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I spent that weekend feeling increasingly more guilty. What had I done? Pussy was one thing, but sticking my dick in her ass? Sticking my tongue in her ass? Gross and probably illegal. No cell phones or email, so I couldn’t get in touch with Carol and find out she was okay or have her talk me off the ledge. I was afraid she would realize the next day what I had done and call the police. I went to school on Monday thinking they were going to haul me into the principal’s office or just take me away.

Mrs. B. was definitely given to buyer’s remorse. Each time she had sex with me, she would act really distant and embarrassed for awhile, trying to pretend nothing had happened, and trying to avoid being around me. I managed once to be alone in the room with her and I came up behind her and lifted her dress and squeezed her ass. She looked at me with a sad smile (and checked out the bulge in my pants),

“We’re going to need some of this,” she said, unscrewing the cap. “Lubrication,” she said with a smile, seeing the confused look on my face. She poured a generous handful of oil and slathered it onto my shaft and my balls. She spied the label as she set the bottle down. “Hmm…extra virgin. That’s the only thing in this house tonight that is virgin anything.” I laughed nervously. I remember now my clueless mom never figured out why her bottle of olive oil kept appearing in my bathroom.