Jean Doole, was a high school English teacher. Beautiful pear shaped body, long auburn hair, the most beautiful brown eyes, red lips, and a body you would just die for. Standing tall at almost 5 feet ten, with long slender legs she was the wanking material for every boy at our school.
The date was April 14th 1982. Jean was wearing a blue figure hugging top, that showed her breasts to their fullest potential, and tight green Armani designer jeans, hugging her thighs. I was sitting at my desk, watching her move around the class, checking over everyoneís homework. I was watching her bend over Joanes desk in front of me, those jeans clinging to her perfectly formed ass, her legs spead open, where you could see the gap in between her ass where her so much wanked over pussy lay.
I couldnít take my eyes of her, imagining as all young boys that were virgins, striking home between her legs. I was lost in my own inner thoughts, when she suddenly called out my name. I looked up startled, my face turning bright red as all the class started sniggering, knowing that I had been caught out watching the teacher.
I looked down at my feet, wishing the home bell would ring quickly, or the ground would open up and swallow me, and get me away from this situation. Another 10 minutes went by, and then the bell rang. I grabbed my homework, and soccer kit, and bolted for the door.
I was passing the desk where Jean was sitting, when she called my name, and asked me to stay behind. My heart sank, I was doomed and had been caught out badly. My classmates all filed by me, laughing and filtered on out.
I stood beside jeans desk, head down in sheer and utter shame. The last of my classmates filtered out, and Jean got up and closed the door and pulled the blind down. She turned to look at me, folded her arms across her chest, and asked me what I thought I was doing watching her like that in class. I stammered and replied that I was looking at Yvette McCleland, and that I was not looking at her.
She walked over to me, sat down on the desk and asked me to sit in her chair. Jean asked me if Yvette was my girlfriend, to which I replied no she wasnít. Why were you looking at Yvette then? Jean asked. I was just looking Miss, I replied. Jean smiled and asked me if I found Yvette attractive, to which I replied yes.
Jean then said could I help her clean out the books in the library cupboard. I replied that I had to go to soccer training. She said look, I will call Mr Campbell up and sort it out that you miss training today, because we both know what you were looking at, and I would not want to have to call your parents up and bring them here to explain what was going on, do you agree? Of course I replied, the last thing I want is my parents up here, I thought to myself.
Jean told me to go start sorting out the books, which I duly did. Rummaging around in her cupboard, I found some odd books, and some photos of what looked like jean in her younger days. More wanking material I thought to myself, and slipped a couple of them in my shirt pocket. I stared moving the books around when just as jean walked in. She came over to me, and asked me to get the ladder out. I went and got the ladder, and Jean told me to put it up so she could get the books from the top row, which I duly did.
I stood back as Jean climbed up the ladder, giving me probably the best view ever of her legs. She told me to come forward and grab some books from her and to take them over to the other side of the cupboard. We continued like that for a few minutes, me basking in the glory of watching my sensational English teacher, Jean Doole, go up and down the ladder.
She asked me then to hop on the ladder as her arms and legs were getting tired from moving the books up and down the ladder. I hopped on, and for a few glorious seconds my mouth was within inches of that pussy I had wanked myself off to night after night in a frenzy. This was the closest id ever come to a pussy at the age of 15. I guess I must have been fixated again by the sight, because soon I heard Jean shout at me again and ask me what the hell I was looking at. She told me to get off the ladder immediately, which I did at my maximum speed.
She came down, and asked me just what I was thinking about looking at her in that way, and that her husband would not be happy about it. I said Jean, I am so sorry, I donít know what to say, and looked at the floor, tears welling up in my eyes, from that shame you feel at such a young age.