My Teacher_(0)

I took latin for 3 years in high School. I was kind of a nerd or dweeb or whatever you want to call it. I wasn’t really unpopular but I didn’t play sports, I was kind of a class clown. I was on the quiz bowl team. At 17 I still hadn’t had sex with a girl and I didn’t have a clue how to ask a girl out. I was a chronic masturbator and I fantasized about everyone, school girls, neighbors and teachers. Getting back to latin, one of my favorite fantasies was about my latin teacher, Ms. Davis. She was very pretty, not the hottest woman in the world but very attractive to me. She was tallish, 5’9″, and skinny. She had red hair and a pale complexion with pale blue eyes. I guessed her breasts to be a small B at the most and she had a small round ass. She alway wore skirts that showed off her calves to good advantage. They were well shaped and suggested that things might only get better as you moved up.

As I said, I took latin for three years. Latin, as you might imagine, was not the most popular course of study and by the time I was a third year, there were only 4 of us. I got to know Ms. Davis pretty well since we had to talk a lot and with fewer students each year, things were pretty informal. Ms. Davis knew I was a joker, but I did my work and contibuted to class discussions since I loved roman mythology and history. Unlike most of my other teachers, she seemed to enjoy having me in class and usually let my jokes go without comment.

One day in class, however, Ms. Davis practically tore my head off when I made a lame joke about Euripides. It probably wasn’t as bad as it seemed, she said something like “If you can’t take this class seriously then get out.” I was totally taken by surprise and remained quiet for the rest of the class. The whole time I was wondering what I had done. She had never gotten mad at me like that before and in a rare moment of clarity for a kid my age, I realized that maybe it had nothing to do with me and more to do with her.

After class, I lingered until everyone else had gone and approached her desk. She stared down at our essays frowning. She looked unhappy and I was sure there was something going on. “Is everything ok, Ms. Davis?” I asked timidly. She looked up startled. She hadn’t even realized I was still there. “Oh, Geoff,” she said, “I’m sorry,………ok?……..Oh, yes, fine, I’m sorry about earlier.”

I shrugged off her apology, I was no longer concerned about that. She had always been my favorite teacher and I hated to see her upset. “Really, you seem kind of distracted and unhappy, are you sure everything is ok?” I pressed.

She hesitated and said “Things could be better at home but I shouldn’t really be talking about it with you.”

I don’t know what kept me going but I persisted. “Well, you’ve always been a great teacher for me. And you’ve always stood up for me when other teachers wouldn’t have, I really appreciate that. I don’t know what help I can be but, seriously, if you need someone to talk to or anything else…….” I trailed off.

Ms. Davis smiled sadly at me and said what a wonderful young man I was. She seemed to cheer up a bit just from talking and we joked a bit about school and stuff like that. I left feeling good like maybe I had helped a little just by offering.

Over the next couple of weeks, however, I could see Ms. Davis having a tough time. I don’t know if any of the other kids noticed but she seemed distracted and while she tried not to be negative she wasn’t her usual self. I began talking to her after class every day just to make small talk. It was my lunch hour and I usually just had a coke anyway. She seemed to appreciate this and opened up to me a bit. She asked me a lot of questions about my love life and I had to confess that it was non existent. This shocked her and she said she couldn’t believe that because I was just the kind of guy she would have been attracted to in high school. I appreciated that and since she was so easy to talk to I explained that I didn’t know what to say around girls. She gave me the usual pointers about be yourself and stuff like that. I didn’t care much about that but talking about me seemed to cheer her up some like maybe it helped take her mind off of her own problems.

One day in class, I could see she looked very tired and was struggling with class. I helped to lead the discussion since she seemed a little spaced out. After class I told her she looked tired and she agreed. She looked like she was about to cry and I could see her eyes were a little puffy as if she’d already done that quite a lot lately. She seemed to deflate and her shoulders sagged as she sat at her desk looking at random papers. I told her she could tell me anything, as a friend, not a student. I wasn’t entirely sure I could handle it but I was worried about her. She looked at me and smiled again slightly.

She seemed to make a decision and started to speak but the words came out slow and haltingly. She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for months now with no success. She was 38 and her husband 43 and were both feeling their biological clocks ticking. They had been to a fertility clinic where they found her husband to have a low sperm count. Apparently, there wasn’t much they could do other than try to create optimal conditions and hope for the best. So far the best had not happened.

They had considered artificial insemination and other possibilities but her husband was adamantly against any such process. Ms. Davis believed he felt his manhood was threatened and this was making him extremely stubborn.