“You wanted to talk to me, Mrs. Laramie?” Vic asked as he approached her desk, upon which she was still perched, one leg over the other.

“Yes Vic, I just wanted to see how your first week was going,” Mrs. Laramie said, adjusting her black-rimmed glasses up her nose with a slender finger.

“It’s going well,” Vic said, his mouth still dry.

“Good, good, and you’re enjoying it?” She moved the bangs out of her eyes and behind her ears, her blonde hair falling just to her shoulders.

“I think so … yes.” He was, yes, that was the short answer, but he didn’t think it would be appropriate to give the long answer.

“Are you missing home at all?” she asked, her voice dripping honey. It was a curious question in that it made him draw a blank. He did not miss home, he did not think about home, and now that he tried to do it, something slipped of his mind and it wasn’t important anymore.

“Sorry, what was the question?”

“Never mind that Vic,” Mrs. Laramie said and licked her upper lip slowly. “We just want to make sure you feel at home here. That you feel nice and comfortable.” He would have felt comfortable if at the end of the sentence Mrs. Laramie did not reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it as if trying to assure him.

“We just want to make sure that you’re completely comfortable.” As she said this, Mrs. Laramie pulled Vic’s hand forward and placed it on her own leg, just above the knee. Vic’s breath stopped short as he felt the skin of his teacher’s thigh underneath his fingers, but Mrs. Laramie kept his hand firmly there. “I know what you’ve been staring at all class,” she said, not in an accusing tone.

“I – no – I’m sorry,” Vic stammered, but the hand would not be released.

“Shh,” Mrs. Laramie said and then gave a laugh that was a little shrill. “All you teenage boys are the same.”

Mrs. Laramie looked like she would know a thing or two about teenage boys. She was at least twice Vic’s age, and even though she had a couple of laugh lines and wrinkles around her eyes, was very attractive for her age.

“All you teenage boys think about the same thing,” she said and let go of Vic’s hand, though it had been there long enough, soaking into her soft flesh, that he did not run. “Tell me, Vic, is this what you were thinking about?”

The Geography teacher leaned slightly back, uncrossing her legs and letting her skirt ride up, and revealed to Vic his greatest dream and what, for the moment, was also his greatest nightmare – she had not been wearing any panties.

As far as moisture was concerned, there was literally nothing left of it in his mouth and she must have sensed that.

“You look thirsty, Vic,” she said, again so sweetly it nearly killed him. “I can offer you a drink.”

Vic stared dumbly at Mrs. Laramie’s womanhood, which quite clearly demonstrated that she was a true blonde, and thought his blood might boil over. He did want a drink, he wanted nothing more than that in the moment.

“Come on, Vic. If you’re worried about seeing your friends, this shouldn’t take long … if you do it right.”

Mrs. Laramie lifted her legs and placed the boots on the desk to either side of her, and then used two fingers to further expose herself, the moisture around her hairy pink nethers reflecting in the classroom lights.

“Don’t be shy, I can walk you through it.”

And with that, Vic abided, getting on his knees in front of the teacher’s desk, and drinking in a cup of hot temptation.