Ballard High was where I went to school. Having had a fairly decent education, I ended up going on to University and at that point decided that I wanted to teach. Of course, it never occurred to me that I would end up back where I started.
So now I was twenty five and teaching English at my old school. I seemed to be reasonably good at it too, as the student’s grades where not only maintained, but if anything slightly improved. The initial ragging that I received during my first lessons was to be expected, but they were no different to what I did ten years earlier to my own tutors (some of whom were still there). I knew then how a teacher should best react, and I used my knowledge to good effect. Within seconds of entering the classroom I pinpointed who my opponent was; Jimmy Smith. You could tell that everybody was looking to see what he would do.
I needed to learn all their names — and fast, so I put a sheet of paper on the front right-hand desk and told the girl sitting there to put her name in the rectangle corresponding with her seating position in the class and then pass it on. While they were completing the form I half turned and began writing on the white board.
I wrote; ‘Basil Turner, known to my friends as Baz. But you can call me Mr. Turner or Sir. Turning back quickly and moving to one side, my name was now visible. I waited for Smith to pipe up, knowing he would say one of two things, knowing also that I had an answer to both.
“Baz! Basil! Basil Fawlty!”
The class giggled.
My timing was perfect; he had just finished writing his name on the piece of paper and I quickly read it upside down.
“Ah, and you must be… what’s that? Jammy Smith?”
The class chuckled at that, but I pressed home my advantage, “Now why did I think that you might suggest Basil Brush instead? Believe me, I’ve heard all the jokes before — and some were even funny!” I smiled when I said this, but I was close to Smith and I was looking directly down at him. My smile faded, “Now Jammy, are there any more jokes that you want to crack at my expense?”
Jimmy wasn’t used to a challenge like this and all he could do was shake his head dumbly. I spun on my heel and walked back to the board, where I wrote in big block capitals ‘BULLYING’. I turned back to face the class.
“Bullying,” I said. “That was what I was doing to Jimmy just now, both by name-calling and by an aggressive demeanour.”
It looked like I had the class’s attention now, so I continued, “I know that you are going to take the Micky out of my name whether I like it or not. That’s one of the perils of teaching. But I want you to be aware that it can be the first step on the road to bullying.” I quickly scanned the class to make sure that there was nobody who could be termed ‘overweight’ and then said, “You may call somebody ‘Fatty’ and consider it a term of endearment, with no intention of hurt or insult. And the person in question may seem to respond positively to it.”
I paused and was rewarded by Jimmy’s hand rising up to ask a question, “But, what if everybody has a nick-name? Surely it would be alright then?”
“It sounds a good idea and, possibly, a fair one. But ‘Baz’ and ‘Smiffy’ wouldn’t be in the same league as ‘Fatty’, ‘Titch’, ‘Stinky’ or any others you can think of.”
Smith automatically looked across the room at one of the other students. I could see that he was of a diminutive stature and mentally kicked myself for not spotting that. But it must have struck a chord with Jimmy. I let him speak out.
“Alfie, does it bother you… you know if we call you that?”
I could see that Alfie was about to respond with a dismissive reply and I looked straight at him and cocked my head. He paused, then realised that perhaps for the first time he could say what he really felt.
“I… guess that I would prefer to be called Alfie.”
I spent the rest of the lesson discussing issues of a similar nature. The whole class, girls and boys, joined in and expressed their opinions. They seemed to respond to this unorthodox form of a lesson. All I had to do now was maintain the momentum. This was just one of my GSCE classes (it had been suggested that this one might be the most problematical). I was lucky; I didn’t have to teach the third class. However, I did have to take lessons with other year groups and some of them were pretty trying. However, the start that I had made with Year 11 seemed to have a knock-on effect and the youngsters showed me a reasonable amount of respect.
After four years, I had a reputation of being a teacher that pupil’s wanted in the classroom. It was hard work at times, but I was proud of my achievements. However, such dedication has a price and my private life suffered. At University and afterwards I had few girlfriends, but since returning to Ballard I’d effectively been celibate.
Wednesday afternoon’s lessons were scheduled to take place in Room 34, opposite Room 32 and next to the Art Room in 33. ataşehir escort bayan The fourth side of the square formed a congregating area which led onto the stairwell.
I got into the habit of starting my homework marking after the lessons. It was nice and quiet up there on the top floor and I could get quite a lot done. One day, I finished the marking more quickly than usual, packed my bag and got up to leave. As I shut the door, I noticed movement through the small door window of the Art Room. I knocked and went in.
Maggie was the Head of the Art Department. I knew that she sometimes stayed behind and used the class (and her office at the back) as her studio.
“Hi Maggie,” I said. “I didn’t realise you were still here.”
She turned to face me. She usually had her dark brown hair tied in a ponytail, but now it hung down loosely across her shoulders. She had also changed into a flowing robe, not exactly a Khaftan, but then not exactly a smock either. She had obviously been painting and appeared to be in the process of cleaning her brushes. The canvass was facing away from me and I was tempted to walk over and have a look, but realised that an artist might not appreciate having her work viewed before it was finished.
“I’m just tidying up,” she replied. “It’s surprising how an empty classroom aids the creative juices.” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled at her own private joke. We talked as she continued to clear her things away.
“I’d heard that you use the classroom as a studio for your painting, but I’ve never actually seen any of your work. May I have a look?”
“I’d prefer it if you didn’t see my current project, but I’ve got a couple of canvasses in the office.” She led the way into the room at the far end of the class. I noticed that the small window in the door had been covered with a piece of cardboard, but the high windows to the side allowed ample light into the room. Maggie picked up a couple of paintings and turned them round to show me. I was taken aback, because I hadn’t expected to see portraits. I didn’t know the subjects, but I looked at them open-mouthed, because they looked so real — almost as if they could step out of the confines of the canvass.
“Wow,” I said. “They’re really good. Who are they?”
“Oh, it’s a private commission. They’re getting married next month and wanted a matching pair of portraits.”
“Is that what you specialise in?”
“It’s what helps to pay the rent, but I prefer ad hoc studies really.” She paused and hung her head on one side. “Actually, you may be able to help me there.”
“Me? How?” I asked.
“I’d like to do some sketches of you.” She saw the doubtful look on my face and tried to put me at ease, “Don’t worry. You don’t have to pose or anything. Next time you’re doing your marking, why don’t you come in here and do it? It’ll be nice and quite and I won’t disturb you. I’ll just use pencil or charcoal and sit observing as you work.”
I scratched my head and gave a neutral reply, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
She stood looking at me for a moment and then said, “I think you’d better go now.” I was a bit put out, feeling as though I was being dismissed, but then she explained, “I’ve got to get changed.”
I left the office and closed the door behind me. Looking back I now understood why the window was covered. As I walked away I found myself thinking about Maggie taking off her painting outfit. Although she was ten years older than me, I couldn’t help wondering what she looked like underneath it.
A week later, I sat in the classroom after the GSCE students had left and looked at the pile of marking I had to do. Then I looked out of the window at the bright sunshine playing on the newly planted trees at the front of the school. I had to do the work, but I didn’t feel like being there on my own, so I thought about taking up Maggie on her offer.
When I walked into the Art Room there was no sign of her, but the office door was closed. I walked up to it and knocked.
“Just a minute,” she said. “I’m just changing.”
The door opened and there she stood in her painting dress and with her hair hanging loose again. I stood with a pile of papers under my arm and a briefcase weighing down the other. I wasn’t sure what to say, but Maggie pre-empted me.
“So, you’ve come to sit for me after all?”
“Well, I need to do this work and you wanted a subject, it seemed only natural.”
“Good. Well, you just carry on and I’ll sketch you while you work.”
I sat down and began to work. At first I was a little self-conscious, aware of the faint scratching sounds of the pencil and the rustling of the paper as Maggie turned a page. But before long I became absorbed in the papers I was marking and forgot about her.
When I was not far from the bottom of the pile, out of the corner of my eye I noticed Maggie get up and walk across to the windows. Curious, I looked up to see what she was doing. As escort kadıköy the late sun had moved across the sky, it had reached a position where it was being reflected from a neighbouring house. The light was blinding and she had decided to pull the blinds to cut out the distraction.
However, as Maggie stepped across in front of the window in order to pull the cord, the rays silhouetted her body within the flowing gown she was wearing. It was almost as if the material was transparent. Her breasts were clearly unfettered by the constraint of a bra and swung as she moved. I’d idly noticed this movement earlier, by now I knew why. The blinds closed and prevented me from seeing anymore, but I found myself wondering if she was completely naked under there.
My concentration blown, it took me twice as long as it should have to finish the remaining papers. Finally, I sighed with relief and shoved the completed sheets into my briefcase. I looked at Maggie, who simply stared at me and then madly scribbled.
“Stay still,” she hissed, ripping off another page and starting another drawing.
When she looked at me it was as if she was scanning my face, determining where all of the lines and shades were to be found. The speed at which she worked was breathtaking — I almost expected that I would see insane doodles when I was allowed to peek. But to my surprise, the last picture captured a remarkable likeness. It was almost as if I was looking in a mirror, but somehow she had managed to capture the things that I see in myself, rather than just the outward image.
Margaret sat back, looking exhausted. She looked at me again and her face softened from its previous determined concentration.
“There, I think that I’ve got what I wanted. Would you like to see it?”
Her look was almost one of a post-coital glow. I had never seen such passion in an artistic exercise before.
“I think I’d like to paint you Baz. Properly, that is.”
“Properly? What do you mean, properly?” I asked.
“As nature intended, of course.”
“You mean… nude? No way! I couldn’t… I’d be too embarrassed.”
“Tell you what; we’ll take it slowly, one step at a time and if you aren’t comfortable at any stage, then we’ll stop.” She smiled in a friendly, encouraging manner.
I can honestly say that I had absolutely no intention whatsoever of posing for Maggie. I’m not a prude by any means, but I just couldn’t do it. I simply couldn’t sit naked in front of a woman — I was sure that I hadn’t the self control to keep my cock limp!
The next week my usual lessons were cancelled as the students were sitting their examinations, but the following week I was back in Room 34 for the last session of the day. It was different this time though, as the youngsters no longer had to study for the exams that had just been completed. The lesson instead took the form of a free discussion on careers. When the bell went I was left alone once more. I had no reason to stay behind, or to enter that Art Room, yet I felt compelled to do so.
“Baz!” Margaret greeted me as I walked through the door. “I was hoping you would come. Are you going to sit for me?”
I was already regretting my decision to walk into the room. But she saw the worried look on my face and said, “Don’t worry; I just want you to sit with your jacket off so that I can do some studies.”
Margaret led me into her office / studio and closed the door.
“Now, off with your jacket and sit on the stool over there.” She indicated a solid looking wooden seat that I had to stretch up to perch myself on.
She sat on a chair opposite me and picked up a large sketch pad. I was surprised to see that she was using charcoal this time. She told me to look up towards the corner of the ceiling and I gradually relaxed as she worked. In fact, the process of sitting quietly and letting my mind wander was almost cathartic in a way. My reverie was gently broken by a soft sigh from Margaret. The charcoal stick had broken and she got up to fetch a replacement. I watched as she walked across to the corner I had been looking towards and bent down to open a box.
Memories of Maggie passing in front of the windows as she closed the blinds returned as the material of her garment formed itself to the curve of her back, buttocks and legs. I no longer wondered if she was naked underneath — there was absolutely no trace of panties, not even a thong. Almost immediately my lack of self-control made itself apparent and I could feel my cock stiffening in appreciation.
Margaret returned to her chair and continued with her work. My face felt hot as I was sure that the pulsing lump in my trousers must be visible, but she seemed unaware of my predicament. I hoped that if I concentrated on my pose the erection would go away. But the harder I tried, the stiffer it remained.
“Well, I think that’s enough for one evening,” she said eventually. “Next time I want you with your shirt off, OK?”
“Er, right,” bostancı escort I said. I grabbed my jacket and trying to drape it over my arm so that it hung down in front of my trousers, I quickly said goodbye and departed.
The following Wednesday I was debating with myself whether or not to sit for Margaret again. My resolve wasn’t particularly great as I’d found myself having a number of erotic dreams about her and, inevitably, I found myself slipping through the door once more. As I approached the office at the back I realised that the door was slightly ajar. For a second or two I saw her standing with her back towards me, naked. She lifted her gown up over her head and let it fall down over her body.
In that brief glimpse I noticed the following; that Maggie had an even tan all over, with no bikini or costume lines. Her body shape was that of a classical artistic beauty; neither skinny nor fat, but endowed with the most desirable of curves. My body betrayed me again and the twitching within my underpants was beyond control. I was about to turn away and escape the embarrassment when Margaret suddenly turned and caught sight of me through the crack in the door.
“Oh, hello Baz. I’m nearly ready for you. Would you like to come on in?”
The unintentional (and seemingly innocent) double entendre did nothing to calm my libido. I sat down on the stool again and tried to act casual as I crossed my hands on my lap. Margaret merely glanced in my direction before giving me my instructions.
“Jacket and shirt off please, and you might as well take off your shoes and socks.”
I remained seated as I removed my jacket and tie. I was more than a little nervous by now and, frankly, struggled to get my shoes and socks off because of the rather large obstacle that was occupying the front of my trousers. As I straightened up I couldn’t help but notice just how much my erection showed. I swear that Margaret smirked before beginning to make strokes upon the paper with the charcoal.
Throughout the one and a half hours I sat there, Margaret concentrated on her work without saying a word. She stopped eventually and stood up to look at the pages that were scattered around her. I took it as a signal that the session was over, stood up and walked over to have a look at the sketches. I’d worried that she might have noticed my erection, but the pictures made it very clear that, not only was it obvious, but that she had clearly spent a great deal of effort getting the outline accurate.
I figured it was probably time to leave and turned to Margaret to say goodnight, but something stopped me; she was chewing on her bottom lip. She looked as though she was about to say something, so I waited.
“Baz, will you sit for me again… I mean properly, this time?”
My mouth suddenly went very dry. I croaked, “You mean… naked?”
Margaret nodded in reply, but then said, “You can just take your trousers off to start with if you like.”
There was absolutely no way that I had ever expected to agree to such a request and it was as I was trying to form a suitable polite — but negative – reply that I looked down and found my hands autonomously lowering my trousers to the floor. Having gone thus far, it seemed daft not to carry on. I stepped out of the legs and threw my cream chinos onto the pile made up by my other clothes. I sat down on the stool again; even more aware now of the erection that was tenting my boxers.
After another thirty minutes of scribbling, Margaret looked straight at me with a determined expression on her face. “I want you naked now Baz,” she said. “You’re not going to let me down are you?”
By now I was so nervous that my hard-on was beginning to wane. I stood up and turned away from her in order to push my underpants down. When my cock popped out it was lower than horizontal and I could see it wilting as I watched. In a way it was a bit of a relief. I turned back round with my hands held in front of my genitals and the sat back down.
“Can you sit in the same position you were earlier, please? That’s it, one hand on your hip and the other on your thigh.”
She seemed to be looking straight at my manhood when I moved my hands, but very quickly returned to her sketching. She continued for a while, but I got the impression that she was frustrated by her work in some way. I tried to relax as I wondered what was wrong, but then I found out.
“Its no good, this is hopeless,” Maggie said suddenly. She stood up and put the pad and charcoal down. Without any warning she grabbed the hem of her robe and simply swept it up over her head and threw it aside. If I had thought she looked sexy from her rear view, from the front she looked fabulous. I hadn’t realised just how large and firm her breasts were. The areolas of her nipples were small, but the nipples themselves were large — almost three quarters of an inch across. Her bush was thick and dark, but as she sat back down with her legs parted it was still possible to see her pink pussy lips.
I defy any man not to get an immediate and powerful erection in such a situation.
“That’s better!” she said, with a big grin on her face. She set to work once more and this time seemed more pleased with the results.