I was a senior in high school at the time. My mother had kept me home an extra year as a child, so I was already well into my 18th year, and I was especially ready to move beyond the local school culture.
We lived in a small neighborhood of Town Houses, a popular design of the 70’s era, We had moved into the house when it was new just 5 years earlier. I can still recall the excitement, the new house smell, ongoing construction just down the block, and a kitchen furnished with harvest gold colored appliances.
It came as quite a surprise when my math teacher moved into the house just 3 doors down. It dawned on me that it certainly might be helpful to have help with math problems just a few short steps from home, but I can also remember feeling a little strange to have a current teacher as a neighbor. I am not sure why I found it somewhat unsettling; perhaps it was because I was unsure if the teacher-student relationship would extend to my yard or if it would somehow be different.
I have to say that my reputation at school was solid. I was one of those students who was completely involved, band, chorus, soccer, track. There were times that I wondered how I was able to keep on top of my studies, but, in fact, I excelled in the classroom as well. But, when I was home, school was the last thing on my mind, and I did not want that spoiled by constantly running into a teacher!
It soon became apparent that my concerns were unfounded. In class, Mr. Sanders had a very no-nonsense approach. He expected a lot from us, and moments of fun, off-topic conversations were rare. But at home, he was relaxed, and I found that I enjoyed it when he saw me outside and asked me to lend a hand with moving a piece of furniture or unloading his truck after a visit to the grocery store. At one point, it dawned on me that we tend to view our teachers as if they existed in the single dimension of school, and rarely consider that they have a home life just like us, a family, a dog , chores like cutting the grass.
There was not a whole lot of grass on our small house lots, but Mr. Sanders did have a dog. He also had a wife, but no kids. Mrs Sanders was not terribly remarkable, not in the way that a healthy high school male of that time viewed women. She had long straight hair, a cute face with a small pixie nose and very small breasts. But, she did have a lovely smile, the type that made you feel like she liked you from the moment that she met you, and she had a beautiful voice, smooth and comforting.
As the end of the school year approached, Mr. Sanders encountered me in the hall and said, ” I meant to ask you this past weekend if you might consider taking on the job of watching our dog while we are away for two weeks in June.”
Being one who always wanted to please the adults in my life, I barely took time to consider the request when I blurted, “Of course!”
I was always looking for ways to make extra money in the summer, and this was a job that would require a minimal investment of time on my part. Mr. Sanders proposed that I stop by the Saturday following graduation so that he could review the particulars, where the food was kept, how often to let the dog out and contact information in case I had questions.
The next week or so was a blur of activity as we prepared for graduation, and then, in an instant school was done. We collected our diplomas and closed the door on that chapter of our lives. The following Saturady I made my way over to the Sander’s home at the appointed hour. Mrs. Sanders answered the door and greeted me, expressing her pleasure that someone so responsible would be taking care of the dog while they were gone. She showed me how much food they gave Snoopy ( a very popular name for dogs at that time). She also showed me a list filled with contact information, including people who could help out if I needed questions answered and could not get in touch with her or her husband. She asked that I let the dog out for 15 minutes 4 times a day. Then she handed me the key to the door. Snoopy came over and sniffed me, and then he rubbed against me.
“I think that Snoopy and I will do just fine,” I said.
“I am quite sure that you will,” her voice was soft and reassuring. And then, almost as an after thought, she said, “Would you mind bringing the mail in each day? It becomes pretty obvious that no one is home if the mailbox starts to overflow.”
“Sure,” I responded. I bid her a wonderful day and headed home.
The next week included the final two days of school, an end of the year celebration picnic that I had planned with some close friends, and, on Friday, the departure of the Sanders. I lent Mr. Sanders a hand, loading their car with luggage for the trip and then held Snoopy and waved goodbye as they pulled out of the driveway.
“Just me and you for the next two weeks,” I said to Snoopy.
He looked at me and licked my face.
We settled into a routine over the weekend. I walked over to the house in the morning and let Snoopy out, put food bahis firmaları and fresh water in his dish and then sat on the step while keeping an eye on him. He was excited to see me, and soon began to anticipate my visits at noon, dinner and just before bed. He quickly became my friend, and I even took him for walks about town just to spend extra time with him.
On Monday, I awoke to rain. Snoopy still had to go out, but I was not about to join him outside, opting instead to sit at Sander’s kitchen table. The layout of the house was exactly like ours, so I felt quite at home in no time. At lunch time, I let Snoopy out and then went to the front door to get the mail. The box was nearly full. Apparently both Mr. and Mrs. Sanders enjoyed magazines, and this was the time of the month when they typically arrived. I had a notion to sort their mail, but then thought that they might find that a bit odd. So, I found an empty basket and laid the items in it, thinking that I might need a box by the end of two weeks if the volume of mail continued at this rate. It was as I was turning to retrace my steps down the hall back to the kitchen when I noticed that one of the magazines was in a brown paper sleeve. Curious, I picked it up and saw that the return address was Playboy.
I was shocked, literally, I felt like I was unable to move or to think clearly. I was simply unable to process the idea that my math teacher and neighbor, Mr. Sanders, would subscribe to such a magazine. I must have been blushing, after a moment I came to realize that my cheeks were warm. I had never seen a Playboy magazine, but I had certainly heard about them in the locker room. I had never seen a picture of a naked woman, but I had come to understand that some women posed naked, some even danced naked at clubs, but that was simply not the kind of magazine or the type of establishment that men I knew frequented. Or did they? Here I was in my math teacher’s living room, holding a magazine that contained pictures of naked women.
My first instinct was to bury it at the bottom of the pile. Mr. Sanders would never know that I had seen it, and I would keep the secret forever. My second inclination was to look at it, to gently slide it out of the paper, just enough so that I could see the cover and quickly slide it back inside.
I was nervous. If I tore the paper, Mr. Sanders would surely know. Cautiously I slid the magazine out of the paper jacket. PLAYBOY was written across the top, and a Brunette with a beautiful smile was scrunched up, posing in front of what might have been some sort of stained glass. I slid the magazine back in and put it at the bottom of the pile. And then I let Snoopy back in the house and walked home, totally hoping that my mother would not see me walking in the door with my erect penis straining at the crotch of my shorts!
I told myself before returning to the Sander’s home at dinner time that I must not succumb to the temptation of picking up that magazine again. And I listened to my own counsel. Again at bedtime, I was successful at not even thinking about leaving the kitchen. I had no business in the living room anyhow, I told myself. That night I went to bed and, although I had taken a slight detour earlier in the day, I congratulated myself on getting back on the straight and narrow path of acceptable behavior.
It lasted through breakfast the next morning. But at lunch time, it was time to get the mail. There were only a few things in the box, but when i dropped them in the basket, the brown paper sleeve was still visible, sticking out at the bottom of the previous day’s pile. I reached for it.
With reckless abandon, I pulled the entire magazine out of the sleeve. I stood there and slowly opened it up, quickly paging through till I came to the first pictorial. It was confirmation, women really did pose naked for magazines! Beautiful women, with voluptuous breasts, loads of hair covering their crotches, and coy smiles. I was suddenly stiff again, there was no denying that the world had quickly become an even more wonderful place! I could never have fathomed on my own that this type of material was available. I wanted to see it all at once, but then the mature, thoughtful side of me took over. One pictorial, that was it, that was all that I would look at. I slowly paged through to the end and then backed up and looked at it again. By the time 15 minutes had passed, I had practically memorized each of the pictures, the way her expression changed from innocent to provocative, the way her pose changed from the shy girl next door to the vixen that every male teenager dreams of.
I gradually slid the magazine back into its sleeve. very slowly, making sure that no one would ever be the wiser. And then I let the dog in, petted him on his head and closed the door behind me, once again, hoping that my mother would not be in a position to notice me when I walked inside the house.
She was facing the stove as I walked briskly by the kitchen and called out , “Hi mom.”
And then I raced up kaçak iddaa the stairs and closed the door of my bedroom behind me and stretched out on the bed. I was not yet comfortable with pulling my shorts down in the middle of the day, but I did not hesitate to slide my hand under the loose waistband and cup my cock and balls in my palm as I scrolled through the images that were still fresh in my mind. The orgasm came quickly. I had not even prepared with a tissue or sock. Soon hot cum was shooting into my underwear as my body experienced spasms of pleasure.
I rested, intending to lay there and allow the feeling to slowly ebb, but I heard my mother’s footsteps in the hall and quickly pulled my hand out of my shorts as I saw the door knob begin to turn. She walked in with a basket of freshly laundered and folded clothes.
“Oh, there you are,” she paused before proceeding, “Maybe you could put these clothes away and bring the basket back downstairs. I have another load in the washer.”
She looked at me as if she had something else to say, but then turned and walked out the door, leaving it wide open. I glanced down and noticed a wet spot on my shorts. Had she noticed it as well? Did she know what I had been up to before she came in? I vowed not to look at the magazine again. After cleaning up in the bathroom, I put on a clean pair of shorts, put the clothes in my dresser and then picked up the basket and returned it to the laundry room before picking up my tennis racket and heading out the door.
The next two days were uneventful. I added to the top of the stack of mail but did not retrieve the magazine. That did not prevent me, however, from jerking off each night to the thoughts of the woman in the pictures. I rationalized that, somehow, she could be interested in a young guy like me and would be more than willing to teach me the finer points of enjoying sex. I was too young to understand that the finer points of sex were actually directed at helping your partner to achieve the greatest orgasm possible, but that was a lesson for another day.
It was near the end of the first week, and I was beginning to look forward to having the Sander’s return from their trip. It would be great to collect my pay and to have the temptation of returning to the magazine swept away. On Saturday, I opened the door, expecting a hungry and excited Snoopy to greet me, but he was not there. I called for him, but there was no response. I searched the first floor and was unable to locate the dog. There was no question that he was there the previous night, so I determined that he had to be on the second floor of the house. I climbed the steps and saw that the door to the front bedroom was ajar, so I pushed the door open to find Snoopy fast asleep on the couch. He picked up his head and saw me and then raced to greet me.
Somewhat relieved, I glanced around the room my jaw dropped in amazement. Taped to the walls were the centerfolds from numerous Playboy magazines. I could not believe my eyes. The room was obviously used by Mr. Sanders as a study. His desk was in the corner, a shelf with math books stood nearby, Is this where he prepared our exams? How could he possibly concentrate on his work when all of these pictures of naked women surrounded him? How could this be the same focused, well-regarded member of the faculty whom I had come to know as an accomplished teacher of mathematics? I knew that I had no business on the second floor. I knew that Snoopy was now waiting impatiently to go outside, but I could not draw myself away from the doorway. I was dumbfounded by the images within view.
As I turned from the doorway, it first occurred to me that Mrs. Sanders was not only aware, but had to be fully supportive of Mr. Sanders interest in viewing and displaying images of naked women. What kind of woman would allow that in her home? What would my mother think? I knew that I was certainly not going to ask her! I knew that I could not share a word about with this with anyone. It has been a secret that I have kept for decades.
Snoopy was glad to get outside, but he was also happy to come back in and receive attention from me. I promised him a long walk later in the morning, as soon as I was finished mowing our postage stamp sized lawn. And, I was good to my word, even though Snoopy had no way of remembering my promise, even if he had understood it!
Of course, I did take a quick break and visited the bathroom where I sat with my pants down, closed my eyes and envisioned the woman whose picture was directly in front of Mr. Sander’s desk. She was laying back, her legs spread wide open, her hands cupping her breasts. It was too much to handle. The image alone practically made me cum, but my tissue covered hand put me over the edge and soon the tissue was capturing the warm cum pumping from my cock. I now had two resolutions. The first being not to pick up the Playboy magazine, the second not to ever again climb the stairs in Mr. Sander’s home.
Snoopy and I enjoyed the walk. As we took a turn through kaçak bahis the large park in town, I found that more than a few girls my age stopped in mid conversation with their friends to come over and meet Snoopy. I resolved to bring him for a walk in the park each evening of the next and final week for which I was responsible for him!
Life went according to plan for the first three days of the second week. I spent a lot of time with Snoopy. The Playboy magazine was buried under and increasing pile of mail, I did not even consider visiting the second floor den of iniquity, and each evening Snoopy and I talked with no less than a dozen girls in the park. And to top it off, each night before drifting off to sleep, I played with my cock while keeping the images of naked women alive in my memory. It got to the point where I did not even care that my PJ’s were starting to get stained. Who would notice anyway?
Thursday arrived bright and sunny. I felt the heat even before I kicked off the sheet that covered me. Summer had truly arrived, and we were going to get a taste of the kind of heat that we were going to experience the next couple of months. I stripped off my PJ’s and pulled on just a pair of blue gym shorts and a t shirt. I went downstairs and grabbed two cookies that my mother had made the previous evening and poured myself a glass of milk.
“Don’t expect that to substitute for a good breakfast,” my mother chided.
“Just an appetizer, ” I responded, grinning as I went out the door. I was concentrating on the cookie, too focused to even notice that there was a car in the carport behind the house. I opened the door and called out for Snoopy. He did not rush to greet me. My thoughts immediately turned to what had transpired the last time this had happened. Cautiously, I walked down the hall and looked into the living room. There was no doubt that he was not on the first floor. I gathered up my courage and began to ascend the steps. Just beyond the half way point, I looked up and nearly lost my balance as I looked into the eyes of Mrs. Sanders!
“Mrs Sanders!” I almost stammered.
“It is ok, John,” she said. “I am sorry to have scared you. I should have left a note on the door.”
“I was worried when Snoopy was no where to be found downstairs,” I said after regaining some composure.
“He is a lucky dog to have such a good friend look after him,” she smiled.
It was the smile that set me at ease. I turned to make my way back to the first floor.
She followed me and asked me to stay for a cup of tea as she reached to put the kettle on the stove. She went on to explain that their vacation had been cut short when Mr Sanders had been called to attend to his sick father. She had elected to come home for a few days, pick up Snoopy and the join him. She invited me to sit at the kitchen table and it was only then that I noticed that she was wearing a large shirt, most likely one that belonged to Mr. Sanders. The hem landed midway down her thighs, but the cutout section on the side swept up to just below her hips. And all I could see was skin. As she turned I notice that the top two buttons were open, and, even though her breast were small, there was just a hint of cleavage showing. It was almost more than I could bear to sit there with a mature woman, wearing just a shirt standing 4 feet in front of me saying something about sugar.
“What was that?” I asked.
She repeated the question, “Do you like sugar in your tea?”
“Oh yes, please, and milk as well,” I recovered.
She placed the tea cup in front of me and then brought over a tray on which was a creamer and sugar bowl. She turned once more to open a drawer for spoons and I briefly saw the out line of her ass before the fabric of the shirt fell straight. My mind was racing as I tried to process the situation. I was sitting in the kitchen of the home of my math teacher. He was not home, and his wife was serving me tea, wearing nothing more than one of his shirts.
She placed the spoon on my side of the table and then sat down. I was dying to know if she was wearing panties. Every indication was that she was not, but I could not be sure.
“It looks like you did a great job with Snoopy. He seemed so happy when I got home last night. I hope you know how much we appreciate having someone trustworthy like you to help us out when we are away.” she said.
It was not my imagination. She stressed the word trustworthy, she hovered over the word just a little longer than necessary.
“Thanks for asking me to take carre of Snoopy. We have become good friends,” I replied.
I then went on to tell her about how Snoopy had accompanied me on walks in the park. I even hinted that he was much more successful at drawing the attention of the girls my age than I was! She smiled. I could have melted at that moment. What was it about her smile that soothed my nerves?
She asked me about the girls in my class at school and whether I happened to have a crush on any of them. In my mind I blurted out that the only crush I had was sitting directly across from me, but, of course, that thought never crossed my lips. I simply shrugged and suggested that there were a few girls who happened to be rather attractive.