“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 

I was alarmed when I entered my house on this quiet June evening. I could smell and hear a blaze going in the fireplace, along with sensing the aura of another person. 

I lived alone. Very much alone. 

In the living room I found a woman curled up in a straight chair. She was posed in a way—hair down, leg up—to conceal her face, her breasts and her pelvis, but she was obviously naked, slim and young.  

She raised her head.  

“It’s me, Mister Anderson. Elizabeth. From your second-period History class. And as to why I’m here ...” 

She stood up, confirming her nudity. She had a marvelous body, firm and athletic with pert breasts, a trim waist and womanly hips. Her nipples were hard and her breathing was nervously deep. She hid that nervousness with a quip.  

“... I think that would be obvious. Particularly for a logical man like you.” 

Oh, I knew her. The lovely high-school senior was a bit of a smart-ass and had been flirting with me all semester. I was attracted to her, flattered by her, but it was unthinkable to react to her charms, given the situation.

“How did you get in here?” I asked.  

“Your back door is broken.” 

I thought back to how I left the house this morning. “No, it’s not.” 

“Well, it was as of fifteen minutes ago. Sorry, I’ll pay you for the damage. With cash or with ...”    

She motioned down to her pelvis. A tiny landing strip pointed the way down to what I was sure was a fresh, tight pussy. 

“Elizabeth, this can’t happen,” I said. “I’m your teacher and old enough to be ...” 

“... my older brother. You’re only thirty, Mister Anderson. I've seen you play basketball with the boys and you've got some fine legs and a nice ass. And you’re not my teacher anymore; graduation was yesterday. I’m eighteen, so we should be fine. Actually, we should be great together.” 

I felt my cock stir. I saw no guile in her eye, no scheming in her face. I’m not the greatest-looking guy in the world, so I was tempted, but still ... 

“But still, Elizabeth, this is inappropriate. You need to put on your clothes and leave.” 

“Can’t,” she replied, nodding to the fireplace. I stepped over, and saw bits of fabric smoldering, some still aflame. 

“It was all natural stuff,” she said. “Just shorts and a t-shirt. Nothing to give off toxic fumes. I wouldn’t do that to your home.” 

I looked back at her, intrigued by her boldness.  And of course, by her fuckingly beautiful teenage body, healthy and flexible—shit, so obviously flexible—and inviting.  

She continued. “I was inspired by Christopher Columbus burning his boats so his crew was committed to staying and seeing the mission through, no matter what.” 

I was going to take her up on her offer and take her to my bed, but before that, I had to play teacher one more time. 

“Actually it was Hernán Cortés, Elizabeth. In 1519. And the ships were scuttled. That’s why you got a ‘C’ in my class.”  

She smiled as she took my hand, leading me upstairs.  

“Well, I was distracted. And l I hope to earn an ‘A’ tonight. And every night.”