Right woman.

Wrong time.

Wrong place.

After seeing Kara in my classroom, I know it’s a matter of time before the shitstorm hits. My teaching career? It has a shelf life now. My job at this school? Forget it. I might have found a woman I can take my time getting to know, but it won’t be in this lifetime.

I fucked the right girl at the wrong time.

It’s one of those random events that seem harmless at the time, but it’s only after it takes place that you can see it for what it is. A life-altering moment that shifts the course of your life forever.

And not by choice.

Like a hurricane. You’re minding your own business, keeping your head down and hoping you’ve taken every precaution to avoid it. But it sweeps you up anyway. It moves you way off course, then spits you out somewhere you didn’t expect to land. And after it passes, after you look around and assess the impact, that’s when you know. The damage is permanent and irreversible. No one will get out unscathed.

Kara and I are both innocent, consenting adults. We met, we had a connection, I fucked her, and was open to having her again when the rug got pulled out from under me. I never thought she was a student, let alone one who attends the school that just hired me. What was I supposed to do? Ask every person who talks to me if they’re a senior in this new school where I teach, and happen to also be enrolled in World History?

I don’t feel wrong about what we did, but that won’t matter. Facts and truths can be corrupted by context and interpretation.

It won’t boil down to the actual timeline of meeting her, fucking her, then discovering she’s a student. If this comes out, the school administration will only see what’s wrong.

An illicit student-teacher relationship.

An abuse of power.

A breach of ethics.

They won’t see us as people, but an issue to resolve, a mess to clean up, something broken that needs to be fixed or swept under a rug.

I met Kara. We kissed. She willingly came into my motel room. I touched her, tasted her, pounded into her, took her pussy. Then we did it again. Then morning came, and weeks later, I walk into her school, and she walks into my classroom.

But that’s not how it’ll look to the higher-ups.

I spend the entire first week of my new teaching job walking on eggshells. Every day, I act like nothing happened. My new daytime routine is much like the one I had at my previous school. It includes an intense weight conditioning workout first thing in the morning and a healthy breakfast before school. After that, it’s walking the school halls, teaching my assigned history courses, mingling with other teachers, and meeting with students who have questions or need help. But this routine is somewhat different. I’m also going through the motions and avoiding any contact with Kara.

After school, I give Sam a hand with Nathan and Sofia, helping with dinner, Sofia’s homework, and both their bedtimes a few nights during the week. When I’m back home at night, I plan my teaching units, have a decent dinner, and after that, it’s where my old routine goes to shit.

When the lights go out, I have Kara all over again. It’s all in my head, getting myself off from both reliving that one crazy night, as well as this new set of images that started to play on repeat since Kara walked into my classroom. It’s cliché and crazy. I’m at the front of the classroom, but it’s empty. No other students are there. Just me. Until I turn around and Kara walks in. She’s wearing her uniform, except the plaid skirt is super-short, so short it exposes the tops of her thighs and the fact that she’s not wearing any panties. The hem of her white blouse is tied up around her ribcage, showing off her flat stomach and giving me a peep show of her big tits. And her shoes? They’re sky-high fuck-me heels. She calls me Mr. Kent as she walks in, and right away, she sashays up to the front of the class. She’s sassy and playful, turning my chair around so I’m at eye level with her cleavage. Once she has my undivided attention, she stands with her legs apart, inches up her little skirt, and starts to play with her bare pussy. She lifts her mound with her index and middle fingers, showing me her pink clit as she spreads her folds for me to see.

“You’re my teacher,” I picture her whispering as she turns her back and bends forward, her hands pressing against the blackboard. She sits in my lap, eagerly grinding her ass on my stiff cock through my dress slacks. “Teach me something.”

I went to college because I have a passion for history. I became a teacher because I wanted to give back. Because the world can use more people at the front of a classroom who give a damn. If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be fantasizing about fucking one of my students, I’d tell them they were insane. I would never intentionally cross that line or jeopardize the years I spent training to be here. Now? It’s a nightly pastime. It’s so vivid, it may as well be in person.

By the time Friday morning rolls around, I’m bracing for the possibility that sooner or later, someone will find out. The wrong someone. And I’m starting to believe that’s already the case.

Kara’s friend in my World History course.

Pattie Court.

She knows.

It’s all over her face when she sits at the back of the class. As far as I’m concerned. That’s one person too many.

On Friday night, I see no other option than to confront Kara in person. She needs to understand what’s at stake. We were both consenting adults when I fucked her. Neither of us had any idea that we’d end up in a teacher-student situation within mere weeks of that night. That part is no one’s fault. But ignoring it like it didn’t happen, not having a game plan that we both agree to, it’s fucking dangerous.

I have no one to blame but myself.

This is all my fault.

By not approaching her back on Monday when we realized I’m her teacher, and she’s my student, I fucked up.

Big time.

Now it’s time to fix it.

There are one of two possible places I can meet with Kara. We never exchanged phone numbers, so unfortunately, I have to show up out of the blue to see her.

School is not an option. It’s off the table entirely.

Option one, then, is to look for her at the midway. Although the school is back in session, the midway opens on the weekends from Friday to Sunday, right up until Thanksgiving or the first snowfall, depending on which one happens first. I know this because it’s my business to know. I took the time to peruse the midway website while I was weighing my options. The problem with this option is that it’s a public place. People will see us, and very likely, one or more of those people may have some connection to our school. No matter how innocent our conversation is, there’s the chance that if we’re seen by anyone, they can quickly jump to conclusions.

The second possible place to confront her is at her home. The risk of her parents finding out about me is high, but there’ll be fewer eyes on us. There’s definitely a better chance for a private discussion.

Twenty minutes before the midway closes, I drive to Kara’s secluded house. Parking on the street, I wait for her. There are no vehicles in the driveway, which I take as a good sign. Maybe her parents are working late. Of course, they may also show up at the same time that she does, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

After an hour of sitting in my late model Ford Mustang, a pair of headlights approaches from behind me. I see Kara’s profile in the driver seat as her Range Rover SUV passes me. I’m relieved to discover that she’s alone. Giving my car horn a honk to get her attention, I see her slow down a few yards ahead of me and pull over to the sidewalk.

I knew everything that I wanted to say, right up until she steps out onto the pavement and starts to walk toward my vehicle. But I was fooling myself into thinking that I showed up to talk about keeping what happened under wraps.

No.

That’s not it.

I take one look at her and everything changes.

I have to have her again.

I just hope she wants the same thing too.