Final grade

On the last Friday of the school year, I left early, about three-thirty. Nobody would mind. All of the serious academic work was done; next week would consist of special events, assemblies, parties on various excuses, and tearful farewells for the Senior girls.

As I walked home, I looked back on the year. All things considered, a good one. After twenty-six years in the classroom I didn’t have to fret about mechanics; the challenge and excitement came from the ever-changing collection of students with their individual styles, personalities, contributions, and needs.

The year had held only one disappointment: Maddie, a Senior, who had slid away from academics in the last semester. Not just in my class: all her teachers had commented. I was going to have to fail her, which would mean a delayed diploma, a serious hitch in her college plans, summer school — all sorts of heartache and disruption. Such a shame. I had tried to get through to her.

I took my jacket off as I walked, and enjoyed the sunshine. Winter had been long and frigid, and Spring was all the more welcome for it.

I was half way up my front walk when I noticed that the porch swing was moving. Curious, I mounted my front steps.

“Hi, Mr. Mills,” said a voice from the swing.

“Maddie, I’m surprised to see you here,” I replied. The object of my recent thoughts was lying on the swing, her head against one arm rest, stretched out along its length. She still wore her school clothes: a white cotton blouse, the official pleated plaid skirt at its quite unofficially abbreviated length, white ankle socks, and black flats. Between the skirt hem and socks was about a mile and a half of gorgeous bare legs, a sight to which years of teaching had not entirely inured me. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m gonna fail math, right?” she asked, voice low and lazy, not betraying any real concern. Before I could answer she continued, “Yeah, I am. Any way to fix that?”

I felt so bad for her. Smart, popular, beautiful, and out of options. But it was too late. “No, Maddie, I’m afraid not. There’s no time left for re-tests or extra credit. Grades are due on Tuesday.”

“Thought so,” she said. Her eyes searched my face, and I hope found concern and kindness.

She slid her near leg sideways toward me, so it fell off the side of the swing. She tucked her other foot toward her, raising her knee. Her kilt slid up her bare thigh as her legs parted. I found myself looking up between them at pale pink bikini panties stretched tautly over her pussy, the thin cotton curving inward in the center to outline her cleft.

Slowly, she reached down with one slim finger, and trailed her fingertip along that line. The cotton dampened, clinging even more tightly.

“So,” she said, eyes directly on mine. “The only question is: would you like me naked, or would fucking me in my uniform turn you on even more?”

— Frenulum