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Isabelle was my first crush.

Now objectively, that’s a little sad, given my age at the time. Say what you will about me, but I was a very late bloomer, in several regards.

I was immediately infatuated with her from the moment that she entered the class.

I’m very hesitant to tell you the details, mostly because I come across as a total moron at times. And worse, a creep. But I have to share this with someone. I have to get this off my chest.

Like I was saying, I was pretty much love-struck that day.

Isabelle walked into my life during chemistry class. She was a new student.

I watched as her hips moved from side to side. How her curves refused to be hidden by her school uniform.

I noticed other students, the immature ones, snickering at her entrance, maybe mocking her full-figure. I set them straight.

“Gentlemen,” I said, barely raising my voice. “Act your age.” They shut up.

Isabelle approached my desk, and introduced herself.

“Hi,” she said softly, “I’m Isabelle, first day.”

“Pleasure to meet you Isabelle, please have a seat,” I said, pointing to an empty desk.

“Thanks, Mister…?” She was a little shy but seemed very bright.

“Mr. Smith,” I said, only I used my actual surname.

Isabelle isn’t her real name either, but as you can probably tell by now, real names wouldn’t do anyone any favors, given the circumstances.

I watched as my brand new, curvaceous pupil found her seat. I stood, and introduced Isabelle to the class, and started my lesson plan for the day.

I’ll say something up front that may anger you, given the website I’m posting this on: I never had any sort of physical relations with Isabelle.

Never.

But that doesn’t mean I didn’t engage in an emotional– and highly inappropriate– relationship with an 18-year-old. I am definitely guilty of that.

So, proceed only if you can suffer through a sexless tale. It still feels very sordid for me, all the same.

I taught at the academy for almost a decade, and I never once had feelings for a student. I wasn’t married at the time– that would come later– and I had honestly thought I’d never find love. Real love.

I hadn’t lost my virginity until my mid-twenties, during a one night stand.

The day I met Isabelle, I was forty, and I hadn’t added more than a couple notches to my belt since my first time. Still, I had never felt real, overwhelming love for someone.

Like I said– very late bloomer.

It’s also worth reiterating that I never had any infatuation with a student before, and never with a woman as young as Isabelle.

The only constant for me was her body type. I’ve always been drawn to the rubenesque, the curvaceous. Isabelle was very curvy. I don’t like using the word “fat,” but it was hard to argue that she wasn’t indeed a bit overweight.

Her breasts were no bigger than any of her female classmates. But her belly was soft and swollen, and her hips were wide. Her bottom was quite large, and her limbs were proportionately plump.

She sported raven black hair, which must have been dyed, as it had shimmers of dark blue.

She had a great face, with a button nose and diminutive lips that seemed to hide a secret. She had the grey-green eyes of a cat. And the cutest dimples.

She also seemed very intelligent.

And she was, as it turned out; She quickly ascended in the ranks– despite starting the school year a full month late– to become my prize pupil, in many ways.

In the first half of the year, before winter break, we spoke very seldom. I simply pined for her in my daydreams, and was always enthralled whenever I had the excuse to chat with her, or congratulate her on a perfect test score.

But I didn’t fall over myself. I kept my composure. I knew in my heart that this was a strange infatuation for many reasons, and I wasn’t stupid: I didn’t overstep my boundaries.

Not until she came into my empty classroom in late October, tears streaming down her face.

I was seated at my desk, catching up on grading a stack of papers when she barged in, and shut the door behind her.

“Jesus, I hate boys.” Her voice was both weary and angry.

“Isabelle,” I said, putting down the test of one such boy I suspected of giving her grief. Young people can be cruel to those who are different. I see it all the time, even though I forbid immature antics like bullying in my own classes.

“I’m sorry Mr. Smith. I should have knocked, or…” She wiped tears from her eyes, smudging her makeup a little.

“All is well. Just doing my own version of homework. What’s wrong?” I was doing my best to subdue my excitement at our unique moment alone together.

She looked at me like I was the embodiment of the word “kind.” She sighed and approached my desk like she would during chemistry class.

Her blue uniform was probably the largest size they made for female students. Her skirt came up to her mid-thighs. I loved her soft, sturdy thighs.

“Boys being boys. Saying mean shit– I mean, stuff– Sorry.” kapaklı escort She looked at me apologetically.

“Little shits,” I said under my breath, and grinned at her.

She burst out laughing, and it was a beautiful melody to my ears. I think she needed a good laugh in that moment.

“Thanks for being so…cool,” she said, still chuckling. “You’re my favorite teacher.”

My face felt a little warm.

“Thanks, Isabelle. You’re my best student, by a far margin.”

She smiled, and went to leave…but stopped before she opened the door. She turned, and approached me again.

“Mr. Smith, you’re the only nice guy I know at this school. And the only one who isn’t a child, or like, eighty years old. Can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” I said calmly, feeling mildly ecstatic.

“I’m not like these other skinny bitches– sorry, girls– and I’m always getting looks, and whispers behind my back. Sometimes, guys will say meant shit, too, loud enough that I can hear it. I just don’t know what to do. Other than ignore it.”

I pondered this.

“Do you want me to talk to any of these…boys?” I said, enunciating the last word to emphasize my low opinion of such immature behavior.

“No! God, no,” she said, then laughed. “I just wanted to know what I should say to them. I’m not telling on anybody, I just…”

She took a breath, and pivoted the conversation so drastically that it caught me off guard.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” She looked at me with smudged raccoon eyes, and a sad smile.

Maybe she didn’t think about her question before asking. She couldn’t have, given the weight of such a query, from student to teacher.

I shocked myself by answering without giving it any thought, mirroring her own rashness.

“Isabelle, you’re probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes upon. You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone convince you to feel any different. Fuck ’em.”

I felt a wave of guilt and shame wash over me. I was completely inappropriate, and I was horrified to hear my own thoughts spoken aloud.

Isabelle stared at me for several seconds. She looked very grave.

“You’re not lying, are you.” It wasn’t really phrased as a question. She knew I had just confessed my true assessment of her, as well as her body.

I had no words, so I just blinked at her. I expected nothing in return for my comment. I wasn’t trying to use my position of authority to mislead her, to seduce her. I just needed her to know that she was indeed beautiful.

Isabelle smiled as she said, “I’ve always thought that you were handsome. I’m glad the feeling is mutual. And thanks, for…y’know. Everything.”

She turned, and exited my classroom without looking back. I reflected on what had transpired.

I wasn’t sure if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life, or simply done the first thing that made me feel more alive than ever before, if not a tad reckless.

Time would tell.

I obsessed over our conversation until the following day. Thank God it was Friday.

All my fears were abated when I saw Isabelle wander into my class. I could tell by her silent expression that our conversation was still a secret, and that she didn’t think I was a creep. If nothing else, I was intuitive, and I trusted my gut.

The conversation would be forgotten and life could go back to normal.

About the latter, I was dead wrong.

Isabelle looked at me during class, as she would any day of the week.

But…

There was something about her face, something subtle, but ever present. She knew that I thought she was special. Beautiful. And she had told me she felt the same, in so many words.

There was an invisible tether between us, and we both knew it. And knowing made it all the more real. Almost visceral.

During class, I only called upon her once, seemingly at random, to answer a question scribbled on the whiteboard.

As I watched her, stone faced, while she wrote her answer, I was highly aware of my impending arousal. Pleated pants weren’t going to hide anything.

So I sat at my desk, nonchalantly gazing around the class at students with dull expressions glued to their faces.

I commended Isabelle on her correct answer, and the class went by without anything exciting occurring.

Isabelle stayed seated at her desk after the bell rang, waiting for the other students to leave before standing up, and coming over. I was seated at my desk when she leaned against it, palms down. Her belly pushed against the desk, and I resisted the urge to stare at the wooden edge digging into her tummy.

“Thanks for the other day,” she said softly as the last students filed out of my class.

“No worries, Isabelle” I said warmly, but then I lowered my voice a little. “I think I need to apologize though, I should never have spoken like–“

“No. Don’t take it back,” she said quickly. “Don’t feel guilty for a second. You made me feel so good about myself. And you don’t have to worry. I’m smart enough to know what karabağlar escort you’re worried about. I’ll never tell on you. I actually…”

My heart was on pause until she spoke again.

“I wanted to say, I really, really like the idea of you thinking things about me. About me, and…my body.”

Now I was sure my heart would crap out altogether. I tried to remain calm, and waited for her to continue.

“So, just…don’t stop thinking about me like that. And maybe if I need advice, I can come to you?”

“What advice do you need?” I said, as if I only heard the last part of her speech.

“Oh,” she said playfully, leaning a little too far forward, “Just like…life stuff.”

She leaned back, and went to leave. This time she did look back, and seemed to wiggle her waist a little for my enjoyment. I definitely looked, and she definitely saw me.

Then she left.

There was no way I was standing up anytime soon. So I graded papers in a fog until my next class arrived.

Every evening I dreamed of her, and every morning I anticipated what the day would bring– what would happen next.

It was little things for a while. Little looks, subtle inflections in her tone. She was twice as confident as she was before. I think the other students could tell, even if they didn’t know why. The boys didn’t waste time making snide remarks under their breath anymore.

She also seemed to be hanging around with some of the other brainy students. Those who would be more likely to make something of themselves.

The last day before winter break, Isabelle came to me after class. She hadn’t done it in a while, and I was thrilled to hear what she had to tell me.

“Life advice time,” she said as soon as the class was empty. She rested her hip against my desk, showing me her creamy thigh. I smiled at her, and tried to maintain eye contact.

“Shoot,” I said.

“Is sex a big deal?” She waited for a response as if she had just asked a banal question.

I cleared my throat, and eyed the open door.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s just, everybody talks about it, but I dunno. Seems like a lot of stress over nothing.”

I wracked my brain to formulate an answer. Any answer would probably get me fired if anybody but Isabelle was present. I knew my words were safe with her.

“There’s a lot of pressure on young people to…rush into that,” I said hesitantly, “but everybody would be better off, I think, if they didn’t lead by their pants, and used their head, instead.”

It was a clunky answer to a big question. Little did I know this wasn’t a question, but a discussion.

“I know, right?” she gasped, “Like it’s all the boys talk about, and the girls do too, but not the way the boys do. They’re so gross, and horny. Not that I’m not, but…”

I must have misplaced my profession, because I carried on as if I was chatting with an adult.

“Sure, I get it. I hear them talking too, even if they think they’re being stealthy. But they’re young, and dumb, and don’t know better. Doesn’t make them less gross, though.”

She giggled, and I watched her body shake.

“Mr. S, you’re hilarious. I bet you were much more behaved than those clowns.”

“I was…late to the game. I took my time.”

“When did you have sex?” she asked, brushing her dark hair behind her ear.

I became aware of how awful this really was, to the outside observer. But my eye was guarding the door peripherally, and I knew our voices wouldn’t be heard in the busy hall.

“I was 24, I think. I was a late bloomer. Not too confident until around that time. Even later, maybe.” I was worried how she would react to the news.

“I relate,” she said with a sigh. Clearly she didn’t seemed weirded out.

“C’mon,” I said, “You’re miles ahead of who I was at your age. Smart, confident…”

“And beautiful?” she said dramatically, blinking her dark eyelashes repeatedly.

I simply smiled at her. I was truly lost. I barely knew where I was right now.

“So,” she said, “You’re saying it’s not a bad thing to wait. I don’t have anybody lined up anyway. There’s someone I like, but I think that sex would only complicate things.”

“You’re most definitely right,” I said firmly, but that was mostly to give myself some firm ground to stand on. I had to set limits. I could easily drown in the lake that was loving Isabelle.

“But,” she said sweetly, “in the meantime, I love talking to him. I wish I could talk to him over the break.”

I thought of call log histories. Of snooping parents listening in on the other line. I knew it was too risky.

“I think there’s only one place that we can talk, and it’s here,” I said solemnly. I smiled to bring the mood back to a playful one.

“You’re right,” she said. “So smart. Well, happy holidays. I’ll see you when I’m back. I’ll uh…be thinking of you. Will you be doing the same?”

Her voice sounded a little sad. I smiled lovingly, and nodded. She could sense my answer, the one in my heart.

She hopped karabük escort off my desk, and turned to go. She stopped, and came back, and extended her hand. I put mine out, and she placed a folded up piece of paper in my palm.

“Read it on break,” she said, and left.

I marveled at the origami-like diamond in my hand. It felt thick, because it was folded several times. It had nothing written on either side.

After the day was done, and I met with my compatriots for a last minute pre-break meeting, I made my way to my car.

I drove home, and waited about five seconds after getting inside before opening the note. My shoes were still on.

It was written in a purple marker, with neat writing that filled the page. The marker ran through to the other side, making a mirrored version on the back.

The note read:

“Hey, I’m writing this in a way that won’t cause you too much drama if you leave it somewhere, but you should definitely burn it, or mulch it after reading. I like to garden, do you? I like to start fires, too. JK.

“Anyways, I just wanted to say, you are very special to me. I like that you like me, and I like you too. I want you to know how amazing I feel when I see you. You must feel a little funny about liking me, for a few reasons.

“I’m so curious why you like me the way I am, but I don’t want to question a good thing. I don’t know any guys that like bigger women, but I really love the idea of you enjoying my body the way it is.

“But please don’t feel weird for making me feel good. I also want to know if you ever think of me while you…? I’m asking, because, I do, about you. I’ve never been with anyone, but I do that all the time. If you haven’t yet, then I want you to. Only if you want to.

“Um, and I wanted to say I love that you’re nice, and mature, and you don’t do anything to make me feel weird. You probably couldn’t if you tried. But you’re chivalrous, and you hold back, or it seems like you do. I admire that about you.

“If it wasn’t for your job, I would want to be with you. But I don’t want to ruin your life. And I’m not obsessive, or like, going to stalk you or anything. I know you’re not married, (I asked around) but I wouldn’t want to be the reason you got in trouble.

“So I’m not actively trying to tease you, but I can’t ignore you, and I’m not sure what it is I’m doing, (maybe I bother you, lol) but I like our talks, and our secret, and I think it’s special, even just the way it is.

“I’ll miss you, and can’t wait to see you in the new year. -Izzy”

Again, her real name isn’t Isabelle, but she used a shortened nickname in her note.

But that note, my God. I felt like a young adult again, feeling love like I never really felt before.

I read it again, and again once more.

I eventually went about my day, tidying the house and making myself dinner.

Later, while in bed, I thought of Isabelle. I thought about her note, and what she did when she thought about me.

I started to think about her, too.

I imagined her ample thighs, and her soft belly. The plaid blue skirt inched up higher in my mind.

Her buttons were loosened, exposing her cleavage. Her dark, almost gloomy visage was the opposite of the light I sensed within her.

I imagined being seated at my desk. This time, she sauntered around to where I was seated.

I gripped myself, fully immersed in the fantasy.

She backed up towards me, wiggling her wide hips as she backed closer. Her large backside lowered into my lap, and I could almost feel her warmth.

I suddenly remembered the way she smelled: hints of perfume, pear scented deodorant, and her own secret pheromones that did a number on my nethers.

I could almost feel her body on me, grinding me into a pulp. She leaned back, and we kissed. Finally, we kissed.

The daydream lost its stability as I brought myself closer to the edge. I imagined bringing my hand between her creamy thighs, exploring the secret under her skirt.

But it was too late, and the fantasy ended abruptly as I moaned loudly from my bed, in my empty house.

I breathed heavily, still thinking of Izzy, feeling only a little shame, but mostly the warm glow of my post-climax euphoria.

If she was telling the truth, then we had both officially enjoyed the memory of the other person for our own selfish, secret reasons.

To be honest, it wasn’t the last time I’d service myself to the thought of her. During the break, I thought about her several times from the comfort of my bed.

When January rolled around, I was both excited and nervous about seeing Izzy again. Part of me worried she would reflect on the error of her ways, and slowly grow tired of my affection.

I was way off.

My first classes were dull. Any classes without Izzy were missing the clarity that she added to my reality.

She played things so cool when she strolled in. She didn’t pretend that we weren’t something, but she concealed it all the same, and I knew things were as good between us as ever.

I only asked her a question once, and she in no way revealed her attraction to me. She didn’t appear as a teacher’s pet, either. She was a pro.

To my surprise, she left with the rest of her class when the bell rang. She simply raised her eyebrows at me as she walked past.

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