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One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

She jolted back to reality when her dad plopped down on the couch by her feet. As usual he turned on the TV just for the quiet background noise and for something to stare at and ate his dinner as fast as he could. When he was finished, he put his bowl down on the coffee table.

Sarah rolled about in her bed, unable to get to sleep. She’d woken up an hour after midnight. A nightmare where her friends niggling words tormented her in sleep as well. Sick of staring at the dark ceiling, she got up and tip-toed out of her room. Down the hall her dad’s door stood open, not bothering to close it as he always got up first in the mornings.“Dad?” She quietly called as she peered around the door.