Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 14:31:50 -0800
From: airink@hotmail.com
Subject: My First Day With Mr. C.

Standard Disclaimer:
        The people used in this story are real, whereas the story itself is
a work of fiction.  If you are too young to read this, don't read it.  If
not, enjoy!

        My First Day With Mr. C.

        I couldn't quite believe it.  I had failed a history test.  History
was probably my best subject and for me to fail was, well, extraordinary.
Naturally, I did the only thing I could think of...I begged the teacher to
let me retake the test.  Mr. C. simply looked at me and shook his head.
"Rob, you failed this test all on your own.  Why should I let you re-take
it?"
        I searched for an answer, and finally found one.  "Look, this is
our last test before the provincial exam.  Because of this failure, my
entire average is being dragged down.  Not only that, but my final mark
will be way lower as a result."  Then, using every acting talent I had
(acting being my prime obsession) I looked him straight in the eye and
pleaded with him one final time.  "Please.  I need this more than you can
understand."
        It worked.
        "Alright," he said.  "But you can't re-write the test.  There isn't
enough time for you to write it, have me mark it, and then enter your new
mark into the computer all before the school wants the final marks."  He
must of seen the look of confusion on my face as he answered my un-asked
question.  "Tomorrow is a Pro-D day.  You're going to help me sift through
files, organize reports, and help me enter all my marks into the school.
And in doing so, we'll change your mark for the last test.  Deal?"
        What was I supposed to say?  Here he was, offering me a chance to
get at pass on a failed exam.  I agreed instantly, thanked him graciously,
and began to walk out of the classroom.  "Hang on a minute," he said,
stopping me in my tracks.  "We're not going to be doing this in the school.
All my stuff is at home.  We have to do it there."  He wrote down
something on a piece of paper and then handed it to me.  Reading it, I saw
it to be his home address and the time I was supposed to be there.  "See
you tomorrow," he said as I exited the room.
        I walked home in an elated mood.  Not only was I improving my mark,
but I now had the home address of the man I had had a crush on since I
first met him a year earlier in his Social Studies 11 class.  He had an
amazing personality, and although he wasn't a particularly 'gorgeous' man,
he had a sort of ruggedness to him that I found very appealing.  He stood
just a little taller than me, probably 6'1" or so.  Like many Social
Studies and History teachers I had had, he was also a P.E. teacher, and
because of this, was in exceptionally good shape for someone of the age of
forty.  However, as I had never seen him with his shirt off, all I could
deduce was that he had broad shoulders, well developed arms, and a nicely
toned upper chest.  He had thin, short sandy brown hair and a chislled
facial structure which held his thin pink lips and the nose which, he told
our class on several occasions, "Has been broken three times."
None-the-less, he was perfect in my eyes, and that's all that really
matters, doesn't it?
        I got home and went straight to my room to grab my journal.  I sat
on my bed for a moment and thought of what to write.

January 22, '99
        So after pleading with Mr. C., I finally convinced him to change my
mark on my test.  But I'm not re-writing the test (probably a good thing
since I failed it last time.)  Instead, I get to go to his place and help
him organize all his stuff for the end of the semester.  Boring laborious
work, but I get a pass!

        The rest of the day went per usual: I finished up some last minute
homework, cleaned up anything of mine laying around, ate my dinner, went to
my dance lesson, came home, and went to bed.  Normally, since there was no
school the next day, I would stay up rather late either reading or writing,
but Mr. C. wanted me to be at his place by eight thirty and, seeing as he
lived on the other side of town and I had to catch the bus, I needed to get
up by seven o'clock.  Needless to say, I was not looking forward to
tomorrow morning.

        I awoke the next morning to the delightfully shrill sound of my
alarm.  Seven o'clock, right on the dot.  Grudgingly, I rolled out of bed
and turned my alarm off.  Deciding that this was going to be a long and
arduous day, and not really caring what I looked like, I put on my most
comfortable ensemble: black track pants, a t-shirt, and a sweat shirt.  I
was one of my of my only friends who put comfort before fashion.   After a
quick breakfast, I grabbed my jacket and bus pass, and headed out for the
bus stop.
        The bus ride only took about half an hour and so I arrived about
fifteen minutes early.  In an attempt to kill some time, I went into the
nearby 7-11 and bought myself a multi-flavoured icey-suck (the school term
for slurpee).  By eight twenty-five, I was bored out of my mind and decided
to arrive a few minutes early.  Icey-suck in hand, I walked up his front
stairs and knocked on Mr. C.'s door.
        No answer.
        'That's odd,' I thought.  'I wonder where he could be?'  I waited a
few minutes and tried again.  Slowly, the door opened and there stood
Mr. C., dressed in almost exactly what I was wearing (which he wore almost
every day anyway) and half asleep.  Putting on the biggest smile I could
muster, and using the cheeriest voice I could find, I said loudly, "Good
morning!"
        "Yes...good morning." he said groggily, then he stood aside and
opened his door.  "Welcome, to my hell."  I wondered what he meant until I
actually walked into his main room and saw the mess of papers lying
everywhere.  I quickly turned around and looked at him.  He nodded and
said, "We get to organize this," the last word emphasized as he indicated
the room with his arms.
        "Well then, shall we start?" I asked.
        "Not yet.  Need coffee."  I couldn't help but laugh to myself as he
slowly stalked into the kitchen to get his sacred coffee.  Upon returning,
he seemed a little more coherent and ready to work.  "Alright.  Let us
begin..."
        And so the day went.  Every single paper had to be identified by
grade, date, and what it was.  After that, every mark had to be recorded
and then double checked after we had finished.  As simple as the task was,
it was tedious and took us a good five or six hours (we had stopped for a
half hour lunch somewhere in there.)  At the end, we went back to my
History 12 class and changed my last test mark.  No longer did it read F.
My new mark was a bright shiny A.  Needless to say, I was more than happy.
        Well, the day was done.  I had done what I needed to do and was
getting ready to leave when Mr. C. stopped me.  Looking straight at me, he
said, "I just want you to know how much I really appreciate this.  I know
you were doing it to get a better grade, but this has taken a ton of stress
off my mind.  Thanks."
        I looked back and said, "No, thank you.  Now I can go into the
final with an A and I can even possibly get an A over all.  You've helped
me immensely."  Then there was just a moment when we looked at each other,
neither saying anything.  I was about to turn and leave when he slowly
raised his hand to move a stray piece of hair that was covering my eye.  He
then put his hand on the side of my face so that his fingers were curled
around the back of my neck.  That made me melt.  I almost didn't believe
what he did next.
        "You are so beautiful," he said in the softest, kindest voice I had
ever heard him use.  I couldn't speak.  I felt my face turn bright red as I
smiled and lowered it.  Placing his index finger under my chin, he raised
my head and asked, "I'll take that as a thank-you?"
        "That's what it was meant as," I said quietly.  Ever so slowly, he
leaned forward and, before I knew what was going on, his lips were touching
mine.  My first instinct was to pull away, but this somehow felt
incredibly...right.
        He pulled away and had an incredible amount of sorrow in his eyes.
"I'm..."  He couldn't even look at me.  "I'm sorry."
        I reached forward and took his hand in mine.  He looked up for a
second, long enough for me to say, "Don't be."  That was enough to restore
his confidence.
        "There's just something about you that enthrals me.  I can't quite
explain it.  But I've wanted to do that for such a long time."
        "I feel the same way."  He pulled me towards him and kissed me
again.  It wasn't a soft, gentle kiss like the one before.  This one was
full of passionate intensity, passion I returned whole-heartily.  His
subtlety amazed me as I suddenly found ourselves walking to his bedroom,
still kissing.
        We fell onto his messed bed and continued to kiss with the same
vigour as before.  Our hands then began to explore each other's chests.
His upper chest, as I imagined, was covered with a soft layer of hair.  His
stomach, while not incredibly defined, was flat and strong.  Very quickly,
my shirt came off and his hands were exploring my back.  His hands were
surprisingly soft, and the contact felt so good.  I'm a very tactile person
and situations, much like this one, are far more sensual than sexual for
me.  This was no exception.  I then removed his shirt and we continued
kissing like that for what seemed like hours.  Finally, we stopped, and we
lay together, my head on his chest.  His heart was racing, just like mine
was.  Eventually, he spoke:
        "Thank-you."
        I lifted my head to look at him.  "Thank-you?  For what?"
        "Everything you've done for me today.  My school work, and myself."
He smiled a little and kept talking.  "I'll treasure this day forever."
        I smiled and then leaned forward to kiss him lightly on his
forehead.  "Mr. C..."
        "Call me Walt."
        "Walt...I should thank you, for everything.  Not only did I pass
the test, but I got to be with you in way I never thought possible."  I lay
my head back down and just felt the warmth of him.
        However, the time moved on quickly, and eventually I had to go
home.  Walt gave me a ride home, but it was not the last time we saw each
other.  We continue to see each other almost every week.  In Walt, I have
found a true friend, someone I can talk to openly about anything and
everything I wanted.  Our physical relationship has never progressed
farther than it did that day, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Comments?  Send any questions to airink@hotmail.com

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most."