I could see they were getting drawn in by her antics. The guys were of varying ages, shapes and sizes, but were all dressed like me: shirts and ties, some still in jackets… and all with a noticeable bulge in their trousers. She backed into their crotches as she wiggled her arse, wrapped a lithe leg around another’s waist as she hung from his neck and then pulled his face into her plunging cleavage. Then she did a limbo and sank back onto the flashing coloured-glass squares that made up the floor, edged slowly, rhythmically through the legs of a very tall guy, dragged her tongue across the tight material of his trousered balls as she did so. The black dress was almost around her waist and only a slender black thong hid the sweet prize between her taut, bronzed thighs. She had a crowd now and was loving it: groups of women were nudging and laughing, pointing and shouting; blokes were leering and hurling obscenities between swigs of lager. I wriggled forwards, elbowed a couple of people out of the way till I was part of the dense perimeter that now hemmed the dancers in. A thought struck me: a cell, an animal cell. We, on the edge of the crowd, are the cell wall; the guys, smoke and flashing lights of the dance floor are the protoplasm within; she is the nucleus - writhing, gyrating, feeding off everything around her. She is the reason for our being here, our focus. It felt good to surrender, to be merely a small part of someone else’s greater reality and to know, at that moment, that is all I was; so I stood smiling and transfixed, happy to play my part. Then I caught her face in profile and suddenly understood where the analogy of the cell came from, shook my head in wonder at the power of the human brain to make connections. Mrs Cheetham. Biology teacher from my old school. Her hair was never bleached back then and her clothes had always been more conservative, but there was no doubt. She’d seemed taller at school too, but I’d obviously grown since then and when she did a walkover right in front of me, I remembered that she also taught gym. She eased into a headstand, held herself there and did the splits. The thong disappeared into her crack, displaying her shaved privates for all the world to see. A guy leaned forwards, poured a short over her crotch. The golden liquid poured down her belly, dribbled over her arse, like she was pissing herself. Her face was euphoric. Guys whooped and cheered, girls screamed with laughter. I was red with embarrassment for her, which was amazing because it felt like most of my blood was actually pumping elsewhere. This wasn’t the first time she’d made me hard. ‘The male’s penis enters the female’s vagina and deposits the sperm.’ Her husky |
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Mixed feelings.........