Only One Who's Been 'Round The Block Can Give You The RIde You Need

I was listening to some early 80's rock today. REO Speedwagon to be specific and it got me to reminiscing. So I have a little tale to tell. I told Jen this story earlier, she says I'm a dirty bitch.

The year was 1979 and I had my collar bone broken in a fight so I was yanked out of Physical Education and stuck in Home Economics. When they told my I was going to Home Ec. I thought it was the end of the world. That was a chicks class and I would be labeled a fag. I've never been so wrong in my life. It was heaven. The class was full of girls and the teacher was a hot piece herself. I was lucky enough to miss the child birthing part of the course but thanks to Miss.? (I don't remember her name) I know how to cook and sew and I have a special appreciation for what used to be older women. Now they're just women my age. This story has two parts.

Part 1:

Miss.? required her students to do projects outside off school. If I remember correctly it was a important part of the six weeks grade. We had to do something we wouldn't normally do or had ever done before. I decided to refinish a piece of furniture. My mom had an old magazine table that we used for a T.V. stand, it had seen better days, so it became my victim. My mom took me to the local hardware store and purchased all the necessary chemicals. For the next three weeks I lovingly stripped the old varnish, sanded, stained, and clear coated the T.V. stand. It was beautiful. When it was all said and done I had to write a report about the process. I turned in the report and Miss.? informed me that she needed to see the piece of furniture to insure that I did the work, she said she would come by my house after school.

I was sitting at home waiting for Miss.? to show up, I just wanted to get the grading over with. She knocked on the door and I let her in.

Miss.?: "Is your mom home?"
Trash: "No. She's at work."
Miss.?: "O.K. Where's the T.V. stand?"
Trash: "Right here."
She looked over the stand inspecting the whole thing. Checking all the nooks and crannies. She finally turned around walked over to me took my right hand in hers and said "You're very good with your hands." Then she placed my hand on her left tit. I know. I know. This story sounds like it should start with "Dear Penthouse, You're not going to believe this, but....."

I was in shock I didn't know what the fuck was going on, all I knew was I was 14 and I had a 30 something year old woman's left tit in my hand.

Miss.? " Trash? Are you O.K.?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.?" Have you ever touched a woman before?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Then you know what to do?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? " Where's your bed?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Take me there."

I led her to my my bedroom, and she led me to places that only one girl (my first) had ever taken me before. The other girls I had been with were amateurs. This woman knew how to work a guy over. It's a good thing I was 14 and could bounce back quickley. She did things the girls my age never dreamed of doing. It was like a horizontal slow dance. The girls my age didn't dance, they just laid there. When it was over I was laying there watching her put her clothes back on. She was wearing a brown suede leather skirt a white blouse. As she was doing up the buttons, she looked over at me. I remember feeling embarrassed, I don't why but I did. She walked over to me, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.

Miss.?: "Trash?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "You can't tell anybody about this. It never happened, and it will never happen again. Do you understand?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "Promise."
Trash: "I promise."
Miss.?: "You got an A on the T.V. stand."
Trash: "Oh. O.K."
Miss.?: "You're cute."

With that she turned and walked out of my life, until I saw her at school the next day. Looking at her as a teacher again was one of the hardest things I ever did. I wished and hoped and prayed for the experience again. It never happened. She treated me like any other student. She even sent me to the principal on more than one occasion. I never broke that promise until today.

I was sitting on the back patio telling Jen this story. I still remember exactly what she was wearing. I remember her green eyes and her long brown hair that curled up at the ends. I remember every curve of her body. I remember every thing we did that day. I remember that her fingernails and toenails were painted the same color. I remember the feel of her soft skin against mine. I remember the smell of her perfume (I don't know what it was but I know it when I smell it). I remember she was wearing little ruby earrings. But for the life of me I can't remember that bitches name.

Part B: Next Time.