Mrs. Lovato had been my music technology teacher since September. The old one left due to stress and it was clear why. Our class was filled with some of the biggest shits in the school and it was difficult to understand why anyone would want to take on this class. There was a clear line between the loudest and 'popular' people in the class; the ones who always wanted the attention but never wanted to do the work. Then there was the quiet ones, generally smarter people, who just got on with their work, not bothering anyone else. That was me. I was definitely quieter, because I hated talking to people unless I had to, but sometimes, that was better.
The majority of our class was filled with boys, but we didn't really converse. Not that we needed to, they were loud enough that the whole class could hear whatever conversation they were having. Generally, whenever Mrs. Lovato left the room (and sometimes with her there), it was the topic of her nice, juicy ass and what they'd do to her. They had thought way too much about it.
I dreaded Tuesday afternoon music technology lessons. I never knew what to do, and I hated struggling, but still the idea of asking for help seemed to fill me with dread. Luckily for me, Mrs. Lovato often seemed to come by my desk as she walked round the classroom, checking I was doing okay. I loved receiving advice from her, she was my favorite teacher and any conversation with her felt too short. Of course, I didn't tell anyone this, because crushing on a teacher is not something you share with your friends. That is, if you want to keep them.
The way her long brown hair was wound into a smooth bun on top of her hair, or even better, when she let it dangle past her shoulders and curve at the bottom. She wore minuscule make up, but she didn't need it, although the mascara making her eyelashes appear even longer than before was a gift from heaven. Her fashion style couldn't have been better. Dresses just above the knee, so as not to be inappropriate but still pull off a fantastic look, and knitted cardigans draped over her shoulders. Mrs. Lovato was the epiphany of sexy but sophisticated.
I knew I thought about her way too much when I started seeing her in my dreams, particularly when she appeared in compromising positions, but I was hooked and just couldn't get enough. This particular Tuesday afternoon, I sat propping my head up with the base of my hand as I sighed at the computer in front of me. Technology was failing me again and I honestly thought I was going to cry.
"Do you know what you're doing Rachel?" she asked me, her face a mask of concern.
"um..yeah, kind of" I stuttered trying to keep my eyes on her face. It wasn't my fault she chose to wear such a revealing outfit today, not that I'm complaining. I hadn't discussed my sexuality with anyone yet, I didn't want people to notice me and start hurling 'lesbian slurs' at me.