Stephanie Gets the Grade

I was having a hard time staying focused. The exams were complete, the term papers graded and the students were gone. A few more forms to complete and the school year was over! In just a few days, I’d be back on the sugar-white sand beach of North Florida, having a drink and enjoying “the sights”

“Mr. Roberts?”

I didn’t even have to look up from my paperwork. I knew that voice all too well. Good thing she couldn’t see my pants.

“Ms. Robinson,” he said in an only-slightly annoyed tone — not even bothering to lift my eyes from my work. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“I came by to check my grade, but they weren’t posted.”

Although I certainly was in no mood for delays, I knew he had to look up. In my office was Stephanie Robinson. In my 17 years of teaching, she was, hands down, the hottest student ever to grace my classroom. an incredible raven-haired beauty with American Indian in her, I wasn’t going to miss the chance to see a flash of cleavage or a bit of thigh. I didn’t make a habit of lusting after my students, but in her case, it was hard not to.

“No, they are not. I am just now finishing up the paperwork to submit them to the front office,” I said as I looked up from my work. “They’ll be posted later this afternoon.”

I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her. Even in her simple white, sleeveless blouse and denim mid-thigh skirt, she was stunning, complete with precious freckles. Her frame was tall and lean and wrapped in flawless darker skin of her native American heritage. The skirt clung neatly to her hips and tightened at the top to accent her narrow waist and flat stomach. I never would call her breasts wine glass in size, but they looked much bigger than I recalled tucked in that white blouse, which was probably a size smaller than it should have been. She had pulled her sexy black hair back, which was OK, because it only served to better feature the emerald-green brilliance of her eyes.

“Is there any way I could find out mine now?” she asked. “We’re driving up to Atlanta tonight for a party.”

The tone was typical for her. She was a nice kid, but she knew her place. She’d been pampered and catered to her whole life by those who just wanted to be around her. Students, male and female, were at her beckoned call. Most of the teachers, especially the men, were the same.

“Atlanta?” I said. “You better be careful around those grad-school guys.”

“My mom said that too. But, I’m 18, I can do what I want.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes slightly as I audibly exhaled.

“OK, Ms. Robinson, let’s see? You made a 91 on the final and your term paper was a ‘C’. So, your final grade is a ‘B’.”

Her jaw dropped as she crossed her arms. “A ‘B’. I can’t make a ‘B’. I won’t be the valedictorian.” She was upset, but she was also pissed off. Who did he think he was, anyway.

“There must be some mistake. I don’t make B’s.”

“There’s no mistake, Stephanie. Your final average was 86 . . . a ‘B.’ If you would have put a little effort into that paper you would have made it. It was not typical of your writing. You clearly either missed (or likely ignored, I thought) the point of the assignment.”

I was finished with my conversation. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to prepare the rest of these forms.” With that, I lowered my head and returned to my work.

Stephanie wasn’t really sure which card to play. She had tried the pushy bitch tactic with Roberts a few other times with no success. But, she wasn’t walking out of that office without her “A”.

In just a few moments, the silence was broken. “Mr. Roberts?”

The tone of her voice was distinctly different than before. Far softer, almost like a slight whine.

I looked up again to see that her body language had softened as well. As she approached the desk, I noticed that another button at the top of the blouse was undone. It was not before. I never missed such a delightful detail. The tight material of the blouse had opened with the released tension, leaving the cleft of her breasts clearly exposed. Turning, she sat on my desk with just one of her ass cheeks, forcing the skirt well up her thigh. She made no effort to cover it.

“Yes, Ms. Robinson?” I said. She had certainly piqued my interest.

“Mr.