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Looking back on it, I think it was pretty clear that Mrs. B was sending me signals. At the time, I just thought I was imagining things, why would she be sending me signs? I was just a dumb kid. Sure, I was tall, not bad looking with a muscular body for the time. I got some attention from the cute girls but I was just a dumb kid with a stupid grin who was always hanging around stealing glances at her tits or her lovely legs and ass.

“Let me rest a minute. Put some more oil on that thing.” I poured the olive oil in the crack of her ass and watched it run down to where my dick was penetrating Carol’s asshole. I massaged it around my shaft. For the next ten years, I got a huge boner every time I cooked with olive oil. I started sliding back and forth and inch or so, working some of the oil into her anal canal. My cock began to slide easier.

Mrs. B. was a great teacher for 10th grade English. Funny, engaging, personable—and a bit flirty. She was in her late-20s, just a couple years out of The University of Michigan, cute, nice body and flaming red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back. She knew the boys all lusted after her and she did nothing to discourage our interest. Students even gave her a nickname, “Bubbles.” The administration was not pleased, but Mrs. B. didn’t seem to mind. She liked the attention. Oh, and I think that we actually learned a lot of English Lit between the horsing around.