WARNING: This is a bit mature, and a few dirty things are definitely implied. Just warning you, in case you're sqeamish, but there are NO descriptive scenes.
He's your English teacher.
You know quite well that you shouldn't have this massive crush on him; for once, he is twenty-four, and you're seventeen. That alone should clue you in that this is hella wrong. However, you can't help your feelings
or the way your heart speeds up when you see him.
"(Name)," he says gently, becoming quite aware that you weren't completely in the room with the rest of the class. Your mind is somewhere else, daydreaming about what it'd be like if he actually noticed you as a woman
and not just a simple student. "(Name), pay attention."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you spoke, your cheeks turning red.
He smiles and shakes his head. "All right, class, I'd like you to summarize last night's chapters for me."
Many of the hands shoot up, mostly from girls.
English is your last class of the day, so when the final bell rings, Mr. Kirkland says, "(Name), would you please stay for a few minutes?"
You stop collecting your things and watch as everyone else files out. Your friend looks behind you and winks, saying she'll see you tomorrow morning. You nod before turning back to your teacher. You know this has to do with your grades and your constant reveries.
"(Name)," he speaks softly as he stood, fixing his glasses. He looks adorable with his glasses on, absolutely smart and mature and handsome. "(Name), I'm very worried for you and your grades in this class. You are down to a 73, and I know that you've gotten nothing lower than an 87 in all your past classes." He heads over to you and stops a few inches from you. "What is going on inside your head? You're everywhere but where you need to be."
You're going on inside my head
"I'm sorry," you whisper as you lower your eyes to his brown, leather shoes.
He touches your chin and gently raises it up as his emerald eyes stay on yours, deep and mesmerizing. His touch is sweet, and it makes your whole body tingle. "Do you need help? I can stay after and help you if that is what you need. You happen to be one of my favourite students, and it'd be a shame to have you get such a low mark on a class you seem to be the best in, especially considering this is your senior year." His British accent, the one that turns him even extra-hot, deepens and becomes more prominent than usual.
"I'd love that," you gasp, butterflies deciding to attack the insides of your stomach. You manage to smile and nod. "Honestly. That'd be great."
"Good. Great!" His hand drops from your face, and it suddenly feels very cold in the spot where his skin had come in contact with yours. "I'm free this whole week. An hour or two after school should work nicely, yes?" You nod quickly, trying hard not to grin like the love-struck idiot that you are. "Lovely." He tousles the top of your hair and gives you this marvelous, sexy half-grin. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Right. Thank you, Mr. Kirkland," you blurt before you finish packing and head out.
Inside your head, you're basically screaming, I've got a date with Arthur Kirkland!
You wear shorts on Tuesday. You're normally more of a jeans kind of girl, but you've been told you have lovely legs, and you want to test that out. Would Mr. Kirkland notice?
You also wear a lovely, low-cut(ish) top, making sure to keep it within school regulations, but far enough to be noticeable. Paired with strappy heels and your silky hair curled slightly, you look pretty cute.
Your best guy friend, quarterback Alfred Jones, asks at lunch, "Who the hell are you trying to impress?"
"Maybe it's you," you wink before laughing. "No one, silly. Can't I just look good for the sake of it?"
Your friend, the one with you in English class, makes a committal sound, but it is rather sarcastic. "Right. Are you sure it isn't sexy Mr. Kirkland that you're trying to impress?"
"Ew, you have a crush on him?" Alfred makes a disgusted face. "Why? The man is like
a cat. Stuck up and rude and cynical. Not to mention he's kind of ugly." He puts his arm around you. "I, on the other hand, am quite a damn sexy beast, so maybe you should get with me, (Name)."
"There is nothing wrong with Mr. Kirkland, Al, and besides, you can have half the school's girls begging for you, so why would you go for me?"
"Because you're hot."
"Well, aren't you superficial?" However, your tone implies it is more of an observational statement than a question.
"Maybe that's why she fancies her English teacher. I mean, come on now, when is the last time you met a superficial English teacher? They all sound like they came out of Shakespeare womb, and they're deeper than pits in Hell." Your friend is having a lovely time butting into the conversation and adding her random commentary, but you let it slide. "In that case, (Name), maybe you should up in a Juliet costume and declare your love for him. I mean, hey, it is forbidden, so it makes sense."
"Come on now! Everything romance related can't be compared to Romeo and Juliet
not to mention she was like thirteen, and Romeo was more of a horny, little bastard than some inspirational, romantic fellow." You cross your legs at the ankles as your take a sip of your juice.
"If Mr. Kirkland reciprocates these lustful desires, you two would make a beautiful couple. Honestly. You're made for each other
just like Adam and Eve."
"No, they're not," Alfred blurts, rolling his eyes. "Come on, bro. He's like
seven years older. Until you turn twenty-one, that's gross."
"Right now, it's considered ephebophilia."
"Right now, I don't care," you say, using the same tone they're using with you. "Besides, I'm not the only one who has a crush on him. Half the senior class in girls would drop their pants and ride him like a bull if given the chance."
"Dude. Gross." Al makes a face and turns away. "Do whatever you want, (Name). We sure as hell can't stop you, now can we?"
Everything is kept within school friendly terms; Mr. Kirkland is very professional, no matter how much you wish he didn't.
But Friday takes a turn.
After the tutoring, you head out to your car only to find it died on you. It barely has any gas, and the battery is dead, anyway. You sit in your car, forehead to the steering wheel. You try perhaps twenty times to get someone to help you, like Alfred or your mom, but no one picks up. No one answers.
Suddenly, there is a knock at your window.
Your head flies up and your scream, hitting your head on the head rest. "Ow! Shit!" You soothe the back of your head as you turn to see who it is. To your surprise, it is Mr. Kirkland, and he looks quite worried for you.
However, since the only way to get your window open is to turn the car on, you end up just opening the door and stepping out. "Hello," you say nervously, wondering if he heard use that vulgar word.
"You've been here for the past half hour. Are you okay?"
is not working
and no one is picking up
so I'm kind of stranded."
He looks around at the nearly emptied parking lot and says, "Well, I can help you out." His face is a dark shade of scarlet as he lowers his gaze; too bad you're shorter than him, so you can see him perfectly. "I really shouldn't this as a faculty member and as your teacher, but do you want a ride home?"
would be absolutely wonderful," you blurt, your whole face lighting up. "I would be forever in your debt."
He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Again, you're one of my favourite students, so I really don't mind." He nods over to his car; it's small and homey, something you kind of imagine he'd drive. "Get your things and head on over there."
"Right. Okay. Thank you again!"
You quickly grab your things and lock up before following him to his car. He opens the passenger seat door for you, like a gentleman, and you get in. He closes the door after you and rushes to his side, getting in.
"What's your address?" he asks, and you give it to him.
He knows where you live now.
The thought makes you so much happier than you should really feel.
You pull up in front of a small bookstore.
"Do you mind?" Mr. Kirkland asks as he puts the car in park. "I need to get something."
"Absolutely. Do you want me to go in with you?"
He smiles at your words and nods. "I'd like that," he murmurs as he turns off the car.
You two get out and step in to the air-conditioned bookstore. Here, both of you are equals, simply customers. Here, no one knows him as the teacher and you as the student. Here, you probably both look like a lovely, little couple.
The smiles some of the older ladies give you makes you feel bubbly inside.
"Just take a look around," Mr. Kirkland informs you, and you feel free to do so, browsing the seemingly endless rows of books.
It is absolutely beautiful here.
After a few minutes, you head into the girl's bathroom. You don't really need to relieve yourself or anything, but you sit inside one of the stalls, thinking about Mr. Kirkland. Alfred is right, isn't he? Right now, you shouldn't even be considering a romantic possibility with him. It's not right, morally and possible legally.
But looking at him, you can't help but feel what you do. He makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside, and you can't help wrapping all these thoughts of him around your head. He's absolutely delectable, and you'd love to get a taste of him, even if only once.
No. You shouldn't be thinking about him.
You tell yourself to forget these foolish, teenage emotions and treat him like you should: like your elder, like your teacher, like an adult.
You're a child in his eyes, at least right now.
Just for now.
When you're finally done contemplating your life, you get up and open the stall door, headed for the sink. That is when you remember your forgot your purse and turn around, tripping over your own two feet. You grab at whatever you can as you collide with the ground, and you stay there for a few seconds, waiting for the disorientation to rise.
When you finally sit up, you notice that your shirt isn't just stained with whatever the hell people leave here; it's also ripped, and some of the buttons of your blouse have been torn off. Grabbing your bag, you head for the mirror to see exactly how bad it is.
You can be considered half-naked at this point.
You take off the shirt and stand in there with just your jeans and bra, rummaging through your bag for something to wear. You certainly can't walk out there wearing that ripped monstrosity (how did it even rip? What, were there tiny, invisible knives on the ground that tore it up or are you so much of a klutz that somehow you managed that?), but you really don't have anything else to wear.
Goodness, you really don't want Mr. Kirkland to see you.
You sit down against the wall near the sinks, holding your bag in front of your chest as you hug your knees, trying to figure out what to do. A few ladies enter and go, but the most they do is glance your way. They don't say a word about your situation.
You're kind of grateful for it.
After a few minutes, the door opens again, and this time it is Mr. Kirkland. He is the color of tomatoes, but he still enters, crossing over to you.
"(Name)? What's wrong? I've been searching for you for a while now
You hold up your shirt and mumble, "I fell."
He states at you for a few seconds as his face becomes darker, and then he puts his bag on the ground, taking off his tan cardigan. He hands it to me and says, "Try
You find yourself blushing as you take the cardigan from him. He turns around to give you your privacy (though you notice him sneaking a peek at the mirror), and you stand to put it on.
"The neckline is too low," you whisper to him after to button it up. It smells just like him, and it is still warm from his body. You want to keep this forever.
He turns around to find out that it is true; your breasts, cupped beautifully into the black, lace bra, still stand out quick prominently seeing as how to the neckline ends right below it. You attempt to pull it up to cover it some, and suddenly your back is quite exposed.
And then Mr. Kirkland begins to take off his button-up.
He's wearing a shirt underneath, like protocol for male faculty members calls for at your school, and hands you that instead. You take off the cardigan, not knowing if to be embarrassed or thrilled, and hand it back, taking the shirt. You slide your arms into the too-big sleeves and button up.
It's more like a dress on you, falling mid-thigh, but it is better than the cardigan. Mr. Kirkland has already put it back on, and it gives you a cheap thrill to think of how you wore it.
"Better?" he asks, and you nod.
"Yes, thank you." You pick up your bag and step towards him. "Much better."
He stares at you, and in a single, impulsive moment, he cups your cheek and bends down to kiss you.
You don't protest, simply kiss back.
"I'd like to invite you to my place for tea and scones," he murmurs against my lips.
"I'd love to."
So, you guys head over to his house (and now you know where he lives!), but it isn't exactly for tea and scones. You pick up exactly where you left off in the bookstore, but this time, it is in his bedroom.
You guys are running on adrenaline and a stupid kind of non-drug high, absolutely impervious to the fact that you two really shouldn't be doing this. Before you know it, your clothing is coming off, and the touches are getting heavier and tons more sensual. He's incredibly gentle with you, as if you were a porcelain doll, but at the same time, he isn't really holding back.
He isn't your first time, but God, do you wish he remains your last and only partner
because with him, it's absolute bliss. With him, everything in life seems so much clearer and brighter.
But you're wearing rose-colored glasses right now. All you can see is him, and it feels like the world will never touch either of you.
Your cell phone is ringing, and you lethargically sit up, taking the phone. Arthur is half-asleep next to you, slightly stroking your half-naked back.
"Hello?" you say.
"You're with him, aren't you?"
It's Alfred. You can tell by his tone, carrying his actions through the phone.
"Al, calm down. It's all right."
"Please tell me you did not sleep with him, (Name)!"
"Alfred, I already told you to calm down. It isn't that big of a deal!"
"Bullshit!" he yells, and Arthur sits up at that. "That fucking pervert is going to pay for this shit!"
"Alfred!" you snap.
"I'm already outside."
"You know where he lives?"
"Well, since you made it quite obvious what you wanted to do with him Tuesday, I took the liberty to find out. And I don't care if y'all don't open the damn door for me; I'll kick it in."
"ALFRED!" you scream, but the line goes dead.
You scramble off the bed, finding your underthings and throwing them on. You scramble to get your jeans, wanting to be ready to persuade Al to leave before he did anything stupid.
"(Name)? What's going on?" Arthur asks you as he pulls on his boxers.
And then the door flies into the wall.
"What the hell?" he blurts.
Before you can say anything, Alfred has entered the room and he delivers quite a punch at Arthur's face. "You disgusting jackass! She's seventeen! Seven-fucking-teen! I'm pretty sure this shit is illegal, and I swear to Jesus and hamburgers and everything else I hold dear to my life, if you so much as glance her way, I will rip your fucking face off before calling the police on you."
"Calm the fuck down! I'm the one who provoked this!" you blurt as you grab his arm. "Al, leave him alone. It's my fault."
"I'm not saying it isn't!" Alfred then grabs you by the waist and throws you over his shoulder, grabbing your bag at the same time. "And if either of you know what's best, you'll stay away from each other. The only reason I'm not going to inform anyone right now is because it'll break your heart, (Name). But do anything even spitting-distance close to this and I will fucking destroy him."
You say nothing as he carries you out, and Arthur stumbles after you, his eyes still on you. And you can see him talking to himself, clearing making out the words, "Not good", but you don't think he is referring to the trouble he might get into; you think he means he knew you weren't good for him.
Next Monday, your whole class faces the disappointment of him having transferred out for another school in a different county.
This is your entire fault.
You look up at the choices on the menu and order some tea. They prepare it for you on the spot, and you turn around.
And then your whole body freezes.
You head for the table and clear your throat. "Mr. Kirkland?"
He looks up, clearly recognizing your voice. "Ah, (Name). Pleasure seeing you again."
"I can't believe you remember me," you murmur.
"It's kind of hard to forget you
after everything." He gestures to the chair beside him. "Please, take a seat."
You blush and nod as you sit down. "I can't believe it's been four years."
"Yeah. If you don't mind my asking, what are you majoring in? You're in college, right?"
You nod, lowering your gaze. "Education. Teacher, actually."
He seems surprised. "I'm sure you'll do wonderful." He then pauses, looking at the scone in front of him. "How's Alfred?"
"Florida State. I don't talk to him as much as I used to."
"Is he still in love with you?" he mumbles, but it is more to himself.
"What?" you ask, and that is when your eyes meet. "Mr. Kirkland, I do hope you know I don't regret doing what I did. I probably shouldn't have, but I don't regret it. Actually, I'd do it again if given the chance
but that'd be selfish. I'm sorry for nearly costing you your job."
And then he kisses you again, almost like he did back in the bookstore four years ago. It is a timid kind of kiss, gentle and sweet, and you want this forever and ever.
"Silly girl," he murmurs to me before kissing my forehead. "I don't regret it either. (Name), are you still in love with me?"
I smile softly. "Are you suggesting you love me back?"
"Even when I shouldn't have, I did. You were always one of my favourite students, you know."
Now. Now is the right time. Back then, you were too young. Back then, it was wrong. But now, even if the situation is only a bit different, it's perfectly okay
because you're no longer a child in society's eyes, because you're no longer a student.
Now, you can love Arthur Kirkland as freely as you want.