After school, career guidance room. Red sunlight slanted through the window as I hit the floor—pinned.
Female teacher, high school boy. Bodies tangled in a classroom—straight out of a women's porno manga. I've gotten off to that fantasy plenty, plotting how I'd tease a young stud, play the mature woman. But in reality? No way!
Yet—
"Hya!"
The second I okayed his "relationship," Miyagi lunged—arms around me, slamming me to the hard floor. If I'm not hallucinating, he kissed my neck. My yelp was justified.
"Sensei! It's okay, right?"
W-What the hell!?
"A-Ah, M-Miyagi! W-Wait, hold on!"
My brain imploded—I scrambled to stop him.
"Can't wait!"
No, wait—seriously, wait! I'd braced to lose my job, my rep, everything—but not here, not now! Too soon!
"H-Hey, a guy pinning a woman like this—"
I fought hard. He didn't budge. Where's this wiry kid hiding that strength? Male-female power gap—felt it firsthand. Pinned, overpowered, no flipping him off.
…Honestly? I got wet.
I'm not a perv—not a perv! But picture it: a hot, younger guy craving me, forcing me down. Any woman who doesn't lose it in this spot—step up! My dirty daydreams lean guy-led, sure—normal taste, not freak territory. Illegal to act on, fine in my head. That's why I'm screwed—fantasy's real now, and all my mental prep's useless.
His gorgeous face loomed close, those burning eyes begging me to surrender everything. …Fine. Let it happen—after school, giving in to my cute student's whims!
Wait—no, bad idea. Really bad. I tensed up again, yelling, "No, seriously! I need prep time!"
He sensed my desperation, easing off a bit. "Prep? You're not stalling to ditch this tomorrow, right?"
"I'm a woman—no take-backs. Prep's just… uh…"
Can't say it. But blurting it beats humiliating myself worse. My armpits and bush are a disaster—unchecked lately. I'd just locked in that old guy date, planning a beauty clinic trip when this hit. No way I can admit that while he's this fired up.
"You're dodging with a lie, aren't you?"
He squinted, suspicious. If he pushes again—wait! As his "sister," I'd set the date vibe. Good food, nice spot—say I need time for that. Mature, smooth excuse!
Young guys like meat, and so do I—it's my energy from being a sporty PE teacher. I'll book a fancy private room—no one will see us, and we can talk quietly. Perfect. Then I'll send him home and go to the clinic to shave everything—armpits, legs, pubic hair. My hair's not super thick, but it's messy, and women have body hair too! If they're booked, I'll grab a razor or duct tape instead.
"Fine, I'll explain."
"Better convince me, or I'm pinning you again."
Planning as he spoke—book a yakiniku (Japanese BBQ) joint far from school, clinic call, shave everything, hide my sketchy stash, clean all night—I muffed it. Meant to say, "Gotta book a nice place—memorable first date." But my top worry slipped out.
"Need to shave my body hair."
"…"
Miyagi went mute. I want to die.
That killed the day.