After dinner, Bobby stayed behind in the kitchen to talk to his mom, hoping she would ignore the suction marks on his skin. “Mom, a friend of mine gave me a bunch of Porkemon stuff they didn’t want, and I gave it to Amanda,” he said, leaning his butt on the counter as she poured herself a drink. “In case you’re wondering where all the wrappers came from.”
Sharon wore a red T-shirt that had a collar and a few buttons. Her gray sweatpants were tied in a bow just under her belly button. She was younger than Megan’s mom by a few years, but his mom had dark bags under her eyes and chapped lips. She was skinny, and embarrassingly, she had a boob job at some point in her life. “Is that the same girl who paid for your new wardrobe?” Mom asked, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth and pointed to his neck. “The one who did that to you?”
Bobby glowered, peering in the direction of the living room. “Fucking snitch,” he grumbled and silently thanked Amanda for not bringing it up.
Mom gave him a mock glare that could disarm a burglar. Half frown, half grin. Her dark green eyes twinkled, and she took a sip of her orange juice mixed with vodka. “Give her a year or two, and she’ll come around,” mom said and opened the fridge. “Who is this girl, friend of yours?”
“A friend,” he said and hopped onto the counter, kicking his feet. “We started hanging out recently.”
Mom splashed more juice into her glass, screwed the cap back on. “Are you two dating?”
The shit they had done together was crazy, but he didn’t know if that made them a couple. He didn’t mind the idea. “I don’t know,” he said, not liking the direction of the conversation. “I wanted to talk about something else; you know the basement?”
She chuckled, ears red from the alcohol. “Yes, dear, I’m aware our basement,” Mom replied.
“I was wondering if maybe we could clear it out, so I can move down there,” he said. The space was big, and she had promised him the room when he was a kid, but they never got around to emptying it. Considering their money troubles, he didn’t foresee moving out any time soon, even though he could afford it, he certainly could not explain it. Being further away from Brenda would be a massive plus and the door had a real lock on it, not the Allen wrench kind that the rest had.
“Hm,” Mom said, swirling the contents of her glass. “Jessica Dubois’ boyfriend has a truck, he might be willing to haul away all that crap, but I’ll have to go through everything first. I can’t get rid of any old pictures by accident; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”
His eyes grew wide, having not expected her to concede so readily. It would be a lot of work. He thought back. How much money would get her out of debt? He had sixty thousand something left, how many coins would that be? Bobby didn’t know if it would be enough. “Great, when can we start?” he asked.
She took another swig and grimaced. “You get a girlfriend and all of sudden you want some privacy, do you?” Mom replied, smirking. “Are you using protection?”
He winced. “Mom,” Bobby groaned, holding up a hand. “Don’t change the subject and especially not to that.”
“It’s important, hun. I know you don’t want to talk about it with your mother, and I sure as hell would rather chat about other things...”
“Stop, please,” he pleaded, cutting her off, head bowed and face awash with heat.
“Fine, you obviously haven’t done anything yet,” Mom said. “I’ll ask Hector or someone to talk to you about it, ok?”
He nodded vigorously. Bobby was plenty old enough to know about condoms and pregnancy, as he had told her before, but being seen with someone made everything more real, he supposed. “The basement?” he asked, not caring if she thought he was her ignorant little boy as long as they discussed anything else.
“We can start on Sunday; we never spend time together anymore,” she said, opening her arms and stepping close. “I think it will be fun.”
Bobby leaned over his knees, allowing his mother to wrap her arms around his neck.
*
The following day, he spent hours going from pawn shop to pawn shop, and some coin stores. He dressed in the same attire he wore for Chow’s, thinking people would be less suspicious of someone flashing cash if he was dressed nicely.
It went smoothly for the most part, except for the years on the gold coins. He hadn’t realized they would be dated, so he had to make sure they were printed before 2017; the year his grandpa died. Afraid of using his card—he had watched plenty of money laundering videos on YouTomb—he decided to go for cash. There was no limit placed on how much he could withdraw from the bank, and he chalked it up to being in a class full of rich assholes who would yell and scream about those kinds of restrictions. Bobby must have been lumped in with them.
He ended up buying nineteen, one ounce gold coins, and a bunch of smaller ones, along with some tiny bars the size of a fingernail. It was four o’clock when he got home with a backpack full of gold and a few thousand dollars left in his bank account and wallet. His mother was about to go grocery shopping, Amanda in tow.
Amanda looked like a skinnier version of Brenda, with similar A cups, but Amanda was less cheeky downstairs and dressed normally, dawning merch from one of her favorite devs. Aside from her Porkemon obsession, she was a gamer at heart, like Bobby, but she preferred random indie games with story lines. Bobby didn’t know if she chose those games because they were all her computer could run, and he made a mental note to find out.
“Oh, good, you’re here,” mom said, unlocking the old car with her fob. “Jessica is on her way over; will you entertain her until we get back?”
“Sure,” Bobby said, heading inside after Amanda sent him a grin.
Rushing to his room, he packed a sock with everything he had purchased, spinning the heavy end into a bundle before pocketing it. After that he crept into the basement. It was cramped and cluttered almost floor to ceiling, the overhead light illuminating puffs of dust as he moved. He spent ten minutes rummaging around until he found a cracked, leather duffle bag. As he yanked it free, the sound of jingling change met his ears.
Opening it, he found a bunch of ancient looking, cloth sacks with coins inside. “Yes,” he mumbled. He searched through one filled with quarters for a moment when the doorbell rang. “Fuck, good enough.” Dumping all the gold into it, he shook the pouch up and set it down before hastily putting the duffle back where he had found it.
Bobby hurried to the front door and opened it. Ms. Dubois greeted him with a bright smile. “Hi, Bobby,” she said, untangling her sunglasses from a lock of hair.
“Hi, Ms. Dubois,” Bobby answered, matching her smile. She held a massive wine bottle, cork sticking out and had on a short dress with wide straps covering each pale breast separately. The material attached just under her boobs, and he was pretty sure the woman wasn’t wearing a bra. “Come in, my mom just ran to store. She’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Call me Jessica unless we’re in class,” she said and pinched his cheek. “We don’t want anyone thinking I give you special treatment.” She swept past him.
Bobby led her to the kitchen. “You can set the wine down wherever,” he said. “Do you want a glass for it?”
“You just earned yourself an A for the rest of the semester,” Jessica said, pulling the cork free and sat the bottle down on the counter.
Bobby chuckled, reaching high into a cabinet and grabbed two glasses, assuming his mother would want one when she arrived. He rinsed them under the tap and put both in front of her. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, grinning.
“I was only teasing, mister, I would never,” she said, pouring herself a glass. “Why are you dressed so spiffy, it can’t be on my account.”
He looked down at himself, forgetting about what he had been wearing, except for the shoes, which were terribly uncomfortable. “I was out earlier and just got back,” Bobby said. “Do you want to head to the living room and watch some TV while we wait?” Entertaining a teacher was something he knew nothing about.
“Are you bored of me, already?” Dubois asked, quirking an eyebrow.
“No, no,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, but my feet are killing me in these things.” He used a tone his mother had in the past and lifted a foot. “I was only thinking about getting them off and sitting.” The rigid shoes dug into his ankles, painfully.
Dubois laughed. “You should try wearing heels all day,” she said and added more wine, filling her glass to the brim. “Lead the way, my A student.”
He gestured down the corridor. “Through here,” Bobby replied, going first.
When they arrived, Bobby sat down heavily and tore at his shoelaces. “Ahh,” he groaned, slipping the first shoe off and tossed it aside. It somersaulted, banging against a side table where a lamp sat.
“You’re too young to have that reaction after taking off shoes,” Dubois said, taking the cushion beside him.
Chucking the other one away, he sighed, “The lady said I need to break them in for two weeks and after that I’ll be golden.” Bobby settled into the cushion, catching a glimpse of milky thigh, her dress riding up ninety percent of the way to her crotch. Her legs were so thick. Juicy.
“That’s a prescription for blisters if I ever heard one,” Dubois said and tilted her head back, polishing off half the glass. “No, thank you.”
He agreed wholeheartedly. “I’ll probably never wear them again,” Bobby said and reached for the remote.
“That’s the spirit,” Dubois said and waved her arm. “If a shoe doesn’t fit, abandon it.”
He hit the Neltfix button and the homepage appeared. “Do you have a favorite show?” Bobby asked, randomly clicking around.
“Oh, play that,” Dubois said, pointing. “Ootlander, I have been meaning to watch it.”
Bobby selected it and the screen went dark for a moment. From the corner of his eye, Ms. Dubois took a deep breath and finished her glass, fussed with the fabric keeping her decent. Looked at him. “Bobby, would you mind getting me a refill?” she prompted, pressing her lips into a thin line.
Bobby stood. “Sure,” he said, rounding the coffee table as previews played.
“And can you bring me a banana?” Dubois asked. “If you have any.”
“I think we have some,” Bobby replied, grabbing her glass and making his way to the kitchen. As he poured, he imagined the look on his mom’s face when she found the coins, envisioning her jumping for joy and dancing the way old people did. He snapped off a banana from where they hung next to the fridge.
*
“Here you go,” Bobby said, handing her the wine and banana.
They watched the show for ten minutes, and Dubois finished her glass. She drinks more than mom, he thought, and snuck a glance at her chest. There wasn’t much to see, only the rise and fall of her breast as she breathed. Fuck, they were nice boobs though.
“Could you fetch my purse, and top me off?” Dubois’s speech was labored and slurred.
“Alright,” he said. She hadn’t eaten the banana.
When he returned with her request, she was clearly drunk, more alcohol having been absorbed. “There’s my favorite student,” she said, smiling. She took the glass and drained half before he could blink. “You know, I think I will give you an A.” Dubois giggled, her cheeks, nose, ears, and chest cranberry colored from the drink. She was pale as a ginger, it no wonder she turned red so easily.
He sat next to her, and she rummaged through her purse. “Bobby, I have something to discuss with you,” Dubois said, looking at him seriously.
“What’s up?” he asked, slightly worried about his grades.
He must have been making a face because she shook her head. “It’s nothing bad,” she slurred, one hand still in her bag. “Your mother called me last night, and she mentioned a talk she tried having with you.” She pulled a condom out, holding it up between two fingers. A ribbed trujan. “About these.”
His eyes grew wide as dinner plates. He glanced at the banana, and its necessity suddenly grew clear in his mind. “Oh, that,” Bobby said and a pulse of excitement coursed through him. He would love to watch her unroll a condom onto a banana. Put it in her mouth.
She sighed and chugged the rest of her wine. “Yes, Bobby, protection,” she said and hiccupped. “You’re a good-looking boy and that Megan is a floosy, but that’s good at your age. So long as you don’t get her pregnant.” Dubois flapped the condom for emphasis. “Your mom is wasting time at the store, so she doesn’t interrupt us, embarrassing you. She said you almost died when she brought it up.”
“I see,” he said, nodding and wondered if that’s why she had been drinking so much.
“Perfect, always the good student,” Dubois said. Her eyelids were heavy, partially closed. She grabbed the banana, unpeeling it sloppily and tossed the peel on the coffee table. Opening the condom, she held the reservoir tip to his face. “This is where the ejaculate goes, and you always put it on like this. Watch.” She balanced the condom on one end of the banana with clumsy fingers. “It’s easy, you just unroll it onto yourself.” The banana smushed and broke, falling onto the couch when she tried.
He laughed, and she glared at him. “It’s not funny, Bobby,” she giggled, and he could smell the alcohol on her breath. “If you’re going to laugh at your teacher, then I’ll be forced to call you to the front of the class, mister. You won’t be laughing then.”
Glancing at the fallen and battered banana with a condom for a top hat, he cackled.
“That’s it, young man,” Dubois slurred, pointing at the ground in front of her. “Stand up and drop those pants. Underwear too.”
Bobby shot to his feet, standing a foot from her face and pulling everything down to his ankles. His erect penis ready to be used as a prop. “What now?” he asked, the previous night giving him a shot of nudity confidence. Getting two hand jobs and a sneaky blowjob did wonders for his eagerness.
She fished out another condom, handing it to him. “That’s called an erection, and condoms are easier to apply when in that state.” Dubois said, keeping eye contact, her expression stern.
“I knew that,” Bobby said, and tore the package open, pressing the latex to his tip.
“I’m just being thorough,” she said. “Good, now roll it onto your penis, mister.”
With both hands, he pressed the condom to his head tightly and inched it along his hard dick. Knowing that Dubois was watching made it more pleasurable. He was practically stroking himself in front of her, and Bobby was still explosively horny from the memories of yesterday. Reaching his base, he stopped, letting his arms dangle at his sides. “I think I got it,” he said, breath coming rapidly.
“See, it wasn’t that hard,” Dubois said. “Ok, so ejaculate, also known as sperm, semen, or cum is released after stimulation.” She grasped him with both hands, and he could feel her warmth through the condom. “This is what I mean by stimulation.” Dubois rotated each hand in a different direction, applying subtle pressure along his length. The lube from the condom made her fingertips shiny as they glid across him with no resistance.
“Er, that feels really good,” Bobby muttered, keeping eye contact with Ms. Dubois. She hadn’t looked away, and her gaze trapped his own.
Dubois nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with that, mister,” she told him, continuing her alternating rotations. “It’s supposed to feel good.” She changed the motion, adding up and stroking into the mix, making her double screwdriver even better.
His cock twitched multiple times in a row at her demonstration. “Ahhh,” his eyes rolled back and Bobby’s mouth hung open.
Stopping, she said, “See, stimulation can feel incredible, especially for an inexperienced young man.” Dropping her right hand, Dubois jerked him with her left. “Some motions feel better than others, leading to a more rapid ejaculation.” She swapped again, using her right hand with vigorous strokes and then pinched his glans in the nook of her thumb. Dubois rotated spastically, working the sensitive spot on the underside of his cock.
“Oh, so good,” he nearly shouted it and caught sight of her boobs bouncing side to side. Her hand went so fast that her entire body shook.
“I know, young man,” Dubois said, cupping his balls with her free hand, caressing him. His cock swelled, release imminent. Her grip was unchanging and frantic. “You are close to climax. Your penis is swelling, getting stiffer and that means semen is about…” Bobby filled the condom’s reservoir, and she slowed, resorting to a softer touch. Her silken fingers still playing and pleasuring his taut scrotum. “That’s it. Look, the condom traps the ejaculate, instead of filling Megan’s womb and getting her pregnant.”
Bobby sighed, sweat beading in his hairline. “It’s a good invention,” he said, wondering if his mother had asked her to jack him off. Probably not.
Dubois rolled the condom halfway off his prick, then yanked the latex the rest of the way with a snap. She held it up like a trophy, pinching the trapped fluid with her fingertips. The contents jumped and sloshed. “Any questions, young man?” she asked, eyebrows raised. “I’m your teacher, and you can ask me anything so long as we’re in private.”
“Um, do I need to wear one for, you know…”, he asked, leaving the rest unsaid.
Dubois stretched the condom’s opening and tied it into a knot. “Oral sex?” she prompted and slurped him into her mouth, swallowing him whole. Her cheeks went hollow, suctioning Bobby’s length from all sides. His teacher’s tongue was dryer than Emma’s had been, but textured, glorious; the tip of it rolling, flicking.
“Oh, fuck,” Bobby groaned. “Yeah… Ahh, that’s what I meant.”
She slowly unsheathed him, tongue restless. Her lips deformed as she reached the head of his cock, releasing him carefully, until he was fully out of her mouth. There were smears of red lipstick on his veiny skin. “The only thing your mother’s worried about is pregnancy, young man,” Dubois said and reached under his shirt, rubbing his belly. “Oral sex, you can have with or without the prophylactic. Depends on the girl. Now, get dressed and flush this down the toilet.”
“But, but,” Bobby complained. He was another ten sucks from finishing for the second time.
Dangling the full condom in front of him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What is it, mister?” she asked.
“Can you keep going?” Bobby pleaded, grabbing his prick and inching closer to the woman. “I’m dying here.”
Dubois rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, mister,” she stated, gesturing to the hallway. “I already taught you everything you need to know, demonstrating how semen is captured and how oral sex is performed. Anything else would be special treatment, and you know my feelings on that.” She slapped his thigh playfully, shoeing him away. “Giddy up.”