Just when I hit puberty, a hot bio teacher joined our school. She was an incarnation of Aphrodite, a possessor of everything that drives a man nuts. Long flowing tresses, errorless face, porcelain skin, slender waist, firm breasts, round ass, elegant walk, and tight clothes. To be honest, I just got a hard on picturing her.
Anyway, those days the only literature I worshipped was Antarvasna stories. It was a website that served you countless sex stories, each with a title horny enough to seduce Baba Ramdev. Most of the entries panned to hot bio teachers, where a horny 16 year old student would get private tuitions from a sexy lady who had ethereal dimensions. All the ladies were 36-22-36, and sluts. The guy had a 9 inch long dick, or any size bigger than that of the lady’s husband. The boy would attend all the classes, but he never gave a shit about osmosis and all that crap. The only thing he wanted to do in life was to fuck that hotty. Then, one day, they would move to the chapter called reproduction, and it would usually be a cold rainy night when her husband would be away, when he would finally fuuuccck her brains out.
But that, of course, never happened with me. Because most of the women in real world aren’t slut. Anyway, when she left the school the next year, five hundred something boys of our school found a common reason to sing the blues.
We spent years in the erotic fantasies of her, and all the while her memories slowly waned away. Now we couldn’t exactly picture her, but jerked off to whatever picture lit up our mind.
Then, in std. VIII, she made a return. Since there were two teachers for the same post, we had a referendum. She won with a whopping majority.
By that time, I’d started writing sex stories myself. That was how I utilised my Sanskrit notebook. Of course, puberty had hit me like a storm.
My nights were heavenly now. In my fantasies, I’d united with her in every location of the planet, right from Eiffel tower to our school toilet. We even discussed her in lunch.
The only pain in the ass was her fatso nephew. He was ugly as skunk, crazy as bull and fat as elephant, and so we had to keep away from him. But I’m quite sure he fancied her too.
Anyway, she elaborated everything about plant reproduction, and every time she uttered ‘sex gametes’, I swear I nearly came. The sheer imagination of she uttering ‘penis’ was beyond bliss.
But as it turned out, she never uttered penis. At least not in front of me. Just before animal reproduction, she quit teaching to marry a millionaire in the neighbor town. Happy ending.
The English teacher taught us animal reproduction in the lunch break the other day. He didn’t look like someone who’d ever had sex. He was talking about the temperature of scrotum and all, and it was boring as Baba Ramdev’s yoga DVDs.
I searched her on Facebook but her account was secured like Pentagon. Anyway, I have a photo of her and wherever I go, when people start bluffing about their hot schoolteachers, I flash her picture in front of their faces. Two days later, they come with their Bluetooth devices on, begging for the photograph. I tell them to fuck off.