Humpday Story: Shadow of a Doubt

Shadow-of-a-Doubt-GenericNot everyone rekindles a romance with their high school sweetheart. For Nate O’Brian, his young heart belonged to his high school art teacher, Darla Johnson. But being with her never was an option.

Nate still remembers her sweet smile, and the tight mini-skirts with black pantyhose she used to wear.

Fast forward seventeen years… New cats, new job, new house to call his own. Nate couldn’t ask for anything more in life, except for love.

Until he sees a familiar woman mowing the yard next door to his.

If you enjoy quirky romantic student/teacher erotica, be sure to read Shadow of a Doubt.

***

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sorry for posting this late. A lot of you may have read this one already. I’m still cycling through older stories before I post newer ones, but I am slowly writing a list of new stories for the publishing queue. Thanks for reading!

SHADOW OF A DOUBT

One

When I was a young man, I had this crush on my high school art teacher, Mrs. Darla Johnson. 

She always wore tight mini-skirts with black pantyhose. When she sat and crossed her legs, her skirt rose up her thigh, hinting at the smooth upper edge of her hose. She’d often walk around the classroom, going from student to student to praise or give advice. On my turn for instruction, Mrs. Johnson would stand directly behind me, the tips of her big boobs pressed against my shoulders. 

And then she’d point at something on my canvas, reaching one arm around my head. She smelled of coffee with Irish cream, paint, and scented hand-soap. When she moved on to the next student, I could still feel the impression of heat from her breasts on my back.

To say she fueled my teenage sexual desires is an understatement. I day-dreamed about her constantly; in the cafeteria, during every boring class, at home in bed while tossing and turning. Every wink and smile when she greeted me, every “hello” she said in the hallway, gave me butterflies in the stomach. 

At night, I kept dreaming about her.

I had to sleep with a bath towel around my waist, to keep the sheets clean. I remember going an entire semester with at least one wet dream a week.

At graduation, Mrs. Johnson gave me a warm hug and a quick peck on the cheek before wishing me luck and success. Never thought I’d see her again.

Fast forward seventeen years, long after the memory of her breasts poking me in the back had faded some. I’d married, divorced, buried two cats, and changed jobs five times.

A new house with a yard and picket fence, a new job as a cover artist in a growing publishing imprint, back in the old hometown where I grew up. For the first time since college, I felt invigorated and fresh. I wanted to conquer the world. I left the old behind, and now intended to do new things and meet new people.

So when I took a break from unpacking boxes, and stepped out on the stoop with a warm cup of coffee, I was surprised to see Mrs. Johnson mowing the yard next door.

I just bought the house, my first, and didn’t know any of the neighbors yet. It was a quiet neighborhood, full of cookie cutter split-levels and Cape Cods. A little slice of heaven, all to myself and the two numbskull cats who were hiding among the unopened boxes. I had brewed a mean cup of java from my slick new stainless steel coffee machine, strong enough to make me feel a little light headed, with a heavy dose of Irish cream for flavor.

This woman mowing her yard stunned me. Flat out stunned. The caffeine flooded my brain, mixing in with old emotions I’d forgotten about. I staggered, and had to sit on one of the lawn chairs on my stoop.

I forgot to sip my coffee. I shook my head, thinking I was just seeing things. This sweaty middle aged woman in skimpy cut-off jeans and a hot pink halter top couldn’t be my high school infatuation. What were the odds of me buying a house next to her? And this woman seemed a little too young to be her. She had a wonderful curvy body, with no obvious tan lines and a strong muscles in her arms and legs.

Mrs. Johnson had to be in her fifties. I had no doubt she still looked great, but no way could she be as perfect as my new neighbor.

And then she moved up to the property line, and I got a better look. The long nose, the high arching eyebrows, the seemingly permanent smile on her lips. She wore a blue bandana, but the frizzy brown hair was exactly as I remembered.

I nearly dropped my cup.

A rush of wonderful memories swept me back to high school. I don’t miss my youth—the bullies, the pressure to get into a “good college,” the sexual frustration—but Mrs. Johnson was a reprieve from being a teenager. Around her I felt like a man. I wanted her to be my first sexual encounter (alas, not to be). I wanted to marry her (hey, I was pretty innocent).

The beautiful woman mowing her yard waved. She was red-faced and dirty, but her smile was infectious.

Before I could return the wave or the smile, she turned and mowed the next strip. The muscles in her hamstrings tightened and strained as she pushed the mower uphill. Her hips were the right size to grab onto from behind. The woman’s shoulders were strong. The way her hair bounced as she moved was mesmerizing. I sprang a hard-on. Good thing I was sitting down.

When she made the corner and turned around to mow a new strip, I forced myself to look away. But I kept watching her while pretending to observe squirrels playing in a tree across the street.

And then the mower engine shut off. I had to peek a look. The beautiful neighbor lady was approaching. I waved, a bit too nicely, a little too stiff. Her flip-flops smacked against her heels. She came right up to my stoop. Hands akimbo, she placed one foot on the first step, Captain Morgan style. I got a wonderful view of the inside of her long thigh. I had to lean forward to hide the ever growing pocket rocket in my pants.

“Good morning, new neighbor,” I said.

“Morning to you, too, stranger,” she said. I could feel her sizing me up. Not a creepy stare, but a glance that made me feel exhilarated and awkward at the same time. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Mrs. Johnson?” I said, voice squeaking more than I liked. I hoped like hell it was really her, and not some look-alike. “You remember me?”

She smiled, and I knew right away it was her.

“Nate O’Brian, call me Darla,” she said. “You’re not in high school anymore. And I’m not a missus-anybody anymore.”

Felt like I needed an eternity to process that information. I certainly felt like I was back in high school, with my sweaty palms and slumped shoulders. Like I was being scrutinized by this knock-out gorgeous woman from my past, who I thought I’d long forgotten about. What if she was disappointed with what I’d done with my life? What if she didn’t like the adult I had become?

And then I latched onto what she just told me. She wasn’t a missus-anybody.

Inside my pants, my rod twitched.

“You look great, Darla” I said dorkily.

She tossed her hair over one shoulder and smiled. I maybe wasn’t being smooth, but I meant what I said. Her abs were flat and toned. She had beautiful skin, and white teeth.

“You’ve grown into quite the man,” Darla said.

I offered her coffee and the other lawn chair that was folded up behind me. When she said yes (with lots of cream, no sugar), I knew I spoke too soon. The erection wasn’t going down anytime soon, and I had to stand up to make good on those two offers. I made a show of being sore while standing up, while also adjusting my t-shirt and shorts.

No way Darla couldn’t have not noticed. I quickly unfolded the lawn chair and placed it in front of my own, and rushed inside to get a mug of coffee.

I paced in the kitchen for a bit. By the time I freshened my cup and made hers, I had settled down. I adjusted my junk, wishing I’d worn briefs instead of boxers, and went back outside.

Darla was sitting, legs spread-eagle and rubbing the inside of her upper thighs. She crossed her legs and accepted the mug, her fingers barely touching mine. It was like seventeen years of repressed sexual urges sprang back to life. My boner snapped back to attention for no damn reason.

She took a slow, careful sip, glancing from the mug to my pants to my eyes and back down again. And like an idiot, I stood there, frozen in her stare.

“Irish cream,” she said. “Wonderful.”

“Glad you like,” I said. She was bluntly staring at my erection, no point in hiding it now, unless another neighbor happened to pass by. The street was quiet for a weekend morning. I stood up straight, shoulders back, looking down at her.

Darla smirked around another sip of coffee. “I do, very much.”

“Still teaching?” I sat down across from her. “What you up to now days?”

“Retired from teaching. I’m a full-time graphic artist, with my own studio in the attic. You?”

“I design cover art for a publishing company. Sometimes with stock art, but often with my own photos and paintings.”

She placed a hand on her chest, her smile growing even wider and warmer. “Glad to hear. You were such a talented artist in school.”

Pride swelled, and I got warm, fuzzy feelings all over. I knew right then that I was going to enjoy living in this neighborhood.

“Let’s do lunch sometime?” I said.

“How about today?” Darla asked. “Unless you’re too busy unpacking?”

“Why? Are you too busy mowing the yard?”

“Never.” She reached out and touched me on the forearm. “I’ll need a shower. Come over at noon, I’ll have tuna salad.”

“I have a six-pack of beer. Is that okay?”

“Wonderful.” Darla said. We both stood up. She leaned against me, her hot body pressed to mine, and kissed me on the cheek. Memories of graduation flooded back again. The tip of my cock pressed lightly against her stomach. I wondered, for the first time in many years, what it would’ve been like to have had sex with Mrs. Johnson when I was a teen. “See you later, kiddo,” she said.

Darla turned and stepped off my porch to her yard. Her flip-flops smacked against her feet. I couldn’t help but watch her ass swaying as she walked away.

Two

The morning wouldn’t pass fast enough. I baked box-mix chocolate chip cookies in between unpacking, which got the stupid cats’ attention. They each got a small ball of dough. Then I took a shower for the second time.

Boxers? Or briefs? Being a new neighbor, I should’ve thought about controlling my junk around Darla on our first meeting in damn near twenty years.

But there was that chance the underwear could come off. At least I hoped so. Boxers were more fun.

I put on a pair of jeans and a Def Leppard t-shirt then, with cookies and Shock Top in tow, I headed next door. I rang the bell, and the anticipation nearly killed me. No backing out now. I rocked back and forth from foot to foot. It was all I could do to just breath. I should’ve been comfortable, after all this was just a reunion with an old teacher. But this felt like a first date. My palms were sweaty, and the boxers clung to the inside of my ass.

When the door finally opened, the paper plate of cookies nearly toppled over. Darla was quick to take them with a smile and a friendly wink.

She was dressed in a tight navy blue miniskirt, cream colored silk stockings, and a blue sateen blouse with the top buttons undone. On her feet were blue, pointed-toe high heels, just like the kind she used to wear. Her brown hair was tied up in a loose bun. Darla wore little makeup, enough to smooth out her face but not much more.

She appeared exactly the way she did in my teenage wet dreams.

As I walked through the door, I felt tingly and nervous for no good reason. I was a competent adult, not a kid anymore. But this was surreal.

The inside of her house was as beautifully taken care of as the outside. It was a split-level with beige carpets and cedar vaulted ceilings. The living had a cozy red brick fireplace and a leather L-shaped couch. On the coffee table was a crystal bowl with tuna salad, a pitcher of ice water, and two tall glasses. The TV was turned on to an infomercial featuring kitchen knives.

She sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. I sat, and offered her a beer, and then poured for both of us. Darla seemed so prim and proper, back straight and knees together. Maybe I had the wrong idea. Maybe she wasn’t being flirty with me earlier. I could’ve worn briefs, and probably should have.

But then why was she dressed up like she was about to teach class?

We clinked glasses, ate a little, and made small talk. What have you been up to? How long have you lived here? Wonderful home you’ve got.

And then she placed a hand on my knee. Her fingernails were painted a light shade of blue. “I’ve thought about you a lot,” she said.

“I never forgot you either,” I said. When the silence got a little awkward, I placed my hand on top of hers. Then she placed her other hand on top of mine. Not wanting to interrupt this wonderful pattern, I stacked my other hand on the pile.

I never wanted to leave this couch. This seemed so right. All the first date nerves were gone, as if they never were. I didn’t even care if I scored with my former teacher. Just being around her was good.

Darla rubbed her thumb against my wrist. “Not sure how to say this. But, it’s bothered me for… Sorry, how long ago did you graduate?”

I chuckled. “I forget too. Umm… 1999, however long ago that was.”

“Long enough,” she said with a cute wink. “I regret not getting to know you better.”

“You knew me well.”

“I mean, a lot better.” Darla pulled her hands away from mine and stood up. She bent at the waist, her skirt rising up her long thighs, and picked up the tuna salad bowl.

I thought about grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back down to the couch. Thought about smothering her with a deep kiss. Maybe even undoing the rest of the buttons on her blouse.

Instead, I watched her walk away to the kitchen.

Five carefully counted seconds later, I followed her. I leaned one hip on the peninsula and watched her stretch plastic-wrap over the tuna salad. She slide the bowl in the fridge, giving me another view of her well formed backside. For a fifty-some old woman, a retired high school teacher no less, Darla was in top shape. I don’t remember her looking this damn sexy when I was in school.

“I had a crush on you,” I said. “Big time.”

She smirked. This time, the smile was more blue, like she was thinking on things long past. She tugged at the hem of her skirt. “Didn’t you take some cute young thing to the prom?”

“Olivia Chatterton,” I said. Hate to admit it, but I only remembered her last name because she was a chatty thing. I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter. “She put up with me because she wanted to wear a pretty dress and get a corsage. I liked her. But I was in love with you.”

“Were you now?” Darla’s high heels clicked on the linoleum floor. She came up beside me, one breast poking me on the shoulder. “I hope you know, the feeling was mutual.”

I stood up straight. Even in heels, she was a few inches shorter than me. I liked the way she looked up at me. I liked it even more that, if she took off her heels and bent her knees some, her breasts could touch my cock.

I gripped her by the elbows, and she gripped me by the biceps. I pulled her in closer.

“Even when I was married,” I said, “I thought of you now and then. If I’d been your neighbor in those years, I would’ve been tempted to have an affair with you.”

Darla massaged my arms and shoulders. “I was tempted to have you, when you were in school. You kept me awake at night with my vibrators.”

“Oh?” This was a fun fact to learn.

“Having you in class was hard, I have to admit. And then seeing you graduate was bittersweet. I knew then the opportunity was lost forever, but I was glad the temptation was gone as well.”

“You made the right choice,” I said. “I would’ve hated myself if you lost your job over a kid like me.”

Darla tugged at my shirt sleeves. “Teaching was okay. Can’t say I miss it. But there was only one kid who tempted me.”

I kissed her on the cheek. More a polite, how-you-doing kind of kiss. “Oh?” I said.

She slid her hands down my sides to my belt. And then a bit lower. She tugged at my jeans. “I see now he’s not a kid anymore,” she said.

I was at attention and ready to go. All my dreams came true, and the warm fuzzy feeling of those dreams hadn’t faded one bit. Not how I imagined things, but then nothing ever really works out like in fantasies.

I pushed Darla away and held her at arm’s length. “You sure you want this?”

With both hands, she grabbed my belt buckle and pulled me closer. “I’ve wanted this for seventeen years. I’m glad it’s happening now.”

“Me too.”

I wrapped my arms around her. Cupping her ass, I pushed her body against mine. She smelled like lavender bath soap with just a hint of grass clippings. Darla was strong and well formed everywhere, curvy in the hips, flat in the stomach, all woman. I loved how her breasts squished against my abs. It was like she was made to fit in my arms.

No clue who initiated the next kiss. Our lips just sort of met halfway. A brush, a quick pass. Then a mingling of tongues. She slid her fingers through the back of my hair. I followed the curves up her body, and teased the sides of her breasts with a light squeeze. I could feel the outline of her bra, and I wanted to know what color it was.

Darla pushed against my chest, pushed me away for a breather. Her bosom heaved.

I pinched her at her waist and pushed her against the kitchen counter. I held her like that for a moment, enjoying the view. Enjoying the way she looked me up and down, as if sizing me up. I liked the way she no longer held back the desperation in her eyes.

Then I pressed against her, letting her feel my manhood. Darla grabbed my shirt, tugging hard enough to pop a few seams.

“I didn’t bring a condom,” I said.

“No worries,” she nuzzled against my chest. “I’m past the age.”

I cupped the nape of her neck and kissed her forehead. “Doesn’t bother me one bit.”

Then Darla nudged against me and slapped me on the chest.

“I’m such a bad hostess,” she said. “I forgot to give you the grand tour.”

“I’m only interested in one room,” I said.

“Oh? Which one?” Her smile was sardonic and infectious.

“The bedroom.”

She wiggled her way out of my embrace, and tugged on me by the collar.

“This way,” she said, and led me down the hall.

Three

The bedroom was tucked in the back of the house, and the blinds were already drawn. Only a sliver of light came in from the window, illuminating a cozy room with grey shadows. The queen sized bed had a shiny purple duvet cover and too many frilly pillows to count.

I didn’t bother. Once inside the door, I pushed Darla against the wall and kissed her violently. She tugged on my shirt sleeves, breaking a few more seams. She could’ve ripped my shirt apart, I wouldn’t have cared. Her body heat made me sweat. My boner ached to be whipped out, but I was too busy feeling her up and enjoying the slow kissing.

The making out seemed to last a long time. Neither of us got tired of it. My knees grew weak. The front of my boxers were sticky wet with pre-cum. Darla’s beautiful brown hair fell of its bun, flowing around her face and shoulders. What little makeup she wore was smeared.

I grabbed both of her tits and squeezed, pushing her even harder against the wall. The tips of her nipples poked through the fabric. I rubbed my thumbs across them.

Darla moaned. She lifted my shirt up enough to feel my skin. I helped her out and took the shirt off. She glided her fingers up and down my torso, paying careful attention to the nipples. I pulled at her blouse buttons, undoing one and then another. The process was too slow for her, and both of us fumbled our fingers at yanking the rest undone.

Her bra turned out to be dark red. I loved the way her breasts were squished together and pushed up. I jerked at her blouse, exposed her shoulders. Then I buried my face in between the valley, breathing in her scent, and licked at her soft skin.

Darla held the back of my head, tickling my hair with her fingers. And then she pushed me downward. I obliged. Down on my knees, I gripped her stocking covered thighs and looked up at her.

This was the image I long dreamed of. Looking up at the underside of her breasts, right as I was about to go down on her.

I lifted the skirt above her hips. Her panties were a matching red. Unceremoniously, I pulled them down to her knees. Darla was well trimmed with a prickly thin patch. No tan lines. She smelled sweet and musky. I pressed a finger against her folds. She was already wet.

Darla hooked a finger under my chin. “I need both clit stimulation and penetration,” she said.

“I’ll do my best,” I said, and then spread her lips and tentatively kissed her on the clit. I rubbed her on the outside a little to get her more wet. Along with a few light tongue swipes, it didn’t take much.

First one finger, to see what she liked. Darla quivered and moaned. Then two fingers for good measure. I went as deep as I could. The clit popped out and I sucked on it slowly. Inside her, I curled and uncurled my fingers. The way her thighs tightened and her squeals of pleasure told me I was doing things right.

So I didn’t stop for a long time. No idea how long I ate her out. I alternated between finger fucking her and sucking. I must’ve edged her close, because she kept pushing me away, but not trying very hard. And then I felt her tunnel spasm around my fingers. Drops of warm liquid poured down my wrist and forearm. Darla nearly toppled over me.

I pulled my fingers out slowly, and gently kept licking her sweet juices. When I finally got my head out from between her legs, I stood back up. My head felt light. She leaned into the crook of my neck.

“You’re next,” she panted. Darla patted me on the ass. Then she went around me and pulled the duvet off her bed. With a shrug of her shoulders and a sexy shake of her hips, she disrobed down to just her bra and stockings. Then she patted the edge of the bed.

I obediently sat. She went down on her knees between my legs. I let her have the honors of yanking my belt apart and unzipping my jeans. I only helped by lifting my backside when she wanted me entirely naked.

Saying I was stiff hard was only half of it. I never realized my cock could hurt so good from being erect. As if seventeen years of late night frustration had built up inside me, clawing to burst out. 

Now I wanted nothing but to be touched by Darla. I even told her so. 

Pleaded for her to take me inside her mouth.

Instead she scratched one fingernail down my shaft. She gently patted my balls, and then tasted my pre-cum with the tip of her tongue. A long, sticky string came out, connecting her tongue with my head. When the string broke, she scooped it up and licked it with her fingers. My cock twitched in eager anticipation. I lifted my hips off the bed, trying to get closer, to encourage her to take me.

Darla didn’t need much encouragement. But she didn’t give me the satisfaction of a blowjob, yet. She massaged my groin, touching my cock with only light kisses up and down.

I closed my eyes and gave in to the pleasurable ache of sensations.

And then I felt her warm mouth and tongue. Some of her saliva dripped down my balls and to my anus. Darla scraped her teeth up my shaft. A moment pause, as if waiting to see if I’d protest. I cupped the back of her head. She flicked me with her tongue and went back down.

All the way in. Balls deep. Darla tugged at my sack while sucking me off. Just slow, almost painful motions. I gripped the edge of the bed with both hands.

And then she stopped. Darla stood up. I reached around and unsnapped her bra. She let the garment slide off her body and drop to the floor. I cupped one breast, sucked the nippled, then repeated for the other.

Darla nudged at my shoulders. I kept teasing her breasts. When I didn’t react fast enough, she pushed me flat on the bed and climbed on top of me.

She reached around behind her to grab me by the cock. I slid right into her wet pussy. She was a perfect fit for me, as if we were made for one another.

Darla wiggled and rotated her hips. One hand pressed against my chest, pinning me to the bed, the other rubbing her clit while she grinded on me. I massaged her thighs and ass, begging her to go faster. She whimpered, and then cried out in ecstasy. A warm gush trickled down my balls, like somebody pouring hot water on my junk. She collapsed on me, head nuzzled at my neck.

But I wasn’t done.

I wrapped an arm around her waist, securing her. With my other hand I pinched her nipple. Hard. Darla squealed.

And then I jabbed my cock as deep as I could go. 

Slow, long stroke. Another, a little faster.

Then I pumped her. Sharp and quick strokes. Skin slapping on skin. Our fucking made a wet sound. She dug her fingers into the bedsheets, holding on for life. Our bodies glowed with heat. I was sweating everywhere.

I felt another smaller gush from her. Enormous pressure built on my cock and sack. I couldn’t hold on any longer. The orgasm began in my balls and forced its way upwards. I blow my load into Darla. Her pussy clenched me. My entire body quivered with the shock.

Pulling out was painful. I had to go slow. Once I was out of her, Darla rolled off and relaxed next to me. I held her I my arms.

At long last, I lived my teenage dream as a grown man. I wondered if I’d wake up in my own bed, with only the cats and myself.

But no. This woman in my arms was warm and real and breathing slowly. I could pinch myself all I wanted, but this was Darla, my first real love.

I kissed her on the ear. “I hope…” I started, but wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

Darla half turned and cupped my face with a hand. “Darling,” she said. “I hope you’re not done with me, now that you’ve scored with your teacher.”

“Hell no,” I said.

I spooned with her and took a nap. And then we had a long weekend of fucking. On Monday night, she helped me unpack for an hour, and then we had a night in my bed.

One weekend turned into a year of fun with Darla. I still hope we’re a long ways from done with each other.

***

Thank you for reading! If you would like to purchase this story, you can find it at your favorite retailer. Or feel free to leave a tip with the PayPal button below.



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Author: D. Anthony Brown

Indie writer and publisher. Among other jack-of-all-trade skills...

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