handed me the phone, our fingertips touched, and a
tingle of electricity raced up my arm. After fifteen years of teaching, Justin
was my first crush. I loved his humor, intelligence, maturity and irreverence.
He’d made quite an impression. The fact that he was forbidden fruit made him
all the more delectable. Every week, I’d looked forward to my media class,
because I knew he’d be sitting in the back row, paying attention to every word
I said.
The way he used to look at me sometimes, I wondered if he
felt the same way. Did he have a thing for me too? Did he fantasize about me
the way I did about him? When I curled up in bed at night and pulled the sheets
over my bare skin, I’d think of Justin. My hand would slide down to my wet
pussy, and then to my clit, making it slippery with my juices. I imagined
kissing his lips, plunging my tongue into his eager mouth. Overcome by lust, he
kissed me back, pressing his body against mine.
Forbidden fantasies. One hundred percent taboo.
Now that he’d graduated from high school, I could make a
move.
No you won’t , my conscience nagged. No sex with
young men who used to be in your classes. It’s unethical. It’s immoral. He’ll
brag to all his friends that he banged the teacher, and your reputation will be
screwed.
I’d love to be screwed , my cougar snarled.
I flipped through more sculptures of women’s bodies.
Sensual. Carnal. Sexy. Flirtatious. He’d captured an amazing range of moods and
poses. “Is it difficult to find women to model for you?”
“Not really.” Justin smiled. “It’s all in the approach. If
you make a woman feel good about herself, and explain that the sculpture is the
expression of her inner goddess, she often agrees.”
“You phrase it so eloquently. It’s that easy?”
“It’s that easy.” He shrugged. “Most of the time. Some need
more convincing than others. And it’s very important to make the model feel
comfortable during the casting process.”
With his lean, wiry build, he’d make a damn fine sculpture
himself. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a pale-gray shirt. The top three
buttons were undone, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. Sunlight streamed through
the window, kissing his smooth, suntanned skin and the fine, golden hairs on
his forearms. He had an artist’s long, slender fingers. I wanted to touch him
so badly. I wanted him to touch me. My pussy ached, and it took all my
self-control to stop from rubbing my thighs together.
“Since you don’t seem interested in the wine list, why don’t
I fix you a cocktail?”
“Sure, I’d love a cocktail.” I bit back the urge to add
extra emphasis to cock . “How about a—”
“Don’t tell me.” He held a finger to his lips. “Let me
guess.”
“You know, I’m very selective when it comes to what I
drink.” No beer, no straight-up hard liquor, no wine except for the occasional
spritzer, maybe champagne every now and then, with a maraschino cherry at the
bottom of the glass. Cocktails, now I was partial to those. Sweet and soothing,
they swept a girl’s cares away and transported her to a world where problems
didn’t exist.
His initial shyness vanished and cool self-assuredness took
over. “Well, if you’re selective, I’ll have to give this extra thought.” A
smile played on his lips. “A good bartender can anticipate the needs of his
patrons.”
Skeptical, I raised my eyebrows. “Can he?” As much as I had
a thing for Justin, I didn’t think he could read my mind to discover that I
wanted a margarita.
“Absolutely.” His voice grew rough and husky, and he rested
both elbows on the bar. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. You’re a woman. In a
bar. Alone. Based on those facts, I can make certain deductions.”
“What are you insinuating, Dr. Freud?”
As if teetering on the edge of a cliff, I waited
breathlessly for him to speak. What did he think of me? At forty, I still
looked good in killer high heels and form-fitting tops. A lot of
tingle of electricity raced up my arm. After fifteen years of teaching, Justin
was my first crush. I loved his humor, intelligence, maturity and irreverence.
He’d made quite an impression. The fact that he was forbidden fruit made him
all the more delectable. Every week, I’d looked forward to my media class,
because I knew he’d be sitting in the back row, paying attention to every word
I said.
The way he used to look at me sometimes, I wondered if he
felt the same way. Did he have a thing for me too? Did he fantasize about me
the way I did about him? When I curled up in bed at night and pulled the sheets
over my bare skin, I’d think of Justin. My hand would slide down to my wet
pussy, and then to my clit, making it slippery with my juices. I imagined
kissing his lips, plunging my tongue into his eager mouth. Overcome by lust, he
kissed me back, pressing his body against mine.
Forbidden fantasies. One hundred percent taboo.
Now that he’d graduated from high school, I could make a
move.
No you won’t , my conscience nagged. No sex with
young men who used to be in your classes. It’s unethical. It’s immoral. He’ll
brag to all his friends that he banged the teacher, and your reputation will be
screwed.
I’d love to be screwed , my cougar snarled.
I flipped through more sculptures of women’s bodies.
Sensual. Carnal. Sexy. Flirtatious. He’d captured an amazing range of moods and
poses. “Is it difficult to find women to model for you?”
“Not really.” Justin smiled. “It’s all in the approach. If
you make a woman feel good about herself, and explain that the sculpture is the
expression of her inner goddess, she often agrees.”
“You phrase it so eloquently. It’s that easy?”
“It’s that easy.” He shrugged. “Most of the time. Some need
more convincing than others. And it’s very important to make the model feel
comfortable during the casting process.”
With his lean, wiry build, he’d make a damn fine sculpture
himself. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a pale-gray shirt. The top three
buttons were undone, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. Sunlight streamed through
the window, kissing his smooth, suntanned skin and the fine, golden hairs on
his forearms. He had an artist’s long, slender fingers. I wanted to touch him
so badly. I wanted him to touch me. My pussy ached, and it took all my
self-control to stop from rubbing my thighs together.
“Since you don’t seem interested in the wine list, why don’t
I fix you a cocktail?”
“Sure, I’d love a cocktail.” I bit back the urge to add
extra emphasis to cock . “How about a—”
“Don’t tell me.” He held a finger to his lips. “Let me
guess.”
“You know, I’m very selective when it comes to what I
drink.” No beer, no straight-up hard liquor, no wine except for the occasional
spritzer, maybe champagne every now and then, with a maraschino cherry at the
bottom of the glass. Cocktails, now I was partial to those. Sweet and soothing,
they swept a girl’s cares away and transported her to a world where problems
didn’t exist.
His initial shyness vanished and cool self-assuredness took
over. “Well, if you’re selective, I’ll have to give this extra thought.” A
smile played on his lips. “A good bartender can anticipate the needs of his
patrons.”
Skeptical, I raised my eyebrows. “Can he?” As much as I had
a thing for Justin, I didn’t think he could read my mind to discover that I
wanted a margarita.
“Absolutely.” His voice grew rough and husky, and he rested
both elbows on the bar. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. You’re a woman. In a
bar. Alone. Based on those facts, I can make certain deductions.”
“What are you insinuating, Dr. Freud?”
As if teetering on the edge of a cliff, I waited
breathlessly for him to speak. What did he think of me? At forty, I still
looked good in killer high heels and form-fitting tops. A lot of
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