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Subject: Miss Hawkins, Part I
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WARNING:  If it is illegal to read this sort of thing where you live, 
don't read it.  Isn't that easy?

Comments and/or advice are welcome!  I need your input to continue 
writing stories.


**************   Miss Hawkins, Part I ***************************

	I know that I swore never to tell a single soul about this, but I 
really want to write it all down, so that later on I don’t forget any of 
the details.  I don’t think I would forget any of the details; they’re 
burned right into my mind, permanently.  But I want to write this down, 
just in case.  It’s the sort of thing I want to remember forever and 
always.
	You see, I’m only 15 years old.  So you can see that I probably have a 
pretty long life ahead of me, if everything turns out OK.  I’m just 
worried that when I’m 85, I’ll have trouble remembering this far back in 
my life.  That’s why I’m breaking my promise to Miss Hawkins and writing 
this down.  It doesn’t matter; nobody will ever read it anyway.  I just 
need to tell somebody, even if it’s only this sheet of paper.
	Last year I was an eighth grader in Miss Hawkins’ history class.  She 
was the kind of teacher that the entire class develops a crush on – at 
least, all the boys did, and I’m not so sure some of the girls didn’t 
either.  She was always dressed in these pretty dresses that just set my 
imagination on fire.  I mean, it was the kind of dress that revealed 
just enough leg to make you think of what was up further, hidden by that 
sheer fabric.  She was the first woman I’d ever seen who wore seamed 
stockings; I thought they were just about the sexiest thing ever.  And 
her collar dipped down low enough so that you couldn’t see any of her 
breasts,  but you thought you might be able to, every time she stood up 
or sat down or moved at all.  Oh brother, and when she moved… she was so 
graceful.  I swear, it was like having a ballet dancer teach the Civil 
War and Reconstruction.  I sat in class for hours, not hearing a word, 
just watching her move around.  
	Don’t get me wrong, now.  I wasn’t sitting in class with a perpetual 
boner, or anything.  I just liked watching her.  She was elegant, 
refined, beautiful, and smart besides.  That was a real change from the 
other girls I knew.   Most of them were still tomboys, rough-housing 
around in gym with the rest of the boys, and more likely to wear blue 
jeans and sweatshirts than stockings and high heels.  And as for the 
rest.. well, I’m not the most popular guy at school, let’s just say that 
much.  I’m a little shy, and I don’t play any sports, so for the most 
part the girls don’t even notice I’m there. 
	Anyway, to get on with my story, I’m not the smartest guy in class 
either.  I’m not stupid or anything, but sometimes I don’t do as well on 
my homework as I might like.  No big deal, except that my parents are 
nuts about grades.  I come home with a C and they want to pay for 
special tutoring.  It’s ridiculous.   So after one particularly bad 
grade on a quiz in Miss Hawkins’ class, my parents sent me to school 
with a note to give her.  I read it on the bus, naturally.  They wanted 
her to get me hooked up with some kind of tutor for history so my grades 
would be better.  Great.  This was just what I needed.  I was going to 
have to spend more time thinking about schoolwork, and I was going to 
have to hand this embarrassing note to Miss Hawkins.  There was no 
question of my not giving the note to her; my parents would want to know 
what she said, the minute I came home.  I sighed deeply; it was shaping 
up to be a miserable day.
	When I came into history class, I handed her the note, grimaced, and 
went and sat down.  She looked at me kind of funny.  I could have died; 
all I want is to daydream about my history teacher, and here she is 
thinking I’m some kind of idiot.  I blushed and buried my face in my 
history book.  I then proceeded to forget all about the incident.  I 
guess I figured if I didn’t think about it, nothing would come of it. 
	Hah.  So much I knew.  Come 2:30, I’ve forgotten all about the note 
from my parents, and I’m staring out the window, waiting for the bell to 
ring and wondering if Miss Hawkins wears garters with those seamed 
stockings of hers.  Not more than five minutes before that bell was due 
to ring, the secretary’s voice came over the intercom and told me I was 
supposed to report to Miss Hawkins’ room before I went home for the day.  
Fabulous.   Oh, well… at least I’d get to see Miss Hawkins again.  So 
when the bell rang, I headed down the hall for the history room, 
fighting the waves of students as they streamed out the doors.  
	"Miss Hawkins?"
	"Oh, hi, Jonathan."  God, that harmonious voice.  I would have paid her 
money just to hear her talk.  "Come in.  I want to talk to you about 
this note from your parents."
	I would have rather gnawed off my own fingers than talked to her about 
that note from my parents.  But I came in and sat down in a seat she’d 
pulled up next to her,  prepared for the worst.
	"I think your parents have an excellent point.  Your work hasn’t 
exactly been the best you could do, has it?"
	I mumbled, "No, ma’am", blushing fiercely.  Why me, God?
	"Well, I think you could definitely use a tutor, since you’re obviously 
not getting the work done on your own."
	Great.  I knew it.  I envisioned all of my free time flying straight 
out the window.  She was going to assign me some upperclassman to help 
me with my work, and then the entire high school would know what a dummy 
I was.  
	"But I’m not sure another student would be the best solution."  She 
rested her hand on my knee.  "You’re a good student, Jonathan; you just 
need a little extra help.  Isn’t that right?"
	I managed to nod.  My heart had stopped when she touched me with that 
beautiful manicured hand, and hadn’t restarted yet.  I was having 
trouble concentrating on what she was saying, but I had the vague notion 
that it was good.
	"Right.  So I thought it might be better to have you come to my house 
for tutoring, several nights a week.  I know it will infringe on your 
free time, but I think it’ll be worth it.  What do you think?"
	What did I think?  To be quite frank, I didn’t think anything.  The 
pressure of her hand on my thigh had done quite enough to remove all 
semblance of logical thought from my mind.  There was no way she could 
know what she was putting me through by touching me like that, but I was 
in exquisite agony.  I hoped she would take her hand away soon, because 
I didn’t know how much longer I could postpone the inevitable hard-on.  
If that happened, I really would crawl under a floorboard and die.
	"Yeah, Miss Hawkins, I guess that would be OK."  Some stranger must 
have been manipulating my vocal cords.  I don’t know how I would have 
managed to speak, otherwise.  Miss Hawkins’ HOUSE, several nights a 
week?  My heart was beating so fast I thought I was having an attack or 
something.
	"Good, Jonathan!  Why don’t we just plan for you to ride home with me 
after school, and then I’ll drop you back off at your house when we’re 
done?"
	I nodded weakly.  Sounds good to me, Miss Hawkins.  She’d inadvertently 
moved closer to me, in the process of scooting her chair in towards her 
desk, and now her leg was pressing against mine, and she still hadn’t 
moved her hand.  I felt my jeans get a little tighter, and prayed for 
her to move away before she noticed.  I knew from gym class that I was a 
little more well-endowed than the average 14-year-old, but right now I 
wished it wasn’t there at all.  
	She smiled brightly at me, and praise be to the heavens, she moved 
away.  I started breathing again, although I was afraid that when I 
stood up to leave, my legs would buckle right out from underneath me.  
She’d been so close to me that when she shifted in her chair, I could 
feel the muscles in her leg move.  It had nearly been an intensely 
embarrassing moment, but thank God I’d managed to restrain myself.  
	As I got up and headed out the door, she stopped me.
	"Oh yes, one more thing… Jonathan?"  Say my name again in that 
heart-stopping voice, and I’m yours forever.  
	"What?"
	"You should probably plan to be at my house for at least three or four 
hours.  I know that’s a terribly long time, but you have a lot of 
catch-up work to do."
	"No problem, Miss Hawkins."  I’ll live at your house if you want, 
ma’am.  
	She smiled and I walked out the door.  The day had turned out a bit 
better than I’d thought that morning.  I definitely needed to get home 
and lock myself in the bathroom for a while.  

	
My parents, as I’d expected, approved whole-heartedly of the idea.  So I 
spent the next day at school in my own little fantasy world, filled with 
only me and Miss Hawkins.  I was totally inexperienced with girls at the 
time, so I won’t embarrass myself by writing down those fantasies.  
Suffice it to say that for a 14-year-old virgin, they were fairly 
risque.   The minutes until 2:30 ticked down with depressingly slow 
regularity.  I was so nervous and so excited, all at once.  I was 
terrified that I might embarrass myself or seem stupid in front of Miss 
Hawkins; and yet, I was about to spend 4 hours as the focus of her 
attention.  You want to talk butterflies in the stomach?  I couldn’t 
even eat lunch, I was so nerve-wracked.
	"Jonathan?"
	A soft voice interrupted my reverie.  It was Miss Hawkins.  Apparently 
the bell had rung, and I’d been so lost in my daydreams that I hadn’t 
even noticed.  She grinned at me and told me to hurry up.  So I grabbed 
my stuff and followed her out to the teachers’ parking lot.
	Miss Hawkins – pretty, young, smart, graceful Miss Hawkins – drove a 
black Firebird.  She laughed when she saw my expression.
	"Not exactly what you were expecting, right?"
	I shook my head mutely.  If it was a stick-shift, I was going to die, 
right there on the spot.
	It was a stick-shift.  I got in the passenger side and belted in.  Miss 
Hawkins’ hand slid over the gearshift and we were off.  She drove so 
fast, and so well, I couldn’t believe it.    And I won’t even discuss 
the way she handled the gearshift.  I think I might have been staring at 
her right hand, though, because I noticed her smiling even though she 
wasn’t looking at me.  It took us about 20 minutes to get to her house 
(it would have taken my Mom 45, and Mom is no slouch when it comes to 
driving).  
	She told me to go in the kitchen and have a seat, and she’d get her 
books ready and be out in a minute.  So I sat down at the kitchen table 
to wait for her.  When she came in, I nearly fell off my chair.  She’d 
taken off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse a little.  So now I could 
see her bare feet, complete with painted toenails, and more 
importantly..  Well, that little bit of unbuttoning had done a lot for 
visibility.  I could see the swell of her breasts, and the red lace that 
was holding them in check.  I swallowed hard; it was going to be a long 
four hours.
	"… with the Civil War."
	Oops.  I tore my eyes away from her breasts and sheepishly asked her to 
repeat what she’d just said.
	"I said, I think we should begin with the Civil War."
	And so, we began.  We covered the book slowly and methodically.  She’d 
spend half an hour on one paragraph, explaining to me all the nuances 
and details.  My head was spinning, but I was trying to keep all of it 
straight.  I had no idea there were so many things to know about the 
Civil War.  I’d always just thought it was a bunch of battles.
	After about an hour of this, she stopped and said she needed a glass of 
water.  I said that I could use one too.  And I could, after an hour of 
watching her breasts bounce a little every time she moved, and smelling 
her light perfume, and… well, anyway, I needed that water.
	When we began again, she changed tacks.  She said this would be 
standard procedure; she’d go over something for a while and then I’d 
have to answer a bunch of questions about it.  She moved her chair 
closer to me, to be able to see my book.  Unfortunately, this meant that 
her leg was pressing against me again.  I could feel every inch of that 
silk-clad leg, from thigh to ankle, that’s how close she was to me.  And 
she put her hand back on my thigh, for reassurance, I guess.  It sure 
didn’t feel very reassuring.
	She leaned closer to my book (oh God, Miss Hawkins, I could run my 
hands through your hair forever..) and asked me some question about the 
coming of the Civil War.  I guess I must have choked out a response, 
because she nodded and went on to the next question.
	We did this for awhile, her asking me questions and me answering in 
sort of a daze.  Then..  then I felt her moving her hand.  It felt like 
she was just moving it back and forth a little, like massaging my leg to 
relax me or something.  It had the opposite effect.  Her hand was not 
more than six inches from my groin, and was massaging my thigh.  I was 
in the middle of answering one of her questions when the inevitable 
happened.  I started to swell.
	This wasn’t just a little bit of bulge under my jeans, either.  Miss 
Hawkins’ hand was more stimulation than I’d ever had from any female, 
anytime, anywhere.  Pretty soon my erection was so bad it was hurting 
me, trapped behind all that stiff and unyielding denim.
	I tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away.  Miss Hawkins just kept 
asking me questions about the Civil War, in that slow, soft, voice.  I 
couldn’t concentrate worth a damn, but I answered all of those stupid 
questions.  How could I not?  I was afraid that if I messed up, Miss 
Hawkins would take her hand away.  Of course, I was also afraid she’d 
look over and notice my raging hard-on, so there was a bit of conflict.  
But by this point I didn’t care much one way or the other.
	After maybe fifteen minutes or so of this excruciating torture, Miss 
Hawkins upped the stakes.  I still thought it was inadvertent.  I swear, 
I did.  What did I know?  I was 14 years old!  So I thought it was just 
accidental when Miss Hawkins began massaging higher on my thigh, still 
asking questions in her steady, low-pitched voice.  The edge of her hand 
was now stroking against my hard-on.  I couldn’t help it; I started to 
squirm.  I needed to be out of those jeans, or to have her stop what she 
was doing.  Anything; I couldn’t bear this torture much longer.
	Miss Hawkins seemed not to notice the effect she was having on me.  My 
breath was short and my heart was pounding.  I had no idea what to do, 
so I kept answering her questions.  Her hand kept moving steadily higher 
and higher as I answered each one.  Finally, she was moving her hand 
around, with these slow gentle circular motions, right on top of the 
bulge in my pants.  I couldn’t help it.   I groaned, and thrust my hips 
forward.  I was immediately horrified with embarrassment; at this point 
I still thought Miss Hawkins was doing this all by accident.  
	Embarrassment or no, there was no way I could continue to answer 
questions.  I was lost in a haze of agonizing pleasure, as her hand 
traced lazy patterns around the straining denim at my crotch.   Then – 
miracle of miracles – she leaned over and whispered in my ear.  I felt 
her hair brush against me, and I felt her hot breath against my ear.  
She whispered, "Jonathan..  I think we should move into the living room, 
don’t you?"
	I let out a groan of affirmation that was nearly a sob, and she 
murmured, "Good", and slid her tongue along my earlobe.  I barely knew 
where I was by now; it is only by sheerest luck that I managed to get to 
her couch.  I sat down on the edge at first, but that didn’t last long.  
She pushed me back gently, so that I was leaning back on the couch with 
my legs spread apart.  My erection was really painful against my jeans 
now, and I couldn’t stand to bring my legs together any further than 
they were.
	It didn’t matter for long, though.  Miss Hawkins knelt down between my 
legs and smiled up at me.  Now, let me reiterate this.  My beautiful, 
sexy eighth-grade history teacher, the object of the biggest crush of my 
life, was KNEELING between my LEGS.  I thought I had to be dreaming.
	She murmured, "Now, Jonathan.  You have to promise me something."
	I could feel her breath against my hard-on.  I would have promised her 
the Pope’s head on a stick if she’d asked me to.  
	"Jonathan?"
	I groaned and gasped out, "What, Miss Hawkins?"
	"You have to promise never to tell anyone."
	She was actually sliding her nose and lips around my straining hard-on 
as she said this, and her hands were stroking my thighs.  
	"Promise me, Jonathan.  What we do here is between you and me, right?"
	"Uh-huh…"  I groaned again.  She was undoing my belt, and licking at my 
chest and belly as she did.  
	"Promise me, Jonathan."
	Now she’d risen up a little, and was licking at my nipples, her body 
pressed right up against my erection, which was so hard I was almost in 
tears.
	"Unggh.. oh God, I.."
	"Promise me, Jonathan… I want to hear you say it."  She was grinding 
against me with her pelvis, and licking and sucking all over my chest.  
A tear slipped down my cheek; my cock hurt so bad I wanted to die.   I 
thought I was going to explode, and there was no way I could make my 
voice say what she wanted me to.
	"Unnnnnh… oh, oh please, please, jeeeesus, unggggggh.."
	"Come on, Jonathan, you have to promise me."  She was grinning 
brightly, and now she was licking the tears that were sliding down my 
face, and I could feel her breasts against me, and she was … well, she 
was humping me – I could feel her rubbing her panties back and forth 
over my erection.  "Promise me, Jonathan… come on, do it, or I’ll have 
to stop right here."
	No, Jesus no, don’t stop, I’ll do anything for you, just don’t for 
Christ’s sake stop.  But I couldn’t force that out.  All I did get out 
was, blessed be, a strangled "I promise, Miss Hawkins."
	She beamed.  "Good, Jonathan.  I think you’ll enjoy yourself, even 
though I KNOW.." She was unzipping me.  "… it’s going to cut into.."  
She was sliding my jeans off, releasing my aching cock.  "…your free 
time."  As she slid my boxers off, she gazed up at me and whispered, 
"You don’t mind… do you?"
	I shook my head mutely.  I was now half-naked in front of the most 
beautiful woman I had ever seen.  I felt like my head was ready to float 
away from my body.  She pushed my knees apart, lowered her head between 
my legs, and murmured, "Good."
	I leaned back and closed my eyes.  Miss Hawkins was sliding her nose 
all up and down the length of my cock (she called it my cock, and I 
loved hearing those words come out of her elegant lips), and kissing my 
balls ever so gently at the same time.  I was moaning uncontrollably 
now.  Just as I thought it couldn’t possibly feel any better than this..  
Miss Hawkins started licking me, up and down my length, just like a 
lollipop.  
	"Do you like that, Jonathan?"  Her voice was muffled because at that 
time, she was wrapping her mouth around the base of my erection.  "Hmm?  
I can always stop if you want me to."
	"No, oh Jesus, no, please don’t stop, God please don’t stop, this feels 
better than anything ever felt in my life, if you stop I think I’ll die, 
it feels soooo good".  I’m paraphrasing, but I improvised on that theme 
for quite some time.  Miss Hawkins seemed to approve.  She took my tip 
in her mouth and began to swirl it back and forth, giving it the 
occasional flick with her tongue.  My thighs started to tighten up.  
There was no way in hell I was going to be able to hold back for long.  
I guess Miss Hawkins knew that, because the next thing I knew she had my 
entire cock in her mouth, and she was sucking on it, hard, and sliding 
her mouth up and down on it.  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.  
And then I didn’t think at all.  I let out a low guttural moan, and I 
tried to warn her, "Miss Hawkins I think you better", but that’s all I 
choked out before I closed my eyes and thrust my hips forward and 
exploded in orgasm.  Unbelievably, I felt Miss Hawkins swallowing my 
jism, while I was still bucking and thrusting.  And when it had finally 
ceased and I was lying back on the couch, my heart pounding in my chest 
and a delicious warm feeling spreading throughout my body, I felt her 
licking the last of it away from me.
	I couldn’t even move.  She came up from between my legs and smiled at 
me.  Through the haze enveloping my brain I saw a thin trail of come 
dripping from the corner of her mouth to her chin.  She sort of knelt 
over me on the couch, and then she touched my lips with her own.  This 
was my first kiss; I said before that I was pretty socially awkward.  
Miss Hawkins pressed her lips against mine, so lightly, and began 
probing into my mouth with her tongue.  I could taste my own spunk on 
her as she teased and licked at me.   I guess I must have responded.  I 
was still in sort of a daze.  
	Miss Hawkins slowly withdrew her tongue from my mouth, and rested her 
head on my chest for awhile.  I guess maybe she was listening to my 
heartbeat.  I really don’t know; I still couldn’t believe this wasn’t a 
dream.  She laid like that for probably twenty minutes or more while I 
recovered.  The whole time, she was tracing light patterns around my 
chest and belly with her fingertips.  All I could do was moan, which was 
pretty embarrassing.  I tried to be more articulate, but I just couldn’t 
say anything comprehensible.  
	As I laid on her couch, legs splayed open, half naked, with her fingers 
stroking all over me, she just looked down at me and grinned.  
	"How’s the tutoring so far, Jonathan?"
	She leaned over and lightly traced the edge of my ear with her tongue, 
nibbling a little at the bottom of my earlobe before finally letting go.
	"Do you approve?  Or shall we discontinue this after tonight?"
	I let out a long, shuddering sigh.  "Miss Hawkins… I just..  I…"
	"What, Jonathan?  You can tell me…  tell me what’s on your mind.  Tell 
me everything."
	That slow, sultry voice again.  I would have killed Santa Claus for 
her.  And I couldn’t help but tell her exactly what I was thinking, 
which made me flush bright red again.
	"Oh God, Miss Hawkins, I want you so bad, I want you so bad you don’t 
understand, please don’t stop after this, please.."
	"Jonathan."
	I stared at her, suddenly terrified that she was going to say that 
tonight had been a fluke, a mistake, and that she was never going to do 
it again.  Fear grew in the pit of my stomach.
	"I am a teacher.  And I am going to teach you.  Teach you everything.  
Do you understand?"
	I nodded.
	"Say it, Jonathan."
	"I understand, Miss Hawkins."
	"Good.  Now, tell me, Jonathan… have you ever daydreamed about me in 
class?"
	Oh, God.  How could I tell her?  How could I tell her, yes, a thousand 
times in a thousand different ways, Miss Hawkins?  Her finger traced 
slowly across my chest while she waited for me to answer.
	"Miss Hawkins, I.."
	"Answer me, Jonathan.  Have you ever thought about me?  Thought about 
whether I was a virgin?  Whether I wore panties?   What it would be like 
to kiss me?  Tell me, Jonathan."
	"I…"  Her fingernail suddenly scraped harshly across my chest, leaving 
a bright red mark, causing me to gasp suddenly.
	"Tell me, Jonathan."  I hesitated.   She drew a second fingernail 
across my chest, this one burning even more than the first.  This time, 
my entire body jerked.
	"Tell me, Jonathan!"
	"Yes!  Yes, all the time, I’ve daydreamed about you since the day I saw 
you, naked, in my arms, kissing me, all those things, I CAN’T STOP 
THINKING ABOUT YOU, all right?"   
	Miss Hawkins finally smiled at me.  "I’m glad, Jonathan.  Because you 
really are my favorite student.  I’ve liked you since the day I saw you.  
So bright, so interesting, with so many ideas..  but for some reason you 
always seemed to be on the outside, looking in.  Am I right?"
	I nodded slowly.  She’d pegged me.  "Yeah, I guess so.  But I don’t 
think I’m all that bright or interesting, really."
	"You are.  And I’m going to reward you, Jonathan.  Does that sound all 
right with you?"
	Before I could even answer her, she’d begun licking at me again.  She 
started at my neck and worked her way down, slowly and methodically.  
She covered every inch of my body – my chest, my nipples, my arms, my 
belly..  She kissed and licked at all of it, inch by inch by exquisite 
inch.  Her mouth was so soft and warm, and I still could not believe 
this was happening to me.  My cock was already semi-erect again, not an 
hour after my last orgasm.  She spent a lot of time on it, giving it 
little licks and kissing it gently, all over.  It wasn’t nearly enough 
to bring me to orgasm, but it sure was enough to get me hard again.
	"Watch me, Jonathan."
	I wasn’t about to disobey.  I could have watched her until Judgment 
Day.  As I stared at her, she stood up and unzipped her dress in back.  
She made this little sort of shrugging motion, and it slipped to the 
floor, rustling a little as it pooled around her ankles.  She stepped 
out of it as gracefully as any ballerina.  Miss Hawkins was now standing 
before me wearing only her seamed stockings, her garter belt, her red 
lacy bra, and her high heels.  Her breasts were beautiful, and her 
curves were perfect.  She slid her hands down her sides, bringing them 
together side-by-side right above her panties, while she … well, I guess 
she was undulating with her hips.  I could barely breathe.
	"Get on the floor, Jonathan.  Lie down on your back."
	I did it.  I would have done anything she’d told me to.  My cock was 
almost fully erect again, as this vision of absolute beauty writhed and 
stroked herself, standing above me.  She slowly descended to the floor, 
straddling my body on her knees.  I groaned helplessly as she stopped 
stroking herself and began to stroke my body instead.  She was so close 
to me… I could feel her pussy lips with my cock.  She brushed my cock 
with them as she moved back and forth, stroking my chest.  I was so 
close to her that I was nearly inside her, but she wouldn’t quite allow 
me close enough.  After ten minutes of this, I thought I was going to go 
crazy.  
	

To be continued..

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