teacher

Sand and Surf (Part 1)

Summer 1988

Daytona Beach, Florida.  Summer had just begun and I found myself on vacation with my best friend, Wendy and her family. Her mother had just remarried and the only way she could really go on a “honeymoon” was to take the kids along. So there we were: her mom, new stepdad, little sister, older sister, Wendy and me, all crammed into their new minivan (which looked like a lunchbox on wheels). We ventured down from Georgia to the Florida coast in record time.

Once there, her mother “excused” us to go see the sights.  She also excused her sisters to grab some food. I think she wanted some alone time with her new hubby. Wendy and I put on our bikinis and raced down to the ocean to check out the scene. There were people everywhere. We grabbed some chairs and secured a spot in the sand while we took it all in.

Although it was late in the afternoon, we managed to get a head start on our tans. Please note, Southern girls, (especially back then) were all about their tans. It was a sign of status. It was something you “worked” on. It was something to be achieved. And we were well on our way. In fact, I got a bit too much sun and my shoulders were pink. We headed back to the room to get showered and changed for dinner.

Her family was so different from mine. With my folks, we always had a big production over dinner. Where we were going…how far away it was…who was driving…when we were leaving…and it went on and on. With her family, her stepdad gave us each $20 and told us to grab whatever we wanted.

And we were off again.

This may sound cheesy, no…not “may” sound, it will sound cheesy, but stay with me. Wendy and I looked so much alike that people regularly mistook us for twins. So we often dressed alike, which always drew second glances…exactly what we wanted.  We were almost identical except she was slightly taller and her eyes were a true blue. But I had the C-cups and fuller lips. Dressed in red tanks and white shorts, we hit the strip in search of some fun.

We were approached by so many different guys. Some of them our age, some of them older, some of them MUCH older. They flocked around us. I think most men have some type of deep-seeded twin fantasy. And we loved the adoration. 

There was a pair of young men that seemed to hold our attention longer than the others. They were dental students on vacation from somewhere up north. Aaron was very blonde, with an angular face and dark eyes. He was quiet and pensive. He reminded me of Sting. I could tell there was a darkness underneath his introverted surface, so I gravitated more towards him. His friend’s name was Jeremy. He was muscular, loud and raucous, just how Wendy liked her men. 

We grabbed some food at a local diner and then set out for a nightly stroll on the beach. Wendy and Jeremy walked ahead of us. They were drinking beer and laughing. They chased each other in the water and played around like kids. It was their version of foreplay. Aaron and I hung back a bit. We were in the middle of a long chat about physics (no lie). I was turned on by his intellect. I enjoyed his awkwardness. I knew he had potential to be a lot of fun. The ones who are wound the tightest, usually are. We decided to sit down on an abandoned blanket on the beach and continue our conversation.

“Wendy and Jeremy seem to be having a lot of fun,” he said, motioning over to where they were. Wendy was on Jeremy’s shoulders while he ran into the waves.  He would pretend to throw her into the water and she would squeal for him to stop. They were having a ball. “Are you sure you want to hang out with me? I know I am bit boring compared to him.”

I smiled at him, “No. I am right where I want to be, Aaron. I enjoy these deep conversations.”

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. I laid back on the blanket and looked up at the sky. It was truly magical to see the stars like that. I was trying to decipher the constellations, when I felt his mouth on mine.

His kiss was choppy and nervous. He seemed unsure of himself, which made him even more awkward. I reached up and touched his cheek, pushing the hair away from his eyes. He stopped and looked at me. Stared at me, like he’d never felt that type of touch. Then he leaned in to kiss me again, but this time, it was good.

Soon he was on top of me. Right there…on the beach, just like in “From Here to Eternity” but we were far away from the water’s edge.  In fact, we moved back a bit, behind a dune for privacy.  We undressed each other without hesitation, with no worry about our location.  It was pure passion. The kind you have with someone you’ve just met, that you know you’ll never see again. It’s liberating.

I felt him enter me. I could tell he was not as experienced as me, but that was okay. I was accustomed to being the teacher. I guided the rhythm and pushed my hips to meet his. It was so incredibly hot, being out there on the beach and the risk of being caught fueled my fire. I pulled him into my body and flipped positions on him. Being on top gave me even more control. He loved it. He’d never had a woman on top before. He was enamored with my soft, full breasts and teased them relentlessly. He came within minutes of me mounting him. His loud growl could be heard halfway down the shore.

We got ourselves dressed and caught up with Wendy and Jeremy. Both of them were drunk, soaked from the ocean and spent from their little tryst on an empty lounge chair. Aaron and Jeremy walked us back to our hotel and bid us goodnight. It was 3:00 in the morning. Wendy’s parents were sound asleep. We managed to slip into bed unnoticed.

That morning, her mother woke us up early for breakfast. I rolled out of bed, sore and tired. I shuffled to the bathroom and felt like I was on FIRE.  No, not from a sunburn. That would have been far less painful. Sand had migrated into my nether regions during my little jaunt on the beach. Yikes! But that’s what you get when you play in the sandbox, right? 

All of that on the first night of the vacation. There were six more days to stir up trouble…and we made sure we did. beach blanket-1

(Photo credit: Pinterest)  

Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?

Growing up in the Deep South, it was an expectation to date within your own race, culture and religion.

I’ve never liked rules.  And I scoff at expectations.

My poor parents never knew who was coming to dinner. (But lets just say I always knew who was “coming” after dinner.)  My curiosity and adventurous spirit led me to some very interesting encounters with gents from all walks of life.

There was Geoff.  He was a restaurant manager where a few of my friends worked.  He was very dark and brooding.  No one called out sick when Geoff was there.  He ran a tight ship and as much as my friends disliked him, I found his power and control a big turn on.  He seemed to like me also.  We began dating and on the first date, I learned that he was Jewish.  I was fascinated.  We talked a lot about religion.  His very orthodox upbringing. His “rebellion” by dating Christian women.  We talked about rituals and teachings.  I was like a sponge.  I learned so much from him.

And then I thought…time to teach him a thing or two…

Although he was older than me by a few years, he’d not had many sexual experiences.  I feel that his upbringing had a lot to do with that.  I was happy to school him in the ways of the flesh.  He was a very tender lover.  Very considerate.  I longed for him to channel some of that power and control he exuded at work, but it just didn’t happen.  He just wasn’t confident enough yet to blend those parts of his personality.  But I could see a beast lurking behind those big brown eyes of his.  But it just didn’t last long enough for me to bring it out.  Our relationship fizzled before Passover.

There was Ki.  His mother was Korean and his father American.  We went to high school together and the bastard beat me out for Salutatorian by less than a point.  I never saw myself dating him.  He was so focused on school that I don’t think he dated much.  We were always friends (and always in competition) but there was no spark.  While in college that changed a bit.  He began working out and out of nowhere…picked up some serious swagger.  The combination of his new attitude and intelligence made me take an interest in him.  We started going out.  He was a doting boyfriend.  Always attentive.  Almost in a fatherly way.  He would ask if my car had gas, if I’d done my assignments, if I’d paid my bills (and offered to pay if I needed) and always made sure I had groceries.  Not that I needed any of this, but he ensured I was cared for.  For him, it was a learned behavior.  His mother had never worked outside of the home and his father handled everything.  She was very submissive and I feel that modeled what Ki sought in a girlfriend.

And in turn, as a submissive…I made sure he was cared for.  I gave him his first head.  And he was blown away.  He had only had missionary position sex and I opened the doors to contortions far beyond his imagination.   He was such an eager student that we fucked every chance we could.  It’s ironic that he tried to control my life in his own way…keeping me on task with the things I needed to do.  And I controlled him in a sexual way…steering the course of what we would do next.  It was an interesting dynamic.  And he loved nothing more than filling me with his seed when I rode him, only to have me finger myself to taste him afterwards.  Our little hot flame went out as he began testing to get into medical school.  His time was consumed with his studies.  But I must confess…I intentionally kept him up all night in a marathon fuckfest, the night before his first attempt at the MCAT.  Retribution, motherfucker…for beating me out of being Salutatorian.

There was Umesh, my chemistry tutor.  He was from India and was already arranged to marry a woman his parents selected for him.  And for me, in my rebellious nature, that posed a challenge.  How dare anyone decide for another person!  (Again…I was naive and headstrong…I had no idea that it was accepted in his culture)  So I took Umesh on as my student.  We didn’t have intercourse, but we explored far more than the periodic chart of the elements.  I showed him how to make me cum using only his index finger.  How to exact pleasure and pain by sucking my nipples.  I pleasured him manually and orally.  I think I even showed him some new hand job techniques.  He was always so grateful for our lessons. I am sure his knowledge served him and his arranged bride well.

And I ended up with an A in chemistry.

There were so many others I brought into the mix. My family finally began asking if there were any dietary preferences or religious restrictions when I said I was bringing home a date for dinner.  They eventually became accustomed to meeting people from different cultures, so I feel I did them a great service. And I didn’t do it to rebel against them or anyone else, I was truly thirsty for knowledge and experience.  I was able to learn things about different cultures and religions, intimate things.  I learned that at their core, men from all cultures and walks of life seek the same things.  Connection.  Respect.  Pleasure.

And amazing blow jobs.  

ki

The Student

Winter of 1988.

We met through a mutual friend, who said we were perfect for each other. He was almost 18 and I’d just turned 16.  His father was a dentist.  He attended a school in another county.  He was nice-looking, very tall and very smart.  His name was Joe.

Joe had all the traits of a confident, popular high school senior, except that he was painfully shy and socially awkward in certain scenarios.  He was most awkward when interacting with girls. I seemed to put him at ease.  And, I took him on as a project.

Our relationship began as a friendship.  We would attend different school functions in support of one another.  It gave us time to hang out and get to know each other in a comfortable setting.  But I found myself becoming more and more attracted to him.  I found myself thinking about him sexually.  Wanting him.

He was just so innocent.  So shy and nervous.  When we crossed the line from friendship into interest, our first kiss was a bit of a disaster.  But we kept at it and he grew more confident.  We began going on dates and instead of going to the movies as we said we were…we would end up in the backseat of his Volvo, making out to whatever was on the radio.  We never consummated the relationship.  He was very hesitant to go there.  I seemed to understand why.  I think it was performance anxiety.  He was still a virgin.

Joe knew that I was experienced.  More experienced and confident than he was.  I clearly knew what I was doing and he still fumbled about when trying to get into my jeans.  So I began to take on the role of coach, mentor, trainer to him.  You see, I knew the relationship we shared would not go anywhere.  Although we had so much in common on the outside, we were wired differently.  I knew that he couldn’t give me what I needed, even at such a young age…I knew who I was…what I craved…I understood my dark desires.  And Joe was truly too nice of a guy to handle my tar black soul.

I remember showing him how to remove my bra with one movement of his wrist.  How to caress my breasts, teasing my nipples.  I showed him how to kiss me on the neck to turn me on.  I demonstrated how to successfully get inside my jeans, with minimal effort. I explained a woman’s anatomy and showed him what felt good.  I let him experiment on me.  My body was like his laboratory and he was an eager student.

I remember the first time I took his cock in my mouth.  He came in a matter of seconds.  He was so embarrassed and apologetic.  But I explained that the only way to increase his endurance was through practice.  So we kept going there.  Eventually, he showed me what he liked.  He began to understand himself and his desires.  He learned how to communicate what he wanted from me.  How he liked it when I licked his shaft before taking him deep in my throat.

We carried on like this for weeks.  Each “date” was a tutoring session.  I taught him how to please me manually and orally. He became accustomed to giving and receiving pleasure.  He became more confident. He was morphing into the young man of my dreams.  But still, I knew it wouldn’t work long term.

One night after a long playdate in his car, he looked at me and said, “I am ready”

I was confused and said, “Okay.  I need to get home soon.  Let’s go.”

He said, “No.  I am ready to have sex…with you.”

I remember thinking how proud I was of him…that he not only knew he was ready, but he said it.  He told me.  I was impressed with his confidence.

I said, “Okay.  When do you want to do this?”  I felt like a teacher scheduling the final exam.

He said, “I will pick you up on Friday.  Be ready.”

Friday quickly arrived and I readied myself for our date.  I spent more time getting ready than I typically did for our sessions.  I wanted this to be special for him.  After school, I borrowed my mother’s car under the premise of getting hairspray at the store, but really, I bought my first pair of black thigh high stockings.  They were so opaque they were almost like tights and looked great under the black skirt I wore.  I felt confident and sexy.

He arrived a few minutes early and spend time chatting up my parents.  They liked his squeaky clean appearance and the fact that he came from a good family.  I rounded the corner from the hallway to the kitchen and our eyes met.  He was wearing a white Polo button down shirt with jeans.  He looked great.  He saw me and I could tell he was pleased by the way he looked me over.

We left my house around 7:30.  Instead of going to our favorite restaurant, he drove me to a place we’d never visited before.  It was close to his dad’s practice and had just been purchased by a developer (today there’s a car dealership there).  The road was clear, but completely deserted.  It was perfect.

Joe got out of the front seat without saying anything and walked around to open my door.  He took me by the hand and I assumed we would be moving to the backseat.  But first, he pinned me to the car and kissed me like he never had before.  I was shocked and excited.  He opened the door to the backseat and before I got in, he reached up my skirt and pulled my panties off…never uttering a word.  He then guided me into the car, shut the door and made his way to the other side.

He sat next to me and held my hand.  We rarely held hands, but it was nice. For a while, we just laughed and talked.  Then he looked at me, as he brushed my hair from my face and said, “I want you.”

Even though I was his teacher.  His mentor.  I felt a tinge of nervousness.  I was nervous about going all the way with him. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and laid it across the front seat.  He then carefully removed my sweater, and then my bra. We kissed and he pulled me on top of his lap.  He fondled my breasts and teased my slit.  I felt his hardness through his jeans and asked if I could taste him.  He opened his door and removed his pants outside, turning to face me in the car.

“Come here.  You know what I like.”

I sat on his side of the car and sucked his hard cock from the open door.  It was intensely hot.  He held my face and knelt down to kiss me.  Then he said, “Lie down and scoot back to your side of the car.  I need some room.”

I felt him mount me and for the first time, I felt him inside me.  He was rather well-endowed and filled me quite nicely.  Neither of us said anything.  We just looked into each other’s eyes and sank into our own rhythm.  He pulled my legs up and went deeper.  We never lost eye contact.  I knew when he was getting close to orgasm.  I could read it in his eyes.

He stopped and took me by the hand to pull me up.  He then got back into the car and sat down for me to straddle him.  I was still wearing my thigh highs and sat atop his lap, easing him into my sex.  He held my body tightly as I began to move up and down on his hard shaft.

He broke the silence, “How do I feel?  Do you like how I feel?”

I was eager to give him feedback, “You feel wonderful.  You fill me up and I don’t want to stop riding you.”

Hearing that turned him on as he grabbed my hips and began moving me to his rhythm.  Faster.  Harder. Deeper.  I came almost instantly and he was not far behind.  I will never forget the look in his eyes as he unloaded in me.  How intense. How amazed.  How grateful.  How sated.

Afterwards, I stayed on his lap and we held each other.  He nuzzled himself in my long hair and breathed me in.  We shared a certain closeness…an intimacy.  Something I’d yet to experience, and I later realized what a profound effect it had on me. Finally it was time for us to go.

On the way back, we stopped at a drive thru and ate.  We had been so eager that we forgot to eat.  We laughed and joked on the way home.  And as usual, he walked me to the door and gave me a goodnight kiss.  But there was something different in the way he walked…carried himself.  He was a man.  And at the time, he was my man.

Eventually our relationship fizzled and we went our separate ways by the Spring.  He graduated that year and moved cross country to attend college.  One day, I received a letter from him.

The first page of the letter talked a lot about his life in college, his new girlfriend, his family and then on the second page…written as a separate note, was a letter thanking me for taking the time to show him how to treat a woman.  He referenced everything he learned from me and how I made his first time so special.  He went on to say that if he lived to be 100, he would never forget that night in late February where he lost his virginity.  He would never forget how patient I was with him.  He said in the letter that I was more than his first time, I was his first love.  He closed the note in a way that was closure for both of us.

It will be 28 years this February and I’ve never looked him up on social media.  I have never attempted to find his number or contact him in any way.  I drove by his dad’s practice and noticed his sister had taken it over, since his father retired.  I don’t want to know Joe now.  Our time and our purpose was long ago.

I want to keep him alive in my memories, just as I remember him.

in the car