The Teacher (adult subject matter)

The man rolled over onto his back.  He placed his left arm behind his head and laid his right on his still heaving chest.  Small beads of perspiration dripped from his flushed face onto the pillow below.  He stared sightlessly at the bland, water marked ceiling of the motel room, at the fan noisily turning the air about the small room, slowly dissipating the heady smell of sex lingering over the two bodies in the bed. Presently, an alarm sounded from the man’s wristwatch meaning he had to be at work in an hour’s time.  Slowly, he rolled himself out of bed and forced his groggy and satiated body toward the small motel bathroom.  He flicked the switch on the wall outside, filling the small room with a bright, buzzing fluorescence, walked in and closed the door behind him.  He leaned over and turned the knob of the small shower cubicle and ran his hand through the stream testing the temperature.  Before stepping into the shower, the man paused in front of the sink and examined himself in the mirror.  He was a handsome man in his early thirties.  He had dark brown; almost black hair and striking deep-set blue eyes shadowed by thick black arching eyebrows.  His nose was just slightly two large for his face casting a small shadow over thick cherubim lips.  He reached up with his right hand and stroked the stubble forming over his strong square jaw, then let his hand slowly fall over his neck onto his chest, grazing his right breast as it dropped back down to his side. He finished his toilet in 17 minutes, rushing back into the room to get dressed.  The silent figure in the bed was now somewhat clothed and reclined enjoying a clove cigarette.  With each article of respectable clothing put on, the man could feel himself slowly slipping back into character.  As he tucked in the tails of his turquoise silk shirt into his dark blue trousers he could feel the last remnants of the exhausting night before slipping away.  Now fully civilized, the man went about the business of tidying the small room, picking up used condoms and wrappers and flushing them down the toilet.  Retrieving forgotten half empty beer bottles, dumping their flat remains down the bathroom sink, rinsing them and putting them back into their cardboard case, ready to be returned to the beer store for their seven cent trade in value, all the while never looking at the silent figure in the unmade bed. The bed was the only thing left untouched by the man’s cleanliness.  He surveyed the room once more, now ordered and somewhat respectable, but for the unmade bed in the centre, onto which he now tossed two hundred dollar bills and turned to leave.  The door clicked shut behind him; he didn’t lock it, having left the keys for the other occupant to return to the front desk when they were prepared to leave.  The man pulled out of the motel parking lot glancing at the clock on his dash.  He cursed knowing that if he ran into any traffic he would be late for work, something he considered completely unacceptable.  While stopped at red lights along the way the man put the finishing touches on his toilet.  He pulled a black plastic comb through his still damp hair, and fastened a plain navy blue tie around his neck.  By the time he pulled into the parking lot of Rutherford Secondary School the man was completely put together. Mr Breagach strode confidently through the halls, stopping to say hello to a couple of his more attractive young pupils.  He allows himself this one pleasure.  Savouring the shiver that runs through him, tingling the back of his neck and stirring his loins when the young pert Vanessa or Shelly would smile back at him.  He watches, enrapt, as Shelly draws her tongue across her lips, moistening, leaving them glistening.  He watches until he feels the stiffening of his cock and forces himself to turn away The man waits.  When the last bell rings and no one is left, but the odd student shuffling quickly through the halls, hurrying for the buses.  He locks his classroom door and retreats to the corner of the room outside the sight of the small window in the door. He sits and thinks of them; her moist lips and taught body.  He thinks of small pert breasts and nipples thrust provocatively toward him; of shiny pink gloss and Calvin Klein perfumes.  He pulls out his cock and stokes himself, imagining it’s one of their small, soft, inexperienced hands.  He talks to them, tells them what he likes and they do it.  He aims himself as he comes marking the underside of the desk.  By tomorrow it will be dry, no one will notice.yeah, not exactly poetry, not exactly finished, but...enh! Written February 10th, 2002 © on Feb 09 2002 04:24 PM PST   0 • 9