Goodbye Mr. Tits — A Teacher Story

Goodbye Mr. TitsStudents at Tully High School referred to physics teacher Bruce Korrachekov as Mister Tits. This because of his propensity to stare unabashedly down blouses. More than one parent had called Principal Carolyn Skeletour complaining. However when called on the carpet his denials nearly always asserted that such complaints were simple reactions to cover failing grades, after all his subject was a tough one and didn’t he demand good performance? Mr. Korrachekov, the creep, was one of only three teachers who refused to be cowed by Mrs. Skeletour, whose stern management of teachers made the most of intimidation, bullying, and fear. A box of tissue was always at the ready for any poor sorriful teacher called in. And how she loathed this rich sonofabitch of a physics teacher.

“Mr. Korrachekov, I’ve called you in because we’ve had a call from Mr. Hood. He says Melody came home in tears yesterday because the other girls in your seventh period class teased her to distraction. This teasing incident, according to Melody, related to your hovering over her at her lab station, hovering Mr. Korrachekov with your eyes fixed on the young lady’s breasts. The girls put it to Melody that she was showing, purposefully showing, her bosom to you.”

“Well then maybe you should call those girls in. My interest at young Melody yesterday was her safety at her lab station.”

“In fact we have statements from two of those girls who allege you were staring down the girl’s blouse.”

“Harrumph. Who? Which girls? Let’s confront them together, Mrs. Skeletour, and see how their byzantine scheming holds up. Call them in, I want you to.” Don’t I have that skinny bitch of a principal over a barrel, thought Mister Tits.

Mrs. Skeletour knew she was faced down. There was no way to prove the charge. Students routinely lied. And more than one sycophant tattle tale female teacher had sidled up to her whining that Mr. Korrachekov was a lecher. As had Francis Maloy the principal she had relieved. Of course she knew Korrechekov was a snake. Though dammit the rich sonofabitch was an effective teacher. And physics teachers were as scarce as hen’s teeth. Tully was the only high school in the state with an Advanced Place Physics program and every year two or three of his students scored threes on the AP Exam. Then there was his goddamn wife. Hazel Korrachekov of Hazel Korrachekov Century Twenty-One Realty, president of the Board of Realtors, Treasure of the State Republican Party and longtime member of the School Board. Not someone to cross swords with. No, not with four more years to retirement. Piss off Hazel Korrachekov and she could find herself transferred downtown to Rosa Parks High. Ughhh.

Bruce Korrachekov taught because he was afraid of boredom and teaching came easy to him. Admittedly he delighted in those frequent, daily flashes of fresh, perky, budding breasts, did our Mister Tits, aficionado of nubile beauty. He liked this life. Yes the pay was shit, but he was rich so money wasn’t an issue. Girls’ breasts were.

During dinner at Neptune’s Palace that evening he told Hazel about Skeletour’s attempted ass chew. “By God that woman is wound tight, Hazel. Were she my wife I’d feed her coal just so she could shit me diamonds.”

“That’s pretty much everybody’s view on the school board, but she keeps Tully High School in lock step and up to standard. Nobody likes her, not her teachers, parents, and Jesus you should hear what the other principals say. But she brings in those test scores like none of the others can. The test scores; it’s all about test scores. And it is those test scores that make any real estate in Tully’s district fat. We handled three houses last month that topped a million each. We could pay off the house at the lake anytime now. No Bruce, you’ve got nothing to worry about with her, she knows damned well on which side her bread is buttered.”

It had been Melody’s father Mr. Hood who, in a fit of temper, had raised the issue with the principal but it fell to her mother to assuage Melody, a difficult task considering that the principal had reported that Mr. Korrachekov had been confronted with the complaint and had assured her that the incident had been nothing more than a misunderstanding. Mrs. Hood understood that the crux of this issue was Melody’s grade. Piss off that goddamn physics teacher and he might retaliate with a crap grade. And there was still one more semester to go. No, realizing that Melody’s semester grade in physics teetered closer to a D than a C she knew it best not to push the issue as a D from Mr. Korrachekov could torpedo Melody’s chance for acceptance into any pre-med program. Melody told her parents she had already put it all behind, but in truth she was furious that Mrs. Skeletour and her parents were so easily gulled. In her bedroom that night she had long conversations with her best friend Jennifer Bowden.

Given their age difference and their differing approaches toward academics it was an odd friendship. Melody had long harbored a secret crush on her oh so good looking friend and she envied the girl’s pluck; in turn she was greatly admired because Melody was Jennifer’s only truly loyal friend. Jennifer had been set back a year in fifth grade so was a year older having just turned 18 the first week of school. Melody, having skipped third grade was still 16. She competed for high grades all through high school while Jenny coasted through the low level classes with Cs and Ds; however the two girls had remained close since the sixth grade. To Jenny high school was simply a depot where one met daily to arrange fun. In truth, beautiful Jennifer Bowden’s singular achievement in high school had been her rise to captain the cheer leading squad. By the end of her junior year Jenny had had some form of sex with over half the football team as well as two student teachers. She was indeed popular and wielded some degree of power among the ranks of Tully’s girls. Melody’s limit of passion on a date was French kissing. Jennifer’s was to give head and well maybe more if she really liked the guy. Both girls were goal oriented. Melody’s immediate dream was to pass Mister Tits’ physics class and get into a pre med program then med school ultimately to become a pediatrician. Her friend’s hope for the future was to buy a red Camero which she would drive to Las Vegas to become a professional dancer.

October brought with it football craziness. Tully High’s annual Homecoming Game was the event of the fall semester, outdone only by the Junior Prom in the spring. Clubs prepared floats for the parade. There were contests, skits, dances and pep rallies that ginned up enormous enthusiasm. Jenny Bowden’s well planned approach to Mr. Korrachekov unfolded smoothly two weeks before the big Home Coming game.

“Mr. Korrachekov, I’m Jenny Bowden. I know I’m not your student but I was…I was…” Here she faltered just a second or two dropping her head shyly like a little girl, however unlike a little girl, drawing Mr. Korrachekov’ attention to the splendid cleavage her blouse all but advertised. Well, what I wanna ask is if you’d help out. See I got this idea for the big Homecoming Show. Can I run it by you, sir?”

Mr. Tits’ height afforded him a clear view of her spectacular array of not only a most handsome cleavage but evidence of two hard nipples beneath that lucky cotton blouse. Was there no bra, he wondered. “Sure Jenny, what’s your idea; tell me.”

“Well you might think it’s kinda hokey but I wanna have our cheerleader’s float win this year and I was thinkin’ if we could make somethin’ really grand, something with a bang and lots of smoke. Like there would be this big flash then all this smoke and then all us girls would appear. And since you’re the physics teacher I just had to run this past you, Mr. Korrachekov, is my idea crazy? I mean is it too crazy?”

Taken with Jennifer’s striking appearance his thoughts ran rampant. “Damn this girl is absolutely beautiful.” It’s a pity that it’s too late to get her into my class.” He looked the girl’s soft brown eyes and smiled, “No, sweetie, not at all. Yes I think I can help but Jenny, it’ll take a good bit of work.”

“Oh I’ll do anything, Mr. Korrachekov. Just tell me, but there’s one thing I didn’t tell you. It’s got to be kept secret. I’m not even telling my cheerleaders. They cannot keep a secret. No way. See what we’re doing is this really cool dance routine, practicing three times a week, yes we are. They just won’t know until Homecoming night that we’ll begin the routine in a cloud of smoke. Whaddaya think, Mr. Korrachekov can you and me make this happen?”

“Well the chemical part’s not too difficult, but safety—well that’s the thing. Yeah, we can do it, Jenny. We can make it happen and we’ll try to keep it secret. But you’ll have to dedicate a few after school hours and maybe a Saturday. Can you do that, Jenny:”

“”Oh yeah, Mr. Korrachekov, oh yeah! And Mr. Korrachekov, you are…, you are,” squeezing his hand in both of hers, “an angel! I’ll do anything you ask.”

The two met after school on Friday to organize the production and safety of the pyrotechnical display. Jennifer was tasked with gathering necessary supplies of carpet rolls, aluminum foil, lengths of aluminum tubing and a dozen battery operated fans. She had come from cheerleading practice. They sat on high stools at the teacher’s lab position while Bruce explained the necessity for the supplies. As he spoke she kept her eyes on his, smiling and nodding her approval now and then. As he spoke she absent mindedly stroked the nozzle of the Bunsen burner in, what to Korrachekov was a most disturbing but delightful manner. “I’ll handle the chemicals, of course, Jenny, but we’ve got to bear in mind safety at all times.”

“Oh yeah, safety. You bet, Mr. Korrachekov,” she said gazing at his face with her chin in her hands.

“You think you can have all the gear collected by next Saturday? We can do a dry run so that all that’ll be left is to assemble the float and instruct your team.”

“Gosh, this is gonna be so fun. You’re so good to be doing this, Mr. Korrachekov, you’re the greatest. I’ll start getting this stuff tomorrow. She had edged close enough for him to feel her body heat. Or was it his own? On the swivel stool Jennifer swung back and forth in a slow rolling motion sometimes brushing her knees against Korrachekov’ leg, her scanty cheer leading skirt and contrasting nylon panties revealing school colors splendidly.“

“Well Jenny, I guess we’re done for now. Let me know if you think of anything else. She stood to leave but Korrachekov perforce remained seated on his stool. ‘You have a good weekend; I’ll see you next week.”

She leaned forward in a quick motion gave him a firm, quick hug. “You’re the greatest, Mr. Korrachekov. I like you. I really do. I wish I was yours, I mean I wish I was in one of your classes. Bye.”

The scent of her strawberry shampoo lingered after her departure.

That weekend he could not flush the image of Jennifer Bowden from his imagination. What a face. What a body. What skin. What tits.

After school the following Monday Jenny stopped by Korrachekov’s lab with several rolls of construction grade aluminum foil and several eight foot sections of ½ inch tubing. “I got these from my dad. He’s a builder. Daddy says anything we need just let him know. It’s daddy’s flatbed and truck that’ll be our float. He says, “Just don’t blow up my flatbed,” she laughed. Hey Mr. Korrachekov here’s my cell phone number just in case you think of anything.”

“Hey what a good idea Jenny,” he thought for a second then scribbled down his cell number on a 3X5 card. Before handing this to her he said, “You’ve got to promise me that you’ll share this number with no one, Jenny. Absolutely no one. Can I trust you, girl? This way you can call me if you think of anything.”

Two nights later she called at 9:30. “Hey Mr. Korrachekov, it’s me Jenny.”

“Oh hi Jenny, what a surprise. What’s up, girl?”

“I wanted to ask if it was possible you could stay till four after school tomorrow. Carpet city is giving us six big ole carpet rolls and my dad’s having one of his drivers bring them to school but he can’t come ‘til four. Is that alright?”

“Sure I’ll wait. No problem.” He pictured her talking. In bed, maybe twirling her beautiful brunette locks. Or maybe they were spread on the pillow.”

“I hope I’m not bothering you Mr. Korrachekov. I know it’s kinda late.”

“Naw, I was just watching a really lousy movie on Netflix. My wife has a meeting.”

“I guess I couldda waited to ask you in the morning, but, but I wanted to, to. Oh shit, this is embarrassing.”

“No, no, say it. It’s okay.”

“I wanted to hear your voice, Mr. Korrachekov. You got a really nice voice. Did you know that?”

“Ha. No. At that moment the full realization blossomed in Bruce Korrachekov’s mind of how easy, how very easy it will be, to charm this lovely young thing. “Oh seduction, how sweet thou art,” he thought.

“In my bed, she had cooed.” Instantly he fully realized the situation but resisting her grip on his emotions was useless. Maybe just a little phone sex….

The next afternoon in the science department’s storeroom Jenny had a grip on more than Bruce’s emotions. Every afternoon that week was dedicated ostensibly to completing work on the smoke and boom devices for the cheerleaders’ float. And amid preparations Jenny had given her all several times before the week was finished.

The giant flashes and billowing smoke in the school colors from which the pyramid of Tully’s lovely cheerleaders appeared astounded everyone. But the magnificent display and the wild approval of the audience were a sad anticlimax for Mister Tits. Now unfortunately there would be no pretext to meet with Jenny Bowden. The most exciting thing that had happened to him in twenty years was coming to its end. She had told him that the sex had to stop. Maybe just one more time, he thought.

That weekend there were no phone calls. He pined. Expectation of the loss of Jenny’s affections obsessed the teacher. His mind played tapes of the thrilling sex with Jenny naked on her father’s flatbed, the most exciting he’d ever experienced. Once after he’d just entered her her cell phone had rung, “No, don’t stop Mr. Korrachekov, oh don’t stop, don’t stop, keep doing it,” she’d pleaded even while taking the call. Strange as it seemed the incident had excited him. The naked girl prone, receiving him, chatting amid his thrusts. He would see her on Monday when he’d try to arrange to meet privately. They could sort this out. It was just too good to let go, surely she must feel something akin to his own passions. Even if it were to be just one more tryst. Throughout the two weeks of sexual utopia with this nubile goddess, no scruples had bothered Mister Tits. No thoughts of his marriage, the violation of teacher student trust, the blatant seduction of a young girl, the threat to his position, reputation, respectability. So easily had his lust mastered the amoral, weak, guiltless Mister Tits.

The next week Jenny came not once to the physics classroom. There were no calls. It became agonizingly clear, it was over. The words of the old song “It was Just One of Those Things” echoed in his head, and his heart ached through sleepless nights. Then in late November just as the pain had begun to ease Jennifer Bowden entered the physics lab shortly after the last bell of the day. When he saw her standing beautifully on the other side of his desk, his heart melted. “At last. Hey girl, it’s …it’s so good to see you, he stammered.

“Mr. Korrachekov, I’m P G. I haven’t had period since we, since we, well you know. Anyways I bought a test kit at the drug store. It came out positive. You didn’t use protection. You and your talk about safety. I even bought a second one to make sure.”

“Aw shit. Holy shit. This cannot be; this just cannot be.”

“Well it is and Mr. Korrachekov you gotta take care of this situation. Doesn’t anybody know about this yet but me, and now you. But there’s things you’re gonna have to do.”

“Of course, Jennifer, of course. Just give me a little time to digest this. And whatever you do, don’t say anything to anyone. But give me a day or two, hon.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. There isn’t a lot of time Mr. Korrachekov. If I’m gonna take care of this it should be over the Thanksgiving holiday. I’m gonna get someone to drive me up to Atlanta. I’ll see you here tomorrow.” As she reached the door, she turned, “I’ll need money, ya know.”

Now the longing vanished in the dark cloud of fear and dread that descended on Mister. Tits. The consequences could be devastating. But in the depths of the sleepless night the thought arose that Jennifer could be playing him. Happened all the time, didn’t it? But no, the girl wasn’t that bright. He reckoned the cost of the abortion would make the bad go away and counted himself lucky. Having no idea of the costs, he withdrew $1000 in cash the next day. He’d give her what she asked then things would be over and done with.

The next day she asked for $2000 and so he met her on Friday morning in the parking lot of the Bank of America where she emerged from Melody Hood’s little red VW. As he passed her the envelope with the second thousand dollars he said, “I suppose the Hood girl knows? I thought you agreed to keep this secret.”

So I’m supposed to get an abortion by myself? You sure as hell did not step up, did you, daddy? Fuck you Mr. Korrachekov, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. Oh and by the way, asshole, take a look at this. Jennifer thrust her cell phone before his face and he watched in horror the video while the tinny audio broadcast, “No, don’t stop Mr. Korrachekov, oh don’t stop, don’t stop, keep doing it.” The image of his grunting, sweating face shone clear. She turned and in an instant disappeared into the VW which eased out of the parking lot into the traffic of Sixth Ave.

The girls did not go to Atlanta. There was no pregnancy, thus no abortion. Instead they spent the weekend with Melody’s parents on Myrtle Beach. Jennifer would confront Mister Tits only twice. Just before semester’s end and the Christmas break she informed Mr. Tits that Melody Hood’s grade in physics was to be an A not only this semester but next semester as well. That was not all.

“You will park a new red Camaro with leather seats in the parking lot during graduation next spring. Leave the keys under the mat, and the signed pink slip in the glove box. You’re a rich sonofabitch and this gives you plenty of time to arrange my new car. Do these things and your problem will go away. Fail to and on the morning after graduation the video you saw as well as audio recordings of all our phone sex will be mailed to your wife, to that bitch Mrs. Skeletour, and to the Chairman of the State Board of Education. Remember, Camaro, New, and Red with Leather Seats. Goodbye, Mister Tits.”

© Gary Ives

Freedom Fiction Journal,   9 January 2016

 

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