{Amberle} New--"History 101" (MF, teacher/student) [1/2]
AmbrL3Rvrs
reading now. The story is a work of fiction; that means it is *made
up.* Also--the story is mine. Should you wish to post it somewhere
else, you must first ask for my permission.
I welcome comments and would appreciate knowing if
there is anything here you like. Email me at
AmbrL...@aol.com, as I do not know if I will see your
comments on the newsgroup.
{{Amberle of the Three Rivers}}
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History 101
Part One
He always sat in the back row of the classroom. I noticed him right away, the
first day of the semester, in fact. It didn't matter that the first day is
almost always a blur of names and faces for me. He stood out. I'd been
teaching college freshman world history for four years, and he stood out.
He was tall, I'd noticed that when he walked in. Maybe 6'1". He was wearing
jeans, not too tight, not too baggy. His T-shirt was navy blue, and he wore it
tucked into the jeans. He had on a black belt, with a silver buckle. And
white sneakers. His eyes were dark, nearly black, and my sense of his
ethnicity was some mix of Mexican and African-American. Maybe Native American,
too. He was beautiful and he knew it.
"Carlos Williams," I called out from the roster and he identified himself with
a quick nod, and then a brilliant smile. A cocky but still endearing smile
that was sexy enough to make me pause. At my hesitation, his smile widened,
and I felt myself blush.
I didn't date students. Sure, sometimes I'd look, but how could I not look?
Looking at (and sometimes fantasizing about) students was always where I drew
the line. I had never gone over that line. It's a dangerous habit to get
into, dating students. Both professionally and psychologically. Besides, most
college freshmen are hopelessly self-centered and narrow-minded. This guy was
different.
From the first day on, he sat in the back. I noticed him and tried to tell
myself there was nothing to the fact that my eyes found him throughout the
lesson or class discussion. Perhaps more frightening was my sense that he knew
I found him fascinating. He didn't talk much during class, but I could feel
his attention focused on me for the entire 70 minute class period. By the
third week, he'd started staying after for a few minutes, to talk to me.
He called me "Ms. Daniels," and he did it with that killer smile. At first we
talked about history, and about his progress in the class. Then he started
asking a question here or there about my personal life, where I was from, what
I was planning to do for the week of spring break, etc. I always kept the tone
of our conversations light, and tried to maintain my distance even as I found
my gaze following the line of his broad shoulders and the curve of his bicep
muscles.
One afternoon after class we were talking and I started walking to my office
and he followed me. We were discussing the theories behind the origins of the
Bayeux Tapestry as I unlocked my office door and turned on a lamp on the
computer desk.
I set down my bookbag and turned on another lamp, casting my office in a
cheerful yellow glow.
Carlos leaned up against the computer desk while I took the chair next to the
other desk in the room. As he talked, he gestured with his hands and I
realized that I was focusing on his hands more than what he was saying. He was
wearing jeans, only now he had on a moss green colored t-shirt.
All of the sudden, he stopped talking and I hurriedly pulled my gaze back up to
his face and tried to remember exactly what he'd been saying. I smoothed my
flowered skirt over me knees and tried to remind myself that this *student* was
probably 10 years younger than I was. My thoughts--which I hadn't even given
free rein--were still completely inappropriate......
"Are you married?" he asked. The question came out as if it were a totally
normal question for a student to ask an instructor (especially when the two of
them are alone in her office and all she can think about is that his lips are
incredibly erotic and....)
I shook my head. "No," I replied. My knee began to bounce a bit, a nervous
habit of mine, and I made a conscious effort to stop the movement.
His gaze was intense. He didn't act like any of the 18 year-olds I'd ever come
into contact with before. There was a presence about him. A maturity. It
made me nervous. It excited me.
"Involved?"
I shook my head. I crossed my arms over my chest. "Why do you ask?"
He smiled now, and I tried not to melt. I glanced over at the open door of my
office, feeling guilty just for enjoying his smile so much, but no one was
anywhere around. By 4pm, the building practically became a ghost town, and it
was nearly 4:30 now.
"I'd ask you out if I thought you'd say yes," he said.
My laugh was nervous, and I couldn't meet his eyes. "Ask me out? On a date?"
He didn't smile. Just nodded. "Yeah. A date."
"It just doesn't work that way." I tried to paste a smile on my face.
Meanwhile, my heart was beating hard and fast and my face felt flushed.
"You've thought about it, too." His voice was self-assured, calm.
Unable to sit still, I stood up and leaned against my desk, my arms still
crossed protectively. "Thought about what?" I asked, hoping that if I played
dumb for a moment, I'd figure a way out of this. I wanted out of it. It was
wrong. Right?
Carlos considered me for a moment, then pushed away from the computer desk.
Slowly, he walked to the door of my office. I thought maybe he was going to
leave, and I felt both tremendous relief and incredible disappointment. Then
he shut the door--the click of the door mechanism loud in the
silence--enclosing both of us in what used to feel like a relatively large
space but now felt about as big as a refrigerator box.
"Carlos--" I began, shaking my head.
He turned around to face me and leaned back against the closed door.
"I think about you all the time," he said. His voice was low and almost
matter-of-fact. "But if you tell me that you've never thought about me, I'll
leave."
Damn. I hesitated, for just a brief moment, and it was all he needed. A
flicker of triumph passed across his face, a very male sort of glee.
"You have." It wasn't a question.
I sighed. With a small shrug, I pushed myself up a bit so that I could sit on
my desk, my feet planted on the seat of the office chair. "It doesn't matter,
Carlos."
I could feel his eyes roaming over me and felt a purely sexual thrill. I tried
to tamp it down, even as I felt my breasts begin to tingle.
"It's about the only thing that *does* matter," he said softly as he began to
advance on me. He didn't stop until he was gripping the back of my desk chair
in his hands. The air felt heavy in my chest and I fought to find the ability
to ask him to leave the office.
When I didn't say anything, could only look up at him with wide eyes, he pulled
the chair out from under my feet and pushed it aside. He took a step closer
and I scooched back a bit, putting up a hand. "Carlos, we can't--" The
protest even sounded weak to my ears.
One more step and now my hand was pressed against his chest, my palm curved
over a deliciously hard pectoral muscle. "I'll leave if you want me to," he
whispered. All I could do was close my eyes. I let my head fall forward a
bit, my forehead resting on his chest. I could feel the heat of him radiating
out.
His hands curled around my legs, right above my knees, and he pulled my knees
apart. Insinuating himself between my legs, he slowly tugged me forward. I
whimpered as he brought our bodies together, pressing us at chest and groin.
"You want me to leave?" he asked again. He reached up to tilt my face back.
Combing his hands through my hair, he made me look him in the eye. "You want
me just as much as I want you."
I couldn't deny it.
{{Amberle of the Three Rivers}}
{{AmbrL...@aol.com}}