I told her to meet me that afternoon to discuss her flagging grades. She had said "Yes, ma'am." She has such potential and I want to see her go far. She has large doe eyes and a natural beauty far in excess of my other students. I often wonder if her innocence is real or feigned.

I am grading the endless papers when she raps three times on the door. I turn in my chair to let her in. She greets me quietly and stands in the door frame awkwardly. I admire the way her simple dress -- a polka dot shift -- suggests her figure without revealing it as I pat a chair to invite her in.

My knee brushes against her leg, just above her high socks, as she lowers herself into the chair. Her skin is warm and soft I notice before she pulls away.

Years ago I remember meeting Mrs. Jacobs after class in the empty school room. I was surprised to notice how tranquil the room was in the early evening. She was the first woman I had had as a teacher.

Mrs. Jacobs showed us all so much more concern than we were used to getting and it made us all love her. As the sun sank low through the bare limbs of the trees outside, Mrs Jacobs and I talked. I wanted to become a teacher seeing her example and I was asking her advice. The lights were off for some reason that first day for some reason neither of us turned them on as the reddish light grew scarcer. Instead we moved our chairs so we would not block the light and moved ourselves closer to each other.

The sun was setting with rich fiery hues when our hands met and held each other. I still don't remember who made the first move. I do remember the oddly fruity taste of her mouth that first day. For the next several years, until I left for the teachers college in fact, I would meet her after school. Sometimes it was several times a week, other times we could go a month apart. I remember finding her to have a rare beauty. Her body, while past its prime, was nonetheless wonderful. It had grown old the way a pair of slippers does, more comfortable with each passing year. Her small and supple breasts modelled to shape of my mouth; the skin of her legs playfully loose; belly full and soft to lean one's head upon; the grey hair created a stunningly elegant appearance. In college I met Jasmine. At first I remember considering her large breasts ungainly, her strange flexibility uncouth, and her mannerisms immature. Over time these thoughts of her changed. Her chest became sexy; the contortionist skills became enticing, and her childishness refreshing.

Her insatiable curiosity and boundless energy led to much of my own sexual experimentation. My first -- and last -- experience with a man was in her company. The equipment was interesting but the performance failed to impress. I sometimes think back and feel disgust, other times pity.

Jasmine also leads me through my first masturbating to orgasm. Many a time have I thanked her in my mind for having the disregard of taboo to lead me past my inhibitions on that matter? It is certainly enough to make me forgive her leaving to marry that guy Oswin. Jane looks nervously uncomfortable seated in front of me. "You wanted to talk to me, Ms Ossi?" The tremble in her voice throws waves of energy through me. "Please call me Jill." I put down the red pen and shift in my seat to offer her a better view of my breasts. "Yes, I wanted to let you know that

I would like to help you do better. I remember how helpful it was for me to have a friend in the faculty when I was a student, and I thought I could offer you similar assistance." I am not sure but I think I may have over emphasized "assistance."

Her hands were in her lap on top of her notebook, but now she lifts the binder up against her chest. With some trepidation she asks "How?"

I put my hand on her knee and rub my finger in circles to feel the soft skin. "Oh, you know a friend can always offer extra help, arrange favours, assuage doubt in ambiguous situations." She stares mutely at me. I feel her body's tenseness. I roll my chair closer. I hold her knee firmly to show my support in her obvious emotional turmoil. With my other hand I pull her book aside and put it on my desk. "Do you want my help?" I touch her neck gently and she pulls away slightly but wordlessly.

I move closer to her and my sense of smell, always poor, finally notices her perfume. I put my hand on her shoulder. She starts to say something as I press my lips to her mouth. She tastes sweet like gum, probably from gum. None of the students are allowed to chew it but they all do. Her mouth feels as small as I manoeuvre it. With one arm I reach further around her and pull her close, the other I slide up her leg to the hem of her dress. She puts her hands on my chest, pushing slightly.

Abruptly I stop everything to pull her onto my lap. My nipples are hard beneath her palms; I am wet beneath her weight. I hold her tight to my chest and peck kisses around her face. I cup one of her breasts and gently play. She has by now pushed my blouse further open and has her hand pressed to my burning skin.

While I move my kisses further down her cheek and neck, my playing drifts to her tense abdomen. I hear her whisper something, but all I make out is "Oh." I don't know how long she has been doing it, but I suddenly notice that her nails are cutting into skin. I feel ripples of energy from between my legs, but I give myself no relief. Instead I move my hand to Jane's crotch. I rub her hard through the polka dots to keep my hand from reaching back to my own needs. I bite and suck her breasts through the soft cloth. I reach under her dress, pushing her legs apart, to get a better position to handle her needs. I push apart her panties and a finger enters her warmth, her wetness. I rub and push and squeeze and force the flesh as I know feels best. I push my mouth back to hers and feel her energy. I sense her plateau approaching in her mouth. I slow slightly to prolong the sensation.

When she does orgasm she nearly bites my tongue but her teeth catch on mine. I pull my mouth away and go to suck on her ear. A few more strokes for her and my hand come out to go for my own box. I am in too much haste to worry about my skirt, pushing the material instead into my crotch. I am quite on edge and even these blunted strokes have me quivering. It takes hardly a few moments before my orgasm hits me. I relax my hold of Jane and she slides back slightly. I continue rubbing to nurse my joy. I open my eyes and see Jane has crossed her arms with her hands tightly gripping her shoulders. I notice her eyes are wet as if she were crying. I make one last slow pass with my hand over myself. I reach for a tissue to dry her eyes. "The overflow of feelings can be something the first time, can't it?" She makes a quiet noise like a sob. "Now, now don't worry, my dear," I offer as reassurance. "I want to help you. I think you will do very well this year." I put my hand on hers, covering the white knuckles. I squeeze gently, "You have nothing to worry about."

The End