By the end of the evening, they were beginning to gel as a group. Olaffsen was tired, but satisfied. He thought of a horse he'd once ridden. The skittish animal hadn't been easy to manage. But he'd broken her, gently but firmly, consistently repeating commands until the mare was an obedient and graceful mount. Once trust was established, as well as who was in control, they'd gotten along beautifully.
Bang on the dot at eight o'clock, he called the rehearsal to a halt and told them they'd done a good job.
"I could use a ride home," said Hillary. She looked at the music teacher, her sly smile about as subtle as a hand grenade, and Jake immediately looked at Stan.
"Got room for one more? You're taking David home, right?"
"Sure!" Stan's voice was hearty and welcoming. Inwardly he rolled his eyes. What a tramp.
"Sorry, I have another promise to keep," Jake told Hillary.
Craig somberly packed up his axe. He could have given her a ride, but somehow he doubted she'd accept, especially since it would be just the two of them in his car. He sighed. It was a painful lesson to learn that not all screwups magically went away. Time could not race forward. Neither could he turn back the clock.
Alone at last in his bachelor pad, Jacob permitted himself to think of the blonde high school senior who was either developing a crush on him, or simply playing with fire to see what would happen. He reminded himself of who he was: a teacher who honestly cared about the welfare of his students.
At the same time, her faint perfume curled its cachet in his brain. He wondered if she shaved her pubic hair and rather hoped not. How sweet it would be to bury his face in that golden down, the pale skin of her adolescent thighs rubbing against his weathered cheek.
Fifty-five. She probably thinks I'm an old man. He set aside the internal voice that warned of folly, even disaster, and let his mind wander down the path. Was she a virgin? He could feel her firm, round ass in his palms as he teased her. In fantasy he lipped at the edges of her golden triangle, pulling lightly at the curling hairs.
"Don't tease me!"
He didn't answer her cry. He merely demonstrated that he would satisfy her when he was good and ready. The feminine odor grew stronger as he breathed a warm current of air over her mons. Her labia swelled as he watched, the fat pink folds beginning to shine. Ever so lightly he ran a finger up one outer lip.
He glanced up at his pupil. A sheen of sweat coated her velvety skin. Her breasts bounced as she writhed, breathlessly panting out want and need. Soon he would take her beautiful young tits in his mouth, but first ...
One hard finger pressed halfway into her saturated folds. The sharp involuntary flex of her back brought her shoulders up. The spasm of quivering female muscle around his digit, the accompanying gush, left no doubt in his mind that she'd jumped the first hurdle.
"That was good, Hillary. Very good," he praised her.
"Fuck me, please fuck me ... "
"Not yet, little one. You still have much to learn." And he spread her pink petals and went to work with his tongue...
He fell asleep dreaming of forbidden fruit.
* * *
Allison was pleased that she got to the music room first. She didn't want to be caught flat like last time. Hurriedly she stuck a reed in her mouth and assembled her stick. By the time the others arrived, she'd be warmed up and ready to go.
Five minutes later, the prickle at the back of her neck told her she was being watched. She looked up to see Craig Stewart through the tiny window of the classroom door.
The doorknob turned in slow motion. Nausea threatened; her hands grew slippery. Craig walked into the room. They were alone.
He lifted his palms and stayed far away from her. "I just came to practice. I didn't think anyone would be here yet."
Warily she nodded. "I was thinking the same thing."
"Allison, I'm really sorry," he blurted. "I was an ass, I wouldn't blame you if you hated me forever, I can't believe how I acted, I'm really sorry."
His humility was clearly authentic. Allison burst into tears. Craig panicked and turned toward the door.
"You don't have to go! I was just scared, that's all."
He hesitated. The last thing he needed was for someone, anyone, to walk in and find the two of them alone with her crying. He stood still with one hand on the doorknob, ready to make a break for it.
Allie's weeping was short-lived. She put down the clarinet and used both hands to wipe her face.
"Are you sure?" he asked. For he was sure of nothing, least of all his welcome in this room.
"Yes. Yes." She pushed the backs of her fingers across her face and sniffled. Craig wanted to hug her but he did not dare. He looked around the room for help and found it in the form of a box of tissues. Cautiously he held out the box and got his reward: however weakly, however watery, Allison smiled at him.
"Thank you." She accepted the white flag and blew her nose on it.
"You're welcome." Hang onto this, Craig, don't screw it up. He kept a safe distance, and after she trumpeted again, repeated himself. "I'm sorry for what I did."
"I know. I know you are. Thank you," and two more tears slid down her face. She pushed them away and whispered, "I forgive you."
Craig bowed his head. It suddenly seemed too heavy to carry. He thought he might cry himself.
Allison picked up her clarinet and took the next step toward healing: "How about that practice?"
"Yeah." His smile was tangible as he opened his guitar case and unrolled the strap. "You lead."
By the time Jake Olaffsen stepped in, the two were side by side with their eyes on the music. He thought the girl's eyes were the least bit red; but clearly there was peace between them. A prayer of thanks infused his mind. Thank god; the worst was over.
Soon thereafter, however, it became clear that their little society was far from working out its difficulties. Allison again arrived early for practice, and this time, Craig was hoping to get a little further.
It started out innocently. The pair was still on shaky ground, and consciously at least, looking to build on their common venture of musical study. Craig ducked his neck under the strap and adjusted his instrument in front of his body.
Allison stood nearby. Their music stands were side by side. She wrapped her hands around the pole and made ready to put the tip in her mouth.
"Let's take it from bar fourteen, here." She pointed at the page.
"Uh, bar...?"
"Measure." She smiled gently at him, remembering he was new to the language.
"Gotcha." Craig stepped back half a pace, angling his hips a few degrees toward her. Allison counted off and they began to play.
He watched her fingers moving up and down the dark hardwood and his concentration trembled a little. Then his eyes traveled up to her mouth. Her lips were firm around the shaft as she blew. The comparison was unavoidable.
Allison was nearly as guilty; her eyes were riveted to Craig's left hand. It crossed her mind that the way he handled the neck of his guitar might resemble the way he took care of his needs on a lonely night. He changed chords. The strumming mixed with her own aural vibrations. The tremor was faint on her Richter, and rising.
Her face went from giggly to serious in a few swift seconds as she considered more fully what was in her mouth. She looked at his left hand where it gripped the wood; then she looked in his eyes. The only dick she'd ever had in her mouth was David's. What would Craig's be like? Hardly believing what she was doing, she pushed the clarinet in a bit further, then pulled it out. She kept her eyes on his.
Craig was hard. Never in his young life had a woman teased him so directly and graphically. His right hand crashed at the strings.
Just as the discordant noise tumbled haplessly into the room, the door swung open. For the second time within a four-month span, David walked in on Craig and Allison. This time, however, it was clear that she wasn't putting up a fight. He exploded immediately.
Send to your friend
