A History Lesson

My high school history teacher wore light blue polyester pant suits straight from the seventies, not the Saturday Night Fever seventies, but something you’d imagine the suburban swingers set wearing. His hair was styled in such a way you could only describe as Beatles-like and every time he wrote something on the black board his shirt would lift up to show his belly. If the Marquis of Sade had been born in an anonymous rural town in 1950’s Quebec you’d end up with a man a lot like my grade 10 history teacher. 

He was known as the kind of guy you could go talk to. Someone who would listen to all your dirty teenage secrets. Wanting to put this rumor to the test, I started hanging out in his office, a decision that would mark the beginning of a strange student teacher relationship. If anything, I was a bad teenager and I certainly had my fair share of stories to tell and what teenager doesn’t like the sound of his/her own voice. I certainly pushed the limits of the kind of things that are appropriate to confess to your high school teacher. What soon became obvious is that he resembled the Marquis of Sade in more than one way. Innuendos started popping up all over the place and although he never came out and said it, I knew that he and his wife were not strangers to kink in all of its forms. 

I would sometimes were a dog chocker around my neck to school and he did not frown at my choice of accessory like other adults were inclined to. In fact, he more then approved. One day, in his office, he tugged on it a little and asked me if I had any idea what such a thing meant and suggested. I nodded my head and looked at him with my big brown eyes, a look that perfectly married the innocence and playfulness that only a fifteen year old can muster. 

The only rule was blatant honesty. He occasionally lent me money to fund my extracurricular activities, which at the time meant getting as high and drunk as humanly possible.  He never asked why I needed an extra 40$ as long as I paid him back as promised. Anything was a go, all I had to do was be honest. A point clearly illustrated when he caught me cheating on a test. He hadn’t caught me red handed, but it was rather obvious and when he asked whether I had cheated or not, I said yes. An honest answer that was rewarded by a 70% passing grade without having to redo the exam. He’d sometimes tap my ass when I left his office after one of our talks and when I told him it made me uncomfortable he said: “I wouldn’t do it otherwise” and for some reason his honest answer had, like mine,  been a good enough answer. 

Quite a few years after high school, I started corresponding with him through email. He was now retired, but the dynamic hadn’t changed. I was telling him about a time when I had posed nude for a painter when I was in need of cash. I had let the painter take photographs of the session, I was eighteen at the time and it was all done in good taste, but I refused to go back when he suggested I expose myself a little more during the next sessions. I said no and took my copies of the photographs (and the negatives) and went on my merry way home. Some of the pictures remain my favorite self-portraits to this day and when I brought it up, my now retired history teacher asked if I would email him a copy.  

I did. Don’t ask me why. I was never attracted to him, I got off on the inappropriateness of the whole situation. It energized me. In response he sent me part one of an erotic story that he had written and that had been inspired by a chocker wearing teenager. Sound familiar? I was simultaneously disturbed and fascinated, when he asked me whether I would be interested in reading part two, I said yes and on and on it went like his for a few emails. That is, until I was telling one of my friend’s about it and she reminded me that I was corresponding with a man who had once been my teacher when I was a minor and that he was by now well into his sixties. Reality took the fun out of it or perhaps I wasn’t willing to see how far our story would go. 

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13 Responses

  1. I’m sad that there are, as of yet, no comments on this post. For God’s sake, someone pity me!
    .-= Olga Wolstenholme´s last blog ..Bodies and Souls: The Century Project =-.

  2. Domina Doll says:

    Hey Olga! I meant to leave you a comment this morning, but then had to take the Jeep in to get fixed and that shot my day all to HELL. 🙂

    So many of your stories make me think of similar situations in my life. You have a way of making a story both intimate and personal, but also having universal appeal, that many people can apply to themselves. While reading this I was thinking of my creepy Gr8 teacher with the armpit stains down to his waist, and how he used to lean over me while I was writing at my desk, his awful stench, as his sucked the dandruff out of his goatee (or that little tuft of hair below the lower lip). He wore 80s striped pants that he never changed all year and the same soiled short sleeved shirt (hence the perm-arm pit stains), and was so creepy and gross.

    He used to hang out with another weird ass teacher, a balding guy who combed the sparse hair on the left side of his head around the top to the right so he a a Moe mop top hairdo. We couldn’t figure out if they were a gay couples, or just two lonely perverts. I never did find out 😉

  3. Aie, aie, I think everyone has had a teacher like you described. Probably more than one. I know I’m thinking of a bunch right now. You just gave me an idea about making a zine that’s a collection of short stories about teachers. I could call it “Hot For Teacher” or something.

    Thanks, I’m glad that you like my writing style. It really is good to hear. I mean, it’s encouraging to know that people actually read and like what I’m doing and it motivates me to keep on doing it.
    .-= Olga Wolstenholme´s last blog ..Bodies and Souls: The Century Project =-.

  4. sexi_mishel says:

    Great story! But there are some pretty mind-bendingly HOT teachers as well……

    My confession is about deciding to go back to practice piano after many years. I was 25. The teacher, chosen by the prestigious piano school, was a tall, muscular, 30 something, with long hair that fell in waves to below his shoulders, expressive eyes, and beautiful lips. He was a jazz musician. I lived with my commonlaw boyfriend so my intentions weren’t of seducing my teacher…. they were to brush up on my piano skills…. That is until I laid eyes on this beautiful piece of work. I would watch his large hands, his agile fingers, move up and down the ivory white keys, faster… the veins in his masculine arms would grow clearer. His hands were skilled… and passionate. There weren’t many men who, just by being in the same 8’x 8′ room, my body would lust for. So I decided that I would play and see where it went. The next time I went to my lesson I wore a tight top that showed a little cleavage but clung to my firm 32D breasts as well as a (very) short skirt that only covered half my ass when I sat down. I caught him stealing a glance at my bare thighs as he taught me the scales. My mind was all white noise as my panties started to get wet, wanting him to, as he sat beside me, slide his hand up my inner thigh. I would open my legs a little, inviting him to try the forbidden fruit. Well, soon enough our 30min. was over. He would always walk me to my car as I was the last one he had on those days. The next time I went, I decided not to wear any panties underneath the skirt. As I sat on that hard piano bench, I could feel the coldness on my ass. He sat beside me, again, playing passionately, his fingers not far from my bare, wet cunt, pressed against the piano bench. I would wonder afterwards, if he could still smell me once I left.
    Unfortunately, I had to move soon after I started the lessons. So after about a month, I never laid eyes on him again. I would often wonder how far I could have taken it. If he would have crossed that line…

    • Domina Doll says:

      Hot! Hot people like that shouldn’t be piano teachers! Ha! I love how you described his hands. Men’s hands are a big turn on for me. These confessions are so great it will be hard to choose the winners!

    • Thanks for the compliment!!

      I’m with Domina on this one, I love how you described his hands and that whole scene. Very hot.

  1. 01/25/2010

    […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by dominadoll and Olga Wolstenholme, Olga Wolstenholme. Olga Wolstenholme said: The Cuntfessional: A History Lesson http://bit.ly/4YNKjF […]

  2. 01/26/2010

    Social comments and analytics for this post…

    This post was mentioned on Twitter by dominadoll: New Post! A History Lesson: – http://tinyurl.com/yawxa2a

  3. 02/09/2013

    […] instance, in Olga’s A History Lesson you might right about a real-life encounter that involves a Teacher/student relationship, or a […]

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