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The Scar - Part 1

I get it on with my history teacher...
I can’t remember the last time I saw a guy attractive enough to fantasize about… My sister (she’s 22) seems to see them everywhere, but she’s got an advantage that I don’t: she’s in college already, and I’m still stuck in this tiny little excuse for a high school. There’s only like eighty-five guys in my grade, and I’m not interested in the younger ones, so that means I’m limited to this very little “pond of fish,” if you know what I mean.

I’m a senior…..and deathly ill with "senioritus." What the hell am I supposed to do when half the guys (the attractive ones, of course) in my grade are all taken by the cheerleaders and the school pimps and sluts, while the other half are either the mama’s boy nerds or just dickhead players?

The one exception is my only guy friend. And he’s gay – go figure. He’s awesome, though, so don’t get me wrong. He’s smarter and more perceptive than any other guy I’ve ever known. He’ll suffer through my “horny as hell” speeches and my “why the hell am I single?!” speeches, as well as tell me when my shirt tag is visible and when there’s just a bit of mustard at the corner of my mouth.

Well. This little story is the result of another one of his pieces of advice… He said people would like to hear my story (probably more because he’d like to get his expertize out there than because my story is interesting… even though it is).

So I guess I’ll start from the beginning. Those first couple of paragraphs exactly describe my attitude just about a two months ago (yes, now it’s different, but I haven’t got there yet). It all started when our history teacher died suddenly in a car crash. Yeah, yeah, tragic, I know. But most of us didn’t even care… it’s not like any of us actually liked him as a teacher…

Anyways, so we had to get a new teacher, right in the middle of the semester. No one knew what to expect… probably some unemployed 80-year old who’s been retired for years and looks way, way down on our (glorious) generation.

So there I was, making my way to history class the day they announced there was history class again, and I was just meandering my way down the hall when all of a sudden the whole hallway went dead silent. I looked up because obviously something big was going on for three hundred teenagers to go silent all at once.

And there he was... walking down that hallway between the two halves of the Red Sea: head down, face flushed, a stack of like eight thick books hugged tight to his skinny chest. He looked up once, though, right at me as he passed, and I saw why the hallway had gone quiet. He had a scar… a long, white scar running all the way from his left temple to the corner of his jawline, just beneath his ear.

I also noticed his emerald green eyes.

His one little glance had rooted me to the spot. The rest of the hallway came to life though, first talking in low murmurs and then rising in volume as people tried to talk over one another to be heard. Questions and comments roamed everywhere: wow! What the hell happened to him? Do you have him this semester? I’m glad I don’t! I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate…

The complete imbalance in his features had thrown me for a loop. Striking scar; but gorgeous, deep, knowing, hurting eyes.

I finally snapped out of it when someone bumped me as they rushed past, knocking me a few steps forward. I realized I’d be late to class if I didn’t hurry, so I ran the rest of the short distance to the classroom. I paused slightly before the door, hoping my customary back seat was unoccupied.

It wasn’t, of course. The only seats still unoccupied were in the front row – everyone else had chosen to sit as far from the new, disfigured teacher as possible. I cursed them all under my breath. Hadn’t they seen his pained gaze? His obvious hurt at their reactions in the hallway?

In an instant, I made my decision. I strode down the middle aisle with a confident – bordering on flagrant – stride, and sat down in the dead middle seat in the front row, letting my backpack fall from my shoulders all the way to the ground with a loud thump!

Mr. Werner (I saw the new name piece on his desk, facing all of us so we could see it) rose from his desk and came to stand before us, barely looking up. I couldn’t believe the school had hired him… Not because they shouldn’t hire people so disfigured, but because he seemed so ill-suited to teach people who would surely ridicule him behind his back. And he knew it too, judging by the way a light flush suffused his neck. I did notice, though, that it began to fade just before he looked up and began to speak. He had strength, courage; I could see that much.

“I am your new History teacher, Mr. Werner,” he said, and his voice surprised us all. It was rich, smooth, rumbling, pleasant. You might have expected to hear something shaky with a tenor pitch coming from someone so slight and who doesn't seem to have much confidence. But his was a voice I recognized instantly: a voice that was rare in its uniqueness. In an instant, I understood why he had been hired: because he could use that voice to make people forget his other characteristics and so they could listen to the teaching and retain it and not zone out, staring at his scar.

A lot to notice from one sentence, I know, but I actually learned this all from the first… maybe, thirty seconds of the lecture. He had a way of facing us, but not really full-on, so that his scar was in the shadow cast by the other side of his face, which blocked the direct rays from the lights. He held us all, riveted to our seats, silent and interested the entire time in the material he presented. At the end, I looked down at my notebook and realized I hadn’t written a single note. Neither had anyone else… But the next day, we all aced the pop quiz. Things were changing for the better around here. We all looked forward to the class now, and boasted about it to our fellow seniors in the other history classes.

One thing, though: he never lost that initial shiver of nervousness before his lectures began. But you know why he could go on anyways? Because I sat in the front middle seat every time. He would glance at me, meeting my eyes for a mere moment before looking away and finding the courage within him to begin speaking. After two weeks, he’d give me a gentle smile, which I had begun offering him after the first two lectures (when I could finally do something other than stare and drool in awe).

We began to nod to each other in the hallway if we passed, exchanging a glance and tight little grin before going on with our business. When the whole class was instructed to come turn in our assignments at the end of class as we walked out, I made sure to grin wide, crinkling my nose and squinting my eyes just a bit; a smile of friendship and acceptance. He’d blink a couple of times at first, but then he’d smile back, stronger each time I did it.

Finally, with only about a month and a half till graduation, I got the opportunity to be on the graduation organization and decoration committee. He was one of the two elected staff advisors. By this time, I realized I felt more for him than just the simple respectful, obedient teacher-student relationship, so I was elated at the chance to get to know him outside the classroom. I jumped at every chance to work on his team, under his supervision, under his eye.

Actually, I began wearing clothes a bit more and more flirty, too. Sometimes his beautiful eyes would widen a bit and he’d look away, a slow blush suffusing his face. I knew he admired me… I’ve only had two boyfriends before, but I’ve gotten a lot of “once-overs” from plenty of guys at this school, taking in my thick, black, curly hair and baby blue eyes.

One time I wore an especially short skirt that would waver with the slight breezes in the room. More than once that day I caught him staring at me, but only once did he not catch himself fast enough and meet my gaze for an instant. I looked away first and let him see a sultry little smile before he could look away, laughing to myself as his face reddened even more than usual.

As of yet, though, I hadn’t had a chance to be alone with him. One-on-one conversations, yes, but with just us two in the room? No. I treasured the memories of those conversations though… no matter how trivial they were. His voice would lull me to sleep at night and I’d wake up thinking of his bashful little smiles.

There was one incident about that time that escalated things even more. We played a game at a graduation-committee party, hosted at a public park one evening in late April. Even now I don’t remember all the rules of the game, except for the one that said if your name was called, you had to sit in the lap of the closest person behind you. Well… when my name got called, I looked behind me to see a pale-faced Mr. Werner. Going along with the game and hiding my apprehension, I giggled appropriately and sat right down in his lap. According to the rules, I had to stay there until the circumstances of the game changed and another person’s name was called.

I remember every second. At the time, I was wearing a very short mini skirt that barely covered my ass cheeks. Every move I made – whether it was a laugh, shifting my feet slightly, or even turning my head – would grind my little ass ever so slightly against his hips. I never turned around to see his face, but I sat there for a good minute or so, and at the end I could feel a slight tent in his pants, rubbing against my ass cheeks. God, that turned me on…

I also remember he went to the bathroom right after that game ended and didn’t come back for a conspicuously long time…

So by the time the last three weeks of school came around, I was giving him significant looks and flirting with every move I made, keeping it subtle and not noticeable to anyone but him.

Oh! I forgot to mention! Every time something new happened, I told my friend all about it. His advice is really what made all this go so dang well in the first place…

Anyways, in the third-to-last week of school, I finally had an alone moment with him. I stayed after class that day to ask him a question about an assignment he had given, but I lingered over packing up my stuff so that the last student was leaving the room when I approached his desk.

“Uh, yes? What can I do for you, missy?” he said, looking up from a paper he was grading. I could tell by his voice that he was suspicious of my intentions. “Missy” was a nickname he’d bestowed on me a while back, after the first couple a times we spoke.

“Well, Mr. Werner,” I began, coming around the left side of his desk, “I don’t really understand this question at all.” I set the paper down in front of him and knelt beside his chair, sitting with my legs folded under me. I’m not very tall – only about 5’1” – so doing that gave him a great view down my V-neck shirt. I pointed to the question I was having trouble with and waited for his answer. He blinked at my rounded cleavage and tore his eyes hurriedly away, squinting at the paper.

“Um, well let’s see now.” Even in trying to concentrate on the question, his eyes flicked back to me, raking my slender body up and down, even meeting my blue eyes for a long moment before flicking back to the page. I let my own eyes wander, and noticed the steadily rising tent in his pants…

I sat up taller to my full kneeling height, bringing my face that much closer to his. The next time he looked at me, our faces were centimeters apart. We froze, just looking at each other, hearts beating, breath coming faster.

I gave him the final excuse and leaned in a bit closer, allowing him to close the final distance before our lips met in a kiss. Fire leapt through my veins and heat flashed over me with that simple, tender touch. He began kissing me a little harder, a bit more urgently, and turned in his chair so that he could cup his left hand under my jaw and hold our mouths closer.

We began breathing harder with the passion of the kiss, and his hand left my jaw to caress my neck until he held the back of it, holding my face to his even more securely. I parted my lips willingly and let his tongue slowly penetrate my mouth. The feeling was incredible… so soft, so warm, so teasingly slow and playful. He was good – a very good kisser.

When we finally had to part so we could breathe, his mouth never left me and instead found my slender neck, kissing and nibbling at it as his breath came in gasps, washing over my skin in heated waves. I moaned quietly in pleasure and rose carefully to my feet to sit in his lap, straddling his hips and putting my arms around his neck.

He grunted a bit at that as he continued to ravage my neck, feeling my warm little pussy through my underwear and his slacks. I too could feel his arousal as it strained against the confinement of his pants and rested between my legs.

I pulled his mouth back to mine and kissed him deeper, our tongues warring and tangling with a playful lust that never seemed to be sated. His hands hadn’t been touching me, but now that I was within his reach, he caressed my shoulders and sides, grazing his fingertips down my arms and raising goose bumps there as I shivered in pleasure. As his hands traveled up again, they hesitated at my breasts for a moment before cupping them and gently kneading and massaging them as his tongue danced in my mouth. I gasped in pleasure and moaned into his kiss, evoking a response from him that made him rub harder and kiss deeper, beginning to grind his hips against me, which just added to the waves of pleasure.

Both of us were moaning now, and getting more and more aroused. His mouth left mine again and traveled down my neck and chest until it reached the exposed cleavage and began kissing anew. Suddenly he pushed me off him and stood up, immediately folding me in his embrace again, his mouth again finding mine. I was surprised for a moment, but then understood as he pushed me back until his hand could find the lock on the door. It locked with an audible click and gave me new shivers as I realized what was on his mind.

That taken care of (there were no windows in the doors), he pushed me back against the wall, crushing my body into his with an urgent pressure. His mouth had become hard on mine, and need filled his every movement and touch as they evoked greatly pleasured responses from me. Little gasps escaped me, and moans too, when his hands returned to my breasts, kneading and massaging them through my clothes.

They (the clothes) were beginning to get on my nerves…

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.


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