Wednesday, June 4th, 2007

“Wanna race?” Mr. Coleston asked as he and Heather walked out of the teacher’s lounge together. He made this joke at least once a month. Quite often, the two of them would find themselves leaving the lounge at the same time. Yet, they both took different routes through the school building and back to their rooms, which were across the hall from each other.

Heather smiled at the familiar refrain and shrugged. As she watched Mr. Coleston take off in front of her (he always walked much faster than she did—always in a hurry to get… somewhere) she realized that she’d been in the same room next to him for nearly five years and had never really talked to him. Sure, they exchanged idle chitchat between classes, out in the hall, but never anything much more than casual talk about the weather or the occasional gripe about students.

Truthfully, from the moment Heather had walked into the building, she had pretty much never allowed herself to even try to get close to Mr. Coleston. He was a reasonably attractive guy. All the students seemed to really like him. He had certainly caught Heather’s eye when she began teaching at the school. So, why had she never bothered to try and get to know him better? The answer was simple.

Mrs. Coleston. Mrs. Coleston—a joyless, soul-crushing, frigid woman who could suck the life out of a room merely by stomping past it in her orthopedic nurse’s shoes. Each day, her hair was pulled back in a bun so tight that it probably acted as a facelift. She dressed in boring, solid-colored outfits that looked like they were stolen from the wardrobe of a Victorian-era nanny. The students hated her. The other teachers avoided her. Amongst the hard-ass teachers in the school, Mrs. Coleston had the hardest ass.  

Yes, upon her arrival, it took Heather just a few minutes of scanning the faculty roster to figure out which male teachers were off-limits. It also took just about that long for Mrs. Coleston to inexplicably declare Heather “public enemy number one”. Heather never really understood why, but Lisa Coleston had singled her out amongst all other faculty members for her “special treatment.”

If Heather pulled into a parking spot and one of her tires was touching the white stripe, she was sure to get an email from Mrs. Coleston about it—all caps—red letters—sent to the entire school. If Heather’s class was being a bit too loud, the principal was sure to hear about it. One day, Heather was forced to substitute for one period of Mrs. Coleston’s class. The next day, she accused Heather of “not following the lesson plans” that she had left and also suggested that Heather had broken a bookcase in her room (which was already broken when Heather arrived). The list goes on and on.

Bottom line… Mrs. Coleston had it in for Heather. In response, Heather never did anything to antagonize the situation. She even attempted to go out of her way to be nice to Mrs. Coleston. But to no avail, of course.

All of her teacher-friends tried to set Heather’s mind at ease. “She hates everyone,” they promised. “You’re not the only one she’s done this to,” and so on.

Unfortunately, as hard as she tried to avoid it, she had let Mrs. Coleston’s negative opinion rub off on her. As a result, Heather held a slightly subconscious resentment towards Mr. Coleston. She knew that Mr. Coleston was not responsible for his wife’s actions, but she could not separate the two in her mind. After all, why would someone remain married to someone—well, like that—unless he tacitly approved of her behavior… right?

Heather’s mind was lingering somewhere in between “Mrs. Coleston’s resentment of her”, and “checking out Mr. Coleston’s ass” (it was a Friday, he was wearing jeans) when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Miss Meinders, could I have a word?” the principal’s voice called out.

Heather cringed. She really didn’t want to turn around. Pretend like you didn’t hear him, just keep walking, she told herself. But she knew she couldn’t do that. Heather straightened her face and spun on her heels as casually as she could. “What’s up?” she asked, fearing the worst. Usually, being flagged down by the principal was never a good way to start the day.

“Oh, not much,” the principal said, waving an arm towards his office. “Just wanted to talk to you about this summer.”

Heather immediately took a sigh of relief. No angry parent today. Angry parent tomorrow maybe, but not today, she thought.

“We’re in need of a fourth person to go to San Diego this summer,” the principal continued. As he sat down at his desk, every joint and hinge in his chair squeaked, groaned, or popped under his weight. “Mrs. Williams had to back out and we really need someone over there representing the history department. How’s a free trip to California sound?”

Heather was conflicted. She wanted to go to San Diego—but she didn’t want to go to San Diego with a group of teachers from school. Aside from that, she guarded her summer time very, very closely. “When is it?” she asked tentatively.

“First week of June,” the principal responded. “You’d leave on Monday, come back Thursday evening.”

Heather’s mind raced frantically. Her parents usually needed her help with harvest. Harvest usually didn’t get started until the second week of June—and even if it started a day or two early, they could probably get by without her. She heard herself asking, “Who else is going?”

“Mrs. Duncan, Mrs. Smith, and Mr. Coleston,” he replied quickly. Before Heather could respond, he added, “You’d sure be helping us out a lot if you could go along.”

That sounds like a dull group, Heather thought. Well, at least Mrs. Coleston isn’t going. Once again, Heather heard her own voice respond, “Sure, I can go.” She left his office and was nearly back to her room before she fully comprehended that she had just agreed to go to a teacher’s conference in San Diego with two of the most gung-ho teachers in the building. Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Smith were like teaching machines. They truly lived the lifestyle. Ugh, they’ll be as much fun as a barrel of dead fish, she speculated. And Mr. Coleston, she considered, someone I have seemingly nothing in common with. Oh well, San Diego is San Diego, she decided. I’ll make the best of it. 

The rest of the school year commenced as planned. Throughout the month of May, Heather and Mr. Coleston spoke only briefly about the upcoming trip to San Diego. Each acknowledged that the other was going—that’s about it. Mrs. Duncan and Mrs. Smith, on the other hand, were obsessed with it. Every time they saw Heather, they would ask her about it. So much so, that Heather was seriously regretting her inability to think up an excuse faster.

In no time at all, the inevitable date finally arrived. The four teachers met Monday morning at the school and drove to the airport together in a school vehicle. Mr. Coleston drove, with Heather beside him in the passenger seat.  Neither one said much, they just listened. Listened to the chatter of two women in the backseat who had one topic of conversation—school. It seemed to be the sole focus of their lives. Students they had last semester. Students they would have next school year. Strategies for classroom discipline. Strategies for slow learners. Strategies for English Language Learners. Strategies for kinesthetic learners. Strategies for just plain ol’ learners.

At one point, Heather sighed deeply. It went completely unnoticed by the other two women, but Mr. Coleston understood completely. They glanced at each other knowingly and an entire conversation took place. How are we ever going to survive four days with these two? Heather rolled her eyes and very discreetly made a gagging face. Mr. Coleston snorted with laughter.

Mercifully, the car ride ended and the quartet maneuvered through the gauntlet known as airport security. They located the correct gate and after a short wait, they boarded their plane and were on their way. Much to Heather’s relief, she was seated next to Mr. Coleston.

“Are those two always on?” he asked as he sat down. “How can that be their only topic of conversation?”

Heather shook her head and glanced back towards where the other two were sitting. “At least they’re far enough away that we can’t hear them,” she offered.

As they waited for takeoff, the two made what Heather thought of as polite small talk.  They discussed what the weather was supposed to be like in San Diego.  Then they talked about school for a bit—but not long.

After the plane lifted off, Heather stared out the window. She’d always been fascinated by the view from an airplane. As they soared higher and higher, she tried to pinpoint notable landmarks around the city.

“Hey, Coleston,” she said, bumping his arm, “take a look at this. You can see the football stadium from here.”

He leaned over and attempted to look out the window. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. “Looks so small from up here.”

Heather turned her head to reply, but her words caught in her throat.  Their faces were only inches from each other.

He smiled and backed away. As he did, Heather could have sworn that he glanced down at the extremely small amount of cleavage she was showing—but maybe she’d imagined it.

“By the way,” he said as he returned to his seat. “You know my name’s Jared, right?” he revealed with a dazzling smile.

“Wh—what?” Heather asked, half confused by his statement, half mesmerized by the smile.

“Just a second ago,” he commented, “you called me Coleston.” Again, he flashed a friendly smile. “You’ve got to call me Jared. After all, we’re practically the same age. Calling me by my last name—just makes me feel old,” as he spoke, he made a humorous, sour face.

Heather felt ridiculously embarrassed. She blushed and her body temperature rose several degrees. She’d known him for five years. If someone had pressed her, she probably could have come up with Jared, but she’d never thought of him as anything but Mr. Coleston until that moment.

“Jared,” she repeated with a grin.

He smiled one more time. “That’s better—Heather.”

Heather burst into laughter. An elderly woman in front of them turned around and stared menacingly. Heather sighed contentedly. It had been an extremely awkward moment for her, yet he had somehow managed to cut through the tension perfectly. She reached up and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair.

As the flight commenced, the two discussed traveling. Where they’d been. Where they fantasized about going. Where they’d like to go for real.

“The first time I was on an airplane I was in eighth grade,” Heather stated. “My best friend, Tracy, one of her cousins in California was getting married. She wanted Tracy to be in the wedding, so she and her family decided to fly over there, just for the occasion,” she explained as she ran her fingers through her hair once more. “Tracy begged her dad to let me come along. He finally agreed.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So, off to California we went.”

Jared snickered. “Did you have to buy your own ticket or did they pay for it?” he asked casually.

“They paid for it,” Heather admitted. “Tracy’s family, they’re—” she stopped for a moment, searching for the right word. “Well, they’re quite well off, let’s just put it that way.”

Jared nodded knowingly.

“How about you?” Heather asked, almost playfully. “When was your first time?”

“Wh—what?” Jared asked, startled. “Oh, you mean my first time on an airplane?” he clarified, raising his eyebrows in understanding.

Heather giggled at the unexpected innuendo.

“Believe it or not,” Jared started, “my first time was on my honeymoon. My wife and I flew to Orlando.” He eased back, attempting to stretch his back. “That was Lisa’s first time too.”

Heather internally shuddered and tried not to grimace. Ugh, the triple whammy. He managed to get all three words in. Honeymoon, wife, and… the L-word—and not the good L-word, Heather thought. Instantly, the happy cloud she had been riding for half the flight evaporated beneath her and reality smacked her in the face.

“I see,” she responded simply. “Interesting.” A moment later, she shrank back into the corner, feeling small and slightly ashamed. She’d been flirting and she knew it. She pressed herself against the wall of the plane and resigned herself to staring out the window.

Jared must have noticed the change in her demeanor. He changed topics and Heather did her best to keep up the conversation for the remainder of the flight. By the time they landed, her mood had improved considerably and she found herself becoming genuinely talkative once more.

“Ready for another car ride with the power-teacher twins?” she asked.

“Oh boy,” Jared said, rolling his eyes. “I’d nearly forgotten about them.”

A few minutes later, they were once again maneuvering through the airport obstacles—baggage claim, rental car counter, parking lot. Almost one hour and one uneventful car ride later, the small group had arrived at their hotel.

The hotel was nothing special, but it was fairly nice. Eight floors, an indoor swimming pool, floral patterned carpet, an ice machine on every floor—in other words, it looked pretty much like every hotel that Heather had ever stayed in. They unloaded their bags and checked in at the front desk.

Heather approached one of the two elevators and pressed the “Up” button. Almost simultaneously, Jared reached out and pressed the “Up” button on the other elevator.

“Wanna race?” he asked.

Heather giggled. It was the same tired joke. But for some reason, hearing it out of place, it sounded funny.

The two elevators opened at nearly the same time. Heather paused and stepped aside to let someone exit.

“Last one to the sixth floor buys lunch tomorrow,” Jared wagered as he disappeared into his elevator.

Heather snorted with laughter. As she stepped on to the elevator she shook her head in frustration. She punched the “6” and felt the familiar sensation in her stomach as the elevator rose rapidly. A moment later, she came to an abrupt halt. The door dinged and opened to the sixth floor.

As she picked up her suitcase and stepped into the hallway, she fully expected to find Jared waiting for her. To her surprise, he was not around. She glanced both directions down the hall. He couldn’t have possibly made it up here that fast, she thought. Just then, the other elevator door dinged open. He was leaning up against the wall, looking frustrated.

“It was a slow trip,” he said. “The damn thing stopped on almost every floor,” he explained as he joined Heather in the hallway. “I guess I owe you lunch, tomorrow.”

Heather shrugged it off. “No, really, you don’t have to,” she said with a smile.

Each of them found their own room, a few doors away from each other, and Heather disappeared into her room. She collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from the long day of travel. One long hot shower and a change of clothes later and Heather was ready for a good night’s sleep.

The next day started far too soon. The first round of meetings began bright and early at eight o’clock. As things got kicked off, Heather did her best at paying attention. She tried to take notes, she tried to absorb all that was being explained and taught to her. But after an hour, her attention began to wander. By the end of two hours, she was doodling. By the end of three hours, she wanted to bang her head against the wall.

She sighed deeply and put a hand to her forehead in a frustrated fashion.

Jared must have noticed. He leaned in and whispered. “Just think, two and half more days to go.”

Heather smiled and chuckled silently.

They broke for lunch at noon. As everyone was standing up and gathering their belongings, Jared said, “So, where are we going for lunch?”

“There’s a little sandwich shop just down the street that we could probably walk to,” Heather suggested. “I saw it when we arrived this morning.” She looked around at all the other women in the audience. “I bet if we hurry, we can even beat the rush.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jared agreed.

They made it to the sandwich shop just in time. They were shown to the last available table and quickly perused the menu before ordering their sandwiches. As they waited for their orders to arrive, Heather glanced around, taking in the scene. It had the appearance of a quaint, little, out of the way place that was probably usually pretty quiet—even during the lunch hour. Today, it was full of noisy, chatty teachers.

“We could be in for a long wait,” Heather said, voicing her thoughts.

“Yeah, they’re pretty swamped,” Jared agreed. “So, how’d you like that morning session?” he asked with a grin.

“Ugh,” Heather complained. “You’d think someone who speaks like that for a living would be better at it.”

They chatted for a bit, discussing the morning’s happenings. They had just reached the point of having nothing else to talk about when their food arrived. The sandwiches looked delicious and Heather dug into hers immediately. Jared asked the waitress for mayonnaise.

“Mayonnaise?” Heather repeated. “I would have had you figured for a mustard kind of guy.”

“No way,” Jared said, making a face. “Mustard is gross.”

“I agree,” Heather replied.

Jared accepted the mayonnaise from the waitress and began spreading it on the bun of his sandwich.  He started humming a familiar tune to himself.  One Heather was certain she knew.  Then, she swore she heard him mumble something about “mayonnaise” followed closely by the word “marmalade”.

“And other spreadable things?” Heather instantly responded. The words were out of her mouth before she even realized it, yet she knew she was right. Until that moment, she’d never quite realized how sexually charged that phrase sounded.

Jared’s head jerked up. He stared at Heather as if she had just slapped him. The look on his face was a mix of confusion, disbelief, and absolute shock.

Heather smiled at him. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You know NRBQ?” he asked, hesitantly.

“I love NRBQ,” Heather answered. “And you’re the first person I have ever met who knew who they were.” She took another bite of her sandwich and swallowed a large mouthful, suddenly giddy. “I take that back,” she continued excitedly, “You’re the first person other than my friends and family members who get sick of hearing me go on about them.”

Jared laughed. “I know the feeling all too well,” he said, nodding his head.

“That’s an odd song,” Heather added.

“Very odd,” Jared agreed.

“Did you know they wrote that for The Simpsons?” she quizzed.

Jared nodded. “In fact, that’s how I was introduced to NRBQ,” he explained. “I heard that song on The Simpsons and I immediately had to go find out who sang it and what else they had out there.”

Heather’s jaw dropped in disbelief. She might have even put her hands to her mouth in an excited fashion. “Oh my God! That’s exactly what I did too!”

“So, you watch The Simpsons?” Jared said, nearly just as excited.

“Are you kidding? I grew up on The Simpsons. Never missed it,” Heather admitted.

“Really?” Jared said, surprised. “I would have had you figured for a Seinfeld kind of girl,” he said, mimicking her tone from earlier.

“Ugh, Seinfeld’s gross,” Heather said, making the same face he had used when discussing mustard.

What happened for the next forty minutes was a flurry of conversation. A conversation that, to someone not fully versed in both NRBQ and The Simpsons, would have probably sounded like a foreign language. They discussed favorite songs and favorite albums for a while and then segued into favorite episodes, seasons, and characters.

“My wife, she just doesn’t get The Simpsons,” Jared commented sometime later. “Every time it comes on, Lisa just leaves the room.”

Heather cringed. There were those two words again. Those two dreaded words. Just as she was beginning to sulk, she caught sight of the clock on the wall. “Look at the time!” she nearly shouted. It was just a few minutes until one o’clock. Fortunately, they had already paid their check, but they still rushed out of the restaurant and hurried back to the conference building.

That evening, the four teachers ate dinner at a nice restaurant. Obviously, with the two super-teachers in tow, the evening’s conversation largely revolved around the world of education as they revisited the various topics that were discussed throughout the day. Heather was mentally worn out before dinner started. By the end of the meal, her mind was utterly exhausted. All she really wanted to do was go back to her room and be by herself for a while.

The next day featured a similar pattern. The day started early, followed by four hours of mind-numbing lectures and presentations, an hour-long lunch, and then four more hours of excruciating torture. And another dinner with all four of them present. By the conclusion of the dinner, Heather was doing her levelheaded best to sound interested. She was not succeeding very well.

Jared, of course, could sense her frustration, the other two women were oblivious. Heather nodded, sighed, nodded again. Her role in the conversation had been reduced to “Uh-huh—yeah—uh-huh—no—hmm—that’s interesting…” When neither of the two women was looking directly at her, she rolled her eyes towards Jared, practically pleading with him for support. He merely snickered.

After dinner, the group returned to the hotel. The other two women had been just far enough ahead that they had already disappeared into an elevator by the time Heather and Jared stepped into the lobby. Heather approached the elevator and reached out for the “Up” button. As she did, she felt Jared nudge her on the shoulder.

“Hey, it’s still early,” Jared commented. “You want to go get a drink somewhere?”

Heather had heard the magic word—drink. She needed one, badly.

“After all, it’s our last night in San Diego,” Jared continued. “We really shouldn’t let those two throw a wet blanket over the entire trip.”

Heather laughed. “You don’t need to encourage me. After wanting to pound my head on the floor for two days, pounding down a few sounds like a good idea.” The elevator door opened with a ding. She took one look at it and turned away, following Jared back outside.

“So, where to?” Heather asked.

“There’s a bar not far from here,” Jared said, pointing down the street. “It’s a little place, but I’m sure it will suit our purposes.”

Heather giggled. “You mean it will surely have something that will get us wasted?” she joked.

Jared grinned. “Yeah, something like that.”

An hour and a half and three beers later, Heather was in a much better frame of mind. It was a quiet little bar with a very relaxed and friendly ambiance. Being a Wednesday evening, there were few other people there, and the bar’s owner seemed grateful to have two customers willing to stick around and purchase more drinks.

Heather and Jared had moved closer and closer to each other as the evening had progressed. They were shoulder to shoulder, and playfully bumping up against each other with every joke or exchange of banter.

Jared finished off his fourth beer and ordered another for each of them. “My wife hates beer. In fact, Lisa hates alcohol altogether,” he said as he passed one of the longneck bottles to Heather and opened his own. “She’s a tea-totaler.”

Heather shuddered. There they were again—those two words. Her physical reaction must have been more noticeable than she realized.

“You don’t like her do you?” Jared asked. “Seems like every time I mention her, you react like that.” He was smiling as he asked.

Heather chugged about half of her fourth beer—nearly afraid to start this conversation. “I’d like her just fine if she liked me.  That woman hates me!” she finally burst out.

Jared nodded, “But she hates a lot of people, so try not to take it too personally.”

Heather pressed the issue. “I know she hates a lot of people, but she really hates me.”

Jared paused for a moment, taking a swig of his beer. Finally, he erupted with laughter. “Yes, I think she really does.”

Heather giggled and flirtatiously put a hand on his arm. Before she realized what she was saying, she asked, “Why are you married to her? The two of you seem so different.”

He grinned. “She wasn’t always that way,” he started. “Her first year of teaching, she had a lot of issues with classroom discipline. So, she just became a real hard ass.” He took another drink and seemed to be trying to gather his thoughts. “First, she was just like that around students. Then, she started acting like that around the other teachers too.” He paused again and sighed. “Then, one morning I woke up and realized that’s just who she was all the time.”

“That’s too bad,” Heather said honestly. “Too bad for you, I mean,” she added. “You deserve better than that.”

“Oh, it’s not all bad,” he replied, obviously trying to keep the mood light. “After all, I get to hear all of the creative nicknames that students come up with for her.”

Heather took another drink from her bottle and rested her elbows on the table. “You mean Mrs. Coldstone.”

“Oh, Coldstone is just the beginning,” Jared joked. “Let’s see, Coldstone—the Wicked Witch of the West Wing—I thought that one was clever—the C-Hag…” he stopped and seemed to be searching his memory for other nicknames.

“The C-Hag?!” Heather repeated through a snort of laughter. “I’ve never heard that one!”

“Oh, yes,” Jared said. “She earned that one for her propensity to give every student a C—even the really good ones,” he explained. “Of course, most of them just skip the nicknames and call her a bitch.”

“Ouch,” Heather said laughing, her hand once again landing on Jared’s arm.

A couple of hours, a few more beers, and lots of good conversation later, they finally decided to pay a ridiculously steep tab and stumbled their way back towards the hotel. Heather fell up against Jared, leaning against him for support. He wrapped an arm around her, a strong hand gripping her shoulder. In response, she rested her head against him. At that moment, she felt more comfortable than she had in days.

They stepped into the lobby and Heather once more reached out for the elevator button. The door opened and they stepped inside. His arm was still around her.

As the elevator set in motion, she glanced up at him. Their faces were as close to each other as they had been two days before on the airplane. Simultaneously, they moved in for a kiss, their lips pressing against each other, warm tongues finding each other somewhere in between. Heather felt another familiar sensation in her stomach—but this time, she knew it had nothing to do with the rapidly rising elevator.

A small ding. The door slid open. Their lips parted.

Heather opened her eyes—she hadn’t realized they had been closed—she looked at him and whispered, “Your room or mine?” It was a bold question, especially after only one kiss—but she was drunk, and so was he, so Heather made the rash decision to press her advantage.

“Mine’s closer,” he whispered in response.

They barely made it inside the room. As the door slammed shut behind them, hands were everywhere—both his and hers. Heather felt Jared’s lips on her own once more—then, on her neck—behind her ear—her lips again—the other side of her neck. He reached behind her, gripping her ass with both hands. She slipped her own hands behind him, returning the gesture.

Heather allowed her hands to drift northward. She found the buttons of his shirt and started unbuttoning. In another moment, his shirt was on the floor. She reached one hand under his undershirt and felt his bare chest.

Meanwhile, his soft wet kisses tickled her neck, from her collar bone all the way up to just under her ear. It drove Heather wild. Her breathing was heavy. Her heart pounded.

Jared’s hands left her ass, sliding upwards and underneath her shirt. She could feel his hands on her bare back. He fiddled with her bra clasp for just a moment before her breasts sprang free. His strong hands caressed them.

Heather reached down and pulled off her own top, allowing the shirt and bra to fall to the floor. She then returned her hands underneath the white T-shirt he was now wearing and lifted it upwards. A moment later, the T-shirt was up and over his head. Jared wrapped his arms around her. Pressing her tits against his chest, Heather kissed him passionately, thrusting her tongue deep inside his mouth.

Heather’s hands were still active. She found the waist of his jeans and instantly started working at the buttons and zipper. In another few seconds, they were around his ankles. Before Heather knew it, her own outfit was reduced to only a pair of panties.

“Good God,” Jared whispered. “What are we doing?”

Heather kissed him once more. “We’re doing exactly what we both want to do,” she answered.

This seemed to urge him forward. He bent down and literally scooped Heather’s small body frame into his arms.

“Take me to bed,” Heather said needlessly.

A moment later, he laid her down on his bed, delicately placing her head on one pillow. As he eased onto the bed next to her, he slid one hand down the length of her body. “Two years,” he mumbled.

“Two years?” Heather repeated.

“It’s been two years since—” he started, but Heather cut him off, placing one finger to his lips.

“Whatever you do right now, don’t say her name.” She sat up slightly and kissed him.

His hand had found her inner thigh, stroking gently back and forth.

Heather parted her legs. She gazed up at him and giggled. “Spreadable things…” she whispered breathlessly as his hand moved higher.

The comment urged him on once more. He slid two fingers under the lining of her panties and tugged. Heather felt them slide down around her thighs… her calves... her ankles... her toes.

Jared positioned himself above her, pulling his boxers off as he did so. Heather smiled, spreading her thighs even further apart, mentally preparing for what was about to happen. She’d done it many times, with more than a dozen guys, but every time was special, and every time unique. This time is very different, she told herself. He’s married. What the hell are you doing? You’re getting ready to have sex with a married man.

Her thoughts were quickly extinguished as she felt the head of Jared’s cock against the lips of her waiting pussy. As he inserted his dick, he exhaled deeply. As he pushed all the way inside her, Heather could tell by the expression on his face that he’d wanted this—he’d really, really wanted this… so had she.

She could feel his cock inside her, stretching her. Heather knew he wasn’t the biggest she had ever had, but it felt good. Just big enough to make her feel it. No, she continued to think, you’re not getting ready to have sex with a married man—you are having sex with a married man.

He started slow, one stroke, two strokes, three. He genuinely acted as a man who hadn’t had sex in two years. He seemed to be savoring every moment—every thrust, every tender touch she offered his chest and torso, every aroma, and every sound Heather made.

Heather looked up at him encouragingly. “Come on,” she prodded as he probed her. “Make me feel it. Fuck me hard.”

Jared’s thrusts became more rapid. He eased his body down on top of her, pressing their chests against each other. He then started humping her in earnest, easing into a solid, steady rhythm. Heather kissed at his neck and wrapped her arms around his back, bringing him even closer to her. She then moved her hands to his ass and held him as he drove his member in and out.

As the heat between their bodies intensified, Heather could feel herself beginning to sweat. It felt good. She was also surprised that he was lasting as long as he was. After such a long dry spell, she had assumed he would cum quickly. On the contrary, he seemed to be picking up steam.

After what felt like an eternity, their breathing grew heavy. She could tell he was exhausted, but she also knew that neither of them wanted to stop. “Why don’t you let me do the work for a little while?” she offered. “Let me on top.”

Jared gratefully agreed. With a slight amount of effort, they managed to roll over, their bodies still interlocked. Heather sat upright and immediately started gyrating her hips back and forth.

She could feel the cool air against her body, which was now thoroughly drenched in sweat. She reached down and rubbed her hands against his chest. He placed his own hands around her trim waist. Heather raised her arms above her head, rolling her hips, grinding her mound against his body—his cock buried deep inside her.

While riding him, Heather’s mind had an opportunity to think. Holy shit, I can’t believe I’m doing this, she said to herself. Out loud, she said, “Fuck, this feels good.”

As she let her hips do the work, Heather continued pondering the situation. I’m fucking a married man. No, I’m not just fucking a married man, she realized, I’m fucking Lisa Coleston’s husband. The thought drove her wild. She gained an unbelievable guilty pleasure out of that fact. That woman, she continued, that awful woman who has made my life a living hell for five years, and her husband’s cock is inside me right now—and he likes it. It made her want to fuck him harder.

Heather raised herself up and forced her thighs and knees into action. She rode his cock up and down, bringing it in and out of her body as far as she could. She glanced down and saw his eyes roll into the back of his head. She knew she was pleasuring him in a way his wife would not.

Her thighs ached. Her knees trembled. But she would not allow herself to stop. Heather continued bobbing up and down. Jared’s hands reached up and found her breasts, kneading them lightly. He started working his hips up and down, helping her with the motion.

Finally, she collapsed on top of him. Her breathing labored. She felt like she’d just finished a long ninety-minute workout at the gym. She was drained. Jared wrapped a strong arm around her. Despite the intense amount of heat in her body, it still felt good having him hold her.

Heather treasured the quiet moment, listening to his breathing, while still trying to control her own. Voices in the hallway murmured as a group of hotel guests shuffled past their room.  Outside, a car door slammed in the parking lot. She had no idea what time it was. She didn’t care.

As she lay next to him in the dim lamplight, her thoughts became melancholy. She was a mere sixteen days from her thirtieth birthday and she was in bed with another woman’s husband. Is this who I’ve become? Is this my new role in life? She wondered. The thirty-something temptress who lures men astray?

“Too tired to keep going?” Jared finally said into the quietness.

“What?” Heather asked, her thoughts brought back to the moment. “Are you kidding,” Heather responded. “I want this to last as long as it can,” she admitted, giggling. “I have an idea,” she suggested. “This could be fun.”

Heather sat up and straddled his torso, her ass facing him. She worked herself into the correct position and leaned over. His cock was right in front of her face. She realized with a start that it was the first time she had seen it. It had been inside her, but the way the situation had developed, she had not even got a good look at it beforehand. She inspected his member for a moment, taking in its modest size and erectness. God, he’s still hard, she thought.

She took Jared’s cock in her hand and opened her mouth. Suddenly, she felt his hands on her thighs. He pulled her backwards just a few inches. She felt his hot breath between her legs.

“Wanna race?” he said mischievously.

She smiled. “You’re on,” she responded as she licked the head of his cock. Simultaneously, his tongue made contact with her already dripping pussy.

Heather took Jared’s cock into her mouth. She bobbed her head up and down and licked at the shaft. Fortunately, their bodies were about the same length or the activity would have been impossible. She attempted to bring all of her concentration to bear on pleasuring his cock with her mouth. She rolled her tongue back and forth across his head. She gripped his shaft, and slowly worked up and down with her hand. She slurped it in and out of her mouth.

Concentration became difficult though. As she sucked, Jared started working his own magic. His tongue plunged inside her. It danced around, tickled her labia, flicked at her clit. His hands gripped her ass. Despite Heather’s cock sucking efforts, she couldn’t help but notice what his tongue was doing deep inside her.

In another moment, she heard Jared’s breathing change. His hips started working of their own accord. He was driving his cock upwards, into her mouth. She didn’t resist. She deep-throated him, taking it as far into her mouth as she could.

Finally, she heard him utter, “You win!”

A moment later, Heather’s mouth was full of cum. One huge spurt, followed by another, then another. The first splashed against the back of her throat and she nearly gagged. The second against the roof of her mouth. The third glazed her tongue. She savored the flavor. She swallowed eagerly. She guzzled down every drop he had to offer her. Heather slurped the cock out of her mouth and let it fall against his body—finally limp.

With that task complete, Heather was finally free to fully enjoy what Jared was doing to her on the other end. She eased her body further up his torso, subtly driving her muff into his face. His tongue darted like lightning, back and forth as he focused in on Heather’s clit.

Her ass shook. Her thighs quivered. Her knees shuddered. Heather started grinding her hips, working her pussy—his mouth completely immersed. A drop of sweat rolled down her forehead. Another dripped down her ribcage. Her stomach muscles clenched. She moaned—loudly. Her whole body tremored as she reached her climax. Her left foot cramped—painfully.

Heather sobbed in pain as she continued to moan in pleasure, and also managed to squeak out something that resembled laughter. She collapsed on top of Jared as her orgasm subsided, unable to move for several seconds. Eventually, she slithered off of his body and curled up next to him. She draped one leg over his and rested her head against his chest. She sighed deeply—a long, satisfied sigh.

They talked for a bit. Nothing serious—just pillow talk. At that moment, they were both happy. Both comfortable. He eventually drifted off to sleep, his arm still wrapped around her. Heather was woozy. Her mind was intoxicated, not just with the lingering effects of alcohol, but with the endorphins that had been released throughout the night. Finally, she too drifted into a peaceful slumber.

Sometime about five o’clock in the morning, Heather finally snuck out of Jared’s room, half-dressed, and tiptoed down the hall to her own.

The final day of the conference was miserable. She was hungover and tired. Yet, every time she glanced at Jared, it filled her with an excitement that rejuvenated her.

The plane flight home was interesting. Jared and Heather talked a lot. The passionate night had made them even closer. About halfway through the flight, he took her by the hand. The simple act of holding his hand made Heather feel wonderful. Finally, out of utter exhaustion, she fell asleep, her head on his shoulder. There was only one word she could find to describe how she felt at that exact moment. Content.

Author’s note: Okay, okay, I’m sure some of you are just dying to know the answer to the big question… so, here it is… no, I didn’t learn anything useful at the teacher’s conference. I have no magical teaching tips to relay to you. I’m sure you’re all extremely disappointed.

Just kidding… Jeez, let’s see—where do I even start on this one.

First off, let me just say… no, I don’t condone someone cheating on a spouse. Every marriage is different, and every relationship is different. If you and your partner are in a monogamous relationship with each other, that’s great. A lot of couples have been very happy that way. On the other hand, if you and your significant other have an open relationship… more power to you. My friends Mitch and Misty have an open relationship and they have been happily married for many years. My friends Tracy and Becca also have a very open relationship and they too have been a happy couple for many, many years.

I think the most important thing is to be honest with each other. This particular case was—well, let’s just say it was an exception. The guy’s wife was a total bitch. She was ruining his life. Does that make it right? Probably not. Do I regret it? Absolutely not. If I had it to do over again, would I do the same thing? Hell yes.

And by the way… I will also add that, for those of you who pay very close attention to my stories, you might be thinking, “Wait a second, you had already had sex with a married man at this point in your life. And you know what… you are absolutely correct. This incident occurred after I had spent that fabulous night with my friends Tasha and Ron. But I can hardly count that experience, because Tasha was right beside me, literally holding my hand while her husband fucked me. So, I guess you could say this was the first (and only) time I had sex with a married man—when his wife was not aware that it was happening.

Okay, so… now to the big question… what happened to me and Jared? Well, sadly, nothing. As you could probably guess, Jared’s marriage was already in the process of rapidly falling apart. He wanted out and I can’t blame him. Before the next school year even started, they had gotten a divorce. Both of them moved away to different towns, wanting to start over completely. I was glad to hear that they made it through the divorce proceedings without my name ever coming up.

While I was glad that Lisa Coleston was no longer around to torment me at school—it certainly hurt to lose Jared. To this day, when I step out into the hall and glance towards the room that used to be his, it pangs me.

I’m sure the former Mrs. Coleston is out there right now, making some other man’s life completely miserable. To my knowledge, she never did learn about this incident. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been tempted to look her up on Facebook and tell her what happened that night. Who knows, maybe she’s reading this right now and she just read the whole story. If you are, well, surprise! I fucked your husband—and we both thought it was awesome—ha!

Seriously though, even though it did not have the happy ending I had hoped for, I would not trade the experience for the world. It was an amazing night.