Chapter 1 - Graveyard Shift

"Edward, what's the next step here?"

Jolt! Don't panic. Focus, focus dammit! "Sorry, Ms. Woodward, I…I…"

Shit! My eyes automatically click to the blackboard to see if I can find a clue about the problem that I've zoned out on long ago, the moment I noticed the tiniest bit of tension between the top two buttons of her blouse today, and if I look really carefully, and I certainly have, I'm rewarded by a flash of white lace. Curse my reckless daydreaming! If I'm going to survive this class and graduate, I know I can't let myself be distracted by the way her index finger reaches around about every five minutes to tuck that escaped strand of silky brown hair back behind her ear. Can't allow myself to drown in those deep pools of chocolate brown that seem to burn right into my green eyes every single time she turns back to the class. Absolutely cannot afford to ignore the words coming out of her mouth because I'm too focused on the delicate curve of her upper lips and the way her sweet little pink triangle of a tongue flicks casually across her fluffy lower lip to compensate for the dry heat in the room. I chance a look back to the face that has starred in my every fantasy since September.

Double shit! My brilliant repartee has not thrown her off the trail! Awesome- now she's frowning.

"Edward, I need you to see me after class."

Lurch. Thunder clouds rumble through my brain. My 17-year-old body goes into fight-or-flight mode and begins pumping massive quantities of adrenaline to every nerve ending in my body. I vaguely pick up on the sound of the bimbos giggling at my upcoming discipline. Fuck them. Fuck Principal Bernstein for hiring this siren and expecting us to concentrate in her presence. I know for a fact I'm not the only kid in school who suffers from Calculus boners. I am, however, the one who got busted today.

I attempt to face my doom like a man."Yes, Ms. Woodward."

The last fifteen minutes of class cannot possibly go slower. I swear the clock on the wall does a Ferris Bueller backwards tick at one point! The corduroy covering my thighs is now thoroughly soaked from my sweaty palms. I can feel large wet spots pooling on the cotton material under my arms as I succumb to the panic attack about to take root. Mercifully, the bell rings, signaling the end of my last high school class, which would have easily been the happiest moment of my life up to this point, if not for the sheer terror of the private session with The Goddess of Derivatives awaiting me.

I will my body not to betray me. I pass my eyes over a particularly inflammatory graffiti version of Ms. Woodward with Principal Bernstein in an inappropriate position on my desk and frantically search for an image that won't challenge my seriously limited reserves of willpower. I gratefully rest my focus on a simple heart containing the letters R. H. Thank Christ for my brother Emmett's romantic gesture, this lasting legacy to his girlfriend Rosalie Hale. I train my eyes on this spot and hold fast.

It is time. Her pumps click a steady rhythm on the ratty tile floor until she comes to a halt beside me, just inches from my left side. Her movement toward me brings with it a breeze that is 100% Ms. Woodward. It smacks me square in the nostrils. Unlike the girls my own age who douse themselves in the latest designer perfumes and fruity hair products in the hopes of inflaming our teenage hormones, Ms. Woodward simply chooses clean. She probably thinks she's doing us boys a favor, but her freshness and sophistication had long ago become my own personal torture. I desperately love her smell but I know I have to try to gird myself now against the sensory assault. I pray she is not standing close enough to see my raging hard-on under the desk. Just in case, I bend my body forward as effectively as I can without calling attention to the movement. I am dying here. A particularly painful Death by Fuckhot Math Teacher.

"Edward, what are we going to do about your wandering attention? Maybe you can help me understand what I'm doing to bore you to distraction in every class!"

I shake my head slowly as her words slowly break through the fog that has descended on my brain. Her disappointment in me slices like a knife to the gut. Worse, she thinks it's HER bad-that she could actually find a way to be BORING to me? I find every detail about her as UNboring as can be! She clearly has no idea that I've spent all of Advanced Calculus focusing every ounce of my mental concentration on keeping my permaboner behind the desk and out of trouble. That shit doesn't leave a lot of time to digest differential equations!

I risk speech again because I can't let her feel for one moment this was any failing on her part.

"No, Ms. Woodward. It's not you, it's me." FUCK, I did not just say the lamest break-up line ever to my calc teacher!

She quirks an eyebrow and her mouth twists into a little smirk, challenging me to try again. Here goes nothing.

"You never bore me…I mean, I love watching you…ugh, I mean…" I bite down hard on my lower lip to trap the rest of the mortifying words inside. Mouth, meet brain, PLEASE for fuck's sake.

"Edward, please look at me when I'm talking to you."

Now, I may not be the valedictorian of Forks High Class of 2007, but I sure as shit know one thing. I absolutely, positively cannot show her my face right now. I'm one big messy pile of horny and if she's somehow missed the telegram my dick sent her, she'll sure as hell see it in my eyes.

"Please, no. I can't."

My surrender is complete, and the only chance I stand is for her to let me escape this situation with a little dignity so I can lick my wounds in private and try to erase her from my memory this summer and get on with my pathetic life!

All hope of dignity is washed away when I feel her right hand land softly at the nape of my neck. Unghhh.

Do not move a muscle. Do not lean into that soft, cool hand. Do not be weak. And please, God, do not whimper like a needy, lovesick teenager.

I focus all my attention on my own hands, which are currently splayed across the top of my thighs and clamping down on my legs for all they're worth. This lady is not fighting fair. I don't have enough brain cells firing right now to process her actions and even hope to find an appropriate response. She has just broken the cardinal student/teacher rule and I am terrified and excited beyond belief to imagine what she might do next.

"Edward," she says almost in a whisper, "It's time for you to pay better attention to me."

OK, we have officially arrived in REALLY FUCKING DANGEROUSVILLE.

I feel my jaw threaten to drop open at her suggestion, and I redouble my efforts to remain still by clenching my teeth together. Don't swallow. Don't fucking breathe. This shit does not happen in Forks! You're trapped inside another AWESOME fantasy like last week when she asked you to help her rearrange the classroom furniture and you got all sweaty and she ended up thanking you with a blow….WHOA, really not helping, dude. Can we just deal with one fantasy at a time? So like I was saying, this shit is not real. She's DEFINITELY not touching your neck with all five fucking perfectly manicured fingers. Do. Not. Lose. Your. Shit.

The next motion is unmistakable. Slowly but surely, I feel that perfect hand moving up the back of my neck and through my unmanageable tangle of crazy hair. It is an agonizing pace. Is it possible that she's holding herself back with every bit of willpower she can muster? She has to know that she's crossed a really fucking huge line here.

I'm risking no less and no more than total humiliation if I let go of my control here, but she's risking her professional reputation and her whole future. And it hits me like a kick in the nuts. She's risking everything right now. For this. With me. Jesus, just how badly does she want me anyway? For one second, I feel a surge of power in this completely lopsided situation.

Damn, those nails feel spectacular scratching their way up my scalp! My mottled brain flashes back to a science project we'd done in 8th grade where the plants bent toward the light source. I am feeling one with that biological drive; every single cell in my body yearns to lean into that hand. I am overcome by the desire to allow my head to tip back and let out the groan of ecstasy her long-awaited touch was bringing me.

Be strong.

-Scratching

Last day.

-Massaging

You're so close to that finish line!

-Rubbing

Hold it together for her. She'll lose everything. Dead squirrels. Old ladies in bathing suits. Emmett's dirty socks. There...that worked.

My lack of surrender only causes her to up her game. She takes a step sideways to close the gap between us. The silk of her blouse brushes against my left cheek. Ms. Woodward, trust me. You have the full attention of every part of my body! All I want in the whole world in this moment is to turn my head to the left and bury my warm breath between her bursting buttons. Now I know I am going crazy- I'm having a fantasy WITHIN my fantasy! I squeeze my eyes shut to block out all my crazy thoughts. Keep still, you sick fuck. You don't get to breathe on your teacher's boobs.

When her nails finally reach the top of my head, she fills her hand with as much of my hair as she can grab and pulls back gently but firmly so that my line of vision is lifted from the safety of the desktop.

"That's better. Now we're going to work on your focus." She lets go of my hair, and I can feel her move her body away from my side and around to the front of my desk. She can't make me show her my eyes, but I know better than to drop my head back down.

"Now I want you to touch yourself for me, Edward."

My mouth goes bone dry. I swallow thickly. OH NO, SHE DID NOT! Did she?

"Touch myself?" I squeak out.

She leans into me and I can feel her hot breath tickling my nose. "Yes, Edward, I can see that I have you standing at attention now. You've earned your reward. Begin."

In my thirteen years as a student at Forks, I have never once gotten detention. Never had an overdue library book. Never gotten caught in the parking lot at lunch. Hell, I've never even been tardy. So, it seems to me that I have no choice other than to obey my teacher this one final time in my high school career. Sue me, I'm a pleaser.

I unclamp my left hand from its death grip on my thigh and allow it to slide slowly toward my fly. I know she saw the motion-I hear her quick gasp of breath as she realizes I am really doing this. I pass my hand over my cords, from the tip all the way down to the base of my cock. My first touch is almost painful, and I can feel the heat on my face as the blush betrays every emotion I've been trying to hide. I struggle to keep my eyes closed. Sure, it occurs to me that we might have attracted a witness, and a big part of me knows that I should probably open my eyes. I just have to trust her to manage that situation, because a bigger part of me is way too chicken shit to let her see into my soul and know the power she holds over me.

"Yes, my sweet boy, you have been so good for me all year. You've earned this."

I can't help the whimper that escapes me in response to her comment. I take another tentative stroke, noticing that my dick is starting to feel pretty fucking thankful for my detention. I am quickly approaching that point where my pleasure is winning over my pride. I stroke myself again and again, all the more aroused because I can feel her watching me. Feeling a little cocky now, I lean back in my chair so she can take a long, hard look.

"That's it, Baby. Don't be embarrassed to show me how good it feels."

I feel her shift position again and can tell that she is leaning all the way over my desk now. Her smell is dangerously close. That hair that has been escaping from her ear all year is now tickling my chin. I can hear her breathing pick up. Why, Ms. Woodward, it's not just integrals that turn you on!

"Do you know how it feels to be eye-fucked every day by the most intense green eyes I've ever seen? How unfair it is that those eyes are attached to the most perfectly chiseled face? How desperately I wish it were my hand giving you all that pleasure right now? How frustrating it is for me to watch you walk out of this room day after day with the girls your own age drooling all over you and know that a real woman can offer you so much more? How I've fought with my desire for you every single day in school? How I can't escape your pull even on the weekends?"

Holy horny rants, Batman! I can't help the moan that leaves my lips. And I don't mean to say it, I mean I REALLY never meant to say it, but-

"Fuck. Me." And I may have smiled just a little bit. Because yeah, we are both in a steaming pile of trouble now, but it seems like we are in that pile together.

"You sweet, beautiful boy. Do it for me this time."

And since my mouth isn't paying attention to my brain any more than my other body parts, I blurt out, "They've all been for you, Ms. Woodward."

"Show me, Edward. I've pictured your face so many times. Let me see exactly how you look when you totally lose control."

Picturing her picturing me doing this snags me in an infinite spiral that sends me spinning to the edge of the cliff. I am getting ready to fall… Do I dare let go?

"That's my good, hot boy. I want to watch you come for me. Come for me right now, baby."

On her command, I leap over the edge into the most ecstatic downward freefall. She moves in and presses her lips softly against mine, opening them slightly so we're sharing the air between us. Though I've fantasized about kissing her every single day for nine months, I am incapable of anything in this moment beyond simply letting my lips gratefully receive her attention as the rest of me blissfully somersaults and floats gently back down to earth. She pulls back gently from the kiss.

"Open your eyes now, baby. I promise, I won't hurt you. You're safe with me, Edward."

I want to believe her with my whole being. I want to trust that when I open my eyes, she will not be looking at me with disgust for my weakness. I feel like such a cliché-just another horny kid with a pathetic crush on the hot teacher-and I am terrified that she will find me ridiculous. But wait, through my blissed-up haze, I remember she has made confessions, too… intense green eyes… perfectly chiseled face… gorgeous chest… my desire…can't escape…

Man or mouse, Edward? Isn't that what Emmett always says to me? This is a Life. Defining. Moment.

"Open your eyes, little bro." Weird, I really heard Emmett's voice in my head just now! "Dude, that must have been one fantastic wet dream you just had yourself, but I need your sweet sticky ass to get out of bed! And try not to crack your face open with that shit-eating grin you're sporting!"

"Fuck, Em, can I have a moment here?"

"Sure thing, Eddie. But do me a favor and share that shit with me later, man? I haven't had a dream that productive in five years!"

"That's because you have a real life Rosalie. I think your dick might fall off if you tried to pull the graveyard shift as well."

"You got a point there, bro. I'll meet you downstairs in fifteen. Breakfast at Tiffany's. Throw on your gym shorts and a tee." He started to walk toward the door as a thought occurred to him. "Edward, I know your mouth told me that you aren't into meaningless action with the Cliffies this summer, but your dick is singing an entirely different tune!"

I swear my big brother has ESP-Extra Sexery Perception. Emmet was not going to accept my new outlook toward casual sex without putting up a fight.

"Emmett, I'm not-"

"…not doing the meaningless…blah blah blah… girl of substance… yada yada yada…Tanya, etc. etc. … Yeah, I got it, Eddie."

As Emmett shook his head and walked away, no doubt replaying the best-Of reel from his seasons as a single guy working on the island, reality began to snake its way through my confused, happy fog. I thanked whoever might be listening for the small miracle that I was wearing my black boxer briefs, the only thing that had stood between Emmett and the gooey evidence of my latest rendezvous with Forks High's most devoted calculus teacher! Working overtime again, Ms. W? Our tax dollars hard at work.

I chuckled to myself at the workout Ms. Woodward gave me in my dream state. I lazily stretched out my muscles. I could feel the lingering tightness in my thighs, the strain in my jaw from clamping it shut, the tension in my neck from my valiant efforts to resist her touch.

God bless Principal Bernstein for his hiring skills! Four years of college had not done anything to diminish her effectiveness. No freakin' way was I sharing Ms. Woodward with Emmett. Hmmm, maybe I should look her up now that I'd graduated from Cornell's School of Hotel Administration. Impressive, right? She'd see me as a man. A man who was starting to twitch back to life…

Ms. Woodward's face suddenly morphed into Tanya. Oh yeah, Tanya. The girlfriend who probably wouldn't appreciate my nighttime detentions. I took a moment to thank my favorite high school fantasy for yet another bed-shaking orgasm, and I sent Ms. Woodward directly back to the perverted teenage vault where I could keep her safe for next time.

I rolled out of bed and peeled off my sticky boxers. As I hopped in the shower, I couldn't help humming my favorite Police song, "Don't stand…don't stand so….don't stand so close to me." Grateful to public education for my satisfying release, I let that smile stay all over my face as I threw on my gym clothes and headed down to breakfast.