Hapless teacher is taught much by his class.
Enjoy..
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My life changed the week before Christmas last year when I lost my virginity.
I’m sure that many might say that not having sex until I was twenty-five was unnatural, twisted even. And, to be fair, knowing what I know now, I’d have to agree. But of course before that fateful lesson I was perfectly happy in my celibate state; perfectly happy waiting until I was married to my longstanding fiancee, Bethany.
Perhaps I should give you a little background so you understand just what a life-shifting experience I went through.
I met Bethany in the college library almost seven years ago on the first day I went to university. We were both churchgoers and neither of us had been in a relationship before. By the end of that week we had become girlfriend and boyfriend, after kissing perhaps half a dozen times.
Since then we had become inseparable.
We studied together at University — I read Mathematics while Bethany read English. We had then done a PGCE together, training to become teachers. Two years ago, we had even managed to come and work at the same school together, Feckwith College for Girls, a minor public boarding school in Sussex.
We could probably individually have found better jobs but Feckwith was the only non-inner city school that could offer us both a role, a lucky circumstance in that Feckwith wouldn’t have normally taken a male member of staff at all were it not for the national shortage of Maths teachers.
The headmistress at Feckwith, the formidable Miss Birstthwaite, had only employed us after assurances that we wouldn’t live together as man and wife, despite our recent engagement. We had reassured her that we were committed Christians and were completely opposed to sex before marriage.
And so for the last two or three years, Bethany and I have had separate rooms at the school. In fact my room is part of the caretaker’s lodge a few hundred yards away from the main school building where the rest of the staff and girls live.
In retrospect I don’t really remember how I could have been so content with my sexless state. When we were together in private, Bethany and I would hold hands and kiss chastely. But even on the most romantic of evenings, Bethany would always dampen my arousal if I appeared over-animated, promising me that it would be worth the wait. It amazes me now but I’ve still never seen her naked and nor have we indulged in any foreplay or any other sexual antics.
Early in our relationship I seem to remember I found it difficult but I always managed to suppress my excitement. I didn’t even masturbate often as I’d been taught from an early age that it was harmful and iniquitous, although I did as a consequence regularly have unwelcome wet dreams sometimes brought on by my unconscious manipulation. Eventually I suppose I got used to it.
Since we had come to work at Feckwith, it had definitely become tougher for me. I found myself surrounded by an all-female teaching staff and three hundred girls. In particular the oldest girls caused me difficulty as they seemed to take real pleasure in teasing me.
I suppose it might have been even worse if I were in any way an attractive man. Fortunately, if that’s the right word, I’m physically small, a touch too thin with a receding hairline, glasses and a distinct overbite. People say that Bethany looks a like an attractive version of me and I’ve always found her most beautiful.
The trouble started with the three girls in my final year Maths class. I had been teaching them for a year already and had always found them uncomfortable to manage. Since they had started their final year and turned eighteen though, matters had deteriorated.
They seemed to have no respect for me whatsoever during lessons, probably spurred on by my meek somewhat timid personality and by the simple fact that there were only three of them in the class giving it a more intimate nature than others.
During the Michaelmas term, they had spent most of their lessons affectionately mocking me and ignoring my ineffectual attempts at discipline. I had to say that despite their lack of respect, I liked all three of them for their bright playful personalities. It also helped that they all seemed to have a natural disposition for the subject.
It was in the final double Maths lesson of the term, on the morning of the last school day before Christmas, that it happened. This was always a challenging time as the girls were all looking forward to going home rather than having their minds on their lessons but the impact on this particular class was dramatic.
The two girls that had always been the worst culprits were Christine and Brigitte. Chloe, the third member of the class, was a little more shy but she usually joined the others with only a little encouragement.
On this particular occasion, the girls had traipsed in a few minutes late after morning assembly.
The first thing I noticed was that both Brigitte and Christine were not wearing the correct uniform. Their navy blazers were open, revealing that their white blouses were unbuttoned at the top and their red and blue striped ties loosened down to their chests; also their grey skirts ended well above their knees and their legs were covered not in the approved thick grey woollen tights but in something significantly more dark, sheer and suggestive. They were also wearing shoes with considerably higher heels than allowed.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, they were also wearing eye shadow and lipstick! All-in-all they looked inappropriately mature.
Chloe, a tall willowy auburn-haired girl with soft green eyes and a sweet smile was wearing her uniform correctly although even she had loosened her tie somewhat.
“Brigitte! Christine! What on earth are you wearing? Please do up your blouses and ties. And those skirts are just too short. If Miss Birstthwaite sees you, you’ll be given detentions!”