Teacher’s Pet


It was sophomore year still, second semester, and I had a smoking hot chemistry teacher who was young (but still 9 years older than me, SCORE), questionably gay, and let us call her by her first name in class. She was very petite, tan-skinned, dark haired, with gauged ears and a lip ring. For the sake of privacy, I will refer to her from now on as Shmemistry Teacher (in all honesty, in real life we always called her this as well because it was funny).

I sat at our lab table with Courtney and another lesbian friend of ours, let’s call her Shmermione, from the rugby team, who both thought I was ridiculous for constantly flirting with our teacher. But I was single and hooking up with a teacher is a total fantasy that everyone has, right?

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I decided the most fool-proof way to decide if she was gay was to wear the gayest shirt I owned at the time (an “I enjoy vagina” tee from Spencers), and see if I could get a rise out of her. Honestly I think the shirt was less to blame than this face *bats eyelashes* as I asked her to come over and help me with the lab we were working on.

Shmermione and Courtney rolled their eyes as I playfully touched our teacher’s hand, asked her to review my work, and winked as she leaned across me in my seat. While they both told me that I had a -0% chance of actually hooking up with Shmemistry teacher, they did place bets on how long they thought it would take for me to crash and burn. We had to find some way to make learning about compound solutions and molecules interesting after all.

“I love that tattoo.” She said, gesturing to a compass I have on my forearm. She went on to ask me about my other tattoos and I resisted the urge to pull my shirt up in the middle of our classroom to show her the quote on my ribs, but told her the song it was from and she told me she was going to go home and look it up.

“I’m in y’all.” I said to my friends, and we did our secret lesbian hand shake (spoiler alert, it’s a low five).

Before the day was even over I received an email from Shmemistry Teacher.

Hi Chris,

I know I could have waited until our next class but I wanted to tell you I listened to that song and I loved it, so I listened to the rest of his album and have to admit you have great taste. We should get together for coffee sometime and talk music some more.

xo Shmemistry Teacher 

“HOLY FUCK! SHMEMISTRY TEACHER ASKED ME TO COFFEE, THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE.” I told Courtney way too loudly in the middle of our painting class, and our teacher shot me a look. Sor-ry! Jeez. I was about to go on a maybe-date with our hot teacher, I was a little pumped, don’t be jealous shmainting teacher.

We planned to meet the next day in between two of her labs. We showed up and sat on the patio of a small coffee shop just off campus, she ordered a Matcha something or other and some pita bread and hummus, I ordered a latte and sat opposite her.

We discussed music, school, our pets, relationships (she wasn’t gay, bummmmmmmer), her affinity for snakes and my lack of affinity for body parts that looked like snakes, and so on. We talked until she realized she was late for her next class, but she asked me come by her office later that week if I wanted to talk more. I mean I’m totally not reading into anything here. I know I’m only a 19-year-old inexperienced baby lesbian but she was giving me some positive vibes. Plus when we discussed our favorite foods we both professed our love of tacos and everyone knows that being a food taco lover is a gateway to being a lady taco lover.

When I went to visit her office later that week after my typography class that was in an adjacent building she told me she had to run to her house which was in the town south of us and asked if I wanted to join her. THIS IS ABOUT THE TIME MY INSIDES WERE FREAKING OUT. DID SHE JUST INVITE ME OVER? IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY? COULD I REALLY SKIP CLASS? Okay, I skipped class. Thankfully I had a twin to take notes for me — shoutout to Courtney for being the best wingman EVER.

I rode with her and we listened to music, she made fun of me for not knowing some of the songs that came on, I promptly informed her that I was born in 1992 which made me an infant at the time of some of these songs’ release dates. It’s always a huge turn on to tell an older woman that you were born in the nineties, that’s a tip from me to you.

When we got to her house we walked her dog, she showed me some nature photography she had done, she grabbed a snack and then we left. That’s it. The L word had led me to believe that anytime a girl invites you over you are gonna rock paper scissor your way into said girl’s pants, but things didn’t quite work out that way this time. Damn that show for giving me false expectations.

When we were in the car on the way back to school, she turned to me and asked, “Why do lesbians always like straight girls?” I guess my attraction to her wasn’t as subtle as I had tried to make it.
“You know, I’m not sure, but then again I’m not sure why ‘straight’ girls always like me so much either.” I said with a smirk and she nodded in response. Well played self, way to turn that one around.

Though the trip we had made was uneventful, it resulted in her asking for my number, which felt like a step in a direction that might lead to a taco party. I was looking forward to where this less than appropriate student-teacher relationship was headed.

Mostly I was hoping to find out if we had any Shmexual Shmemistry, ya feel?

*Next time on nobody scissors, we definitely have a little shmemistry…*



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