Happy to help

I join the class every Thursday, right after roll call and just before the final bell.  I wave to the kids, smile at the teacher, and take my place at the large table in the back of the room.  I see the assignments laid out, coloring today, a playful collection of "greater than/less than" pictures comparing apples, clowns, puppies, and fish.

We barely make eye contact with each other.  I've been doing this long enough that she need not worry about me.  The kids know to listen, she knows I am there, happy to help.  5 kids at a time rotate through, and we color and laugh and laugh and review the lesson.  "Are there more puppies or fish?" I ask, and they giggle and answer and we try again.  Another batch, the same jokes, the same funny faces from them and from me, but it doesn't get old.  Out of the corner of my eye I see her smiling at me, but when I catch her, she blushes and turns away.

Today I catch her as she sits in the middle of the rainbow rug, her pedicured feet peeking out from under the long flowery skirt she was instructed to wear in an e-mail the night before.  Her choice of panties was also dictated, but everything else was left to her and she highlighted her frame beautifully in a soft, but snug sweater with a pink satin bra underneath.

Another group cycles through and my time in the class is drawing to a close.  The last group begins and I start to clean up as they finish each page.  Soon the tables are cleared, the crayons are stacked, the wipes are put away, and the rainbow rug is filled with 25 eager faces, ready for recess.

I gather my kids for one last high-5 as the bell rings and the 5th grade chaperon leads them to the play yard.

Now she stares at me, her eyes sparkling as she extends her hand.  Her skin is soft and warm as we walk through the door, closing it behind us.  She turns to the wall and lifts her skirt, tying the lose fabric in a soft knot to allow her hands to be free.  With one hand on the wall for support, the other reaches back and pulls the damp fabric out of the way.

She is pure heaven inside.  Tight and young, but not virginal, eager, but not slutty, subservient, but not broken.

We begin to move, silent, urgent, needful, intimate.

She gasps and I release and we continue as the aftershocks double, then triple her pleasure.  Reaching inside, I scoop the wetness and paint her loins with our mingled wet.  Smoothing the fabric to cover her, I caress gently and then re-adjust her skirt for her.  She has, and knows, her place, and I have mine.

She stand, eyes down, until I lift her chin with a finger and kiss her tenderly.

"Thank you for being in class today." she whispers sincerely.

"I'm always happy to help."

The children are returning and I give more waves, high-5s and knuckle bumps.  The next volunteer walks in with them, excited to do parts of speech or counting, but that is all they will do, and I smile at the thought.