The battered shell of a beauty stood to the right of the oak before me, asking what it was that I wanted. I stood in awe, silence and fear trying to conjure up the courage to tell her it was her that I wanted.
In May of 1999, just after turning 21-years old and trying to recover from a broken heart, I worked a construction job which I loved doing. With construction, as some of you may know, there tends to be a little alcohol involved with those who work in the trades. The beauty was a 31-year old divorced mother of two who worked as the middle school secretary by day and as the sexiest bartender in the tri-county area by night.
I knew I wouldn't have the same level of sexual skill as she, but when she asked me, I didn't let my lack of knowledge, or experience for that matter, hamper my choice to accompany her home after the bar closed.
At the bar, she continuously slid pints at me for no charge. Perhaps she was trying to build me up to lengthen my endurance level in bed, which would be put to the test later in the evening. Perhaps she knew she'd be taking on the role of instructor, I, her student. I never asked why she kept giving me the free pints, and she never brought it up.
As I sat with the guys I worked with back then, around the old wooden table next to the fireplace, playing cards and shooting pool, I'd glance over at her behind the bar from time to time and see her looking back at me with a smile. I watched her shoot down the attempts of others to buy her drinks and shots and the offers to take her to breakfast.
I can't say I blame them for trying to become the lucky one for the night. She was a slut. But she was a dead sexy slut with natural blond hair, brilliant blue eyes, a 36 D chest, a size 1 waist and carried more than enough sexuality.
When we finally got to her house, it took a total of 30 seconds before she started taking her clothes off and ordering me to do the same.
She told me to lie on the bed.
She was the second partner I'd ever had, so I really didn't know too much yet. I knew where things went, but that was seriously the most of it. She taught me how to watch a woman while the act was happening and how to feel, how to touch and how to taste, too. All while not feeling, touching or tasting anything.
"Go slower. Now faster. Down a half inch. Over a bit. Pull my hair. Smack my ass! Twists my nipples! Lick my pussy! FUCK ME!"
She covered it all.
Each time we had finished, we'd lie together in bed and talk. She told me how her ex used to beat her. And why she never went to college. The dreams she held for her little girl and boy. How she still held hope that somebody would come find her and she'd fall in love again.
Those tryst's continued until February of 2000 and only stopped because of a wreck I was in. She gave up on me as I lie dying in a hospital bed. She thought I was as good as dead. She moved on. Can't say I blame her.
So now, ten years after the classes I was in with the sexiest teacher I've ever had have ended, I wish I could go back and thank her. Thank her for teaching me that hope, and love, and compassion are in our lives each and everyday. And to thank her for teaching me more about life, than she ever took credit for.
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