Miss Hamilton

Miss Hamilton

I had no idea how my life would change when I followed her into the forest.

Although our village has thrived on open secrets and fabricated gossip, my secret has never been discovered. Probably because I never told anyone that I fell in love with my sixth-grade teacher, Miss Hamilton. I never told anyone that I would do anything to have her smile warm me, hear her soft voice, and be near enough to inhale her scent, an intoxicating mixture of exotic flowers and musk.

I admired her from a safe distance through my teens. Occasionally, I’d see her walk up the hill to her small house and rush to say hello, praying my voice wouldn’t break.

She always surprised me by remembering my name. “How are you, Paul? Doing well in school?”

I’d blush and stammer while I offered to carry her bags. Often, she would invite me inside and make me a glass of lemonade or a cup of tea. She might lend me a book and tease me that she wanted to know what I thought of it.

Tongues wagged and lips flapped each time Miss Hamilton would take a walk in the woods—the ones near her tiny home at the edge of town. Some gossips said she practiced magic, others believed she engaged in satanic rituals among the trees. But those who had seen her there never gave any details.

“She’s just sitting there, soaking up the sun, I guess. Sipping wine, or something.” They’d shrug. “But maybe she can tell when someone’s watching.” They’d justify her normal behavior.

I had seen her walk into the forest many times. I imagined that she had looked over her shoulder and smiled at me, but I never had the nerve to follow her. All those years, I had my dreams, hot fantasies, using whatever movie, book, or show I could think of, I’d place Miss Hamilton and myself in the lead roles. Star-crossed, unrequited, out of step with time, fingertips touching, long meaningful looks, and finally, when I understood more, I’d dream about touching, kissing, undressing. And … I’d sigh at not knowing what would come after.

And then yesterday happened.

When I saw her walk toward the trees again, I followed at a discreet distance. My throat was dry, and my heart raced as if I’d sprinted up the hill. I wish I’d worn my good t-shirt and then scoffed at myself, as if one t-shirt would be better than another.

The path narrowed as it neared the creek, then widened into a grassy clearing. I watched her spread a blanket and unpack a picnic. My breath caught in my throat, and my pants were suddenly too tight when she unbuttoned the top of her blouse. I sighed when she turned her lovely face to the sun. Maybe she knew I was following her, maybe my sigh had been too full of longing.

“Come here, Paul.” Her voice was as gentle as always when she spoke to me. On shaking legs, I approached the clearing.

She smiled and patted the blanket next to her. “It’s too beautiful a day not to share it, don’t you agree?

“Y-Yes, ma’am, Miss Hamilton.” I stammered.

“How old are you now, Paul?” Her slender fingers reached up and brushed my hair from my forehead.

“Nineteen, Miss Hamilton,” I said, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Then I believe you are old enough to call me Caroline, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma – Caroline.”

“Do you like strawberries, Paul?” she asked.

I nodded, licking my lips as I stared at her strawberry red lips. She chuckled knowingly.

“Then close your eyes.” I did as I was told.

“Now, open your mouth and taste.” She placed a ripe strawberry on my tongue. I squeezed the soft fruit against my palate and savored its sweet pulp. I might have groaned.

“Remember that flavor,” she whispered near my ear. “Now, taste this one.”

My mouth was filled with colors and music. This time, the sweetness had a delicious bite. My eyes flew open. I gasped. “Wow!”

She laughed. “The second one was dipped in champagne. It enhanced the flavor.”

She kissed me lightly on my lips and licked the enchantment of that second strawberry from my mouth.

“The difference between existing and living is to look for and savor all pleasures. Never settle for ordinary, Paul. Always seek your pleasure in the extraordinary. Understand?”

I nodded, speechless, enthralled.

“That was your first lesson. Shall we continue?”

I nearly panted with excitement. More? More of her attention, her touch, her nearness? Yes, please. I nodded and shifted on the blanket. My clothes felt too restricting.

“Good,” she purred. “All the senses are essential to feed the mind, Paul. Taste is one, imagination is another.” She winked. “I bet all those books I lent you have sparked some thoughts, haven’t they?”

I made an incoherent sound and nodded. Oh, how they had stirred my imagination!

“I want you to stretch out on your stomach and relax. Yes, just like that.”

I felt her hand stroke my head, her fingernails scratch my skull, and glide over my neck.

“Did you know, Paul, that the skin is our largest organ? And it has millions and millions of nerve endings. Each one is in direct contact with your brain… and other organs.”

Her hand traveled lightly down my spine, sending shivers throughout my body. I squirmed to find a more comfortable position, but stopped when I heard her knowing chuckle. And then I didn’t want to move anymore.

Her other hand had joined the party. She alternated between a teasing touch and a deep kneading massage. My shoulders were pummeled and caressed. She felt my upper arms and murmured her approval. Her nails scraped on either side of my spine. She stopped at the waistband of my jeans and paused.

I groaned and tried to lift my hips, but she tut-tutted and let her hands travel north again.

I felt her warm breath near my cheek before she spoke.

“Each inch of your skin is begging, has always begged, to be touched. Give it what it wants every chance you get, Paul. Don’t forget that.”

“N-no ma’ – C-Caroline.” I stammered.

“Good. Now. Let’s take off your shirt.”