The Odyssey – An Erotic Story


Jake banged his head on the metal locker and groaned.

“I got Mr. Hein for health class. The guy with the yellow teeth. What a waste. My doodling will so improve this semester. Who did you get for health?”

Mark scanned his semester’s schedule.

“Mrs. Larson, just after lunch, third period.”

“Mrs. Larson! Man, you lucky shit. I can’t believe it!” Jake punched Mark in the arm.

“She good?” he said and punched Jake back.

“You getting her is so wrong, so unfair. Since my freshmen year I’ve wanted to be in her class. But never, not even in my last semester did I get her. I swear the universe is against me. It hates me, hates me, hates me!”

Jake stared upward and, raising both hands, he pleaded, “What did I do to make you hate me so much?”

Mark laughed. “She good enough to make you think the universe has cursed you?”

“Mark, Mark, Mark.” Jake wrapped his arm around his shoulders, like a father ready to give his son a life lesson. “It’s obvious you know nothing. Let me say there’s some history—true stories, I tell you—about Mrs. Larson. I’ve heard of ‘out of this world,’ first-hand accounts.”

Seeing Mark’s nonchalance, he grabbed the front of Mark’s Metallica shirt.

“Amazing things! Fantastic things! Things that manifest alone in fiction!”

Mark removed Jake’s hands from his shirt and straightened it.

Jake leaned against the wall of cold dinged-up lockers. “Universe, all I ask is to have my own adventure with Mrs. Larson. To become a hero in this place. A demigod in this school.”

“But the universe has said no,” Mark joked.

“Must have, it must have.” He hung his head and felt the sore spot on his own shoulder from Mark’s punch.

“What are these stories you’ve heard about? They must be really, really good, if you’re getting this depressed.”

“Legends, my friend, sagas unparalleled, events that happen only once in a thousand years.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “When’s drama class?

“Fourth period.”

“Save it for class. Cut the show and tell me about her.”

Jake glanced around, as if someone might listen in, particularly the universe.

“Mrs. Larson is said to call herself ‘Ms. Joy.’”

Mark’s forehead crinkled, as Jake’s words of knowledge failed to pass through his skull. “You mean like she’s happy. So what?”

“No, no, no. I’m talking about herself herself.” His eyes darted down for a split second, attempting again to convey a message.

A light clicked on in Mark’s mind. “Herself herself, as in that herself?”

Jake only nodded slightly, the corners of his mouth upturned as hardheaded Mark got the message.

Suddenly though, Mark’s astonishment vanished from his face and skepticism replaced it.

“Pretty far-fetched, you know. How would anyone know that? Anyone actually heard her say it?”

“She has said it, dude. People have heard her say it—I mean, actually heard the name roll from between her lips.”

“Which lips?” Mark laughed.

He then crossed his arms. “I’ll believe it when I myself hear her say it. And only then. These tales about teachers can last for years. One student says something and everyone else takes it as god’s honest truth and then they repeat it. Soon it’s blown all out of proportion. But it all began as a ‘mistruth.’”

“My brother said he heard a friend of a friend say she said it in class once.”

“You mean your brother Robbie? Ha!” He waved off Jake’s statement. “If Russell had said it, I might have—maybe have—believed it, maybe. But Robbie? And when was he in school, like ten years ago. Was Mrs. Larson for real teaching here way back then?”

“Whatever you say, have it your way, Burger King. I believe it though.” He jabbed his thumb against his chest.

Then Jake looked at Mark with a plea. “True or not—for me, for your friend—pay attention in class, listen to every word she says, especially when the topic is …”

The bell directly overhead rang loudly and echoed through the halls and in their ears. 

“Talk later.”

And they split to first period.

All morning, the thought of that conversation and the tale intrigued Mark, despite its absurdity. What if the story was true?

First period went slowly and second period dragged on too. Lunch was lunch. Finally third period arrived.

He took his seat in the back of the class, a spot where he could get a better view of all that was happening and avoid having a room full of mischievous teenagers, with spitballs and paper airplanes, behind him.

Mrs. Larson walked in after the bell rang for the start of class. She was a full-figured black woman with a head of frizzy styled hair with dark red highlights. Her slim eyes gave the impression of a strong personality. If she wanted it, she would get it. Still the stoic nature she exuded made the Tale of Ms. Joy even more far-fetched. However, admiring his teacher, Mark decided it would be quite intriguing.

Her glistening brown lips parted as she welcomed them to her class. She had a lovely, broad smile. Mark even noticed her pink tongue in her mouth, a contrast to the rest of her.

Mrs. Larson spoke briefly about herself, the class syllabus and topics she would cover during the semester. While talking, Mark noticed her long fingers and the gold rings she wore, including a band studded with a large diamond on her fourth finger. He concluded that Jake had a wild fantasy about this teacher. Nevertheless, Mark listened to her—just in case something unexpected, and unlikely, might come through those lips.

Later that day, Mark gave Jake the bad news. “Shucks! She didn’t say it.” He snapped his fingers sardonically.

“There are weeks ahead.” Jake showed his crossed fingers. “Maybe.”

“I think you’re stupid.”

“You still don’t believe the stories. You need to hear it from the source.”

“Robbie only heard it from a friend who had a friend who heard her—supposedly heard her for that matter—say ‘Ms. Joy.’ Who knows if it was said in the right context!”

“Let’s talk to Robbie.”

A few hours later, Jake and Mark sat on the floor in Robbie’s room. It was cast in blacklight, and odd posters and blankets glowed in the dark. Jake’s oldest brother was relaxed in his bean-bag chair. He grinned at hearing the topic the two guys were interested in.

“Ah, yes, Mrs. Larson, Mrs. Larson,” he said, stroking his chin, “what a woman. Could teach health better than any other teacher.”

His grin widened. “I didn’t know what I was getting into when I took my seat in her class.”

“She was teaching here when you were in school?” Mark asked.

“Her first year, yep.”

“Where’d you hear about ‘Ms. Joy’?” Jake asked.

“Barry Windell was his name. A good-looking guy, girls loved him, were all over him. He had whoever he wanted. No questions asked.”

Mark was already shaking his head, but he listened.

“One day Barry met with Mrs. Larson. He said he wanted her, that he had been turned on by her ever since he was in her class. And now he couldn’t handle it any longer.”

Robbie took a drag on his joint and let the smoke flood from his nostrils.

“She was shocked, so she told him, ‘I knew I turned you on. That’s why I wear short skirts and keep my back to the class, so you can see my large ass.’”

Jake nudged Mark, as his brother shared the tale of Mrs. Larson.

“It began then between Barry and Mrs. Larson. She told him, ‘You want to meet Ms. Joy?’ And Barry told her she should meet his man first. So she knelt down behind her desk and sucked his dick. Yep, that’s how it happened.”

“You’re saying she just knelt down in her classroom before everyone left for the day? Give me a break.” Mark put his head in his hand. “A little too out there for me to believe. And not to mention, a guy who can get any girl he wants when he wants her? No guy is that good, even the rich men in the world can’t get pussy anytime from any girl.”

“I can’t believe you still doubt us,” Jake said. “Dude, this is the Odyssey of our school.”

“The Odyssey is only a overblown poem. Nothing in it is true,” Mark responded.

Suddenly Jake had a revelation. “I understand it now! Mark, the universe allowed you to get Mrs. Larson so you’ll become a believer.”

“What, and you didn’t get her all these years because you’re a believer?”

“The universe is perplexing.”

“Yeah, dude, it’s—” Robbie took a long toke. “—it’s twisted, man.”

The next day, Mark decided to sit nearer the front of class. He still didn’t believe Robbie or Jake that this woman, who was handing out worksheets, was the heroine of the school’s locker room Odyssey.

Mrs. Larson passed down the aisle of desks and bumped Mark’s elbow.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she said sweetly and touched his arm.

Mark’s body reacted immediately. He felt her hand’s warmth, its strength, her fingernails. He also saw, up close, the diamond on her finger.

During class, he examined her white polyester dress pants. Against her skin, he could make out the lightest outline of the pockets. Despite close but discreet scrutiny, he could not find a panty line along the skin-tight slacks. He imagined a thin strip of elastic deep in her ass. Or no panties at all. With all these thoughts, there was no way he could stand up. Luckily, he had calmed himself by the end of class.

“Sorry, Jake,” Mark said when he saw his friend in the hallway, “she didn’t say it.”

“Who say what?” interjected Derrick who was with Jake.

“Mrs. Larson and ‘Ms. Joy,’” Jake said flippantly. “Mark, here, is not a believer.”

“Not a believer? Man, believe it because in life there’s nothing as sobering as a world without naughty women.”

Mark looked skeptically from Derrick to Jake.

“Derrick’s in philosophy,” Jake answered.

“And you’re in drama,” Mark said.

“And you’re in denial!” Jake retorted.

“Derrick, here’s a thought for you to chew on. ‘The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason, he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.’”

“Fredrich Neitzsche! Love him.” He gave Mark a high-five.

“If you have faith without proof, Neitzsche would consider you a fool.”

“You need to meet Harry Gosstold,” Derrick said. “He’ll give you proof. He knows plenty of people. He had health class during summer school one year.”

“You know him, Jake?” Mark asked.

Harry Gosstold rolled out from under the broken-down pickup truck.

“The stories of Mrs. Larson have hit your class too, huh,” he said.

He stood tall in his garage fatigues and smelled like burnt oil.

“I wasn’t in that summer class with Mrs. Larson. But my best friend’s ex was in summer school—several times—but not with Mrs. Larson. I have not gotten any the dirty details because when Ernie and her broke up, she wasn’t talking to any of us. This many years later and she still ignores us. A bitch. Erin’s ex, not Mrs. Larson.”

He wiped off his greasy hands.

“But I have heard of a game she made up. It’s called Strip Dodgeball. If you get hit, you have to take off a piece of clothing. Would’ve loved to play that game.”

“Strip Dodgeball? That’s stupid.”

“The stories are true, Mark, true. Believe them,” Harry said.

In the fresh air outside of the Gosstold Garage, Mark was even more unconvinced.

“How can all of you believe this if no one has had a first-hand account? You barely have enough proof to jack off to. Do you understand that?”

Jake shrugged, dismissing the comment.

The next day, Mark sat in the front row of health class. He checked out Mrs. Larson in her buttoned blouse. Mark counted three buttons undone. As she lectured, Mark was entranced by the depth of cleavage that would appear because of those undone buttons.

He was pulled from his musings when a girl next to him raised her hand. “Mrs. Larson, I have a question.”

The large woman passed down the aisle and leaned over to look at the girl’s paper. Mrs. Larson listened to her question and scanned the paper. Meanwhile, Mark had locked his eyes on her breasts that were clamped tight in the nude bra. The buttons offered a perfect view to ignite the imagination.

Suddenly Mrs. Larson moved and Mark could not dart his eyes away fast enough. She spotted his stare. She adjusted her blouse and buttoned one more button.

Afterward, he told Jake, “Class started with three undone but ended with two.”

Jake groaned at missing the view. All he could say was “How’s this for a doodle?”

“It’s Hein-worthy.”

One evening though, Mark hopped in his pickup and headed to the Supercenter for some pork chops and a bag of charcoal for the grill. Hiking through the meat section, he noticed a woman with a round ass bent over in the frozen foods. It could be just one woman.

“Hi, Mrs. Mower. Doing good tonight?”

The woman stood upright. “Mark, hi. My goodness, everyone’s out tonight. I saw Mrs. Larson earlier.”

“We all think alike. See you in class tomorrow.” 

She waved and reached back into the frozen foods.

Mark was intrigued by the thought of seeing Mrs. Larson outside of school. He suddenly didn’t mind slowing down his pace and meandering down some extra aisles.

 “Wait till Jake hears about this. If the universe is against him, it’s definitely for me.”

Amused by the thought, he turned into the dairy aisle. And there was the shapely woman.

Mark had the urge to pull back and hope not to be seen. But it was too late.


It was the voice he had come to consider silky and arousing. His teacher was holding a gallon jug of milk in each hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Larson. I’ve seen everyone out tonight. I saw Mrs. Mower.”

“Principal Simmon and his wife, Laura Beth, are here too,” she said. “DeWayne, this is Mark, a student of mine. Mark, meet DeWayne, my, my husband.”

Mark was confused by how Mrs. Larson had awkwardly described this man with her, her husband.

He was as thick as an oak tree and stood head and shoulders above Mark. He also had a strong handshake that matched his giant hands.

Mrs. Larson handed her jugs to DeWayne, and then playfully patted the cold wetness on DeWayne’s shirt. DeWayne shooed her away.

“He doesn’t like wet hands,” she said. Turning, she again saw Mark’s eyes fastened to her form.

“Mark.” She woke him up from his stupor by snapping her fingers.

He shook his head, as if rattling his eyeballs loose.

“You here to get momma some milk?”

Her question confused Mark’s slowed train of thought. What did she mean “buy his mom milk”?

“Uh, yes,” he stammered. “Milk and some charcoal for the grill.”

“Skim milk, I assume,” Mrs. Larson said. She opened the glass door and reached in for the cool half-gallon carton.

“No, not skim milk,” Mark answered. “We drink whole milk. We don’t even like 2-percent milk. Mom doesn’t drink it.”

“Whole milk, DeWayne, hear that? Whole milk is still what some guys want.”

She winked at her husband, and his face lightened up. “We drink whole milk too.”

Mark grabbed the gallon jug that she handed him. He kept his view from sliding down. He did not want to be caught twice staring at the wife of a man the size of DeWayne.

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Larson, and Mr. Larson.”

“Not Mr. Larson. Call me DeWayne, please,” the tall man corrected. “I am not a teacher.”

They said their goodbyes, and the three went their separate ways.

Mark rushed to the outdoor section of the Supercenter to get away from the Larsons. He needed to steady his mind as she had totally confused him. She must not have had any other intent than to mean he was buying milk for his family at the request of his mother. There was no innuendo, of course. They had met in the dairy section.

But assuming skim milk? And seeming surprised by drinking whole milk. Then telling DeWayne that people still like whole milk. Was she insinuating something? If she did mean more than what she said and was so candid about it, Mark started to wonder about the tales.

He set a large bag of Kingsford in his shopping cart, left the milk jug on an empty shelf, and headed for checkout.

DeWayne appeared. “You had a good idea about grilling.”

He saw the giant man toss a large bag of charcoal onto his shoulder.

Mark felt his scalp heat up and his cheeks turn red. He quickly concocted a straightforward apology for any rudeness in looking at Mrs. Larson and convincing him that he would not look at his wife ever again. He would even drop her class if it was necessary.

DeWayne walked beside him.

“Yvonne likes you,” he said and patted Mark’s back with his free hand. “When she horses around with a student like she did with you, I know it. She’s typically stiff when she bumps into a student of hers outside of school.”

“Horsing around?”

“Her jokes about whole milk. And wiping her hands on me.”

“She should have wiped her wet hands on me.”

DeWayne turned his head.

“I mean, you have a nicer shirt, I only have a t-shirt on.”

DeWayne cracked a smile. Then he offered advice that surprised Mark.

“Don’t be shy around her. Tease her back. She needs it to keep her fun for me. I don’t like a moody Yvonne.”

Mrs. Larson came around the corner into view. “There you are. We’ve got places to go.”

DeWayne glanced at Mark. “I need to get her away from these shopping trips.”

Mrs. Larson tugged the sleeve of DeWayne’s shirt. “I need to get my husband moving. Time’s a’wasting.”

“I’ll talk to you another time, Mark,” he said as he was pulled away.

“Don’t burn your meat,” Mark said, with a wave.

“Don’t forget your milk,” DeWayne answered.

Mark wished he had not left the milk behind. “I guess I need to get another jug.”

“I forget to check the date of the milk.”

Mrs. Larson’s expression eased.

“Don’t upset your momma,” she said. “Mommas should always be made happy. I know I like when I am, right, babe?”

DeWayne looked at Mark. Mark nodded.

Mrs. Larson tugged on DeWayne’s shirt to get his attention. “What were you two talking about?”

“The happy Yvonne,” DeWayne said.

“How he makes you happy.”

She was not convinced that was all of it.

They said goodbye again.

The next day, Jake was astounded by the story and read deeply into the milk comments. The story further convinced him that the universe hated him and was paying him back for some terrible act he had committed in a previous life.

“DeWayne said Yvonne likes me. She doesn’t joke with students like she did with me.”

“Yvonne? You’re using her first name?”

Mark pushed back his shoulders in pride.

“The universe is giving you these opportunities so you’ll believe in Ms. Joy.”

Mark looked up. “Universe, take note. I will need to actually see Ms. Joy before I believe.”

“I have a feeling the universe will allow it to happen.”

Mark was the first person in class that day. Mrs. Larson said hello and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi, Yvonne,” he said lightheartedly.

She frowned. “‘Mrs. Larson’ when you’re in my class. DeWayne should not put me on a first-name basis with students, unless we aren’t in class.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Larson.”

“You and I can have a first-name relationship in a few months … maybe.”

This time, she confused Mark and he wondered what she meant.

And, hearing about the conversation, Jake put his head in a locker. His comment echoed from inside. “You’re going to be the hero in this school soon.”

One evening, Mark was bussing tables at the local fish camp, and Mrs. Larson walked into the restaurant. She wasn’t with DeWayne this time. It was a new man.

Mark tried to remain unseen, but she saw him immediately. She gave a brief wave.

He cleared off the table next to hers and said hi.

“I come here a lot and I didn’t know you worked here,” she said.

“I’ve been here for a few months.”

Mrs. Larson glanced to the man across from her and then to her student.

“Mark, this is Marcus. Marcus, meet Mark, a student of mine.”

He smiled and nodded.

Marcus was thin and quiet, unlike DeWayne.

Mark continued his duties, cleaning off the empty tables.

A while after Yvonne and Marcus had been seated, Mrs. Larson left the table and bumped into Mark.

Mark smirked. “Where’s DeWayne? I hope you’re not broken up.”

She cocked her head and gave him a lighthearted grimace. “DeWayne and I are, we are still together. I just think Marcus is a nice guy who likes me.”

Mark grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Free meal?”

She playfully swatted the young man. “DeWayne doesn’t need to know, does he, Mark?”

“You want me to keep a secret from DeWayne, your husband?”

“Well, he’s not exactly my husband. We’re friendly.”

“Then how are you ‘Mrs.’ Larson?”

She held back a smirk as best as she could. “It’s a long story. Too long for tonight.”

“Some night, maybe?”

Her head jerked up. “Some ‘night’?”

“If Marcus and DeWayne get to spend time with you, I’d like to.”

Mrs. Larson’s face froze in puzzlement.

Mark then broke into a smile. “I’m joking, Yvonne, just joking.”

“You had me going there.”

“You knew I was just kidding.”

Like in the dairy aisle and in class, he let his eyes glide down her smile to her broad chest and then into the cleavage between her breasts. He had imagined sucking on her tits, squeezing them, pinching them, trying to lift them up.

Noticing Mark’s line of sight, she put her hands briefly over her chest. “These are not for you.”

His quick response slid from his mouth before he had a chance to remember this wasn’t a fantasy but was actually Mrs. Larson and her bosom.

“I wish they were mine, even for a minute. Holding them would be a … a joy, Miss.”

Her eyebrows clenched. “What did you say?”

“I would love to see them. They are the best I’ve ever …”

“No, about joy.”

“Seeing them would be a fantasy of mine.”

“I mean, you said ‘joy.’ And that’s not a word you’d typically use. In front of me, especially.”

He tried to play dumb. “I’ve used that word before.”

“Mark, it’s not Christmas.”

He flushed red with embarrassment, thinking of what he’d said and had implied. He was relieved the restaurant was relatively dark.

“So, the story is still in the hallways,” she mumbled. “Some things never go away.”

Mark felt a heavy thud in his chest and a tightening in his slacks. He was glad the growth was covered by his apron.

“What story, Mrs. Larson?”

“Mark! Get back to work,” his boss called.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“Sorry to keep this young man from work, sir. He was just being helpful to a customer,” Mrs. Larson said. And she added, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“It was no …” he started to say but his mind was shut off when she scooted by him and her tits pressed against his arm. If anything, he felt the topography of her chest, the heights and the valley.

Mark was stuck, glued to the floor. His heart thudded harder and harder, faster and faster. He watched Mrs. Larson walk across the restaurant and take a seat with Marcus.

He had a hard time working that evening. And at school, Mark decided against telling Jake about the evening with Mrs. Larson. It would be his secret.

Mark walked into class to see Mrs. Larson busy at her desk.

“It was good to see you this weekend,” he said.

“I wasn’t expecting it. If you’re working there, I may eat at that place more often,” she answered.

“I would eat too if you were there,” Mark said.

She frowned. “Jokes are for out of class, not in. It’s in both of our interests.”

“Well, I hope to see more of you—outside of class.”

“I won’t leave you hanging.”

“Oh, I’m not hanging at all.”

“Stop.” She was stern this time, like a mother who was tired of a pestering son. Mark raised his hands in surrender and then took his seat.

He looked at her throughout class. Her slacks that hugged her ass, her red-painted toenails peeking through open-toed high heels, the sparkling jewelry on her fingers. He envisioned those hands reaching around his cock and her face drawing close, her sultry eyes staring into his to ask for permission.

The bell rang and it kicked him out of his fantasy. He grabbed his books and his pens, but Mrs. Larson was out of the class by the time he had shoved them in his backpack.

Jake was disappointed to hear that another class had passed and there had been no inclination of a Ms. Joy or any telltale sign of this woman’s exploits.

“Are you starting to believe that she isn’t as wild as you and all your friends say?” Mark asked Jake.

“Man, I can’t believe I’m saying this: I’m beginning to question everything.”

“Admitting it might allow the universe to ease up on its curse against you. You may realize there is no universe at all.”

“‘Metaphysical solipsism’, dude!” Derrick shouted. “Such an awesome idea. Only my mind surely exists, all other reality is based on my senses and they have no independent existence outside of my mind.”

Mark and Jake stared at Derrick, confused.

“God, I hope that’s not the case. It would mean Mrs. Larson isn’t real. And I want her ‘real’ bad,” Jake said.

“Go with the metaphysical solipsism notion and have her right now, or anytime your senses want Ms. Joy,” Mark teased.

Jake pushed his fingers against his temples, squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. A moment later he opened his eyes.

“Nope, didn’t work,” he said. “Definitely, the universe is against me. My mind can confirm it.”

Mark laughed at the clown.

He had the urge to share all his secrets about Mrs. Larson out of school, his off-color jokes she allows, and most importantly, the time she intentionally rubbed her tits against him. He had replayed that instance in his mind over and over, night after night, in and out of class. Nothing else had been so surreal.

Nevertheless, he kept mum. He wanted her all for himself and did not want anything to foul it up. One wrong move, one whispered rumor could force her to keep away from him.

He even eased up on his comments to her in school. The possibilities were too valuable to waste by being the horny graduating senior. He just needed to be friendly, smile a lot, and pay attention in class. If he saw her, giving her free drinks at the restaurant might help too. He just knew he had to play cool.

The semester sped by. And he passed along to Jake the bad news that Mrs. Larson had maintained a clean mouth throughout the semester.

“I guess you ended up with a better class with Hein. I didn’t even get a chance to improve my doodling prowess,” Mark told Jake.

“You didn’t have to look at Hein’s yellow teeth. And, I say, having a female teacher is better. There’s potential for ‘fun.’ With a guy, there’s no hope and, if there is hope, I hope against it,” Jake said.

“I can understand your point.”

Working his weekend shift at the local restaurant, Mark saw Mrs. Larson enter and be seated. She hadn’t been in since she came with Marcus. This time, she was with another man.

When she was away from her table, she told Mark the man’s name was Donnie.

“And he’s a guy who likes excitement,” she said, patting Mark’s shoulder.

“The others, DeWayne and Marcus, weren’t?”

“Marcus, definitely not. He was good to talk to. DeWayne is so laid back. I’ve been in the mood for going places and doing bizarre things. To be thrilled.” She stopped herself abruptly. “Why am I telling you all this? This is my personal life.”

“Yvonne, you’re not going to be my teacher much longer. We’ll be friends then.”

She eyed him skeptically. “But it’s still my personal life.”

Mark kept the conversation going.

“Are there any more guys in your ‘personal’ life?” he asked.

Honestly, he hoped to hear that she would add him to her list of men. DeWayne, laid back, Marcus, conversationalist, Donnie, outgoing, Mark, a great fuck.

“I’ve got some guys but not in a ‘relationship’ with any of them. We’re more like, going out as friends.”

“Friends, huh. I’ve heard that’s impossible. Men want something.”

Yvonne pursed her lips.

“And after going out? Are you only friends? Or are there benefits?” Mark asked.

“None of your business.”

Mark’s manager walked up to the pair.

“Mark, back to work. You got tables to clean!”

Mrs. Larson spoke like Mark was being a helpful employee. “Thank you, Mark, for pointing me to the restroom.” She then turned to the manager. “He’s always so helpful and good to me. Always ready with an answer.”

“I am glad to hear that, ma’am. But, Mark, you have other tasks. Get ‘em done.”

“If you need any more help, ma’am,” Mark told Mrs. Larson, “Please let us know. We’re here to serve you.”

She pattd his shoulder.

The manager went back to the kitchen. Mrs. Larson sat with Donnie, and Mark cleared several tables. As he passed by her table, Mrs. Larson stopped him and put a note in his pocket.

He was unsure about what she had given him. He only heard her tell Donnie, “That busboy has always been so helpful to me.”

After he had unloaded the dishes and silverware for the dishwasher to clean, he slipped from the sweating-hot kitchen through the backdoor and into the cool night air. He reached into his pocket, his mind racing as he imagined what this could be.

Unfolding it, he found a twenty-dollar bill and a note.

Donnie to serve tonight. Will think of you tho! XOXO

Mark’s dick grew immediately hard. He leaned against the wall of the building. He reread her note, as if to confirm that he hadn’t misread what she had written. Or was it only his mind making up real life?

“She’ll be thinking of me while she’s fucking that guy tonight?”

He didn’t stay outside long he would avoid upsetting his manager. Inside, he found a pen and tore off a piece of paper from a notepad. He tried to think of something to write. All of the excitement of the unexpected note and what Yvonne would be thinking about later had slowed his mind, so he left the pen and paper for a little while. He cleared a few more tables and cleared his mind as well. He didn’t have much time though, because she and Donnie would leave soon.

Of all romantic words in poems, the one-liners from films and books, he jotted:

Consider a video. Bizarre!

He walked by Mrs. Larson and Donnie’s table. He thanked her and him. He then handed her his note.

He did not see them leave, but cleaning their table he found a receipt. On it was written:

Dirty mind. Hope to hit record. Or would have to do it 2x.

His apron was Mark’s only protection from walking around with a bulging cock all evening.

He stashed both notes in his pocket for the rest of his shift. Afterward he sped home. He reread the notes and lavished over each word, every X and each O. Even the pen strokes she had laid down were provocative and arousing. He stroked his cock, fast and furiously, and in a moment spewed cum all over his chest and stomach. Throughout the night, he wondered when Mrs. Larson was getting fucked and at what point was she thinking about him. He imagined what she would be thinking about him. Would she pretend Mark, not ‘do-anything’ Donnie, had her pinned against the mattress? That Mark was ramming Ms. Joy on the couch? That the young stud was burying his face in her pussy?

Seeing Jake at school, Mark had a burning urge to tell him everything and show him the notes from Mrs. Larson. He wanted to pridefully acknowledge that he had been too skeptical about these tales. The universe was on his side. It was blessing him.

Before class began, Mark asked Mrs. Larson about the weekend with Donnie.

“It went well, I enjoyed him. How was your weekend?”

He briefly held back his openness but reconsidered after thinking about her notes.

“I thought about you the whole time. Did you remember to record it?”

Mrs. Larson leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. She held a smug grin, which broke into a giggle, when she saw him drooling over the idea.

“You just dying to know, ain’t you?”

Mark straightened his face and figuratively put his tongue back in his mouth. Then he attempted to ease his anxious body by taking slower and deeper breaths. It didn’t work.

“I’ve been wired all weekend. I’ve got to know. Did you record yourself?” he said intensely.

She reached into her purse, fumbled around and then pulled out her phone. She skimmed across the screen and stopped. Mark knew she had found something because she took a breath and slouched back, putting the phone against her. Her eyes met the sex-hungry student standing over her.

“Can I trust you?”

“Of course!” he responded immediately.

Maybe too quickly because she exhaled long and slowly, reconsidering the potential impacts. But she turned the phone to him.

Mark saw a picture of her face filling most of the image, but her ass was in the air and Donnie was directly behind her. They both had clothes on. The same outfits that he and she wore to dinner.

Mark’s anxiousness deflated like a popped balloon. His shoulders slumped.

“Nice picture,” he said dryly.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, I do like it. You’re a great-looking woman. No one at school matches you.”

“At school only?” she answered.

“You’re one in a million.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I do.”

“You wanted more, didn’t you?”

He nodded and offered a fake smile.

“I can show you more but not during school. Sorry. I will say that I did not forget to record Donnie and me.” She winked.

Mark gasped, having regained his anxiousness. “When can I see?”

She handed him another note.

“My address,” she said. “Class is starting. Talk to you another time.”

Mark itched to share with Jake what Mrs. Larson had done with Donnie with him in mind. And that she had recorded it! But he kept silent, biting his lip. Instead he just told him that Mrs. Larson had not said the most desired name.

“There’s only a few weeks left and I may never know about these tales,” Jake whined.

“Are you becoming a nonbeliever?” Mark teased. “Saying Robbie and Harry Gosstold are wrong?”

Jake shrugged. “I guess so. Nothing’s happened since I’ve been here.”

Mark had another great urge to tell him that Robbie and Harry Gosstold have heard some likely true stories. And that he expected to hear the name and to see, even, feel it. He bit his lip and let Jake whine on and remain depressed.

After school, Mark found Mrs. Larson at her desk in class.

“Hi, Mrs. Larson,” he said to get her attention.

She stopped writing.

“Hi, Mark. Is it hot in here?” she asked and ran her finger around the collar of her strawberry red blouse. Then she undid one button. Three were undone and Mark got a glimpse of her dark bra and the heaps of lovely flesh held within.

He gulped and felt a rush of heat cross his face. Regaining his awareness, he asked, “You gave me your address, but when do you want me to come over?”

Mrs. Larson stood and remained leaning forward so Mark could get a deep view beneath her shirt, and gathered several books and folders.

“So you need some extra help with your classwork? I am available at 7:45 tonight, but I only have until 8:45. Not much time. I have some videos that will be very helpful though and can bring up your grade.”

Mark stuttered because of his twirling mind. “I hope it will … will bring up my grade. It has … has needed your help for a while now.”

“See you tonight then. Don’t be a minute late or I won’t be available,” she said.

She walked to the classroom door and turned off the lights in the room. “Oh, and do not be a minute early. That will cancel everything. Have a good afternoon.”

Mark watched Yvonne peacock down the hallway, letting her hips sway lusciously. Before turning a corner, she looked back once and waved.

Mark was stuck again, as if glued to the floor. She had a way to make him unable to move. To cause wobbly knees and heavy breathing.

“You okay?” Jake said. “You seem out of it.”

“A strange day, Jake, a strange day and I don’t know how it’s supposed to end.”

“Well, I hope you make it through.”

Mark’s mind cleared by simply hearing his friend. Jake’s rough voice cut off Mark’s thoughts from the womanly grace of Mrs. Larson.

“I plan to go all the way.”

Jake closed his locker. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, never mind. I may tell you someday if it happens.”

Jake slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.”

Mark found a two-story house with three garage doors. It had a well-manicured lawn and blossoming rose bushes. On the mailbox was the street numbers, so he drove passed. He made a U-turn and parked alongside the road, a few houses away. It was 7:39.

At 7:43, a garage door opened and a sleek black Tesla backed out. The car passed by him, and Mark glanced at the driver. The windows were tinted dark. Mark could only determine that the driver was either bald or had a close-cut and he had a phone against his head. He was not Dewayne, Marcus or Donnie. “The Mr. Larson?”

He waited a few more minutes as Mrs. Larson had ordered. He put his car in gear at 7:44 and slowly drove into the driveway. Unexpectedly, a garage door lifted.

He turned off his car and saw the door to the house was open. He stepped through to smell the aroma of vanilla. His nose led him to the kitchen, which opened wide into the living room with a massive television hanging on the wall above a dark mantelpiece.

The dark screen suddenly was bright with the same image that Mark had seen at school.

“Mark, come here,” he heard Yvonne say.

He walked through the kitchen, his eyes stayed on the great picture on the screen. Stepping from the tiled kitchen floor onto the plush carpet, he saw Yvonne sitting on an over-sized round nest chair. In a moment, the screen was uninteresting. She was wearing a silky nightgown with thin straps. The fabric seemed to have melted against her body, silhouetting her curves and mounds.

“Glad you made it,” she said. She pushed her hair over her shoulder.

“I was checking the time, down to the second.”


“I didn’t want to miss anything.”

“The movie starts now.”

She pressed a button on the remote control and the screen changed. Appeared on screen Mrs. Larson and Donnie.

“Yvonne, girl, what you doin’ with that camera?” Donnie asked.

“Don’t ask questions. Get behind me.”

She was on her hands and knees on the bed. She lowered to her elbows and raised her hips. Donnie came behind her. And the picture was taken. The movie continued on.

Still facing forward, Yvonne stared into the camera and slowly unbuttoned her blouse, the same one she wore the night Mark saw her with Donnie. Her man came behind her and kissed her neck and then her earlobe. Her body arched, and her head fell back in the sensuality of Donnie’s kisses.

She glanced at the camera briefly, her eyes only partly open. Donnie slid his hand through the opened blouse and grabbed one of her tits. Yvonne moaned.

A heavy groan from the television brought Mark’s attention to the screen. Donnie had lifted her skirt, exposing her white panties. He had moved the panties to shove his cock in her pussy. As he rocked back and forth, she kept herself close to the camera. Her face winced, eyebrows crunching as if in pain. Then her features lightened, nearly causing a smile.

Donnie sped his pace and all of Yvonne rocked, her hair fell over her face. Donnie drove deep inside her and Yvonne raised up from her elbows to her hands. Her breasts, locked into her thick bra, swung in circles. And the more they moved the less flesh the bra could hold back.

Yvonne moaned and begged for more.

“Mark! Mark, yes! Fuck me, fuck me hard. Gimme that fat cock,” she shouted.

Mark had to find a seat. He could not stand when he heard this lovely, half-naked woman yell out his name while getting fucked doggy-style.

Donnie groaned gruffly and Yvonne matched him. He paused for a moment, statue-like. Then his posture eased. Yvonne looked directly into the camera.

“You like this, Mark? I want you to meet Ms. Joy. Come and meet her.”

Then the movie stopped. The screen went black.

“You do call her ‘Ms. Joy!’”

Mark turned to Mrs. Larson and saw her legs spread wide and her nightgown pulled high. Nothing unexposed.

“Meet Ms. Joy,” Yvonne said.

In a step Mark crossed the room. He knelt before the large black woman, who had her legs open, and shoved his face deep between her thick thighs. Inside, he felt her heat on his face and then a wetness on the tip of his nose. He poked out his tongue and flicked the heavy lips. Unable to hold back, he covered Ms. Joy with his mouth. He smelled the musk of a woman who wanted to be fucked.

Needing air, Mark pulled back. His fingers spread apart the droopy labia and he saw the bright pink of Ms. Joy. She was a mystery that had revealed herself. And she was the loveliest mystery Mark ever found. He lapped Ms. Joy, pushing his tongue deeply into the pinkness. His face, from the bridge of his nose to his neck was smeared wet.

The semester ended and Mark and Jake graduated from high school. Holding their graduation caps, Mark apologized that he never heard Mrs. Larson say the magic name in class.

“I wish I could have helped in making you a demigod in this school. You may find demigod status somewhere else though.”


A few years later, Mark met two teenagers who had come to the fire station.

“Mr. Sullivan,” the spindly one asked, “we would like to talk to you about research we’re doing at school.”

“And I can help? The chief would be much more appropriate.”

“It’s about school. A sort of history project,” the shorter teen said in an awkward tone.

“About a certain teacher?” Mark asked. “Is the rumor still going around the school?”

“And you’re connected to it. You may be able confirm it.”

Mark laughed. “The mystery of ‘Ms. Joy’?”

“Yes,” the guys said.

“It’ll always be a mystery.”

The boys looked confused.

“A mystery for the ages.”


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