Incest/Taboo There's a New Teacher in Town

I studied myself in the mirror. Sometimes the simplest things are the best things. I was wearing a black tank top, form fitting jeans with a wide belt, and boots with a 3½ inch chunky heel. The tank top was just long enough to reach my jeans. Most any movement revealed a narrow horizontal view of flesh. No jewelry, but a pair of sunglasses tucked in my cleavage. My dark hair, which reached just past my neck, was brushed straight back. Looking past my clothes, I studied my body. Over the past two months I'd lost ten pounds; I was only two pounds heavier then when I graduated from college. My time in the gym was reflected in my lean muscle tone.

I knocked on my daughter's door. It opened instantly. Julie stands five feet four inches tall, about two inches shorter than I. Her blonde hair was cut short, reaching the nape of her neck. She was also wearing a tank top, tighter and smaller than mine; it stopped just short of her belly button, showing off a wide expanse of her flat stomach. Her cut off shorts were so tiny that the pocket liners hung out the bottom. She wore small ankle boots. Her only accessory, other than the sun glasses tucked between her bosom, was a key hanging on a string around her neck.

The door bell rang; I heard my husband downstairs.

"Hello Kevin, taking the girls to the show tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Better you than me, I don't understand what you see in modern dance."

"Anything to please the ladies, sir."

When Julie and I came down the steps Kevin's eyes were appreciative; his manner polite.

"You ladies ready to go?"

"Yes Kevin, the truck's packed."

I turned to my husband. "The show's not over until late, so we'll be spending the night in the city. We have reservations at Loews if you need us." And with that my daughter, her boyfriend, and I headed to the garage.
​

* * * *​

When Kevin first told me how he'd like me to dress, the juices flowing between my legs was tempered by one thought: how would I explain to my husband that when I was hanging with my daughter and her boyfriend, which would be often, I dressed like a bitch in heat. Kevin was a step ahead of me.

"Hilary, how often do you two have sex."

"Once, twice a month, why?"

"And how often does he make you come?"

"Rarely, and recently only when I pretend it's you."

That raised a smile. "I like it when you butter me up. Start asking for sex four, five, six times a week. Bring him off but demand your own orgasm. If he fails to deliver, masturbate. Don't be mean or snitty about it, but insist he participate, lick your breasts while you finger yourself, something like that. He'll quickly conclude you're in some change of life place where your sexual needs are in overdrive, that you want him desperately, and that he is completely wholly inadequate. Men don't like to think that way about themselves."

I doubt you'll ever have to, I thought.

"After a short period of time he won't want to confront your sexuality, he'll be part terrified, part intimidated. Each time you dress, as you say, like a bitch in heat, it will remind him of his inadequacy. He'll hope you're not making going to make a sexual demand on him; not only will he pretend not to see it, he won't see it. He'll just be relieved you didn't require him to perform."

Kevin, it turned out, was right.
​

* * * *​

Kevin took the driver's seat and we headed for the city. I knew the possibilities. He might want to show us off; a meal at a sidewalk bistro where he'd display two hot, barely clothed chicks completely enthralled by him. Or we could head straight for the hotel and several hours of sex. Then the evening and the outfits he, and we, loved, expensive, sexy, always classy, clothes. Underneath, skimpy lingerie, stockings and garters, heels and stilettos. After dinner at one of the city's fine restaurants we'd go to the show, dance long into the night, and return to the hotel to make love until the sun came up.

And although it happened often enough that I felt comfortable calling it a routine, I craved it now more than ever.

How had I gotten here?
​

* * * *​

Bruce Huff, my husband, was the regional sales manager for a consumer electronics firm. When his company moved its Western Regional Office from Phoenix to Fort Collins, Colorado, which is located about an hour north of Denver, I was pleased. The demographics of the student body at my high school had changed; I spent as much time managing the chaos as instructing. A good suburban school seemed a nice alternative. I figured my Teacher of the Year awards and other commendations would help me find a job. It didn't hurt that I still had my looks. While my prominent jaw and too wide mouth kept me from being considered classically beautiful, I was still in a happy place: pretty enough to be noticed but not so overtly sexy as to make women jealous.

The issue of sexy was another reason for the move. My blonde daughter was, depending on her mood and clothing, either over-the-top sexy or cute as a button. She also displayed a marked preference for bad boys, of which our high school abounded. I, over her father's objection, had her on the pill. He had become oblivious to all things sexual. Moving her to a new place seemed like just the thing.

Within a week of sending my resume to the Larimer County School Board I received a telephone call from Diane Lang, principal of Eisenhower High School. Eisenhower, the best public high school in Colorado, was where I hoped to teach. Diane arranged for an interview in two weeks when I would be in Fort Collins house hunting.

I arrived early in the afternoon. The contrast with my school was striking; the kids were nicely dressed and polite. When I asked a young man for directions to the principal's office, he didn't grunt or point the way, he walked me to the door. When I told him I was there to interview for a job, he sung the school's praises.

Principal Lang met me at her office door. At forty-five she was six years older than me. She was my height, kept himself trim and fit, and had blue eyes and brown shoulder length hair. Her beauty was understated. She'd look as good without make-up as with it. Her reputation was excellent; before turning Eisenhower into the best school in the state she had transformed Marshall, a troubled gang- ridden inner city school in Denver, into a first rate institution.

She brewed me a cup of tea. Our conversation was wide-ranging, touching on family and personal issues, educational philosophy, and the world in general. She was engaging, warm, and smart. After forty-five minutes she asked if I wanted to see the school.

We left her office in a break between classes. The halls were packed with students, but they parted to let us pass. Everyone greeted her with an upbeat hello and she knew each students' name. We popped into the teachers' longue for a quick introduction. The teachers, like the students, were trim, alert, and well-dressed.

As she walked me back to the front door she asked, "So what do you think?"

"The co-operation you get from the kids is unlike anything I've seen. How do you do it?"

"Well, to simplify, we got the kids to buy into what we do here. We identify the class leaders and get them aboard. The rest follow."

"I noticed how trim and well-groomed everyone is."

"We convinced the state to put in a pilot exercise and nutrition program six years ago. It's really taken hold. Even our faculty eats the cafeteria food, it's quite good."

Diane walked me to my car and took my hand in hers. "There are four candidates for the job. I've interviewed the other three. I am going to recommend you to the Board. That's not a guarantee, but," her tone confident, "in my years here they've always accepted my recommendations."

I felt no need to be disingenuous. "Well, Eisenhower was first on my list before today and today, well, was beyond impressive. But don't you want to talk to my references?"

"I already have. If you have any questions, please call, and once you get situated here let me know. I'd love to have your family over for dinner."
​

* * * *​

The move went perfectly. Bruce liked the people at the new office . Diane and I got together regularly; a warm friendship seemed to be developing. And while Julie at first balked at the move, she quickly adjusted, helped along by a budding friendship with Diane's daughter, Ivy.
​

* * * *​

At the beginning of each semester I give weekly pop quizzes. They are more for my benefit than anything else. Since they test what was taught that day, they let me know how effective my presentations are, who is paying attention, who is not, and what needs to be re-tooled and re-emphasized. After three weeks the oddest indication I was getting from the tests related to a single student, Kevin Pearson. His three pop quizzes were awful; he seemed to be barely paying attention. Yet he had aced the first test - his was the best grade in the class — and he ranked among the school's top students. He was not a behavior problem in my class or anywhere else. He was, in fact, the kind of kid I wished my daughter would date, smart, polite, well-mannered, star of the debate team and although not the kind of hulking athlete my daughter had shown a preference for, a good looking kid with a long lean body, bright blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and a ready smile.

After class on Thursday I called him over. When I mentioned the quizzes he, uncharacteristically, snapped, said he didn't want to talk about it, and scurried out of the classroom. The following day, after most of the students had fled, Kevin, abashedly, approached me.

"Mrs. Huff, I need to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was uncalled for."

"Apology accepted. I wanted to ask you about was the pop quizzes."

"Yeah, I know, I've botched those."

"I'd like to talk to you about them. It is something I am doing?"

He let out a long thoughtful breath. "No, you're a great teacher. It's all me. It's also embarrassing."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

It was clear that he was not at all sure he wanted to talk about. After a long delay he said, "Is there someplace we can talk in private?"

Recent scandals being what they were, the school system had a rule against closed door meetings between teachers and students.

"The rules preclude private meetings with students."

He thought for another long second and then it seemed like a light turned on. He fired up his computer to a recent article about an old water mill site about fifteen miles north-west of town on the Cache la Poudre River.

"How about this? In class you talked about the importance of water mills in early economic development and I remembered reading about the ruins of one near here. I was thinking about taking a look at it this weekend. Why don't you join me, we can call it for exploration for a field trip and we'll be outdoors."

My positive reaction was motivated, in part, by a student who was so demonstrably interested in what I was teaching that he did his own research, in part because I was thinking maybe I could get him interested in my daughter, and in part by curiosity about what he was too embarrassed to tell me. I agreed to go. On Sunday afternoon my husband was playing golf. We made plans to meet at the site at 1:00.
​

* * * *​

When I arrived at the bridge over the river he was already there, carrying a back pack and wearing hiking shoes, a tee shirt, and shorts. He had nice lean legs

"How long have you been waiting?"

"I got here about forty-five minutes ago. I wanted to find a trail to the river."

As we moved down the trail he mentioned he had ridden his bicycle over the bridge without knowing what was below. After a few questions I learned he regularly did fifty and one-hundred mile rides by himself and with friends, which explained his lean muscular body. We reached the river bank and soon found what we were looking for. The river ran by in rapids, a result of a steep drop in grade. Above the rapids someone had built a canal, channeling the water away from the river. Because the bank did not drop as steeply as the river, the builder was able to construct a waterfall, where the plunging water turned a water wheel which powered the water mill. The mill was gone, but its foundation and that of the near-by ore processing plant it powered were evident. A few minutes exploring in the near-by woods turned up the piles of minerals discarded after purification.

When we were done Kevin pointed out a lovely spot, it was shaded and the ground soft, overlooking the river. He pulled off his back pack.

"I packed a light lunch. I hope you've not already eaten." I had had a bagel for breakfast, but was hungry after our exercise. I told him lunch was fine.

He laid out a blanket, served me chicken salad and marinated brussel sprouts, and handed me a bottled water. He leaned back against a tree.

"I want to apologize again for snapping at you the other day. What I've got to say is embarrassing and, well I'm afraid, disrespectful. I don't' have the right to talk to you this way, but I don't know how else to say it. I guess I'm apologizing in advance. I mean no offense. When you want me to stop, please say so."

Kevin was not a kid to get flustered or intimidated. Intrigued, I asked him to go on.

"Mrs. Huff, I can't be the first person to tell you that you're not only beautiful, you're classy, intelligent, and graceful. Everybody in the class noticed it the first day you walked in.

He hesitated, turned a light shade of red, and went on. "I guess the place to start is, and this is the part where I just feel impudent, is well I've got a crush on you. I start every class determined to pay attention, but soon I'm completely distracted. I should be thinking about what you're saying, but all I'm thinking about is how desirable you are, how beautiful and smart and sexy you are. By the time you hand out the pop quizzes, I've missed half of what you've said. I'm sorry, I know I've got no right to feel this way."

While he seemed to expect me to be offended, my reaction was the opposite. I felt complimented by what he was saying and by his earnest manner. And despite his characterization of his feeling as a schoolboy crush, he was far too mature and self-possessed to have his desires so dismissively described.

I ran my hands through my hair, pushing my brown hair away from my face. I touched his shoulder. "Kevin, its really quite a compliment. It's nice to know that at least one young man still finds an old lady like me attractive."

Relief spread across his face.

I fished for another compliment. "But you said everyone felt the same as you when I first appeared. No one else is having the same problems with the quizzes that you are."

He studied my face for a second. He had thought about this question. He didn't want to answer, concerned I might take offense.

"Please, Kevin, go ahead. I'm a big girl."

That drew a smile. He collected his thoughts and steeled his courage. "Okay, I have an opinion, but I mean it's only my opinion. The young pretty teachers, the ones right out of college, their way of dealing with the guys in the class is to flirt. The guys, well they think they're flirting because they're desirable; they haven't figured out that's the way an attractive twenty-two year old relates to a bunch of guys. When you walked in, as beautiful as you are, they expected the same. But you never did. You're well prepared and professional. Everyone noticed your looks, but it's not the way you get people to pay attention; you depend on your skills. The guys were looking for you to flirt and when you didn't, they figured you're..."

He stopped, he couldn't find the words. I finished the sentence for him. "They thought I was a cold fish." I had heard the term applied to me before.

He nodded his head yes.

"And you didn't."

"No, ma'am."

"Why not?"

"I guess the short answer is that adults don't flirt with teenagers. The longer answer is that women in their thirties don't look like you unless they work at it, watch what they eat, exercise, take care of their skin. A woman who didn't care about her looks, who didn't care about her appearance, couldn't be as beautiful as you."

What I thought was that I wished my husband appreciated how hard I worked at it. What I said was, "Thank you." I also blushed.

"I'm sorry, I've embarrassed you."

"It's fine. How have you tried to deal with this?"

After a moment he said, "Well, at first I thought it'd just pass. It didn't. The more time I spent in class the more entranced I became. Then I thought maybe I could just get it out of my system. I have a female friend who is always up for a good time. She is in one of your classes and is bi-sexual. She sort of has a thing for you also. So I suggested a role play. She would pretend to be you and seduce me. It was great fun but it didn't help. It only made it worse."

My god, I thought. There was a girl in one of my classes having sex with Kevin and pretending to be me. Over the years I had seen the way the boys looked at me. I knew I was fuel for some masturbatory fantasies, but I had never contemplated two students conducting a role play featuring me. That was hot. Who was she? Pictures of Kevin with the various candidates flashed through my mind; I felt a sudden spasm between my legs.

"Have you tried anything else?"

"Right before class I have a study hall. Sometimes I leave early and masturbate thinking about you. It helps me focus at least for the first part of the class."

The mental image of Kevin with some of the classes' girls was replaced by him stroking his penis. Where did he do it? How long did it take? When he walked into my classroom was his penis still swollen, still dripping cum?

He took my pause as disapproval. "I'm a kid. I know I have no right to use you in my sexual fantasies. I'm sorry."

"It's okay Kevin, sexual fantasies are perfectly normal. Tell me, what do you think about?"

"Mrs. Huff, my thoughts are very, well," he struggled to find a safe word and settled on explicit. "My thoughts are explicit and use explicit words."

"I understand, I know the words."

Tentatively, he said, "Are you sure? You don't mind if I say fuck?"

I felt a twitch between my legs. I knew I should terminate the conversation, but slowly, deliberately, drawing out the sentence's third word, I said, "No, Kevin, fuck is fine."

The walls of my vagina twitched again.

"How about pussy."

"No, no, Kevin, pussy is fine too." Again, I drew the word out, giving it a sensual twist. There was another twitch in my pussy.

His tone grew confident. He was no longer tentative. "When I fantasize they're not breasts Mrs. Huff, they're tits."

My nipples hardened. Could see them? No. his eyes stayed on my face. The walls of my vagina swelled. I laid my hand and its dark mocha nails on his arm.

"I understand Kevin, when my husband and I make love," which wasn't often enough, "I call them tits myself."

My voice was getting husky. Kevin couldn't help but notice.

"When I masturbate it's not making love, its fucking."

I stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. "Yes, Kevin, I understand, fucking."

"Fucking your sweet pussy with my hard dick, Ms. Huff, is that okay; does that offend you?"

I knew I should stop, but I ran my tongue across my lower lip and looked down. He was hard. "Yes Kevin, it would be natural when you fantasize about you and I together, you would think about fucking my hot pussy with your big fat hard dick."

There was a bright glow, getting brighter, between my legs.

"When you say the words Mrs. Huff, they don't's seem vulgar, just sensual and erotic. How about cunt and cock?"

I was on fire, my cunt's lips winked open, the flow increased and infused my pubic hairs. I looked for the strength to say this must end, but Kevin's voice pre-empted mine.

"Before you arrived, Miss Huff, I masturbated. Down," motioning with his head, "by the river. I imagined I was eating your pussy. We were by the river, we hugged, kissed, caressed each other, I licked every square millimeter of your magnificent breasts. By the time I pulled off your pants your pussy was soaking wet. I buried my face in your cunt, wanting to just taste and smell you. I smeared your juice on my face, letting it seep into my nostrils.

"I pulled the skin taut above your clit, displacing the hood, exposing the nub. It was bright red, pulsating, waiting for me. I moved it around with the tip of my tongue, pushed it up and down, left and right, getting a feel for it. I lay the flat of my tongue on it and started licking, applying constant pressure, but varying the speed and force."

Good God, I thought to myself, this eighteen year old boy knew more about oral sex than my husband. What would it feel like to have his head buried between my legs?

"As I ate you, I catalogued the way you moaned, the way you squirmed, how the perspiration formed on your skin, how your muscles tensed, your breathing changed, how you tangled your hands in my hair, learning what your body loved best, what it needed. I wanted to taste your sweet cum in my mouth, hear you beg for release and then scream my name, but we were in no hurry, we were taking our time. You got more excited, your grunts became sharper and harder. You pushed your sex into my face and held my head tight to you. "

I saw in my mind's eye what he was describing. My cunt was on fire.

Then, abruptly, he stopped. Urgent with need, he said, "Mrs. Huff, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I masturbated before you got here, but I'm so turned on, I need to do it again. Would it be okay if I left for a few minutes?"

I thought about him out in the woods, his hand flashing up and down the length of his cock. I had never watched a man jerk off. No one would ever know.

I almost spit out the words. "It's okay, do it right here, on the blanket, where it's comfortable."

Frantically he undid his belt, pulled down his shorts, and unleashed his penis. It was hard, engorged with blood. Heavy blue veins ran up its length to its purplish head. In light of his long lanky body I expected it to have an impressive length, and it did not disappoint, but I was surprised by its width. It was thicker, much broader, than I had anticipated. He grabbed it and squeezed, twisting his hand up its length. Drops of fluid poured out.

"Kevin, what are you, tell me what you're thinking."

"Oh Mrs. Huff, I'm imagining that although we've done many things, I have still not been inside you. You invited me up here, you haven't told me why, but we both know why, it's time. We make out by the river for who knows how long, slowly peeling the clothes off each other. Then I lay you on your back, on the blanket. I straddle you. You take my erection in your hand, squeeze it, fit the head to your vagina. I've dreamed of this moment for so long. I want to plunge into you, but I also want to etch this moment into my memory, so I hold myself up and study your face, trying to see everything."

His hand flew up and down his cock.

"You sense my hesitation; you lift your hips, sliding yourself around me. As you do so I enter you, our hips meeting in the middle and descending to the ground.

"'Kiss me,' you say."

"I bring my mouth to yours and finding your lips open, slip my tongue inside. You happily greet it. Our tongues play together like long lost friends."

I had never heard sex described with such passion. I resisted, barely, the urge to plunge my hand into my cunt. I stared at his penis. Pre-cum streamed from it; he wouldn't last much longer.

"I start moving inside you in short slow thrusts. I'm nervous, a little hesitant. You sense my concern, my fears of inadequacy, and pull me to you. I feel the warmth of your body, the perfection of your form, your hard nipples, the swell of your breasts against my chest. You pull my face into your neck and reassure me, 'It feels so good baby to have you inside me.'"

"I start to roll my hips, moving my pubic bone over your clit, trapping it, massaging it. You moan, your need is profound. You grab my ass and rock my hips against you."

He was on the verge of coming. I'd never watched a man masturbate; I'd never watched a man come; I couldn't recall being this aroused. I reached for his testicles, caressed his ball sac; it tightened and his balls shuddered.

"UNMMHHHHH, ...CUMMING."

And with that cum blasted from the head of his prick, spraying onto his shirt.

I was on fire. I scooped up his jism and brought it to my mouth. It was delicious, thick and creamy. My cunt ached; my hips humped the empty air. My hand, seemingly on its own, migrated south and pushed against my sex through my shorts.

"Let me help you, Mrs. Huff."

He undid my belt, pulled down my shorts, glued his mouth to my vagina, and started drinking the juice pouring from me. He did so with complete abandon; making an oddly erotic slurping sound as he captured every drop. A finger entered me as his tongue swiped my clit. I grabbed his head and pushed my hips into his face. "'EEEEYYYNNNNN... EEEE, EEYAAHHHHHHH!" It was heaven, his mouth was so good, his tongue so facile. I'd never been eaten me like this. My gut tore apart and an orgasm suddenly, out of nowhere and without warning, consumed me, setting me on fire. The muscles of my abdomen and thighs jerked and spasmed. I dug my fingers into the earth and rocked my hips forward, grinding my cunt against Kevin's magnificent tongue, groaning and grunting as shockwaves blasted through my sex and echoed throughout my body.

Kevin continued swiping his tongue over my mound and along the soaked folds of my pussy. I grabbed a handful of hair and yanked his face roughly against my dripping sex. Opne orgasm was not enough; I needed another. Kevin did not hesitate; he slapped my clit with his tongue, back and forth, like a boxer working a speed bag. Another climax punched into my core and I closed my eyes, riding the waves of ecstasy, enjoying every swipe and stroke across my happy swollen eager bud.

After several minutes, I'm not sure how long, I started to come down, the branches on the tree over my head came into focus. Kevin was on all fours, above me. He was studying my face; he had tossed his shorts aside; his cock bounced up and down. I reached for his erection. I wanted him inside me; I wanted him to pound my pussy like a piston. But I remembered what he had said; the first time with me he said he wanted it to be nice and slow. I placed the head of his dick in my vagina and pushed myself up to him. My pussy was moist and slippery; there was no resistance as, unhurriedly, I took his thick meat inside me. After our groins met he pushed me to the ground. I tried to wrap my legs around him and said, the urgency in my voice surprising even me, "Fuck me fuck me hard, damn you, fuck me silly."

But he was in control. "Soon, but for now we'll do it my way. I want to remember every sensation." He held himself up on his arms so he could watch my face and rotated his hips against mine, moving in wide circles, clockwise, counter-clockwise, then at random. He slid himself against me, up and down, side to side, and then in a seemingly impossible corkscrew motion. I had never been fucked like this before; he found places within me I hadn't known existed. He was low; it was delicious; it was perfect. My sex was a vast swamp of pleasure, a bog of delight.

Finally he dropped his body to mine and slid forward, moving his pubic bone hard against mine. My clit, trapped between them, throbbed in delight. As he did so he dragged his cock over the roof of my hole, across my g-spot. My clit, my g-spot, throbbed, expanding until they merged into one pulsating throbbing sun. Kevin's lips found mine and I kissed him hungrily and then pulled his face into my neck, whispering my delight. "So good baby, so good, oh please, you're making your teacher feel so good."

He picked up the pace. My voice quickened, letting out a gasp of delight each time his pubic bone rolled over my clit. "Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh... OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH OH, OH."

I dug my nails into his back. He had promised me a hard fuck. I needed it now.

"Oh god, Kevin, your cock feels so good. I love it. I love it. Fuck me. Fuck me good, fuck me hard, darling."

I didn't have to ask again. Kevin smiled, his lust-filled blue eyes were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen, and growled, "You've got it." He kissed me hard, shoved his tongue into my mouth. He sped up his thrusts and pounded me hard, pushing me into the soft earth. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his body; I hadn't known my cunt could absorb this kind of assault.

"Oh god yes, fuck me."

He drove his stiff cock in and out of me. The sound of his body slapping against me filled the air. My toes curled; the feelings in my pussy radiated through my body.

"Oh fuck Kevin, so close, you're going to make me cum."

Kevin fucked me even harder; he was an animal driving his manhood into me. I held on, loving the ride.

"Oh yes...oh fuck yes...fuck teach, your pussy's so fucking hot."

His sweat dripped on me. I was tense, ready. And then Kevin's cock exploded, depositing his cum in my cunt. The sun burning between my legs brightened, brightened, and went supernova. I yelled, "OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDD." Heat and light streaked through me. My eyes, shut tight, were startled by the blinding explosion of light and heat that coursed through me, unleashing a tidal wave of carnal delight. I dug my fingernails into his back, "CUMMINNNNG, OH GOD, OH GOD, BABY, OH GOD, OH GOD, CUMMMMMMMIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG

He lay on top of me for a minute or two, maybe longer. I had no way of judging time. He was breathing in deep short bursts, unable to speak. Finally, he rolled off of me. I slid my body next to his; I rested my head on his arm.

We lay there, enjoying the sunlight against our bodies, listening to the sounds of the forest and river, smelling the outdoors. At some point I realized, oddly, we both still had our shirts and socks on.

I was the first to speak.

"That was amazing."

His voice, subdued, relishing the sensation flowing in his body, "Yeah, amazing."

We were quiet awhile longer. I said, "I better get home, they'll be wondering where I am."

We dressed, gathered up the scraps of our meal, and he helped me up the steep hill. When we reached the top I said, "I've never done anything like this before, with a student, I need time."

He said he understood, gave me a kiss that let me know he did, and said "Hilary, what happened down there was real. It was wonderful. Don't overthink it."

On the drive home my mind flitted between warm feeling between my thighs - I could feel his cum seep from me - and three thoughts: I had cheated on my husband, I had fucked a boy less then half my age, I had fucked a student. Granted, it was the best sex of my life, but still it was a student. That I should tell him never again was clear, that I did not want to was also clear. At home I barely interacted with my family, retreating to the computer to review the plethora of stories about teachers arrested for sleeping with their students. I was struck by the tawdriness of the affairs, in a car behind a Wal-Mart or in a mini-van driven by the boy's friends. These kids did not had Kevin's taste. None had been seduced beside an isolated river under a blue sky on a perfect day.

After a shower I crawled into bed and asked my husband to make love to me. While it was the best sex we had in ages, it was because I dreamed it was Kevin in my bed. As my husband's snores filled the room I knew sex with the man next to me could never compare with what Kevin had brought me.​