The Student Teacher Blues
by Lubrican
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Chapter Four
Bob had fallen into the habit of getting to school two hours early.
Many of the other teachers shaved that to thirty minutes, a few even
less, but Bob had found over the years that having more time to get
ready for the day to "start" made for a much calmer frame of mind. That
calm frame of mind could set the tone for the students, too.
He was sitting, thinking about what it might be like having Cee Cee
around all day, instead of just for an hour, when his best friend Denny
Nelson opened the door and sauntered in.
Bob had wondered more than once why Denny and he were such good
buddies. Denny often reminded him of Al Bundy from that goofy TV show
"Married with Children." In Bob's opinion Denny was basically an amoral
man caught in a moral situation. He was married to a delightful woman
named Helen who was fully aware of Denny's wandering eye and took
advantage of it during their bedroom games...if one was to believe
Denny's description of events. Bob had no idea if Helen knew about the
excruciating detail in which her husband described those bedroom games
to his best friend, but she never blushed or seemed uncomfortable when
Bob visited, which was frequently. Bob was the adopted uncle of their
three small children and was in their home at least weekly.
"Dude!" said Denny as he rushed into the room. "I just found out about
Cee Cee. You fucking lucky DOG!” He struck a pose. "What I
wouldn't give to be able to tap that regularly," he sighed.
"It's not like that and you know it," laughed Bob.
"Maybe not, but it CAN be!" said Denny excitedly. "Man, it's just not
fair. I get a pimply faced geek named Rodney as my student teacher and
you get the cheerleader who was responsible for lowering more blood
pressure around here than an alpha blocker."
"I thought cute girls raised blood pressure," said Bob.
"Not when every drop of blood in a man's body rushes to his aching
prick," moaned Denny. "And whenever she sashayed down the hall in that
short little skirt, it was everything I could do to spare a few drops
of blood to keep my leg muscles working.” He frowned. "This
just isn't fair. And you're probably going to take the fucking high
road and ignore prime pussy. Bob, I swear, if I didn't know better I'd
think you were a fag."
"Gay," said Bob, smiling. "They call them gay these days. You have to
be politically correct. You have access to fine young minds, and
shouldn't corrupt them with stereotypes."
"The only stereotype I'm thinking about right now is the horny male
teacher flipping up the short uniform skirt of the cheerleader to find
her not wearing any panties. You should be pounding that pussy into the
ground, mister, and swelling that belly until her uniform doesn't fit
anymore."
"Don't tell me," groaned Bob. "You've gone and knocked up Helen again."
Denny got a puzzled look on his face. "Not from lack of trying," he
said. "I'm beginning to think she's sneaking the pill or something. Do
you know I made a special effort to bang her drum every single night
for two months and she STILL didn't catch? I would have kept it up, but
she got tired of being the captive princess to the
barbarian.” He sighed. "Man, you ought to see her in that
little getup I found on the internet. It's nothing but gold straps that
barely cover all the good parts. It's even got rings on it, to use to
tie her up, though she drew the line at that.” He looked
disappointed.
"You know, she's going to dump you some day for a normal man," said Bob.
"Nah," sneered Denny. "She loves me, warts and all."
"Yeah, well wait until some guy comes along and treats her like a
lady," said Bob. "Once she finds out there are men who are horndogs
only part time, she'll start thinking about what life might look like
off her back."
"Ha - ha," said Denny, a wry look on his face. Then his face twisted
and he grinned. "That's IT!" he said. "You're going to use the old
‘I'm a gentleman’ thing on Cee Cee. You'll get her
off guard and then get to actually SEE what's cradled in those double C
cups! Brilliant!"
Bob's mind jerked as, for the first time, he connected Cecelia's
nickname with a bra size. With something like horror he realized that
if Denny had made that connection, many other men and boys would have
as well. He remembered how she’d said Horace had apologized,
and felt stupid for not having known why. And she, no doubt, thought
Bob knew too. That explained why she’d been flustered when it
had come up the day before.
"Ohhhh man," groaned Denny. "I bet she's got pink nipples that stand up
an inch. I remember you could see them sometimes, even through those
sports bras Mrs. Nicholson made them wear under their uniforms."
“You need professional help,” sighed Bob, who now
couldn’t get the image of stiff pink nipples out of his mind.
He was sure that his first instinct, when Cee Cee got there, would be
to look at her breasts, and he started reminding himself not to do that
under any circumstances. And that reminded him that she might arrive
any minute. “Now, leave and go get some, before my student
teacher gets here and you traumatize her by making a totally
inappropriate move on her.”
“You know I’d never do that,” said Denny,
sounding injured. “I know how lucky I am to have Helen, and
I’d never do anything to risk losing her. It’s all
fantasy for me, brother. But YOU have a chance to live out my fantasy,
and I can ride along vicariously. I’m counting on you. I
can’t wait to hear all the juicy details.” He
turned to leave and, just before opening the door, turned back to Bob.
“Do you think they make cheerleader outfits that would fit
Helen?”
“Get out!” groaned Bob.
Denny opened the door and there Cee Cee was, reaching for the knob. Bob
held his breath.
“Good morning, Miss Carter,” said Denny, almost
formally. “It’s wonderful to see you again. Welcome
back. If there’s anything you need, just let me
know.”
He held the door open for her and then left.
“Everybody’s so friendly,” she smiled.
“If only you knew how friendly,” he muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Ready to get to work?”
“It’s so exciting to actually be doing something,
instead of just studying something. I’ve been ready since I
got here.”
Pointed, turgid pink nipples on soft thrusting breasts appeared in
Bob’s mind, pushing toward his mouth as her soft voice echoed
in his brain: “I’ve been ready since I got here,
Bob!”
He blinked and decided not to stand, since he suddenly had a boner.
“Let’s get to it,” he said, trying to
think of schoolwork instead of something else his mind wanted to
“get to.”
During that day, and three more, Bob and Cecelia spent the hours going
over their plans for the summer class. An observer would have seen two
professionals working toward a common goal in what appeared to be a
seamless fashion.
Of course that observer wouldn’t be able to see inside those
“professionals.” While each tried to ignore the
attraction to the other, neither was able to completely subvert his or
her feelings. Every day, Bob admired Cecelia's svelte young body and
sharp, quick mind. She asked a lot of questions, pointing out the
places where what he planned conflicted with what she'd been taught to
expect. He was pleased that she did so and even more pleased when she
argued with him about some of his ideas.
One bone of contention was his intent to address each student by his or
her last name, with the appropriate title of address.
"Teachers have always called students by their first names," Cecelia
objected. "Honorific speech is intended for one's social superiors."
"I cannot believe you said that," sighed Bob. "Didn't you address Don
Higginbotham as 'Sir' just a few days ago?"
"Of course I did," she said. "He's part of the administration."
"That doesn't make him your social superior," said Bob. "He's part of
the educational team. If you'll remember, he didn't expect you to
address him that way. It was a pleasant surprise."
"Well, it's just polite," caged Cecelia.
"Exactly," said Bob. "These kids are challenged. A lot of people look
down on them. Is that fair? If we want them to assume the mantle of
productive adults, shouldn't we treat them with common courtesy, at a
minimum?"
"They're going to laugh at you," said Cecelia. "And they won't respect
you."
"I called you Miss Carter when you were in my class."
"You did? I don't remember that."
"Sometimes," said Bob. He felt a stab of regret as he remembered what
else he’d called her, not knowing then what it meant. He
tried to gloss over that. "Sometimes, I called you what your friends
called you, and at other times, when I wanted you to respond with
maturity, I addressed you as Miss Carter. In my experience it generally
works. And I'll get whatever respect I earn. It won't be based on how I
address them. I can't demand respect, at least not for myself. I have
to earn that."
"But you can't be effective if they don't respect you," said Cecelia.
"True, but I also can't force them to learn. I have to make them want
to learn. And once they get that...once they understand that I
– or you – have helped them find the ability to be
productively curious, respect just follows."
"If you say so.” Cecelia sounded doubtful.
"Tell you what," said Bob. "You call them by their first names, and
I'll call them by their last. We'll see if it makes any difference.
"But we need to display a common front," said Cecelia.
"Says who?" Bob smiled. "People are different. They have different
tastes and understandings. There's nothing wrong with kids seeing
adults agreeing to disagree. It's even better if they hear both sides
of an issue and have to think about it to make up their own minds about
what to believe."
The days continued and the start of the summer session loomed closer
and closer, at least to Cecelia. Bob was eager to begin. It might help
take his mind off of how his student teacher smelled, for example. She
used some kind of subtle body wash or something, and whatever it was,
it made him want to lick her all over.
As for Cecelia, the fact that he let her form and defend her own
opinions affirmed that what she remembered about him being a great
teacher was correct. She tried to reduce all her feelings to pertain to
his teaching skills, instead of imagining him in bed under the poster
of a one-armed drummer, pouring emotional sugar all over her naked body.
The only other thing that took her mind off of Bob was the fact that,
as the date their class was scheduled to begin drew near, she felt like
she was about to step from the frying pan into the fire.
Friday was the first day the cafeteria was open. Prior to this the
teachers had to see to their own lunch. But with a football camp
running on Friday, lunch was being served.
It was the smell of food that drew her there. Remembered foods made her
mouth water and she went into the noisy room. She got in line and
selected her items, and paid the same frumpy woman who had been there
for years, punching buttons on the cash register at the end of the
line. She didn’t even look at Cecelia.
Cecelia, of course, didn’t consider the teacher’s
lounge. She had routinely seen teachers going through the line when she
was a student, but hadn’t paid any attention to where they
went to eat. She also didn’t remember that the few teachers
who had always stayed in the lunch room were monitors. For that reason,
she simply fell back into habit. She looked for an empty table and sat
down.
She was looking at the food, thinking that it had looked more
appetizing the last time she’d seen it, when someone slid a
tray onto the table across from her and sat down.
“Hey sweet thing,” said a male voice. It was a kind
of voice that instantly told her this was a male on the prowl.
“You’re new here. I’m Brian Freeman,
captain of the football team. You wanna hook up?”
She looked up in disbelief. She was unaware that the jeans and blouse
she’d dressed down in for her last day before class started,
along with her auburn hair pulled back in a long ponytail, might make
her look like an especially lush senior girl. She had also been unaware
that football camp was starting that day, and that there would be horny
young men in the school. This one had that classic smirk on his face
that announced he thought he was God’s gift to women and that
all he had to do was present himself and girls would start ripping
their clothes off.
Two more boys sat down, eagerly looking at her, their eyes raking up
and down her upper body.
“What’d you find, Brian?” asked one. Then
he said to Cecelia, “Pay no attention to him, my luscious
little treat. My dick is twice as long as his.”
The third one laughed. “When you can find it, Lewis.
I’m the man who can rock your boat,” he said,
leering at Cecelia.
She felt her face get red, as anger suffused her whole body, and she
stiffened. Who did these little pricks think they were?
“Beat it,” growled Brian. “I saw her
first.”
“Ooooooooo,” said both the other boys, laughing and
holding up artificially trembling hands.
“I’m a teacher!” said Cecelia tightly.
She realized, as soon as she’d said it, that Bob’s
constant insistence that she think of herself as a teacher instead of a
STUDENT teacher had sunk in.
“Is that so,” said Brian, who didn’t seem
to be fazed by what was happening. “What class are you
teaching, 'cause I definitely want to be in it.” He laughed.
“I don’t think so,” she said, feeling
like things were getting out of control. “You’d get
an F.” She immediately felt like she had said something
juvenile, and felt frustrated.
“That means I’d have to get extra help,”
grinned Brian. “I’d have to be at your house every
night for hours and hours while you...helped me.”
He thought he was so cute, and she lost it.
“Look, you little prick,” she started out heatedly,
“if this is the way you treat girls your age you’ll
never get laid. You’ll grow old jerking off, wondering why
every other man got a shot at a woman while all you got your hands on
was a piece of pig skin. You’re a sad, sad little man. Now go
away and leave me alone before I give you detention.”
It took every ounce of courage and control she had to take a bite of
meatloaf smoothly, as if she was unconcerned. In fact, she was
horrified. She’d cut the boy down in front of his friends.
She’d used vulgar language and acted in a completely
unprofessional manner. If anyone on the administrative staff had heard
her, she’d probably be fired immediately. She glanced
sideways and back the other way, to see who was within earshot.
The boys at the three tables nearby were all staring at her, their
mouths open. She looked back at the three who had sat down at her
table. Brian’s face was red as a beet, and he was clearly
angry. The other two had gone pale. She couldn’t stop herself
from saying it.
“Go on, run along and play.” Her right hand lifted
and she whisked her fingers at them, like they were a minor annoyance.
“Bitch!” muttered Brian.
“Detention!” she snapped.
“You can’t do that!” he yelled.
“School hasn’t started yet!”
“Watch me,” she snarled.
“You’re out of your league, but it seems
you’re too stupid to see that. Do you want to go for two days
of detention, so you have more time to think about it?”
“You can’t do that!” he insisted.
Coach Nickerson approached. He’d been getting in line when he
saw something going on in one corner of the lunch room. He saw his star
quarterback and two others sitting across from a young woman who looked
familiar, but who he couldn't place. Then it clicked who she was. He
didn’t know what she was doing here, but it was obvious she
was upset. Knowing Brian, he could imagine why she was upset. He was a
good quarterback, but a lousy human being. He left his tray in front of
the entrees and hurried over.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he
approached.
Cecelia looked up. Her response was habit. “Hey,
Coach.” Then she realized things had escalated. She
didn’t want things to escalate any more.
“She can’t give me detention!” insisted
Brian, looking up at his coach.
“You gave him detention?” Nickerson raised his
eyebrows.
Now she was stuck. It had become official. She wondered if
she’d survive this. She didn’t even know if she was
ALLOWED to give detention at all, much less before school actually
started. But another teacher was involved now.
“There was a little misunderstanding about how to politely
address a teacher,” she said weakly.
“She can’t give me detention, Coach!”
insisted his quarterback. “It’s summertime,
Coach!”
“What did he say?” asked Nickerson.
The woman he remembered as a cheerleader, and who was now obviously a
teacher, blushed. She had always been one of the straight laced ones,
as he recalled. He liked that kind. The ones who distracted his players
were the ones he wished would disappear.
“I’d rather not say,” she said.
“What do you want me to do?” asked Nickerson, his
voice firming.
“Coach?” Brian sounded scared now. “All I
did was ask her if she wanted to hang out.”
“I bet you did,” said Nickerson, frowning. He
looked back at Cecelia. He couldn’t remember her last name
for the life of him, but what she had been called came easily.
“What’ll it be, Cee Cee?”
Oddly, when Coach Nickerson called her that, it just seemed normal, and
her mind dropped into what would have been normal if she was still a
cheerleader.
“I want him to do a hundred suicides,” she said
calmly. “And these two should do fifty. None of them have any
idea how to treat a lady.”
“A HUNDRED SUICIDES!” screeched Brian.
“MY FUCKING LEGS WILL FALL OFF!”
“A hundred and fifty,” she said calmly.
“You can spread them over three days, if that will
help.”
“A HUNDRED AND...”
“SHUT UP!” snapped Nickerson. “Learn when
to quit, Freeman! Find someplace else to sit and finish your lunch. I
want twenty five of those suicides done before we start up after
lunch!”
“Awww come ON, Coach,” pleaded his star
quarterback. “How was I to know she was a teacher?”
“I’ll make it two hundred myself if you
don’t get a move on,” growled Nickerson.
“And apologize to the lady before you leave!”
It obviously took a great deal of control, but he grunted,
“Sorry,” and then fled. His two friends parroted
him, just in case, and followed.
“Stay there,” said Nickerson.
“Please,” he added. “I’ll be
right back.”
He went and put things on his tray, paid and returned to sit across
from her.
“You should have taken your tray to the teacher’s
lounge,” he said.
“I didn’t think about that,” she said.
“I’m sorry I got your team captain in
trouble.”
“He got himself in trouble,” said Nickerson.
“Long time no see. How’d you end up back
here?”
“I got assigned here for my student teaching,” she
said.
“How about that!” He grinned. “Well,
welcome back. You obviously stood up to him. I know the way he
works.”
“He probably hates me now,” she said.
“You don’t have to sit with me. I know you need to
have a good relationship with your team.”
“Quite the contrary,” he said, taking a bite.
“They have to know that we teachers present a united front.
Besides, you DO look awfully young to be a teacher. This way nobody
else will hit on you.”
“Oh,” she said, not sure if looking young was what
she wanted. “OK, thank you.”
“No problem,” he said. “Who’s
your supervising teacher?”
“Mister Hawkins,” she said.
“Bob? Good guy. Got a raw deal from his ex-wife.”
He blinked. “I wonder why I said that.”
“I don’t know,” said Cecelia.
“Why DID you say that?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. But every time I see him, I think
about that. She ruined the poor guy. He’s got no social life
to speak of. Messes around with roses and petunias instead. But
he’s a good guy and a good teacher, and I guess
that’s the main thing from your perspective. You’re
lucky.”
They chatted about the old days then, and twenty minutes later she left
the cafeteria to return to what she now thought of as her classroom.
She got there first — Bob had left the building for lunch
— and was going over the material again when he returned.
She’d already forgotten what happened at lunch.
They worked through the afternoon and finally it was time to go home.
Cecelia was both excited that school was going to start the next
Monday, and dreading it at the same time. It showed as she tried to
gather up her materials and she dropped them. He helped her pick them
up.
“Don’t sweat this,” he said.
“You’re going to do fine. And I know how you feel.
I was dreading having a student teacher, but not anymore. You just need
to relax. How about I buy you a drink?”
Her reaction was much swifter than her brain.
“No!” she said. It sounded harsh, and a flurry of
thoughts rushed through her head. “I can’t go on a
date with you.” Somehow that sounded harsh too.
“It’s not a date,” he said, sounding a
little anxious. “It’s just a drink, and I thought
you could use one.”
She couldn’t help but think back to the one time
she’d gotten sloppy drunk with her friends at a sleepover.
She’d almost passed out, and puked three times. It
hadn’t been any fun at all and at that point, had in fact
scared her. She’d shied away from alcohol ever since. Then
there were all those college boys who had tried to push fruity drinks
laced with Everclear on her, for the express purpose of getting her
drunk.
“I don’t need a drink,” she said.
“I’m just a little nervous, that’s
all.”
“OK, OK,” he said. “You’re
going to do fine. I’ll see you Monday.” He grabbed
his briefcase and left the room.
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