A New Summer's Course

Summer classes had always been a drag for me. The students were always more captivated by the rays of sunlight crashing through foggy classroom windows than with my explanations on how context was one of the most important aspects to master when translating a literary work. And more often than not the students were as fogged up as the windows were as they fought off the haze of the previous night's partying. Not that I blames them -- there were still parts of my early days attending university that were a blur.

But that had ended a long time ago. I was the teacher now -- a 37 year old widower trying to hustle along a small group of students who needed extra credits to get into their respective programs. This summer's crop was comprised of 18 students, mostly young women headed for careers teaching English as a second language or completing a communications degree. That made the whole ordeal more palatable though: I was teaching at a French university and the young women in Québec were just about the most beautiful and carefree I'd encountered in all of Canada.

But the cardinal rule as a teacher was never cross the line and become involved with a student -- funny that I should stick to such a rule since that was how I'd met my wife. She'd been doing her masters and made extra money as a teacher's aid while I was a student in her class. She was only 5 years older than me, a lithe, slim woman with sharp features, bright brown eyes and long, straight red hair and a mind as sharp as a freshly forged katana -- a stark contrast to my barrel chested physique better suited to working a field that mastering the works of Leonard Cohen or Marguerite Atwood. My hair was short and I sported a full beard (my rebellion against the mounting trend towards androgyny). I fell in love with her the moment she pronounced the first syllable of my name. With the determination of a bloodhound after and escaped convict, I finally convinced her to go out with me. From that day we never looked back. We went through a traditional courtship and we married after dating for a year. I was 21 and she was 26 and we were happy.

Fifteen years later, fate thought I had it too good and decided to even things out: my wife, Sonia, became a statistic for the ministry of transportation. Another death related to drunk driving, serving to justify another shocking ad campaign to be aired on television.

But, as time went by and mourning drifted more and more towards forgetting, the faculty requested I get back into the game.

So it was June 19th and I was writing my name on the blackboard in front of 18 pairs of weary eyes that dreamed of beaches and sunshine and Molson beer.

"My name is Colin Reilly," I said as I highlighted my name by underscoring it with a screeching streak of chalk. Faces winced and shoulders exposed by skimpy halter tops shuddered as the sound pulled the students from their reverie.

I looked at the chalk with a scowl. "Remind me not to do that again," I said to the classroom while tossing the piece of chalk onto the simple folding table that served as my desk.

I held their partially divided attention while I distributed the list of class objectives and outlined the expectations I had for them. I then went back to my desk and asked them to outline what they expected from me and the course. I was greeted by a litany of clichéd statements in broken English about improving skills and getting a better grasp of the nuances of the language.

But all that grounded to a halt when I reached the last 2 students -- they were seated right next to the exit at my left. I had noticed them intently listening to me while I presented the course but now the intensity with which they both observed me was unnerving. They stood out like beacons of sexuality and their beautiful eyes were riveted on me and I was suddenly very self-conscious about the way I looked: I'd shaved that morning but stubble already shaded my cheeks and chin; my hair was basically cut in an old fashioned buzz cut, but it did complement my wide face and square jaw (so I'd been told); I wore silver rimmed glasses that highlighted my blue eyes (that was how they were sold to me); I wore khaki colored shorts and a white linen shirt -- I knew my calves and forearms were bare and I was proud of their pronounced musculature. I played serious tennis 4 times a week (the only activity that kept me sane after Sonia died) -- but I did have beer/age induced love handles and fine lines around my eyes and mouth.

My self-consciousness quickly dissipated as I admired the young women I'd apparently captivated. The one closest to me -- I remembered from when we had introduced ourselves her name was Gitane (pronounced Gee-Tan) -- was a short brunette with long flowing hair and big brown eyes frames by red glasses resting on a regal nose. Her oval shaped lips were shaded a deep crimson and where they joined seemed to trace a line that delimited her unblemished, oval shaped face. Though she was seated, her ample breasts were on prominent display in the black, thinly strapped halter she wore. Her cleavage rose hypnotically as she breathed in a controlled manner. I noticed a red, lacy bra strap peeking out from beneath halter straps. I saw from beneath her desk a pair of finely toned legs peeking from a white, flowing skirt -- and I realized she had subtly guided my overview of her taut, young body with the force of her gaze.

Behind Gitane was Roma. She was an example of timeless beauty: she possessed a high forehead crowned by long and wavy blond hair she kept parted on the side. Her tresses framed broad, symmetrical features -- her gems were beautiful, big hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle when they caught the light at just the right angle. Roma's eyebrows were thin and accented her facial expressions with a sense of elegance, yet the small mole near her right eyebrow maintained a sense of whimsy to her every smile. Above the crescent of her sharp chin was a naturally alluring, heart-shaped mouth carved from thick, sensual lips. Roma wore a low-cut, green wrap-around shirt. She tilted her head slightly to the left, allowing for some of her locks to drift upon her chest and my gaze fell upon the exposed, golden skin between her breasts. Though much smaller than Gitane's and somewhat less firm, Roma's breasts swayed freely with her every motion, adding to her aloof, free-spirited sensuality.

I was staring at a pair of living wet dreams -- every alarm bell suddenly went off in my head and I steadied myself and walked back around my desk and quickly sat down, hoping none had noticed the mounting tent in my khakis.

Before I could say anything Gitane broke the silence that had embraced the class while I'd traded conspicuously long glances with her and Roma. "Roma and I want always want to meet every challenge we come across," Gitane said with a light French accent. Her voice was low and rumbled with the ease of someone used to getting what she wanted.

"Dat's right m'sieur Reilly," Roma chimed in. Her voice was more musical and more heavily accented than Gitane's -- I suddenly imagined them saying my name in tandem while I would explore their supple forms with every moving part of my body.

The alarm bells in my head and the churning in my stomach and the resurrected erection in my pants screamed a quarrel between my obligations as a teacher, the respect I owed Sonia's memory, and the desire long dormant since her death.

"Well, I'm sure your both up to the challenge this summer has in store for you," I said. After saying those words and reading the hungry look and sly smiles on their young faces I realized I'd just invited these two 20 year-old minxes to try and seduce me. The temperature in the classroom climbed a few notches and I could feel the eyes of the other students bore into me till I gave them what I felt had to be a dangerous smile, warning them that this was between me and the girls. I licked my lips an quelled any objections my reason or memories could raise.

Sonia's face flashed briefly before my eyes, her broad smile somehow condoning my desires.

"So lets get this show on the road," I said with renewed vigor and had them pull out their text books.

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After that initial display, we all had a weekend to cool down and that following Monday, June 22nd, went by smoothly -- Gitane and Roma remained low-key in their actions, although I always felt their intense gaze follow me wherever I went. I was embracing the attention, always sitting on my desk in such a way that my crotch pointed their way, my state of semi-arousal clearly visible. When I was asked questions I would kneel in front of the student's desk, but when one of the minxes raised a question, they both made the effort of catching my attention with a light touch to my forearm, or by whispering my name when I was close. I made sure I leaned over their shoulders, paying as much attention to what they were asking as to how far I could see down their shirts -- both Gitane and Roma had the good graces of pressing their bosoms against my arm when I supported myself on their desks.

The class made good progress despite the obvious tension mounting between me, Gitane and Roma. Part of me feared others in the class would report my actions to the faculty staff, but that other part of me, the animal that had been dormant since Sonia died, wanted them to see how it desired and how it was desired.

The following day, June 23rd, proved to be much more hectic as the students often broke into small cackling groups, discussing what they were to be doing for the next 2 days. I wondered what had them so excited as I tried to regain order -- even the sexual tension with the minxes was overshadowed by the static excitement of the class.

It was Roma who pulled my blinders off: "M'sieur Reilly, demain c'est la St-Jean!" she exclaimed in her musical French. "La fête Nationale!"

I raised an eyebrow and Roma just sighed, her beautiful tits straining against her white, skintight t-shirt. I finally noticed her ripe nipples pushing against the thin fabric when she turned to face me -- I felt like they were reaching for me. I leaned against my desk and Roma walked up to my right side and rested a hand on the desk. She picked up my desk calendar, turned her head in my direction and tilted it to her left, letting her luscious blond hair cover part of her face, giving her a faintly animalistic look. Her hazel eyes peered at me like those of a lioness through the golden grasses of some African Savannah.

"Tomorrow is a nationale 'oliday, m'sieur Reilly No school. No students -- no teachers. Just music and beer."

I had been out of the loop for so long that I'd forgotten that June 24th was Québec's national holiday, la St-Jean Baptiste, named after John the Baptist. It was the day the French culture affirmed its identity with manifestations of song and patriotic speeches on how a small island of French existed in a sea of English. I remembered being swept up when I was younger into the sovereignist fervor -- the parties I attended with Sonia in our twenties were always like mini Woodstock festivals. We often ended up drunk and stoned and fucking like rabbits to the progressive grooves of Québec artists like Harmonium, or to the funky rock of local legend Robert Charlebois.

But since the '95 referendum, such fervor was a dying beast. The holiday was more like a national "Fuck You" to Canada's English elite -- the younger generations had forgone the political and concentrated on the festive.

That was good enough for me.

"So I guess there's going to be a concert and fireworks display tonight, right?" I asked as I gazed into her eyes. She responded with the slightest nod and a blink. "Is that where I'll find all the beautiful people?" I asked without thinking. Roma giggled and sashayed back to her desk.

That's when I felt warm skin touching my hand and realized Gitane was propped up against the desk like I was, her hand brushing up against mine. We were both looking at Roma as she slid back into her seat with cat-like finesse. I glanced over at Gitane and again fell in admiration of her body -- curvaceous hips and a bubbly ass and large breasts -- all the attributes that screamed sex. My cock stirred and despite the fact it was for all the class to see, I did nothing to hide it.

Gitane met my eyes with her penetrating gaze and moved a stray lock of her buoyant brown hair behind her perfectly shaped ear. "There will be beautiful people at my house tonight. Roma will be there. Would you come?"

"You have a house?" I asked as I challenged her gaze.

"It's a house my parents own -- they let Roma and me live there while we're doing our summer classes. In September it fills up with students but for the summer we have it all to ourselves."

"I don't think it would be appropriate for a teacher to attend a party like that ... You should be in the park, with others." The words came out like a groan. Gitane's hand had covered mine and she turned in such a way that our knees touched. The class suddenly ceased to exist and I was alone with Gitane, under Roma's careful observation.

"I don't like crowds -- unless you think three's a crowd," she whispered. "And remember what Roma said: no students and no teachers. Just music and beer ... and whatever else we can think of."

So the stage was set and all I had to do was say yes. I glanced over at Roma and she smiled -- her tongue suddenly darted across her lips and I followed her hand as it slipped beneath the top of her desk and touched the inside of her thighs. She gently moves her fingers back and forth in a come hither motion till she touched the space where I knew her pussy waited.

Gitane tightened her grip on my hand. "What's it gonna be, boy? Yes or no?" I smiled as I recognized the line from the album version of 'Paradise by the Dashboard Light.'

"Three's the only crowd that'll be there?" I asked as I fought to steady my erratic heartbeat. Gitane answered with the same subtle nod and blink that Roma had given me earlier. In my mind's eye Gitane's eyes were closed while my lips were pressed to hers and my cock slipped into her tight cunt while Roma explored our united bodies with deft hands, finding and squeezing my balls in one hand while rubbing Gitane's clit with the other.

"If I say yes I won't be able to teach the class anymore," I declared as a vestige of reason resurfaced and tried to harness my sexy beast.

Gitane let go of my hand, moved about and inch away from me, and faced the classroom . I'd let the day degenerate and there was no way I could regain control -- control of anything.

"The invitation is out there," Gitane coolly echoed. "You do a you wish, Mr Reilly. But if you decide to come, come around eleven. And bring a bathing suit if you want." She brazenly reached into her cleavage and pulled out a piece of paper she laid flat on the desk. I recognized an address and a phone number.

"Yes," I answered to her invitation -- my heart was now calm and I felt a release sweep across my body.

"Class is dismissed for the rest of the day," I announced to their myriad cheers. Some of the other students watched as Roma and Gitane deliberately took their time to gather their things and leave the classroom. Gitane gave me a wink before exiting.

Class was dismissed, but I realized the lessons were far from over.

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I spent the rest of the day in anxious anticipation of what the night had to bring. As I went about my regular chores, laundry, dishes, etc ... I replayed the flirtatious seduction that had defined my relationship with Gitane and Roma. I realized that it had to be something they'd planned even before I entered the classroom -- there was no way two beautiful young women like them would spontaneously want their teacher.

It dawned on me that the whole set-up might be a way to humiliate an overly horny teacher -- get a few laughs at the expense of the loser who hasn't been laid in two years. That triggered a sudden rush of anger at my apparent naiveté -- but lust quickly drowned the anger as the image of their supple flesh filled my mind and I imagined us entwined in various coupling combinations.

The risk/reward ratio was to great. I didn't really have anything to lose as far as teaching went -- the summer course was the last one I'd decided I was going to give. And if it ended earlier because of a tryst with two students -- fuck it. It was time I took hold of my life again.

Around 10 pm I hopped into the shower and cleansed off all doubt -- under the powerful rush of water my cock grew to its full length, free from the constraints of clothing and conventions, fed by the thought of Gitane and Roma stroking it with reverent fervor. I held it tightly as I envisioned the women working its sides with their tongues and lips. Without even jerking it my cock spasmed as it sought orgasm -- I squeezed the base where my cock met my pelvis and the flow of come was halted although waves of pleasure weakened my legs and I almost fell to my knees under the shower.

I quickly toweled myself dry and shaved and applied some Drakkar Noir eau de toilette. The night, I realized, was hot and humid. So much so that my hair refused to dry completely despite my best efforts. Sweaty, I dressed in a dark blue linen shirt, leaving the top two buttons open, showing off my hairy chest. I then slipped on boxers and white linen pants and dark sandals.

"You clean up pretty good, old man," I said to myself as I checked the mirror. But the shirt was already clinging to my flesh because of the heat. It made me feel even hornier as I imagined the minxes peeling the shirt off.

I threw a change of clothes in a duffel bag, along with black swim trunks.

I drove my silver Toyota Echo hatchback down the back roads that led to Gitane's residence. It wasn't too far out of the city but sticking to the longer back roads route allowed me to evade the cavalcade of police I knew were monitoring the main roads in order to nab drunk drivers -- I was thankful for that but didn't want to chance an interception.

I drove to a halt before what I could only describe as a majestic house. It was two stories tall; the front was made of red and gray brickwork but was dominated by large windows that spanned the width of the house. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door, the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, and rang the bell. There was no answer. I knew it was about a quarter to eleven -- I checked the car's clock before getting out. I fumed as I started to think I'd been played till I noticed music coming from the direction of the backyard. I recognized music from Harmonium's landmark album 'L'Heptade.'

I sighed and made my way to the backyard. The hot and hazy night air carried the sound of laughter and splashing water to my receptive ears and my cock latched on to the image of Roma and Gitane frolicking in the pool and grew stiff against my pants. I walked till I stood before an unlatched wooden gate. It was now or never. I pushed the gate open and walked through.

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The first thing I noticed was all the torches that surrounded the in ground pool. It gave the whole yard a surreal, fantasy like atmosphere. Then there were the lights that shined upwards from the bottom of the pool, giving the water a wavy halo-like effect. Finally I saw the two sirens laughing and splashing each other with infectious glee. I felt like I'd just walked into a porn film fantasy world.

"Mr Reilly, you made it," Gitane shouted as she hoisted herself out of the water. I was caught breathless at how her devastating curves were showcased by her black bikini and how sexy she looked with her long hair plastered to her head. Her bikini was covered with white polka dots that sparkled in the shimmering lights. But it was how her moistened skin glistened that truly captured my attention as I imagined the feeling of licking every inch of her dry.