It was the mid-1970s and I was assigned to a combo class for fifth grade, along with sixth graders, about a fourteen from each grade. My mother was not too happy, especially when she learned that the teacher was brand new and straight out of college. Try as she did, she could not get me transferred into the all-fifth grade class.
On the first day of school, almost thirty kids were all talking about our new teacher, wondering what she’d be like when the bell rang. As we lined up by the door it swung open and after two seconds out stepped Mrs. Lurt onto the walkway. The girls all smiled, and the boys jaws all hit the ground. She was beautiful!
We filed into class and found our seats, which were already pre-assigned by the teacher, fifth grade on one side of the class, and sixth on the other. Being new to the school Mrs. Lurt gave us a brief introduction about herself. She had attended college at nearby Pacific College, was newly married, and was originally from Sacramento.
When I say beautiful, I mean drop-dead-gorgeous beautiful. Mrs. Lurt was about five-eight, with jet black hair with soft curls, and brown eyes, and she wore glasses most of the time. She had an average build at a size six-eight. The joke soon became that there would be more fathers at her parent-teacher conferences than at all the other classes combined.
The following year, for sixth grade, I was again assigned to Mrs. Lurt’s class, as were the other dozen kids from fifth grade, along with about seventeen other students. Every boy in class had a crush on our teacher, and every girl wanted to be just like her. Mrs. Lurt was always in a dress or a skirt, hair perfectly styled, and she smelled good too.
Flash forward thirty years to 2004, when I was reading the weekly real estate insert to the Saturday newspaper as I enjoyed my morning java. There was a big ad announcing that one of the larger real estate companies had been sold and was merging with another firm from the next town over, and that the new owner was John Lurt, complete with his photo. And right next to him was a photo of my old teacher, and his wife, Debbie Lurt. And she looked stunning. She was the prototype MILF.
I did some quick math in my head and figured she was now about fifty-four. I was now forty-two, recently divorced, and had three school-age children. I thought back to sixth grade and turning twelve that year, so she would have been about twenty-four at the time, and that made sense I reasoned.
About two years later I saw that Mrs. Lurt was hosting an open house one Saturday at a house that was two blocks away from my home. I figured, what the hell, walk on over at the end of the day and say hello. When I walked in, she was just finishing up a conversation with an older couple, so I waited patiently.
When the couple left, she turned her attention to me as I looked around the kitchen. “Hi, I’m Debbie Lurt. Welcome to 450 West Elm Street,” she said.
Smiling, I said, “Yes, I know who you are. I used to be one of your students at Vinewood.”
“That narrows it down. I was only there for four years. What’s your name?” she asked.
I toyed with her, “I’ll give you a clue. I was in your first two classes.”
Laughing, “The combo class and then the full sixth-grade class. Hmmmm…” She looked me up and down and seemed to study my face. “That narrows it down to about six boys. You are either Doug, Scott, or Rodney. You three were always together as I remember.”
I finally gave in, “You’re good. Yes, I’m Scott Manning.”
We talked for about fifteen minutes as I told her a bit about my life and then she asked about some of my former classmates. I looked at my watch and said, “Well, your open house is over now. It was great to see you.”
"Would you like to go downtown for a drink and continue our chat? I love running into my old students,” she said.
I laughed a bit, “I would, but I need to walk home to get my car.”
“I’ll drive. Give me a minute to lock up. My car is the silver Mercedes across the street,” Debbie said.
As I walked out of the house, I had to pinch myself. Was I really going for drinks with my old elementary school teacher? Ok, an innocent drink. Just talking. She is married after all. But I was thinking, “Boy, I’d love to fuck her.” I was divorced for two years and really had not tried to date much. The fact was that I had not been laid in almost three years.
Debbie and I ended up at one of the nicer restaurants downtown. We sat in the large bar at a small table and ordered our drinks. She went on to tell me about her two adult kids, both college grads, her husband, and the real estate business.
And then she asked if I was dating. I explained that I had three kids, ages ten, twelve, and thirteen, and they were my focus. I joked innocently, “I do miss sex though.”
“So do I,” she whispered.
I looked at her and asked, “What do you mean?”
She looked around the bar, leaned in, and told me, “My husband is impotent. He doesn’t even want to touch me because he feels like such a failure as a man.”
I was shocked. “Wow, you caught me off guard with that. How old is he, what, fifty-five or so?”
“Good guess. He’s fifty-six. We haven’t had sex in almost five years,” she said. In a change of direction, Debbie asked, “Why are you not dating Scott? You’re handsome, in shape, good career, everything…”
“I’m handsome?” I teased. I was forty-two and still in good shape. I jogged three mornings a week, hit the gym two mornings, and watched what I ate. I had a large frame at six-two with strong wide shoulders, weighed two-twenty, with a thirty-six waist and a forty-eight chest. I still had a good head of brown hair and brown eyes.
Debbie blushed, “Yes, you are a good-looking guy. I know a lot of women your age who would love to date a man like you.”
“Thanks, Debbie. But I’m not sure I want a full-time girlfriend right now,” I confided. “My kids are my priority.”
We proceeded to have two drinks and talk about our lives, children, real estate, my career in insurance, and much more. When she pulled up to my house to drop me off, she turned off her car and got out to give me a hug. I was a bit shocked but was not going to turn down a chance to take my hot teacher into my big strong arms.
As I started to pull away from the quick hug, I whispered, “You are so beautiful. So sexy.” I shocked myself with that statement. Why did I say that? You idiot, I thought to myself.
Debbie had a small smile on her face. “Thank you, Scott.”
I back peddled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I should not have said that to a married woman.”
“It’s okay. I have men hit on me all the time. You have been a gentleman,” she said.
Laughing, “Well, I did think about hitting on you, but I did think it would be kind of weird being my elementary teacher.”
Looking over her glasses at me, Debbie said, “It wouldn’t have been weird.”
My heart stopped. Did I just hear Mrs. Lurt correctly? Was she flirting with me? Holy shit!
Before I could say something, she continued in a sultry tone, “Maybe we can scratch each other’s itch today. If you’re interested.”
“Interested? Of course, I’m interested,” I blurted out. I took Debbie by the hand and lead her up the steps to my front door. As I unlocked the door, I looked her in the eyes and said, “I’d enjoy scratching your itch.”
She walked into my house, and I followed closing the door. I grabbed her by the hips, spun her around, and kissed her softly as I took her into my arms again. We kissed several times, and our tongues were slow dancing with each other.
