Hooksexup readers on student-teacher affairs.
Some Much Needed Release
When I was in high school, I had a really young, South African gym teacher. It was his first year as a teacher — apparently he'd been a pretty big-deal rugby player in South Africa, until he got injured.
Or at least, that's what he told us. There was something a little off about him. He kind of reminded me of Beast in X-Men; he was insanely smart but also had a really ripped body, from what I could tell from his extraordinarily outdated wardrobe. He was really shy, which is not the best personality type to keep obnoxious teenagers in line. And he insisted on describing things in rugby terms, which none of us understood.
It’s relevant to mention that my school was extremely liberal — we called teachers by their first names and danced with them at our pathetic school dances. (The place was so small the dances weren't even held in the gym, but in the upper-classman hallway. The hallway!) It wasn’t unusual for teachers to drive us home, or tell us about their dating lives — they were all young and idealistic and hip. (They had to be, to put up with their crappy salaries.)
After the athletic banquet at the end of my senior year, there was a party at a rural farmhouse owned by one of my classmates’ parents. Dave, (or, I guess, Mr. Miller) gave me and a couple of friends a ride from the banquet, and we persuaded him to join the party.
After a year of asshole kids who mocked his accent and didn't listen to him, he must've needed a release, because he went from painfully shy to drunk and uninhibited very quickly. We’d never really flirted, or had much to do with each other, but in some weird, unexpected turn, he brought me a Mike's Hard Lemonade, and we ended up wandering around the house and hooking up in the cornfield.
I don’t know if he had a secret thing for me, or was just drunk and bumped into me. And I’ll never know — I graduated a few days later and he left the school to go teach at a posh boarding school in Switzerland. — Veronica Taylor
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The English Teacher
When I was twenty-seven, I got an English-teaching post for a few months in the United States (I'm British), and came to live at a very strict and expensive boarding school. It was in Ohio, in a small town, and the kind of place where the boys wear sport-coats to class, can't go into the girls' dormitory, and get kicked out for smoking a cigarette. I'd been teaching in the U.K., but young children, and when I started my first class (the school was co-ed, but the classes were single-sex), it was a bit of a shock.
This isn't perhaps acceptable to say, but I don't think you can take sexual advantage of a seventeen-year-old boy. I always roll my eyes a little bit when I see stories about teachers losing their jobs for sleeping with their male students. Sure, it's against the rules, and sure, it creates conflicts of interest. But saying "statutory rape" seems absurd; teenaged boys are the horniest group of people I have ever spent time around. They're so brimming with sexual energy, it's like a musk. After years with six-year olds, I was amazed by the teenagers' libidos — they'd get boners for no reason and have to cover themselves with their books as they stood at the blackboard reciting. By the end of the first day, I felt so overcome with sexual energy, it was like I had a boner myself.
We weren't three weeks into term when one of my students, Allan, started to showing up in my office, with dog-eared copies of the novels we were reading. He'd grin and ask long, detailed questions, and then listen rapt, as I spoke. From outside the window, it'd have looked like he was flirting with me. Here's the funny thing: I don't think he was, at least not consciously. He was so boyishly energetic, and yet physically unaware — it seemed like he had a less clear idea of his intentions than I did. To me, they were pretty clear, although initially I was unsure if I wanted what he seemed to be telling me he did.
Then, after the New Year, it happened. One evening, he came to visit my office a little later than usual. The building was closing and on a whim, I asked him if he'd like to come back to my flat — off campus in the nearby town. The boys weren't allowed off campus at night, but he agreed, certain that as a "teacher" I could do it.
As we were driving out the school gate, we had to pass a manned guard booth, there to keep the students in. As we approached, I told him to get down. I'd imagined he'd hop in the back seat, but he just fell to the floor, his head beneath my knees. As I was exiting, the guard waved, and said goodnight. We drove under the gate's light, and I could feel him, warm and squirming, beneath my legs. It was one of those surreal moments you notice you're going to remember as it's happening. What the hell was I doing? And then the feeling passed.
At my flat, we had a drink, and then pretty naturally, ended up having sex. I couldn't tell if he'd done it before; I couldn't separate what was confidence and what was just youthful energy. When I pulled back and looked up at him, he seemed like he was vibrating, like a wasp. When it was done, we got back in the car, drove back through the guard booth ("I forgot a book!"), and then I returned home. — Jessica Ivy
Submit to the next one, Five Stories: Out of My League. Maybe she's a super-model on TV. Maybe he's just that incredibly slick guy you went to college with. Whoever it is, this is your chance to brag shamelessly about the most insanely amazing person you've ever managed to sleep with. Tell us the story — with all the hilarious specifics — about the time you managed to get laid, in a league about your own. Send us 300-500 words to [email protected] or click here for more details.
Going Pro
I used to be a jock. And in some ways, I still am. I’ve always been gay, though. I was never “out” out while playing ball, but as soon as I made it to a real university, I was more than keen to give gay the ol’ college try. Luckily, Prof. K. was happy to oblige.
Before I transferred to Division One to truly get my head beaten in (both on and off the field), I served an almost two-year sentence at a podunk community college in Space City, USA. It was my own fault; I should’ve paid more attention to English class than to the boys in it.
Lest Deadspin get a read on this, I’m not gonna say where I ended up. Nor who my coaches were. Suffice it to say I wasn’t a bear on the defensive line. But as it often goes with defense, I got no glory of my own. To wit, I hold no records, no game balls even from my alma mater. Hell, given that a few guys on the team suspected I was pitching for the other one, I’m lucky I didn’t ride more pine than I did.
I originally had Prof. K. for speech on Tuesdays and Thursdays at two o’clock. All you need to know, really, is that I flunked his class. At the time, I figured it was because he'd been bullied by jocks like me, but I realize now that I deserved it.
As you may know, the NCAA is actually the biggest human-rights violator in the Western world. They bled me dry — and wouldn’t even let my remaining pounds of flesh get a part-time job. To cope, a gymnastics buddy clued me in on how he earned a little extra beer money: dancing at a club.
About three days after Professor K. failed me in speech, he came into the club I was dancing in across town. Only a few minutes after that, he had me crammed into his mouth in the men’s room. I had seen the pictures on his desk, so I knew for sure that he was married. In fact, to this day, I remember him mentioning his wife’s job in class.
I’d like to think this guy saw something in me that I couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t see myself. Regardless, the tough love of the big, fat F did teach me a valuable lesson… and just not about communication or rhetoric. It helped me get my act together. To be fair, he did also “tip” me rather handsomely for my troubles that night. I did eventually play pro football, but I'm proud to say that as far as oral sex goes, I remain an unpaid amateur. — Name withheld
Submit to the next one, Five Stories: Out of My League. Maybe she's a super-model on TV. Maybe he's just that incredibly slick guy you went to college with. Whoever it is, this is your chance to brag shamelessly about the most insanely amazing person you've ever managed to sleep with. Tell us the story — with all the hilarious specifics — about the time you managed to get laid, in a league about your own. Send us 300-500 words to [email protected] or click here for more details.
Recommendation Letters
The first day of class, I knew I would sleep with him. In fact, I told my best friend just that — a bold, point-to-the-fence kind of moment that made the whole thing so much more enjoyable. I completed the class, rarely attending but getting glowing comments on my essays. Emails were exchanged on "class-related" topics, and stares and small talk was shared in the classroom. I titled emails with allusions to Lolita, and even brought him an apple to his office hours. But nothing happened, and I finished the course, with a B+, which annoyed me endlessly, and made my friends snicker.
The following semester though, when I learned I had to take an independent-study course with the professor of my choice, I knew I had an immediate in. I suggested we meet for drinks to discuss the topic of study; my note was short and purposely left quite a lot to interpretation, and he willingly took the bait. The night of the date I proceeded to get so drunk from Hooksexups that I puked in the bar bathroom. I was embarrassed and really thought I had made a fool of myself in front of this mature man-teacher. He still went home with me, although at first he acted innocent as to how the night would proceed.
We ended up sleeping together that night, and then we slept with each other on and off, for a pretty long while. He wrote me poetry for my birthday, and we had long discussions about books and writers, yet our relationship never progressed to be much more than sex and inspired discussions. I soon realized his startling intellect was companion to a likely case of Asperger's. Considering his occupation as a writer and teacher, he was surprisingly inept at communicating.
Things eventually trickled off. But he has written me great recommendation letters. — Carly Pifer
Submit to the next one, Five Stories: Out of My League. Maybe she's a super-model on TV. Maybe he's just that incredibly slick guy you went to college with. Whoever it is, this is your chance to brag shamelessly about the most insanely amazing person you've ever managed to sleep with. Tell us the story — with all the hilarious specifics — about the time you managed to get laid, in a league about your own. Send us 300-500 words to [email protected] or click here for more details.
After Graduation
I was twenty-four and going back to school, taking classes at a well-reputed community college in southern California. And oh my, did I fall hard for one particular professor. It wasn’t just me — he had a lot of admirers. With good reason — he was brilliant, hilarious, in his late forties and a U.K. export to boot. In political lectures he’d make references to the Sex Pistols. I was smitten!
Over the two years I spent at that school, I took two classes from him and tried to befriend him by trading music videos and stopping by his office all the time with questions. I wanted to impress him so badly. I studied my ass off, and anytime I got less than a 97 on a paper, I was at his door asking what I had done wrong.
In addition to office hours, we did have an ongoing email exchange, but at that point he had always kept it pretty professional (to my chagrin). I thought maybe he was “above it”, though I definitely picked up on an ever-so-subtle devious vibe. Finally I transferred to a four-year school, and that’s when things started to heat up.
Within the first year of me being out of the area, our emails began to get really flirty and suggestive. Finally at one point, I was going to be back in town visiting, and we were supposed to “meet for drinks” (i.e. consummate our relationship). On this first attempt, however, he totally flaked on me. I was super-annoyed and disappointed. (He later apologized and told me he was involved with someone at the time and felt weird.)
Nearly six months later he made it up to me by — no shit — flying me down to stay with him for the weekend. And it was amazing! Surreal. We banged all weekend. He bought me things and held my hand, and we went for walks on the beach. The awkward thing, though, was that he really fell for me in those few days, which I did not expect. When I left that weekend he expressed interest in wanting to see me, again and often. Shortly thereafter I got a full-time job and couldn’t escape as easily out of town, so we never did have so much as a follow-up visit. I did, however, send him a handful of sexy pictures over the months that followed to keep him entertained — he had an incredible shoe fetish that I was happy to oblige.
To this day it remains one of my fondest memories, after pining away for him for so long. I used to date another teacher (and college professor), as well. He wasn't one of mine, but it was always a huge turn-on. Apparently I have an incredible fetish of my own. — Samantha Carlite
Submit to the next one, Five Stories: Out of My League. Maybe she's a super-model on TV. Maybe he's just that incredibly slick guy you went to college with. Whoever it is, this is your chance to brag shamelessly about the most insanely amazing person you've ever managed to sleep with. Tell us the story — with all the hilarious specifics — about the time you managed to get laid, in a league about your own. Send us 300-500 words to [email protected] or click here for more details.
