Some moments are decisive in moulding our personality, at least for specific traits. Know what I mean? You can tell something's changed. Take sex, for example. Can you remember when it came to be SEX? Can you determine that turning point for you and your sexuality? 

Well, I can. It's that defining occasion when it became obvious that average or satisfactory wouldn't cut it anymore. Not only did my perspectives broaden, but the whole lens got reshaped.

I was nineteen years old, working the afternoon shift in a financial company as a credit analyst (for consumer goods, nothing requiring too much responsibility), so idle time, interspersed with gym and house activities, plagued my mornings. 

Good to my Latin roots, music has always been an inherent part of my life. This was (still is) especially true when getting through not-so-joyful situations. I’ve never been too keen on doing chores, thus cleaning called for some powerful motivation—read pump-up music to keep me distracted and entertained. The first link in the chain of events that led me to this personal epiphany was a CD someone had given me for my birthday: Red Hot Chili Peppers' Blood Sugar Sex Magik. 

While sweeping the floors to the funky-rocky beats, I realised I couldn't make out half of what the Chilis were saying. This was decidedly frustrating since, given my curious nature, I had taken to translating songs from a very young age with the help of a thick dictionary, learning the nuts and bolts of the language. But clearly, that was not enough. It was high time I learnt proper English.

I found a modest, family-owned institute a few blocks from home with classes that suited my working schedule. After a brief interview, the owner—a super-nice, classy lady—determined that even though the course had started a few months before, I would have no problem catching up. She gave me the text and practice books and told me I could join the following day. 

It was a small group, two guys and me, which was great because that meant less disruption, allowing us to advance faster through the lessons. And there was one substantial perk: my teacher was quite the eye candy. He was twenty-six, a bit on the thin side, yet well-framed, with scruffy light-brunette hair, striking blue eyes and alluring fleshy lips (picture Cillian Murphy in Red Lights, so goddamn distracting).  

One lucky day, my classmates bunked off, so I got a dry run of private tutoring. Somehow, he and I ended up discussing books and movies and anime—you know, all sorts of geeky stuff. In fact, he's the one who introduced me to Prof. J.R.R. Tolkien, so there's yet another reason for being forever grateful to him. The thing is, while I could understand him well, it was not so easy for me to communicate properly. However, I did my best.

From then on, our interactions became friendlier. Never the shy kind, rather the 'me likey, me grabby' type, I would flirt a bit, then some more, up to where every sentence I had to make would include some sly innuendo, and he would grin covertly in acknowledgement. 

After almost two months, only one of the guys had continued with the course. Still, he was often absent, so it was more or less an individual class. Sometimes we would read passages to each other that, while not Lush material, were not exactly classroom-appropriate. Other times, we would attempt to complete a role-play exercise, only to get inescapably side-tracked, and consequent laughter would mark the end of our academic endeavour. As fun as all this was, things were not getting any further than a back-and-forth tease, and that impish smirk didn't help at all to calm my eagerness to jump his bones.

As fate would have it, I had a double shift scheduled on a class day, and although the entry time didn't require me to cancel, I would have to go straight from there to the office. I figured it was too good an opportunity to pass up. The universe must like me because the other guy didn't show, so the odds were in my favour. Oh, the look on my teacher's face, when he saw me all dressed up in formal attire, was priceless.

He entered the classroom looking down, same as always. Only this time, his eyes didn't find the usual sports shoes, but rather a pair of black elasticised knee-high boots that hijacked his gaze.

The thorough scanning continued upwards along my bare legs to the hemline of a grape suede skirt, an improvised layover at mid-thigh level. The skin-tight garment proved effective in holding an ivory gauze shirt hostage at its scrunched waistband. A black woollen coat framed the outfit, though it didn't do much to conceal the white lace bra underneath the translucent fabric.

His pupils dilated, transfixed by this unexpectedly stylish version of me. I won't lie; I was pretty pleased with myself. He took his folder from the desk and handed me a boring exercise. Leaning on the column separating the classroom door and the small en-suite bathroom, he waited as I completed the task. Chin up, shoulders back—he was pure attitude.

Once finished, I stood up to face him, and he froze. I could swear he was holding his breath. Ms Sassiness took over. “Excuse me, but as much as I'd like to defy the laws of physics, matter is impenetrable. I'll need you to move.”

He doubled the bet. “Is it, though? Care to put that to the test?” Smirking, he moved just one step to the side, leaving scarcely enough room for me to pass so that my hip would have to shave his crotch. Bold move. I had to give it to him.

When I got back, he was standing in the same position, which meant I was the one cornered this time. Well, no way was I backing down.

“Time for testing?”

Christ, did he call me on my brazenness!

He locked the door and ushered me with his body to the far end of the room. His tongue made a solid opening statement to my mouth—to which I did not object—while his hands hitched up my skirt and hung on to the strips of my thong. The coldness of the smooth Formica against the searing heat radiating from my body shocked me, prickling my skin with goose pimples. In a swift move, he hunkered down and growled ominously; his nose skimmed over my crotch, doubtless catching a whiff of my arousal.

Back on his feet, he flipped me as I stood, his hand tracing from the small of my back and bending me over on its way up to my nape, where it nestled, holding me firmly in place. His other hand glided down my ass crack to my pussy. He gasped at how wet I was.

The to-and-fro motion began like an instinctive reflex, sliding the soggy lace slightly to the side and making those trance-inducing sloshing sounds. Showing no sign of abating, he picked me up by the throat and hissed in my ear how he was dying to fuck me, but didn't have a condom. I couldn't help but quip, “So I guess that would be an F for you, as in Fail.”

To this day, I have no clue how or when he undid his belt and dropped his pants. What I can tell you is that his balls were crushing my clit a second later, grinding against it as he took a long breath, getting a grip on himself. My, that was a deep plunge. I bit my arm to muffle the scream. For as sodden as I was, the intense burning sensation in the squishy walls widening around his hefty presence did not go unnoticed. There was something different about him, something primal and raw, and my young cunt loved it.

I came within the minute, but my clit kept pulsating non-stop. The rising tide that ensued precipitated a surge of savage thrusts. It was frantic.

After a few steady and emphatic strokes, his breathing became strenuous and so did the throbbing of his cock inside me. I turned and urged him to pull out. Incapable of thinking straight, he hastened towards the bathroom, but I cut him off and pinned his quivering body against the door.

A firm hand on his chest kept him there as I went down on my knees and took in as much of his raging hardness as I could. My lips snapped like a safety seal within licking distance of his cock’s base. Palate and tongue were an unerring slippery vice that trapped his shaft, as his glans lodged in my throat, in the nick of time. My tongue retracted, pressing along the veiny underside, squeezing and draining his testes. I was hooked by the way his dick pounded from base to tip in perfect synch with the pulses of my fortuitous climax—provoked just by giving head no less!

Inevitably, his engorged member forced my jaw to open wider, making it impossible for me to suppress the gagging anymore. This, in turn, triggered his violent eruption. I loosened the lock and receded a little, gasping for air. Hot, thick spunk coated my tonsils and scalded my throat.

Not willing to waste an ounce of my reward, I did my darnedest to fight the gag. Once again, I tensed the mushy O-ring and dragged my lips towards the tip. My tongue swirled around his twitching hose, retrieving all the juicy produce of his recent efforts on my gash, together with any remnants of his release. I sucked him off, right to the very essence of his nuts. Only when his balls relaxed did I set him free. An elusive drop made a bid to escape, but my tongue caught it promptly, like a medal-winning Olympic jizzkeeper.

We were each revelling in our own state of ecstasy until hasty footsteps, thumping down the hallway and drawing imminently nearer, broke our reverie. I rushed to the bathroom in dire need of some grooming as he hurried his pants up in double-quick time. Just as well we both reacted as we did, because it was his mum. I could hear her knocking and fumbling to get in while he vigorously pretended to be struggling to open the door, unlocking it in the end. At least the pantomime served as a valid excuse for his facial flushing.

His mother announced that the next class was waiting, to which he suggested they had better use the other room in case the door got jammed again. The nerve of the man!

She was still there when I returned, looking a tad concerned, yet her expression was all tenderness towards me. Feigning surprise, I asked what all that fuss had been and followed their overlapping explanations with a jest about how he may have intended to continue with the educative activities of the day.

“I don't think I could have taken any more!”

We all laughed or tittered in his case. That was my chance to leave on a high note, so I picked my things, thanked him for a great lesson, and kissed her goodbye—the taste of her son's cum still fresh in my mouth.

~.~

Five days had passed since our last class, and the vibe was awkward. Nail-bitingly so. The other student was there, so I couldn't say anything. 

Although I had caught my teacher gawping at me a few times, he would lower his face whenever I sought to make eye contact. I found this incredibly amusing, so I used every exercise as an opportunity to make him squirm in his chair. I remember having to come up with a sentence while studying reported speech; my example was something along the lines of “'Hands on the wall and legs spread,' ordered the police officer." That made him gulp. 

Entertaining as this was, we hadn't been able to talk about what had happened, and it was getting on my nerves. It was important for me he should know everything was okay. I wasn't expecting a 'Thank You' card, nor had I any intention of putting him in a hard spot—other than the fun kind, of course. 

Since the unfortunate episode with the allegedly jammed door, all classes had to be held with the entrance open, a major inconvenience in terms of further developing my private/alternative education. 

Even though we were alone during that day’s class, the risk of anyone hearing us meant that bringing up the subject was out of the question. I was growing increasingly frustrated. (I've always been a mite impatient.) Not that he was avoiding the elephant in the room; he was avoiding the whole bloody savannah, Simba, Timon and Pumbaa included! I just wished for us to go back to our cheerful and whimsical interactions.

Anyway, he interrupted my ruminations with a silly article of which I was to write a short review. His sister was in the reception area, gabbling away on the phone, so he told me he would go out and leave the door ajar to minimise any distractions. “You will be graded, so you'd better focus,” he informed me.

Great, so now I'm being punished.

The task took me around twenty minutes, fifteen of which I spent wondering what had caused his perceptible aloofness, and why the hell he wasn't saying anything about last week. I peeped out through the door to tell him I was done, and he ambled back with a stern face.  

I handed him the composition and he read it on his way back to his desk. His eyes never left the paper, not even when pointing to my seat with his pen without uttering a single word.

Aargh! I could have bitten his head off right there and then!

After what felt an eternity, he approached my desk and placed the graded paper in front of me. In English, of course, and in bright red, it stated:

 Performance: B
 Development: S
 Goal: A

I looked at him, baffled. He just smiled.

“Can you explain this grading, please?” I asked with a heightened pitch in my voice and a puzzled frown.

Picture it. He was standing with his back to the open door between us and his sister at the front desk. I was in my seat, riveting him with my inquiring glare, the sheet jittering in my hand. He came closer, i.e., made sure his groin was inches away from my face, and elaborated ever so calmly: “Performance refers to what you've delivered.” Next to the 'B' he completed 'lowjob'.

My eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. I looked up at him, pupils screaming, What the fuck?

Disregarding me altogether, he continued. “Development refers to where we go from here, what I'd like to focus on and work harder next.” He wrote in all caps, 'S-LIT,' and I still could not blink.

“Goal is what I consider being the ultimate aim, which I'm sure we can work out nicely before you deliver your finest piece.” Using the A, he took his time to complete the not-at-all-surprising 'A-S-S,' and underlined it—twice.

“Do you agree with this course plan?”

Speechless, I could barely nod.

“Good, I'm glad,” he said and wrote his address below.