My family thought I was crazy, wanting to teach teens. Maybe they were right. Sometimes the pressure is overwhelming, and if year-round school makes it to our district, I will switch to something less stressful, like juggling rattlesnakes or being a crash test dummy.

The idea of her little Nicki - at five foot two I hadn't outgrown that label - among a class full of six foot hormone-laden twelfth grade guys terrified my mother. But to this point, that hadn't been a problem.

I taught English and Drama, and I enjoyed my work.

One of my best students was Matt Welles. A tenth-grader, he was tall, fair-haired with blue eyes. A boy who made the girls' heads turn, though he didn't know it yet. He was shy, though eloquent in class.

I had tried to persuade him to join the school theater, but he had always demurred. He didn't participate in any other extra-curricular activities, I knew, but I had been hoping that drama might be where his talents met his immaturity, and would help him through the difficult school years ahead.


I'd hoped I'd have the chance to talk to his family on parents' night, but with only ten minutes remaining, he hadn't shown.

Then he walked in, followed by the man he would no doubt become in maybe thirty-something years.

Mr. Welles senior was about six foot, with broader shoulders, sandy hair, graying at the temples, and metal-framed glasses which did nothing to soften a steel-gray gaze. I was impaled by his eyes the moment they caught mine, and would have found it impossible to tear myself away from them had he not looked away, purposefully taking in the details of the room.

I found myself both relieved and disappointed to be freed from my daze, and with this came a sudden, shocking knowledge. I want this man.

I tried to fight the inappropriate feeling and behave normally, but my heart was still racing and my face felt warm as I held out my hand.

"Hi," I said, "I'm Nicki Krantz."

"Martin Welles," he said, gripping my hand firmly. Again, his eyes pinned me for a moment.

With an effort, I looked away. "Matt is one of my best students, Mr. Welles. He's very creative and articulate. I wish the whole class was like him."

"He speaks highly of you, too, Ms. Krantz. He seems to me to have been doing well this year."

"I think my only disappointment," I said, "is that I haven't been able to recruit him to the school theater. He's so creative, and so well-spoken, it would be a broadening experience for him."

"That's my fault, I'm afraid. My job makes it difficult for me to make commitments. I can't guarantee to be there to provide transport."

I nodded. "What do you do? If it's okay to ask."

"Sure. I'm a cop."

"He's a detective, Ms. Krantz," added Matt.

"Yeah, I see," I said. "I guess you would keep difficult hours. Your wife couldn't cover when you're on call?"

"There's only Matt and me, Ms. Krantz." He frowned for a moment. "Matt and I, I should say to an English teacher."

I returned his grin. "Very good, Mr. Welles. But if transport is the issue, I think we could work around that. I can be sure to have critical rehearsal and shows covered."

I turned to Martin's son. "How about it, Matt? Would you like to try out for a part?"

He looked uncertain.

"There's offstage work too, if you prefer. But I think you'd be a natural actor. When you're familiar with the medium, you might try directing or writing. Heaven knows you have the talent to write. But first you have to get involved."

Matt nodded through my speech. "Yes, Ms. Krantz, I'd like to try."

"Ok," I said, "I'm going to give you my cellphone number." I wrote the number on the back of two school-supplied business cards, hoping that Martin wouldn't notice my hand shake. "Please don't give the numbers to anyone. Call me when there's a problem, and I'll make arrangements to get Matt a ride."


It was several weeks before either Martin or his son had to use my number. In the meantime, Matt fitted perfectly into the drama group. He took a minor part in the new play, but I knew that he'd be taking more significant roles soon.

It was a Wednesday evening rehearsal when Matt called.

"Hi, Ms. Krantz. My dad doesn't know when he'll be back tonight. Can I get a ride to school?"

"No problem, Matt," I said. "I'll pick you up."


When I took Matt home after the rehearsal, his dad's car was in the driveway. I couldn't let the opportunity pass; after all, this was partly why I'd wanted to make the arrangement. I accompanied Matt to the house, and waited while he told his father that I was waiting.

Martin came to the door, Matt returning with him.

"Come in, Ms. Krantz," said Martin, holding out his hand.

"No, that's okay," I said, taking his hand. "I just wanted to thank you for letting Matt participate, Mr. Welles. He's doing very well."

"Martin, please, Ms. Krantz." He hadn't released his grip.

"Nicki, then, Martin."

Catching a movement from the corner of my eye, I turned to see Matt watching in horrified fascination as we exchanged first names, hands still clasped.

I suddenly felt acutely embarrassed. I dropped Martin's hand, and with a quick "I have to go," I turned and fled, cheeks burning.


Martin called the following evening.

"Hi, Ms. Krantz, it's Martin Welles. I hope you don't mind me calling."

My heart fluttered slightly, but I was disappointed he used my last name.

"Not at all, Mr. Welles. How are you?"

"Fine," he replied. "I wanted to be sure you were okay. You left in such a hurry last night, I figured I must have upset you."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."

"Okay," he said. "Good." He paused for a moment. "If I'd upset you, I thought maybe you'd let me buy you dinner to make up for it. Perhaps you'd let me do that anyway?"

"You really don't need to," I said, "since you didn't upset me."

"I'd like to."

"Okay. Then I'd like that."


"Where's Matt?" I asked. Martin was sitting across from me, a candle and a rose between us. He had chosen a cozy French restaurant for our Thursday evening rendezvous, and after clumsy greetings we'd returned to using first names.

"He's at home. Probably chatting with his friends on the Internet. He's used to me being out in the evening."

"I hate to be responsible for him being alone."

"I don't make a habit of leaving him, except for work," said Martin. "He thinks I'm working tonight, and I admit to felling guilty at the deception. I didn't think he'd understand."

"No," I said, "perhaps you're right. I think he misunderstood Tuesday".

"Is that why you ran?"

I nodded. "He got completely the wrong idea, and I was so embarrassed."

"He thought what, that we were falling for each other?"

I nodded. "You know how kids are."

"He should know better. I'm twice your age. Surely he can't think you'd go for an aging cop."

"You're not twice my age," I objected. "I'm twenty-six."

"Forty-nine," he said. "Close enough."

"But to think a guy like you would be attracted to an immature twenty-something, that's absurd."

"You're not immature."

"Whatever. It makes no sense."

"We probably have nothing in common, on top of the age difference," he said.

"Probably not," I agreed.

"Matt needs to get out more," he said. "He'll learn. Drama is good for him."

"He's very good, too," I agreed. "I wasn't just saying that for his benefit. He's a natural."

We ate in silence for a while.

"Why are there just the two of you?" I asked after a time. "If it's okay to ask?"

"My wife died in an accident," Martin said. "Drunk driver. Happened... ten years ago, now."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Yeah, me too, but it was a long time ago now. Matt was six. He had a very hard time of it."

"I can imagine."

"He's done very well, considering. Of course, I've thought of changing jobs, trying to be more reliable, but this is what I do. And it isn't very often that I have to be away from him, just at awkward times."

"You obviously care for him," I said. "That's more important than nine-to-five. He's a good kid."

The waiter arrived, and we ordered coffee. After we were through, and Martin had settled the check, I took his arm as he led me out of the restaurant and into the parking lot.

"Thank you," I said, taking his hand as I turned to face him.

"Thank you," he responded, "for a wonderful evening."

"It would be silly, wouldn't it?" I said.

"What would?"

"You and me. You're much too old for me."

"True," he said, squeezing my hand. I moved a little closer to him. "And you're an immature twenty-something."

"And we have nothing in common."

"Nothing. Except Matt."

"Right. And serving the community."

"And caring," he added.

"And caring". His face was inches from mine. "Oh, God," I said, releasing his hand. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed his open mouth.

He responded immediately, hungrily, as his hands pressed my back, drawing me close. His tongue sought mine, and I let him find it, pressing back against him.

Stroking my hair, he held my face against his. My heart was pounding in my breast as I tried to get closer. I pulled away from his lips, kissing his cheek before I whispered in his ear. "Come home with me."

"Yes," he answered softly. "Where do you live?"

I stepped back from him. "I'll write it down."

My hands shook as I wrote my address in my appointment diary and tore the page out for him. Then we kissed again.

"Damn," he said, releasing me. He unclipped the pager from his belt. It was flashing red and humming. "Oh, damn," he said again, looking at the message. "Of all the times."

"I understand," I said, bitterly disappointed. "Go do what you have to do."

"I'll call you," he said. "Maybe it's too much to hope for a rain check, but I'd like to see you."

I kissed his upper lip. "I really do understand," I said, "and you can have a rain check, as long as you promise, and I mean promise to redeem it."

"I do," he said, then hugged me, and was gone.


Martin didn't call on Friday, and I was dejected. But at ten a.m. Saturday, the phone rang.

"I'm sorry about Thursday," he said. "I seem always to be calling to apologize. Can I make it up to you?"

"Sure. Just redeem your rain check to come visit me. I'll even cook."




He brought flowers and wine, and complimented me on my appearance - I was wearing an almost-modest summer dress, and on the food. But he seemed pensive over dinner. After we'd eaten, we moved to the couch, and I asked him what was wrong.

"Nothing, really," he said. "It's just... I keep thinking that I must have misunderstood what happened on Thursday."

I sighed. "You're back to thinking you're old enough to be my father again, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Sure you are. So?"

"I guess I just can't imagine a pretty young thing like you being attracted to me."

"Are you kidding? You think I go around kissing guys like we did Thursday? Or that I'm leading you on, maybe?"

"No, I don't, but I still have trouble believing that it could be real."

"Hazard of your job, I guess. Always wanting proof."

He shrugged and smiled slightly. "I'm a professional skeptic, that's true."

I leaned close to him, stroking his bicep, and lowered my voice. "How real would it feel," I murmured, "if I told you I was wearing absolutely nothing under this dress?"

"God," he said, suddenly taking a new interest in the way the fabric clung to me.

"Do you think I'd tell you that if I wasn't attracted to you?"

"No, I don't," he admitted.

"Of course," I said, looking at him through my lashes, "a real detective wouldn't take my word for it. He'd have to find out for himself."

Martin made a strangled sound. His pants were visibly deformed.

I stood. "Come here, Detective Welles," I said, holding out my hand to him. "Your powers of investigation are needed to prevent a crime."

He recovered his voice. "What crime would that be?" he asked, standing and taking my hand.

Pulling him close, I kissed him. His hands roamed my back, and over my butt. I felt his cock press against me as he realized I was telling the truth, there was nothing beneath the smooth thin dress.

When his tongue sought entrance between my lips, I bit it, then drew back. "The crime of leaving here without making love to me."

He nodded. "That would be a crime."

I felt him unzip the back of my dress. I let him slip the straps over my arms, but I held the front of the dress to my chest, not letting it fall. "You need to lose some of those clothes first," I said.

I made him strip to his boxers, then I moved close, still holding my dress. As we kissed again, I hugged him, trapping the dress between us, forcing him to pull it down, away from me.

I felt it slip from my breasts, feeling the hair of his chest against me, then further, until finally it fell to the ground, and I stood naked against him.

Slipping my hands inside Martin's underwear, I stroked his hard cock, then pulled his boxers away, stroking his ass as I pushed them down, until they dropped. Then I pushed him back on to the couch, and knelt, straddling his thighs.

He ran his hands over my breasts, my nipples hardening to his pinch. Then he slipped his right hand down to my pussy. I was already so wet that his fingers slipped easily into me. Excitement tightened the skin at the back of my head as he pressed his palm against me.

I was so turned on I felt that I only needed to sink into my feelings and I would come. But it wasn't enough.

Lifting his hand away from me, I laid it back on my breast and pushed my face against his. As I pressed myself forwards, his lips moving against mine, I took his cock in my hand, stroking it against my pussy. Then, wriggling closer, I pushed him into me. Martin held my ass, squeezing me to him, as I felt him snaking deep inside.

I didn't have much room to move, pressed against him like that, but moving pressed his shaft directly to my clit, and the small movements we made soon had my arousal growing out of control. I kissed Martin savagely as the intensity grew.

As the heat of approaching climax spread out into me, I released his mouth, gasping for breath. He fastened his lips on my breasts, then started driving harder against me.

The sudden increase in stimulation overwhelmed me, and I moaned loudly as I fell into orgasm, contracting sharply around his shaft, his entire length now an engine of stimulation, keeping me high.

Pulling his head from my chest, I fastened my lips to his again, as I tightened myself around him. I felt, rather than heard, him moan, then sensed the heat as he flooded into me, the regular jerking of his cock feeling glorious against the sensitivity of my own climax.


When I finally found the energy to move, I squatted beside Martin on the couch, and lay my head on his shoulder. Martin toyed idly with my breasts.

"When does Matt expect you back?" I asked.

"He doesn't," he said, softly. "He's staying with a friend."

"Then so are you," I said, standing. I took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

No sooner had Martin joined me between the sheets, than his pager started squealing from the other room. "Oh, no," he said, putting his hands to his temples, and slid his feet to the floor.

A moment later, he came back, grinning, carrying his pager. "I'll strangle him," he said, and showed me the display.

It said "GOOD LUCK DAD".

Eyebrows raised, I asked, "Matt?"

Martin nodded.

"Why exactly is he wishing you good luck?" I asked.

"I told him where I would be. I told him about Thursday, too. I figure if we're going to see more of each other, I can't keep inventing excuses."

"Earlier you seemed to think we wouldn't be," I commented.

"I hoped."

"So did your son, apparently. I guess he got over his shock."

Setting the pager down, he slid between the sheets. "So it seems. Though I'm not sure that I have."

Martin stroked his hand along me as we kissed, over my waist, my back, my butt, stroking the edge of my breast. The smooth feel of my skin seemed to please him.

For my part, I ran my fingers over his cock, which responded slightly, but was far from hard. Impatient, I turned around, kissing his stomach. Then, taking his cock between my fingers, I kissed the head.

Taking his shaft between my lips, I sucked, stroking with my tongue, and felt him harden between my fingers. Tickling his balls, I sucked him deep inside my mouth, then pulled back, keeping my lips tight around him.

Each movement stretched his shaft further, and soon he was completely hard. I rubbed again with my tongue as I sucked, eliciting a gasp from Martin, then drew back and turned around.

Lifting myself onto him, I lay along the length of his body, kissing his neck, then sought his lips with my own, and his tongue found mine as we held each other close, his erection pressing against me.

I parted my legs and lifted my pelvis, finding his cock with my right hand and guiding him inside. Then I bore down against him, feeling him penetrate deep within, his presence inside me rekindling the excitement in my belly. Kissing his tongue, I started to move.

We rocked gently against each other, only slowly building towards arousal. I was on the point of coming for such a long time that when I did, I released his mouth in surprise as the delicious feeling flooded into me, then squeezed my head against his shoulder, panting and kissing his ear as I tried to hold him ever closer.

After that, I floated near climax, occasionally falling happily into sensual delight. Martin seemed to be continually probing deeper within me, our bodies growing together.

Gripping my ribcage, he lifted me. His lips found my left breast, and he sucked my nipple as he moved more strongly. The extra stimulation almost pushed me back over the edge, but I tried to wait for him.

I couldn't hold back for long, I was already too close, and when he flapped his tongue against my nipple, I found myself tightening around his cock, and moaned as he catapulted me into orgasm. He moved faster, and seconds later I felt the heat and pulsing movement of his shaft as he came.

As I lowered myself back along him, I took his hands in mine, twining my fingers with his as our joined bodies continued to seek perfection in pleasure in each other.


"I need to go home to change," said Martin, as we were drinking our morning coffee. "I promised Matt I'd pick him up for church. Would you like to come?"

"They'll know there's something between us."

"I hope so," he said. "There's a divorcée who thinks Matt needs a mother. Or I do. I should finally get some peace from her. But why don't you spend the day with us?"

"And the night?"

He nodded. "That too, I hope."

"When do you need to leave?" I asked.

"About thirty minutes, I guess," he replied.

"Good," I said, sliding my body onto his, and covering his lips with mine.

"Maybe forty-five," he amended, at I lowered myself onto his hard shaft.


After Martin left, I showered quickly, then put on the sleeveless lilac dress I'd chosen. I hurried over to his house, arriving just as he was ready to leave.

If Matt was surprised by my presence when we picked him up, he hid it well. "Hi, Ms. Krantz," he said.

"Matt, I think you'd better call me Nicki. When we're not at school."

"Sure, Ms.... ummm, Nicki."

With my hand in Martin's throughout the service, it was obvious to everyone that his divorcée would have to find someone else to mother. Afterwards, I spent a peaceful day with father and son.


When Matt had gone to bed, Martin and I moved outside, to sit in his back in the mild evening. There were two canvas chairs which we sat in to talk, but after a few minutes, I left mine to sit in his lap.

"Do you think it will support both of us?" I asked.

"I think so. You're pretty light."

I leaned my head back against his shoulder. "Good."

His lips were parted as they met mine, and as I stroked his tongue with my own, his hands caressed my waist and stomach, finally exploring my breasts through my clothing. His right hand then stroked my upper arm, continuing on inside my dress, where he traced the top of my bra.

Reaching back, I unzipped the back of my dress far enough to unfasten my bra, releasing it for Martin's hand to slide beneath.

As he squeezed my breast beneath his palm, and I felt myself becoming wet, his left hand was working its way up my thigh to brush against my panties. Then inside, stroking my pussy. He began to push the waistband of my panties down, and I lifted myself slightly, to allow him to remove them. Pulling them off, he also slipped my dress up to fondle my now exposed butt.

I took his hand, placing it between my thighs, and parted my legs for him to slip his finger inside. His touch was gentle, using the juices of my arousal to lubricate and caress.

Working my hand in between us, I managed to find and unfasten his belt and pants, then worked them down, finally freeing his cock from restraint. I stroked it firmly as his fingers rubbed my clit. I squeezed his hand between my thighs as my excitement threatened to take control.

"Stop," I gasped. "I want you inside me."

"How?" he asked.

"I think..." I began, then I pushed my butt firmly back into his stomach. His long shaft extended out beyond my pussy. "Yeah," I said, taking him in my hand. I lifted myself slightly, and pushed him inside, then lowered myself again. He was only a couple of inches inside, but it was enough, especially the way he was pressing hard against the front of my sex.

I took his hand again, setting it against my pussy, and he squeezed as we began slowly to rock. "Oh!" I said. "Oh, wow, that's... OH!" as he pressed against my clit. I was tightening involuntarily around his cock, squeezing his hand between my thighs.

Waves of arousal hit me hard, and I gasped for breath. Martin tightly squeezed my nipple, and I came, shaking myself against his cock. "Ohhhh!" I moaned, then turned my face back to his, wanting his lips. As our tongues joined, I felt Martin come within me.


I didn't leave him that night, and I've stayed with him more often than not since then, though I've kept my apartment until now. I usually spend Sunday mornings with Martin and Matt at their church, but in two weeks we will be there on a Saturday afternoon instead. And I won't be wearing one of my summer outfits. The dress that I wear on that day, and that day only, is white.