Crush on Teacher (Fantasy Story--CHAPTER 2) Thursday, 22-Jan-98 16:56:20

152.163.205.106 writes:

The bell rang, jarring the class from slumber. Mr. Frank Hargrove had been droning on about the War of 1812 and its ultimate effect on contemporary American culture. The old fart could make even Sex Ed. sleepy and dry. As Mark and his new pals left the room they all joked how they're gonna love having Hargrove for history-- they can use the extra sleep. It was time for lunch. Some of the students filed into the cafeteria, all set to buy one of several prefab lunches sold by the sandwich vendor. Others headed for their lockers to retrieve the lunches they'd brought from home. Mark's PBJ was in his locker. Even though he was a growing teen, he still loved his peanut butter and jelly. As they herded themselves into the lunchroom, Mark saw Mr. Hammond, the principal, standing on a chair in the front of the room, shouting above the din about how seating would be limited-- at least first semester-- anyone who wanted could eat outside. Mark welcomed the idea at breathing something other than dust. Waiting in line to purchase his juice, Mark perked up when he noticed Mrs.Mosher's wild mane over near the snack racks talking animatedly to a couple of varsity cheerleaders. Her back was to him. The crowd momentarily parted, giving Mark a glimpse down at her beautifully tanned calves, ankles and feet. God, she looked fine! He then noticed her sandaled feet stomping forward and backward in a muted cheerleading routine. She was teaching the girls one she did in high school. Then it happened. It was a one-in-a-million chance happening. And it all happened so fast. Fat Freddie Fraley was squatting near Mrs.Mosher with his crack showing--nasty!, when a Little Debbie snack cake fell off the pile of books he was trying awkardly to balance on his knees and onto the floor about 3 inches behind Mrs.Mosher. Freddie didn't even notice-- he was too busy trying to keep from falling back on his butt. In fact, no one around seemed to notice. It was like one of those moments frozen in time. Mark's mind raced. Will she or will she not? She was just stepping where that cake's landed. Although the Vision had been momentarily standing still, she started back into her little cheer when the snack cake hit the floor. And it happened. Almost in slow motion. Mrs.Mosher's tanned, perfectly rounded heel went up and back, and the heel of her sandal came down squarely in the middle of the snack cake. Across the din of the cafeteria Mark could faintly hear the snack bag's muffled pop. Mrs. Mosher shifted her weight and just stood there on it full weight, white cream oozing out from under either side of her sandal's heel. Cream was quickly filling the bag, with a little leaking out onto the floor, and its whiteness contrasted to the dark, thin leather of the sandal under Mrs.Mosher's heel. As she pivoted on that same heel to turn to see what made the pop, Fat Freddie looked down at it just as the crowd's part closed back in. All Mark could see now was heads. He craned around a tall jock just in time to notice Mrs.Mosher looking down in horror and beginning to apologize to Freddie for what she'd just done. "That'll be $1.25," the lunchroom cashier barked. Mark forked over the money quickly and made his way over to the snack rack. It was like running underwater. When he got there the Vision had already moved on, but Fat Freddie was standing there looking at his flattened, mauled snack cake. For a split second Mark almost offered to buy it off him. But before he could open his mouth Freddie tossed it in the large gray trash can and walked away sulking. Mark made a mental note. Next hour he'd skip study hall and try sweettalking old Miss Gates, the lunchroom supervisor, into letting him do garbage duty today. Even though the thought of picking through a garbage can nauseated him, he just HAD to have that snack cake. He'd lock himself in a bathroom stall with a pair of scissors and delicately cut away the snack cake bag to savor the prize inside. Maybe he'd lay what was left of the paper thin snack cake on his tongue--pretending his tongue was the floor, and imagine what it would feel like to have Mrs. Mosher's heel on his tongue, smashing the snack cake into nothing. The thought made him hard. "Helllooo, Sifford! You coming, man? Let's go eat!" It was Mark's friends. They'd been talking to some girls and had missed the whole thing. Burying his lusty thoughts of the Vision, Mark and his pals headed down the 3 flights of dusty stairs and headed for the steps. It was a tall, brick building, built early this century. It had 2 sets of wide, steep steps on each side of the four sides of building. Most of the students were heading out on the grassy side of the building, which had a huge 3 acre yard that led out to the town's main thoroughfare. Mark's pals claimed the lower steps. Mark, being the last one out, sat down on the steps just above his friends, his lunch bag at his side. He began pulling out his sandwich, his apple, and his celery sticks. He set down his baggied peanut butter and jelly sandwich on a napkin spread out there on the step. "Hey, Sifford," one of them began, as Mark munched his celery, "whaddya think of our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Moshell?" "Mosher," Mark corrected him. "She okay." More than okay, he thought! "Yeah, I guess sitting there on the front row, right in front of her desk, you'd pretty much hear everything she said, right, including her name?" he chided him. "Did you get a look at those breasts??" another chimed in, with a couple of the others adding their Amens. "Niiiiice." Mark hadn't even noticed them. "Um, what about those legs of hers? Mmmm! Hot, man, Hotttttt!" Mark snorted. "Yeah, right! You weren't checking out her legs, you were drooling over her feet, weren't you?!" one of them countered. Mark was getting uneasy with this new direction the conversation was taking. Time to try a diversionary tactic. "No. But when she stuck those butt ugly feet of hers up on my desk, what the hell was I supposed to do?" Mark tried to sound convincing. "Besides, they smelled like sh--!" "Hello boys, what are we discussing?" It was Mrs.Mosher. She was standing on the step just above Mark. "Damn!" Mark thought. "Busted." "Oh, we were just discussing how bad the lunchroom smells, and Mark got a little loose with his tongue, that's all." One of Mark's new friends was lamely attempting to save his bacon. "Okay. Well, boys, let's watch our language when we're at school, okay?" the Vision cooed. Mark craned his head up to look Mrs.Mosher in the face. She was smiling down at him. The other boys, feeling a little uncomfortable at having a teacher around, were directing their attention out into the yard. Mrs. Mosher made sure none of the other guys were looking, muttered something about it being such a beautiful day, then winked at Mark. With that, she moved down a step, planting the ball of her sandaled foot smack in the middle of Mark's sandwich. Terror and lust raced through his brain. He stared transfixed as she slowly moved her other foot down to the next step, while her golden foot did a slow smear of his sandwich. Mark watched as the slow movement made the muscles and bones flex in her foot, her fire red toenails, and sexy, edible toes with brown leather sandal straps crisscrossing above them shoved the flattened, oozing sanwhich backwards on the step into a smeared, mangled brown and purple glob. It wasn't even recognizable as a sandwich. And then she was gone. "God, I can't believe she did that! On purpose! Right out in the open!! Someone could've seen her!!" Horrible, paranoid thoughts raced through Mark's mind. He felt naked, exposed, and vulnerable, by Mrs.Mosher's overt sandwich smash. She didn't even seem to notice what she was doing. She didn't even care. She just kept walking, not even looking back. His throat was tight, his heart was beating in his head, and he was left weak and shaking by this unexpected assault to his senses. He was almost dizzy, and he couldn't believe his good fortune. That beautiful goddess did this on purpose! He just couldn't believe it. Mark quickly stuffed the crumpled sandwich back into the bag before the other guys turned around to notice. He looked all around him. No one was looking. He'd save this delicous prize for later. The boys' conversation steered it's way to the varsity cheerleaders, sitting there in their clique out near the road, and what fine breasts they had. Mark listened only halfheartedly, still mulling over what had just happened. His eyes followed Mrs. Mosher as she stopped halfway into the yard, removed her sandals, and then carried them as she continued toward the cheerleaders. Mark wondered how it would smell, how it would taste, how it would feel to be lying on the floor under Mrs.Mosher's desk while she planted both grassy soles on his face and used him for a footstool. It was driving him crazy! She arrived at the group of cheerleaders and joined in their conversation. While the boys on the steps talked about which cheerleaders would "put out" and which ones wouldn't, Mark was dying to be a fly on the grass beside Mrs.Mosher's feet. The things he would hear out there. What were they discussing? Plus, as a fly he might just get stepped on. MMMmm. His thoughts were interrupted when Mrs. Mosher turned around and pointed back at the steps. Even though she was at least a half a football field away, Mark just knew she was looking at him. The other girls followed Mrs.Mosher's gaze. She was talking and they were laughing. He suddenly felt like a leper, a weirdo, and even more paranoid. "She's telling them about me, I can just sense it," Mark thought. "She's saying, 'Look over there at the steps-- see the foot freak??!" He felt horrible. His secret was out.

(More to come.)

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