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Note: I hate to ruin a perfectly good story with plot, but there were some things I needed to say. I know at least one of you will understand. Lisa, I love you so much for everything you’ve taught me.
The last faint echoes of my shoes in the hallway faded away as I approached the door, stopped and looked in. Five neat rows of desks filled the center of the room. Windows along the far wall allowed sunlight to shine brightly off the empty ledge. A large desk in the front of the room lay barren and the whiteboard glistened.
“It will be different with thirty kids in it.”
I jumped involuntarily at the sound of the voice behind me. I turned quickly, attempting to retain control of the stack of books in my arms.
“Didn’t mean to scare you. Sorry,” the voice said.
“Oh, that’s OK,” I managed to say. With the books seemingly resteadied, I smiled. “Uh, I’m Chris. Chris Spivey. I think this is my room.”
“Hi. I’m Lisa Owens. Yes, it is. Need help?” Lisa asked, stepping into the hall from inside her room.
“No. Thanks. I’m OK. I mean, let me put these books down.” I took my first steps into Room 12 and set the books on the teacher’s desk.
Lisa stood at the door, watching the young new teacher survey the room from one corner to the other. Lisa was transported back almost ten years to when she walked into her own first classroom. Was it really ten years ago?
“I don’t know where to start,” I said in a tone that hinted at embarrassment.
Lisa laughed lightly as she said, “I know the feeling. I still feel that way at the beginning of every year.”
“Really?” I asked hopefully.
“Yep. It’s actually better when the kids are here because you feel more in control,” Lisa said.
I looked dejected. “Maybe you. I’ll be a wreck then, too.”
“Ah, come on. Linda told me you were one of the best interviews she’s ever had,” Lisa said assuredly, referring to the school’s principal.
I blushed. “I doubt it. I was so nervous.”
“Listen. I’ll let you look around. I’ll check back with you in a little bit. Otherwise, I’m just across the hall. Yell if you need anything,” Lisa said.
“Thanks a lot. I’ll probably have lots of questions.”
“Then how about planning on having lunch together?” Lisa asked.
“Sure. That would be cool. Thanks,” I said.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Lisa said as she headed back to her room.
I once again looked around the room. I was excited, anxious, eager and hesitant…all at once. The task before me seemed ominous, but I had studied four years for this and student taught with excellent teachers. My natural reaction, however, was to be a little insecure.
I opened the drawer in the large teacher’s desk and, of course, found it completely empty. This was how I was going to find most of the things in my room—empty or wiped clean, waiting for my personal touch.
I turned to face the whiteboard behind me. To my surprise, a blue dry erase marker laid in the tray at the bottom of the board. I took off the cap, stepped up to the board and wrote “Miss Spivey” in large letters.
I replaced the marker in the tray and stared at the words. I turned my head towards the windows to hide the single tear flowing down my cheek. I wiped it away quickly before being seen and returned to the desk.
At 23 and just three months out of school, I was new to the “real world.” Hopefully, my 5’4” frame would at least make me bigger than most of my third graders. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to regain enough composure to think straight about what I was doing.
I knew Linda, the principal, would be in later. That would help. And it was great having Lisa, the other third grade teacher, across the hall. But I didn’t want to appear to be as overwhelmed as I actually felt.
This was so typical. All my friends knew I was outgoing and friendly, but overconfident was probably not a term they ever used when describing me. Aggressive? Yeah, right. Not Chris Spivey.
So the next half hour was spent opening every closet, rearranging desks and chairs and otherwise imagining what the room would look like next week when classes started. Periodically, other teachers stuck their heads in the door and introduced themselves. Everyone seemed very nice and helpful. Maybe this would work after all.
I walked over to Lisa’s room after a while, not so much because I needed help but rather to take a break. Lisa was on her knees, stacking books onto a shelf. She appeared to be in her early thirties, maybe a couple inches taller than me. She had beautiful short blonde hair, streaked and layered by a professional, no doubt.
She was certainly attractive and I instantly envied her body, which she apparently had no trepidation about displaying with her tight jeans and clinging shirt.
Lisa looked up. “Hi. How you doing over there?”
“Great. It’s getting there. I’ll do books next I think,” I said.
Lisa looked across the room at me for an instant before saying, “What time is it?”
“Want casino siteleri to head out about Noon for something to eat?” she asked.
“Yes. I still want to do that. Where do you recommend?” I said.
“How about Panera’s? I like their soup and salads.”
“That’s perfect. I love them, too. Let me know when you’re ready to go,” I said.
“OK. I’ll be anxious to see how you’re doing.”
I walked back to my room, hearing the sound of desks moving in other rooms up and down the hall. With my mind a little clearer, I was ready to tackle the book issue. Now think, Chris. What would be the most logical way to approach this? I wished I’d been doing this for ten years.
Noon came quickly and Lisa entered my room with her purse over her shoulder, ready to go. I was starved. It took no special urging for me to get up, grab my purse and walk out with her. She offered to drive and I felt obligated to accept, so we jumped into her SUV and headed for Panera’s.
It was a short drive, but the conversation along the way boosted my belief that Lisa was an intelligent, confident woman. This was good. The qualities I often felt I was weakest in were what I looked for in friends, so at least one of us knew what we were doing. And the smell of her perfume permeated the SUV. I had noticed it in her classroom. It was nice.
Lisa ordered soup in a bread bowl and a small salad. I got a Greek salad and my usual fat free, taste free dressing. We didn’t talk much, with Lisa proving to be a little quieter than I anticipated. It was obvious she thought things out before speaking.
“This is a good staff,” Lisa said at one point. “Of course, we have the usual pettiness that will cause waves during the year, but no outright hatred.”
I giggled at how nonchalantly she said it. “I’ll try not to do anything that will cause people to hate me. Warn me when I cross the line.”
“No problem. But I bet you’re not the type to ruffle too many feathers.”
“Why’s that?” I asked innocently.
“Oh, I think you’re too smart for that. I think you’ll sit back and take it all in and calculate before acting,” she said before stabbing another forkful of salad.
I hate it when people already know me less than four hours after our first meeting. Was I THAT predictable? Or was Lisa that good? She was beginning to intrigue me with her apparent ability to pick up on things so quickly.
“You’re not married?” she asked unexpectedly.
“Uh, no.” The pause that followed caused Lisa to wait for the conclusion of the thought. I considered the many possible ways to continue. “I’m not dating right now. The last one didn’t turn out so well.”
Lisa looked at me over her fork. “Been there.”
“And you?” I asked boldly.
“Nope. Never got married. I’m not sure it’s right for me.”
“You certainly are pretty enough. You must have had a ton of guys asking you out,” I said.
“Thanks,” Lisa said, seemingly appreciative of the compliment. “I wouldn’t say a ton. But none of them seemed right.”
“I’m a little suspicious of all men right now,” I said truthfully. “I’ve had some bad experiences in and out of school…college, I mean…and just…well, I just don’t trust many men any more.”
“There are a couple on the staff, but they’re harmless. I’ll let you make up your own mind,” Lisa said.
“Thanks. I’m sure I will.”
The only other notable event during the lunch was my inability, at times, to abstain from looking at the woman’s near perfect breasts partially hidden and partially exposed within her shirt. It was one of those low-cut figure-hugging shirts that accentuated every curve and angle. And Lisa’s curves were faultless. I wasn’t sure if I was jealous or in complete admiration.
How could this woman go this long in life without a man? There clearly was history here I didn’t know. It would be a project for the coming year, I told myself.
The afternoon went quickly and I slept well that night, tired from more physical labor than I’d done all summer. Lisa lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Dressed only in a pair of panties, she slid her fingers over the inside of her thighs, onto her stomach and eventually to her breasts.
She closed her eyes. She was looking at her young teaching partner. I stood in the doorway to her classroom with my brunette hair falling to my neck. Lisa’s right hand rose until it covered her breast, then she concentrated on the nipple. Lisa imagined me entering the room and walking over to her.
Lisa leaned into my body and kissed me. Her hand kneaded her breast under the sheet, which she pushed down to uncover both breasts. She moved her hand from breast to breast, squeezing them.
In her daydream, we embraced and put our hands inside each other’s shirts. Her hand moved down and disappeared inside her panties under the sheet. We pulled off our shirts in the imaginary classroom, admiring each other’s breasts, then came back together.
Lisa had her fingers on her clit. It was growing longer and harder. She put a finger slot oyna inside her pussy to get it wet, then slid it back up to her clit. She began a series of long, hard strokes.
I unbuttoned her jeans and lowered the zipper. I pushed the pants down and slid my palm over her panty-covered pussy. I could feel her wetness. I could smell her perfume combine with her own scent.
Lisa arched her back and pressed her pussy harder against her hand. She rubbed more frantically while I pulled off her panties. Before I got a chance to touch her again, she was lost in the midst of an intense orgasm. She called out my name. She came multiple times before letting her body fall back to the bed.
Lisa lay with her hand covering her wet, tingly cunt and clit. She shuddered as a single finger slid over the clit one last time.
When I got to school the next day, a white envelope was taped to the outside of my classroom door. “Chris” was neatly written across the front. I took it off before unlocking the door and opening it. Across the hall, Lisa’s door was open but there was no sign of the teacher.
I sat at my desk and opened the envelope. A colorful card inside announced a “Welcome Back to School” party for the upcoming Saturday at one of my favorite local clubs. The card was signed by Lisa with an additional line, “Please come.”
My calendar needed no checking. Saturday nights were generally wide open for me and this one was no different. I felt like I “belonged” a little bit more now and hoped that by the end of the party I’d be much more at ease.
I stepped across the hall and found Lisa cleaning desks.
“Thanks for the invitation. I can’t wait,” I said.
“Good. I’m glad you can make it.” If Lisa had looked good in her shirt and jeans the day before, she was nearly stunning in her sleeveless top and shorts today.
“Today is cleaning day for me,” she said, perhaps noticing my eyeing of her outfit. “The guys do a good job during the summer of cleaning up, but I like to get the desks one more time. Just an old habit.”
“I think by Saturday I’ll be ready for a party,” I said.
“We all will be. It’s a good chance to get together and for the new teachers—like you—to meet everyone. Or at least everyone that shows up,” Lisa said. She looked over my shoulder as if looking for someone, then put her hand beside her mouth. “We don’t care about the rest.”
I laughed. This sounded like every school I had ever student taught in. I may be an inexperienced teacher, but I knew the social games that were played. And there was something about Lisa’s voice. It was soft…alluring.
Lisa walked toward her desk and reached inside her purse. She pulled out a second envelope.
“Here. This is for you,” she said, handing me the envelope.
I opened it eagerly and pulled out a gift certificate to one of my favorite clothing stores in the mall.
“Oh, Lisa. This is for me?”
“Yep. I want us to be friends. Maybe we can teach each other some new teaching tricks,” Lisa said with a smile.
“You shouldn’t have. Really. You didn’t have to do this,” I stammered.
“Use it to buy something fun.”
I wanted to go to her and show her how much I appreciated it, but just didn’t feel comfortable enough to do it. So I stood there like a little kid, shifting my weight nervously from one leg to the other.
“I will. Thanks, Lisa. I’ll let you get back to work. Come over when you need to take a break,” I offered.
“I will. See ya in a little bit.”
I turned and moved back into my classroom. My mind was cluttered with thoughts of work to do, the party Saturday and what to buy with my certificate. Slowly but surely I got the classroom organized and looking the way I wanted it. By Friday afternoon I was ready for the weekend.
I assured Lisa once again that I would be at the party. In fact, I was looking forward to it and wouldn’t have missed it. The opportunity to meet all the other teachers—well, at least most of them—in a social setting was too good to pass up.
Saturday afternoon I started giving serious thought to what to wear that evening. Should I go with something “business casual” to show my maturity (yeah, right) or something fun? Once the general category had been decided—fun—I keyed in on comfortable versus provocative versus stylish. Having ruled out provocative right away, based primarily on my belief I would not be picking up any men at this thing, I concentrated on comfortable and stylish.
Actually, I ended up with a combination of the two. I chose some tight designer jeans (comfortable) and a Chico’s denim re issue-shirt (stylish). I felt good.
The club Lisa chose was best known for live jazz, but the bar and lounges were exceptionally well suited for groups like ours. You could eat, drink, talk or do them all at once without having to shout all night. If you wanted to dance, you could. I just wanted to survive.
I walked in and headed for a lounge I suspected might be a likely spot for our group. Sure enough, Lisa and three canlı casino siteleri other teachers were already sitting around a table with chips and drinks in front of them.
“Hey, Chris,” Lisa said in a welcoming tone from halfway across the room. “Glad you could make it. Have a seat.”
I had met the other women and remembered all their names but one, not bad for me. Soon, a waitress came around and after glancing quickly at what the others had I ordered a margarita.
“How many people do you expect?” I asked Lisa.
“Maybe fifteen, but they won’t all be here at once. They will come and go. We keep it pretty informal with people jumping from one table to another. Some of us dance, too,” she said with a smile.
“I’ll need a lot of margaritas to dance,” I said.
The women laughed. It was decided that was their goal for the night, to see Chris dance.
I was struck once again by Lisa’s attire. She wore a burgundy knit tank top over matching slacks. It looked stunning with her blonde hair–sexy without being blatant. Her bare shoulders and arms were well tanned and perfectly toned. She was beginning to truly disgust me.
Eventually, about eight female teachers and two of the male teachers joined us. I was on my second margarita and enjoying the band that had just started their set in the room next door. I warned myself that one more margarita would do it.
Lisa was playing hostess, jumping from table to table, and leaving me to strike up occasional conversations with other teachers. This was good, I supposed, from a professional perspective. But I really wanted to chat more with her and learn more about her.
In due course, she walked behind my chair, tapped me on the shoulder and signaled for me to walk with her toward the bar. I eagerly got up and joined her.
She stood close enough for our arms to be touching.
“There are two guys at the other end of the room, sitting at a round table near the end of the bar,” she began. I started to turn. “Don’t look!”
I giggled at the urgency of her statement.
“They’ve been watching you for at least fifteen minutes now. If you’re interested…” She didn’t finish the sentence. We stood at the bar. I sneaked a look.
They were attractive enough and maybe a couple years older than me. It only took a few seconds for their eyes to find us. I quickly turned back to the bar.
“White wine for me. Chris?”
“Uh. Oh, nothing for now. Thanks,” I said.
“Well?” Lisa asked with a devilish smile.
“I think it’s you they want,” I replied naively.
“Chris Spivey. I swear. We need to work on you.”
Lisa’s drink arrived and we sauntered back to our chairs, avoiding the eyes of the two guys at all cost. I wasn’t sure what excited me more. The fact she may have been right about the guys or the fact I may have finally captured Lisa for a chance to talk.
We chatted about college, where we used to live, kids to watch out for at school and other unrelated stuff. She was an excellent conversationalist with a wicked sense of humor and lots of sarcasm. I didn’t take it as the alcohol speaking either. I thought this was the real Lisa coming out.
She learned about my insecurities and I learned about her mistakes. She learned I liked baths more than showers and I learned she had an underwear drawer for “special occasions.” We laughed a lot.
At some point during the conversation a margarita appeared on the table in front of me.
“Is this mine?” I asked.
“Must be,” Lisa said. “You’re not going to just let it sit there, are you?”
“Drink it.” Lisa’s voice wasn’t motherly, but the implication was there just the same. Maybe in ten years I could do the same thing to a new teacher.
We were back talking almost immediately. Ten minutes later I lost all control of the evening. The band was playing, I was swaying to the music in my chair and Lisa was grabbing my hand.
“Come on,” she said. She pulled me up much too fast and I managed to dodge past people, chairs and tables on instinct alone. A few seconds later we were in the adjoining room. Then we were on the dance floor.
Luckily, we weren’t alone. I only recognized one other teacher, but the other bodies made me think in my half-drunken state of mind that the entire room wasn’t staring at just me.
Lisa could dance. Between the band scarcely twenty feet away and watching her move, I got into it fairly rapidly. More people arrived and by the third song I was dancing with just about anybody brave enough to stand in front of me—male or female.
At some point I caught a glimpse of Lisa’s little burgundy butt swinging past. I couldn’t tell who she was with, if anybody. I was relieved when we reconnected during the next song.
“Ready for a break?” she asked, leaning into my ear to speak over the band.
“Yeah. How about you?”
“Yes,” Lisa said. She turned and I followed.
As we approached our table, a smattering of applause arose from the handful of teachers awaiting us. I gave them my best dirty look. When we sat down—rather, Lisa sat and I collapsed—she said, “You were great. You’ve done this before.”
“Only when I’m physically dragged out there. But I’m glad you did.”
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