Mack Zack
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May Story - Miami MILF (Chapter 1)
🕑 Added 2022-07-01 16:12:50 +0000 UTCJoan Braulio was my favorite teacher of all time. I don’t just mean it because of her looks. I first have to tell you about what she was like. She didn’t take any shit from any of the students, and being a teacher in an all-boys high school can be a challenge when you’re an attractive woman in your early thirties. All of us were horny and repressed Catholic school boys. But she took the role of being the only attractive woman in my all-boys high school with pride and swagger. She took control of the class by demanding obnoxious students to stand outside in the hallway and press their face against the glass of the door for the rest of the class, watching us like doofuses. This other time she called out the class bully, Tom Marlton, by suggesting his balls were smaller than hers. Private school teachers got away with saying some shit back then. Maybe not so much now anymore. I don’t know. But she was fiery and alive, and that really attracted me. She wanted us to know that she wasn’t just a pretty face – she could sting.
I had never seen such a graceful woman act so brazenly aggressive. She was taller than most women I knew, around 5”11. She wore black thick-rimmed glasses, had long dirty blond hair, ambiguous skin tone, and was relatively slim. She reminded me of one of those models you see on prescription glasses ads in the eye doctor’s office. Despite being slim, she had quite the perky, tight ass that every boy talked about during lunchtime. Her body was rocking, and to say nothing of her breasts! We would be dying for her to put on some shorts or jeans or dress pants to show the full power of dat ass. She did on rare occasions, but when it happened, oh man, I was in heaven just sitting there staring at her. She knew how to dress and anything she wore made her look so fucking fine. She wore large flashy jewelry on her wrists and ears, but it was never over-the-top. In warm weather she loved to wear long skirts with tight short-sleeved blouses or maxi dresses with flowery designs. In cold weather, she switched to more formal business wear and, let me tell you, those cheeks popped out and I have a feeling she knew because every time she turned around, she could sense our murmurs and said, “Now calm down, boys.”
Joan Braulio taught Spanish. She wasn’t some white woman who learned Spanish, but a Puerto Rican native who grew up with Spanish as her first language. But she was much more than just a Spanish teacher. She was worldly and knowledgeable. She had traveled every continent with her rich-ass husband Morgan. Even Antarctica. Yes. Antarctica. The place with all the snow and nothing else.
I was always excited for Spanish class for the wrong reasons, but at least it gave it me motivation to do good. I was 14 when I had her class. She taught Spanish I through III at the standard levels. I actually considered doing poorly so I could continue having her. Unfortunately, in this world, everything is pressuring you to do good in school, so I went into Honors starting my junior year. I had two fantastic years of Joan as my teacher, but at least I got to continue knowing her through the Spanish Club, all the way until the day I graduated.
I dreamed about being with her. When you’re that age, you’re still in this weird mindset that anything is possible despite the idea being so outrageous. I dreamed that I would get rich and get with her after I graduated college. We’d also travel the world and get to explore life and be happy together. Her laugh annoyed most people but not me. Her cackle reminded me of Fran Drescher in that nanny show. Joan also used to live in Queens so that was probably why. Her quick banter and tough attitude definitely told me that she would be the type of girlfriend to firmly scold the waiter that they messed up your order when you were too introverted to speak up.
I was in fucking love, man. I masturbated to her all the time.
I thought about flirting with her, but that idea quickly got shot down after I heard about an incident in our school. A few years prior, a senior got in trouble with the former guidance counselor Ms. Johnson. Before Joan, Ms. Johnson was the legendary “hot teacher” at the school. But that was the word in the rumor mill. Nobody in the administration ever talked about it, so the details were fuzzy. Still, I didn’t want to play with fire. But it hurt, man. It hurt to be a hormone-raging teenager in love with someone older than you, but it was of course for the best. I don’t condone anyone doing otherwise.
I at least wanted to make myself known to her and not be a total stranger. She was the reason I got over my nervousness to raise my hand in class, and even speak up in general. The Spanish Club took a trip to the Cloisters in New York City to study the Spanish architecture. I wanted to take the classics in college since I was interested in archaeology. Once we went through the main lesson, we were free to roam around. I wandered through the Cloisters and found her alone staring at a tapestry. I instantly recognized the tapestry as “Unicorn in Captivity”, the last of a series of tapestries depicting the hunt for a unicorn.
“They had that in one of the Harry Potter movies,” I said.
Joan jumped suddenly because I had just spoken out loud randomly from behind her. She clutched her chest and said, “¡Ay, Dios! ¡Me asustaste!”
I chuckled nervously. “Sorry.”
“What did you say?”
“That was featured in one of the Harry Potter movies. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.”
Joan stared at it for a second, and then said, “Oh yeaaaah! I knew I saw it somewhere. That’s why I’ve been staring at it like an idiot for the past five minutes.”
“There’s like a whole series of these tapestries, and there’s this meaning behind it where people thought unicorns could only tamed by a virgin.”
“Is that so?”
I went on with my random bit of knowledge. Medieval scholars liked to suggest that the unicorn was a reference to Christ and his relationship to the Virgin Mary. Some weird shit like that. The implication was that only a virgin could tame a unicorn.
That was the first time Joan really noticed me. She nodded with approval and said, “Look at you. Knowing all this stuff. I want to watch that movie again. That was such a good movie.”
“You watch Harry Potter?”
“Pft! Yeah! I read all the books too. I ADORE Harry Potter.”
Wow. You’re really cool, I thought.
It wasn’t anything amazing; any adult her age could have easily liked Harry Potter, but that struck a chord with me. I could be nerdy with her and not feel weird.
We walked down the wall of tapestries together. She paid attention to every word I said about the other unicorn tapestries. She commented on them herself like “Oh, this one looks nice” and “I would actually want this one in my living room”.
At the end of my own mini-tour, she said, “You know a lot, Lucas. That’s a good thing. You’re like a walking encyclopedia.”
That was the first time she ever complimented me. I blushed and looked away, mumbling nonsense. She nudged my shoulder with hers and said, “Hey! Look up! Take a compliment! I’m serious. All these other boys…” she looked around to check if anyone was listening, then said in a low voice “don’t give a SHIT about this. But you’re already ahead of the curve. You could go to Harvard or something. I’m serious!”
I was still sheepish and shy, but she nudged me to stand straight and say, “Thank you.”
#
Nothing would ever top the most memorable experience I had with her in high school though. The school hosted dances once and a while and invited the girls from the nearby all-girls school like St. Mary’s or Trinity Hall. I didn’t go the first time, nor the second, but in junior year I figured I should make my debut in the party scene. I was slightly more comfortable doing so back then. Key word: slightly.
The moment I entered the gym, I knew I was in over my head. I could hardly hear a thing over the intense bass, and everybody was packed shoulder-to-shoulder grinding on each other. The lights were disorienting, and the music was deafening.
I didn’t know what I was doing. Even though I knew all my friends were there, I felt very uncomfortable. I was dressed the nicest there, but not in a good way, in a dumbass dorky way. I had stupidly thought that these things were more formal with a tie and dress pants. So…there I was the only one with a tie and dress pants while everyone else was in jeans and t-shirts and shorts.
Even the chaperones looked at me weird, teachers and parents alike. I was ashamed to be in front of literally anyone.
The school hallways that didn’t lead to the gym were blocked off, except for one where the vending machines were. That one hall led out of the gym towards the guidance counselor offices. All those other halls were dark, since the lights were off, and I was able to hear again when I went down by the soda vending machine. I shook off my nerves and muttered curses to myself.
“Fucking idiot, fucking idiot, fucking idiot.”
There was a window there, so I took some time to myself brooding and looking out at the school garden. The brothers at our school were like monks. They passed their time “doing God’s work” by helping the community and otherwise beautifying the school, such as their community garden.
Then out of nowhere, I heard this deep, massive, man-sized belch. I had never heard anyone belch like that in real-life until then. It was bassy as hell and obnoxiously loud. Like ridiculously loud. Like the kind of giant belch that probably made you feel like you lost ten pounds after letting it out.
I turned around expecting to see one of the dumb jocks there. Maybe it was that tool Tom Marlton, after having guzzled some beers in secret.
No.
It was Joan Braulio.
She had been standing between the soda vending machine and the snack vending machine the entire time texting in private with a Coke can in her other hand. She was using the outlet in between the two vending machines to charge her phone. You could easily miss her walking by. When she looked up after she belched, she gasped aloud, putting a hand to her mouth, and then cackled.
“OH. MY. GAAAAAWD.”
She continued to laugh so hard that she could hardly speak, nearly keeling over. I remained standing there speechless.
She had this snorty laugh that was contagious, so I started laughing too. Then she finally stopped laughing and half-screamed, “I thought I was alone! I’m SO SORRY!”
This was it. This was my time to show off how cool I could be around her. This was my time to show that I was comfortable with that stuff.
“That was…amazing!” I said, giving a thumbs-up. “Good one!”
Joan sighed. “Ayyyy, Dios. Ah well. Why are you here alone? Why aren’t you dancing with all the girls there? Go dance!”
I mumbled something incoherently. Then I gestured broadly at what I was wearing.
“So what?” she said. “Go dance! Doesn’t matter what you look like. Girls love a boy who can dance.”
I didn’t think she understood the kind of dancing that was going on there. I said, “It’s not really dancing. It’s grinding.”
Joan adamantly shook her finger at me. “No, no, look.” She set down her Coke and phone and started showing me how to dance to the music.
“Look. You got to feel the rhythm. Move your legs and your feet and twist your torso. Don’t do that stupid UGGGH thing that the guys do where they just sway back and forth. You look like a caveman when you do that.”
I didn’t pay attention to a word she said. I was having so much fun just being alone with her. I was too awkward to continue the conversation effectively, but she picked up her stuff and said, “Aaaanyway. I gotta go chaperone you idiots. But go on! Dance! You are very handsome after all!”
That was the second compliment she ever gave me. I shivered with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. She strutted away towards the gym, downed the rest of her Coke, tossed it in the recycling bin in one smooth move, and belched out loud again.
Comments
MackZack
Thanks for the comments! Gives me motivation!
Will Miller
^As Eric said above, love the reference to your guidance counselor story! That was one of the first longer fetish stories I remember reading and has always been one of the my favorites. Excited to see where this goes!
