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“Ohhh…yeah that’s it…” Carol moaned softly. I spread her ass with my hands now, and she rubbed her clit while I ran the flat of my tongue across her clenching anus. I wiggled the tip of my tongue against her anal opening, trying to work my way inside but her sphincter was tight and hard. “Heehee! That tickles!” Carol giggled as I flicked my tongue quickly across her asshole. I stopped the motion. “Don’t stop. Finger my pussy.”

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.

Our pasts burden us with guilt but bless us with knowledge, so that we can ensure that we and those around us don’t make the same mistakes, and help those who do make those mistakes learn and grow to be better people. Even if there is no way to truly repent for our crimes, to make up for what we’ve done, that doesn’t mean we should ever stop trying.