The Secret Sex Life of Mr. Peterson -- Part I

Eric Peterson did not look like the kind of inspirational teacher that could change your life. And on an ordinary day, he wasn't. He was the typical, young, attractive teacher with only a few years of experience under his belt who was afraid to push limits. On those days he was clean cut and shaven with nicely pressed pants and a starched button up shirt. Neat, pristine, on the outside he appeared to be so exactly the opposite abnormal that it was almost abnormal.

And then there were the other days. The days when he came to school with his shirt untucked and his hair roughed up, looking like he'd spent the entire night drinking. On those days if a random person who'd never sat in on their class had waltzed in they would have labeled him a drunkard and a chain smoker. Through all his classes he would pace back and forth from his desk to the window, blowing cigarette smoke every which way he pleased. During these days he would rant and rave at his class, swearing like mad and initiating heated discussions in his wake (as opposed to giving the average lecture and taking notes).

The other teachers had their theories about him. Some thought he had some type of personality disorder. Other found his methods on his ruffled days to be unruly and vexing. Those same people thought that he was sending a bad message to his students through smoking in class. The rest, liked him well enough. The only common factor was their curiosity over what set off these little bouts. They all also had to admit, no matter whether his methods were unorthodox or not, his students knew their stuff. And no of them suspected that the reason for his turn abouts was sexual tension or anything of that ilk.

The students loved him. He was tough but fair and, as the saying goes "stuck to his guns" when rude students got rowdy. Never once did he have to resort to the fruitless punishment of sending his students down to the vice principal. Once when a boy had fallen asleep during one of his lectures he had had him come and stand with him nose on the chalk board, and gave him contemporaries the rest of the class to talk. Now this really gnawed on the boy's nerves, He was practically stuck to the blackboard while his classmates could be saying Shiva knows what about how ridiculous he looked. The boy never fell asleep in Mr. Peterson's class again. But as I mentioned before, even with his non-traditional methods of punishment the students still loved him.

Today was one of those days. They were having a discussion on the validity of the repressed memory theory. The class had separated into two halves (the side that believe it could happen and the side that didn't). This disucssion then widened into another broader topic about the effects of child abuse. Mr. Peterson's lips curled around his cigarette into a smile and his ran his fingers through his hair. It was last period on a Friday and his students were doing wonderfully.

He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled the smoke and began to rub at his cheek with the other hand. He hadn't shaved in the morning, on request and he wasn't regretting it. The stubble just felt odd.

He smiled again as he watched his students make points back and forth at the topic at hand. No matter how much he adored the teens in his classes and his job he wanted out of there and since there were only a two more minutes left of class, it wouldn't hurt to let them go early.

"Alright! Alright!" he called, reaching outside the window and stamping the cigarette out on the wall. "Repressed memories, that had been 'brought forth' as it were, have been used as valid evidence in several cases, abuse related and otherwise. Keep in mind that no one is wrong, it's all a matter of your personal opinion and how you interpret the facts. Now get the hell out of my classroom." he directed and then watched as the students scampered out of his room. The few that had caught the humor in his voice chuckled and waved as they exited.

Sitting down at his computer, he cracked his knuckles dramatically before settling back and beginning and entering the newest grades into their correct places.

When his eyes grew unfocused he pressed the smoldering tip of his spent cigarette to a brand new one until it caught. He took a drag of the new one, savoring the rush of nicotine through his system. He knew smoking was bad, bad, bad. And he could practically feel his lungs shriveling into tar covered, black husks.

He had only started about a year ago. Only then had he felt he really needed outside forces to calm him down and get him through these kinds of days. Those days when he woke up to a soft, teasing whisper; "I've got something special planned for you, this evening." That little tease knew that those words drove him crazy and his had taken some serious will power for him to leave their warm bed in the first place. So he brought out the cigarettes and didn't bother wearing a tie.

The first time he'd spent the day at work with in that kind of scruffy get up he'd been afraid he'd get fired, but Alex had made up for all the owrry later.

... Alex. His lover that refused to live with him. The lover that he'd given a key months ago. The lover that refused to tell him his birthday, because buying presents for such occasions was a sign of an actual relationship, but had felt no qualms over treating Eric to a special birthday surprise. The lover that snuck in every morning he got the urge to and whispered the same words in his ear before he was even awake; "I've got something special planned for you, this evening." ... His lover could be a bit of a challenge, what with the slight commitment issues and his forte for keeping secret, but Alex was well worth it when all was said and done.

Eric smiled as he slipped a batch of tests into his bag and clipped it shut. He tossed and caught his keys before flipping he lights off. Then stopped at the teacher's lounge, grabbing a cheap cup of coffee that tasted more like scalding hot mud than anything else and wishing his co-workers a good week end.

When he finally pulled into his drive way he looked about... While he hated to admit it, he lived in something akin to suburbia. Similar looking houses lined the street and the sidewalk was scattered with children's toys. But not his own, he was the only resident on the block with no children, and no spouse or even love interest, as far as they knew. His own also happened to be the only house with the windows drawn.

"Hey neighbor!" called his neighbor Ted, over their dividing bush. "A stranger drove over you're little friend, earlier."

An exasperated sigh passed Eric's lips. His neighbors were so goddamned nosey. "Thanks Ted." He waved at the middle-aged busy body before unlocking his door and slamming it behind him.

"Hello? Anybody here? I heard my 'little friend' was dropped off earlier." he called into the seemingly empty house.

"Kitchen! ... And I'm not little!"

Eric dropped his bag in the front hall and hung his jacket on it's designated hook. He chuckled slightly as he moved through the house, picking up the pile of mail as he went.

"Oh ho bills! That was unexpected." he said, flipping through the envelopes and reading the return addresses. He walked in to the kitchen to see Alex's leather clad bottom in a prime position as he bent to pull something out of the oven.

He threw the mail haphazardly onto the table and heard the paper of the envelope slide across the wood of the table.

Alex straightened as he set the tray on the dormant burners and turned around.

Eric couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to laugh his ass of or tossed his little lover over his shoulder.

A few years ago Alex had been one of his students... A student who apparently had been very determined to get in his professors pants. Alex was smaller than him, and a mop of unruly red hair. So red in fact that Eric had orignally doubted that it was his true color, but upon more... research he'd come to realize it was true. He was well built for someone of such small stature and as far as he was concerned everything was in perfect proportion.

And now, his former student was standing in his kitchen, taking off his oven mitts, but still wearing an apron. While most people wouldn't expect aprons and clunky, lace up leather boots to match very well, Alex could pull it off perfectly. When he finally shed the apron, he looked up, his gaze colliding with Eric's. "You know, when I'm in an outfit like this, you're not supposed to look at my face." he said, shifting from one foot from the other.

"You're......." Eric's sentence led off as his gaze swept over the other like a warm summer breeze.

"Gorgeous? Sexy? Dominatrix-y? Fucking hot?" The truth was, Alex was beginning to feel alittle hot. That was the real purpose of this get up, though. He was wearing an extremely tight top that only went to about an inch above his belly button and short, skin tight shorts that were connected to his boots with garters. All the material was black and making his lover salivate all over the kitchen floor.

"All of the above." And without any further hesitation Eric was by his side, kissing him, licking him, touching him. It felt so good Eric almost forgot his plans. Tonight was a very special night and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

"I baked cookies."

Eric raised an eye brow, but said nothing. He just reached behind him and took a cooling cookie from the pan and bit in. "Delicious. And now for the second course."

-to be continued.

A/N: If you know someone or have a teacher with the last name Peterson, then I'm sorry, but that's the only last name that came to mind. -shrugs-