School Appropriate Story

Disclaimer: Student/Teacher. None of the events are real.

Thank you for the reviews. Hopefully this chapter will answer some questions.

You get see some of Mr. Davis's private thoughts here, but it's hard to tell when they start at times because I know of no way to italicize them, otherwise I would.




Mr. Davis was in Kristina’s kitchen when the bell to second hour rang. It had taken him a while to find her house. He stood there while she was pouring cake batter into a pan. She was shaking, and had nearly dropped the bowl containing the batter twice.

“This is awkward,” Mr. Davis finally said, breaking the silence and avoiding Kristina’s eyes. “I, I wanted to know why you were so upset as to ditch. And why you freaked out about the story." He asked, finding more courage as he went on, and because he wanted to know the answer.

Putting the cake into the oven, she answered, “I had sex." She didn't see Mr. Davis's jaw drop. She paused. “I'm surprised you came, especially during school hours. Did I concern you that much?”

“I was concerned about the mental state of my student.” He responded defensively and professionally. “Why did having sex disturb you so much? Why can't you be in my class anymore? ”

"I had sex with Morton." Mr. Davis felt a bit hurt at this line.

"Oh. Well, he's an attractive male." He forced himself to say. "I didn't know that you two were going out? You must be pretty serious about him? Was he not good in the sack or something?"

"No... I'm not going out with him." Kristina admitted.

"Why did you have sex with him, then?" Mr. Davis asked, perplexed. "Wait, don't tell me if you were under the influence of something illegal. I'd be forced to do something."

Kristina bit her lip. "It was research for the story. I wanted to make the story accurate."

Mr. Davis was stunned. There were significant gaps between his words, "Were you a virgin?"

She nodded.

Mr. Davis slowly exhaled. "We can change your seat if you want. Did you enjoy yourself?" He did not want to hear any of the details.

"No. I kept on thinking of somebody else." Kristina answered, picking her words carefully, as she put the cake in the oven.

Mr. Davis knew in his gut who she was talking about. “I could just leave, well, actually, I should just leave. On second thought, this whole meeting thingie is unprofessional, and if you want an “A,” never happened.” He shook his head slowly while he enunciated the last two words. "And the story is nonexistant, too." He added, heading toward the door.

Surprising Mr. Davis, Kristina ran toward him and tugged/ hugged his arm rather needily.

Sobbing into his jacket, she managed an intelligible “Please don’t leave.” Letting go of his unresponsive arm, but reaching for his hand, “I’m making cake. I swear it’ll be yummy if you stay.” She wiped away a tear with his hand. “You’ll probably want that back,” She mumbled, letting go of his hand, after he had given her a quizzical look.

Overcome by the emotion of this seemingly apathetic girl, he wrapped her tightly in his long arms, and rested his chin on her head. “If you stop crying, I’ll stay. Tears disturb me.” He promised this without breaking the embrace. She seemed determined to bury her head into his chest. He stared straight ahead, at a picture of a hummingbird on the wall, caressing her back on occasion.

What now? He thought. Am I just somebody who comforts her? Do I stay and comfort her? And, after all, with what she’s gone through, why did she have to choose me as the one who comforts her? What the hell am I to her? He shuddered at the thought that he was nothing to her.

At his shudder, she drew back a little. “It’s warmer in my room, if you’re cold.” She said, innocently.

“Or we can stand by the oven,” he suggested. Even though he could rarely tell when women flirted with him, she had made this insanely obvious. The sexual story with Mr. “David” was so obvious, which meant that she wanted me. She wanted me in a sexual manner; not just to comfort, she wanted sex, too. And now she was obviously flirting, he thought. Do I speak up against this? Or at least make sure I’m not crazy. “Are you flirting with me?” He looked down at her.

She looked up, “That obvious?”

Mr. Davis nodded.

“Are you offended?” He shook his head. “Disturbed?” Another shake. “Complimented?”

“It’s complicated,” he said, pulling away from her and turning to face the opposite direction. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to drive this home." Pause. "You are my student." Pause. "If you were older, 17 and a half at the absolute youngest, and I wasn’t your teacher…I would have kissed you, or done something Mr. David would have done to make you feel comforted or loved…” He glanced back at her, then turned around. “But I’m not Mr. David, you’re not of legal age, and it’s complicated.” He ended, sounding defeated.

“So?” Kristina asked.

“You weren’t supposed to say that.”

“What do we do, then?”

“We can suffer through an awkward semester, I’ll go easy with your grades, you forget about me, obsess over some immature jackass, like Morton. I don’t lose my job, and don’t get branded as a pedophile.”

“I don’t like your plan. It sucks.” Kristina bluntly said.

“Better than you.” He muttered. “The cake is beginning to smell good.” He added, wanting to end the conversation at that point.

“You know what you have to do to get some?” She asked seductively.

“Dude, I’m 19 years older than you!” He said this, struggling to maintain a professional image.

“I meant say please, and of course wait 'til it’s done baking. I wasn’t talking about sex.” She rolled her eyes.

“Never mind,” he said. She moved closer and tugged his tie until he was following her into the living room, of course, this was with little effort on her part.

“Suits are very appealing, ya know?”

“19 years your senior!” He yelped as she pulled him down to where he was stooping to her eye level. She brought her lips to his. He kept his lips sealed, trying hard to ignore the tongue that was massaging his lips. How he longed to unseal his lips, and push his tongue into hers!

She drew back and let go of his tie. “I guess you’re serious. I wish you weren’t. I wish you would lift me in your arms and…I want to be your student, but not just for history…” She confessed.

I knew it, he thought.

“But, also, you’re the only thing keeping me sane.” She collapsed onto the couch. "That last line, that last thing that I wrote for Crystal? I feel that way."

Shit. She'd confessed how she felt. Mr. Davis bit his lip, as he sat next to her. There were a few tears falling from her sapphire eyes. He gently grabbed her jaw and brought it in his direction. He licked his lips and closed his lips around her lips. With a free hand he stroked a lock of her hair. He noticed lip balm/gloss while inserting his tongue into her mouth.

He drew back, and said very intelligently. “You taste good.” Then he resumed his mouth to its previous task.

Her tongue was slender, and it darted into his mouth easily. He would massage the bottom of her tongue and her bottom lip, while she tried to stimulate his tongue. They would switch, with him stimulating her tongue and her stimulating his lower lip.

Kristina, like Crystal in her story, felt that the stubble of Mr. Davis to be comforting.

It was quite enjoyable for the both of them. So enjoyable that when they smelled fire from the oven, Mr. Davis decided to go back to school, realizing he had been there far too long.


Kristina returned to school on the next Monday. She hadn’t spoken to Mr. Davis since Thursday. She didn’t feel cheap or used; she felt great.

Mr. Davis was nervous. He had attended school on Friday, but he was “noticeably distracted” according to one student. He kept on thinking of the worst case scenarios. He was like Mr. David in that he didn't think he'd be good at giving head, nor did he think that he would like being branded a pedophile.

As the case had been since Mr. Davis had discovered the story, Mr. Davis kept Kristina after class, and began speaking with her when the last student left.

“Sorry, I didn’t call or anything. It looks suspicious.” He apologized.

“I wasn’t expecting a dozen roses. Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Grading…wait. We really shouldn’t.”

“At your place, do you have a garage?"

"Yes..."

"Okay, so, you take me to your home on Friday, and I can duck in the car or whatnot, so that nobody will see me, and I can say I’m going to Jenny’s and tell her not to call.” She said in one quick breath.

“ Somehow, I doubt you just thought of this?” There was a sarcastic tone there.

“Um, yeah?”

“Let me think about it.”


Mr. Davis avoided Kristina on Tuesday and Wednesday. He was weighing all the pros and cons before he decided to speak with her. He was afraid that he would make another unwise decision.

He was glad to be wanted. He was also somewhat glad that he figured this out all by himself, too. That there was no need to for his friends to point out that she was flirting with him.

He wasn’t seeing anybody. His last girlfriend had dumped him about 3 months ago for being too emotionally unavailable. He had thought he was being more available emotionally with her than anybody else he had ever dated, too.

He sent an email to a lawyer friend of his, with his situation but with as a hypothetical, stating that he found this on a website, and he wondered if the situation with Crystal and Mr. David was not illegal.

His lawyer friend sent an email back, joking to represent him for a low fee if he needed it. “A penny an hour,” he jested, “for one of the best lawyers in the states; if I were you, I’d try to find a girl to do this.”

He saved this email.


On Thursday, Mr. Davis asked Kristina if she would be able to stay after school to make up a test on Friday. It was true; she had missed a longer than usual quiz when she had ditched. He also answered “yes,” when she asked if she should make arrangements.


Kristina told her mom that she was going straight to Jenny’s after school, and planned to spend most of, if not all, of the weekend there. Her mother, being extremely lenient, wished her a pleasant weekend on Thursday evening before she went to bed.
Kristina packed changes of clothes, some music, and most importantly, matching undergarments.