My high school English teacher taught me much more than literature.

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“Uh, thanks. So is yours?” I tried to give a compliment. “Anyway, I gotta go and change or I'll miss the activity bus.”

“Let me give you a ride, Jim. You don't even need to change.” I said thanks and grabbed my stuff. I climbed into the passenger side. Mrs. B. was driving one of the massive cars of the day, a Delta 88 or something. She turned out of the parking lot, turning away from the the way to my house. “I want to pick up something at my house first. Give you a chance to see where I live.”

“Uh, isn't your family—husband, kids—aren't they there? Could be awkward.”

“I took the kids to my 's house for the weekend. Husband…he's off on “business”” Mrs. B took her hands off the wheel to make air quotes, “…if you call banging your co-worker business. He and I are pretty much done, just so you know.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Must be rough.”

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“Don't be sorry. He is a huge dick, and not in a good way. He also has enough money to pay for our house and generous child support, so I am good.” We pulled into her driveway. A modest split-level in a nice neighborhood. Good place for kids to play. Mrs. B hit the button on the garage door opener and closed it behind us before I could get out of the car. “Nosy neighbors,” she said to no one in particular.

The house was nicely, if modestly furnished. Everything was clean and uncluttered, which fit with Ms. B's personality. She gave me a tour of the house, including all of the bedrooms. In the master bath, she grabbed a towel from a linen closet and tossed it at me.

“You should shower, big boy. I can't take you home all sweaty. I'll make us some drinks—vodka?”

“Uh, sure.” Those were the days…

I retrieved my bag that had some clean running clothes in it and returned to the master shower. I turned on the water, steaming hot, stripped, opened the glass door and stepped in. I thought at the time it was a nice shower, but I know now it was a typical tract house cubical. I was thankful for the opportunity to jack off, as my had been rock hard since Mrs. B's dress rode up, exposing her lovely thighs when she got in the car. I was just soaping up my dick to get some relief when I was startled by the opening of the shower door. Mrs. B. stepped into the shower, naked, holding a plastic cup. She handed me the cup.

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“Hold this,” she said. “I'll hold your dick.” I have since seen many naked women in person, but Mrs. B. was one of the most memorable. Pure white, lightly freckled skin, perky B-cup , trimmed, fiery red hair matching her long, red tresses. “Take a drink,” she invited, smiling warmly at me as she stroked my soapy shaft and played with my balls. The drink was vodka and OJ, strong but not incapacitating. I chugged about half and offered it to Mrs. B. She chugged the rest, set down the cup and returned to playing with my cock and balls.

“God, you look beautiful, Mrs. B. So hot.”

“Thank you, Jim. I hope that is not the vodka talking. By the way, you can call me Carol now. I've sucked your cock, you've fucked my crack and I'm stroking your beautiful cock in the shower, naked. I think we are on a first name basis now, don't you think?”

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