My Teacher..... Mrs. Pits.

I don't know how and I don't know why, but the when and where are burned clearly into my mind. It was freshman year during an unusually hot day in May. The temperature was hovering near 90 degrees and, of course, our school had no air conditioning. To top it all off, the high humidity had made several of the windows in our classroom so swollen that they were impossible to open. Needless to say, the room was like an oven, and no one showed the strain of the heat more than our English Literature teacher, Mrs. Muscarella.

I had known Mrs. Muscarella for many years since she lived in the house directly across the street from mine. In fact, looking out my bedroom window, I could clearly see the front porch of her house. She and my mother were good friends, and she was a big reason why I was attending this private school, convincing my mother that it was a great place for me to learn.

Anyway, it was the last class of the day, and the sun was it's hottest, heating our classroom like an oven. Mrs. Muscarella wore a sleeveless, cotton dress, her years of experience in teaching at the school had helped her to prepare for the heat of the late spring in our classrooms. She wasn't a young woman, nor was she exceptional in the looks department. In fact, she was pretty ordinary looking. To be honest, I hadn't ever really thought about her as anything more than one of my mothers' friends, at least prior to that day.

The heat was obviously beginning to take it's toll on her and the beads of sweat which covered her forehead were hard not to notice as we filed into her classroom. But as I found my seat, the first one right in front of her desk, and settled in for the remaining hour of school, something happened which changed my life.

Mrs. Muscarella had been sitting at her desk, blotting her forehead with a hanky. But just as I looked up and focused my attention on her, waiting for the class to begin, she dipped her head back and grabbed the back of her neck with her right hand, massaging the tension. My eyes suddenly became fixed upon a specific part of her body, and I could feel a bulge building in my pants.

As a result of lifting her arm, her right armpit was now on full display, directly in front of me, the sun dancing off of the contours of the slick, perspiring skin. The deep valley had completely captivated me, and it was one of the most erotic sites I had ever seen. Her skin was a beautiful, pink color, smooth and silky, but with interesting curves and profiles which were accentuated by the shimmer of soggy perspiration. The concave area beneath her arm almost seemed to be inviting me to come and stroke it, lick it, caress it, kiss it, tickle it.

As a freshman in High School, I was still struggling to understand sexuality, but there was no mistaking my attraction to Mrs. Muscarella's armpit. Eventually she lowered her arm, the class filed in, and she began the lesson. I waited for her to lift her arm, write on the board, scratch her head.... Anything to allow me another view of that gorgeous area. But after 15 minutes, not even a hint.

Finally I knew that I had to take matters into my hands, and began to devise a plan to get her to lift her arm once again. Knowing that she loved to write on the board, I asked her to illustrate the differences between Renaissance and Romantic literature. She looked at me quizzically at first, but then became excited that someone had shown an interest. She immediately went to the board and began to write, making a long list of items pertaining to each style of writing.

I thought I would explode, as she turned to face the class after each point, allowing me an optimal view of her sexy, sunken underarm. I knew that my relationship with Mrs. Muscarella would never be the same again, and I was right.

The next day, a day in which our heatwave continued, I plotted a way to get even closer to my new obsession, and arrived at class early, before anyone else was in the room. The door to the classrooms were big, heavy, wooden one, a latch at the top of door helping to hold it open, if so desired. I knew that if I could somehow find a way to get the latch to stick, that Mrs. Muscarella would have to reach up to free it. So secretly I stuffed a paperclip into the latch before sitting down, waiting for the fun to start.

My classmates arrived on time, but Mrs. Muscarella was late, causing me much consternation. After having gone through all of the hassle, never mind the risk, of fixing the door, she might not even show up. But to my delight, she eventually came running down the hall, sweating even more than the day before. Apparently she was stuck outside of the building, and had to run around the entire length to get to an open door.

I rubbed my hands as she dropped her briefcase down on her desk, taking a deep breath. Sitting right in front of me in her chair, she then almost seemed to be teasing me, as she leaned back and hoisted both of her arms in the air as she stretched them over her head. Wearing another sleeveless, cotton dress, her wonderful pits were not both staring right at me. The glistening skin was even more beautiful than the day before as I studied every crevice. Her left armpit had a deep pocket in back, but in front of that was a section of soft skin which had a deep crease running alongside of it. As the day before, she was perspiring, causing each dimple, each indentation, each cavity to appear deep and inviting.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she lowered her arms and got up, walking toward the door. Grabbing the doorknob, she pulled on it, but the door did not budge. A snarl stretched across her lips before she gave it another tug, but to no avail. Determined to get yet another glimpse, I yelled out that she should release the latch on the top of the door. She smiled at me, nodded her head to express her thanks, and then reached up to release the latch.

Though she was tuned to the side, I got a view of the profile of her armpit, the curvy outline of the side view providing me with even more stimulation. I let her struggle for a few more seconds before I decided that it was time to go for the gold!

Getting up, I walked over as she continued to reach up and struggle with the latch. Seeing me come over, Mrs. Muscarella began to do something which mortified me..... she began to lower her arm! I knew that I had to do something, but was so distraught at the lost opportunity that my mind wandered. Not paying attention, I tripped on the front of the door, causing me to lose my balance and fall forward, directly toward Mrs. Muscarella.

With her arm still mostly up in the air as I fell in her direction, my face headed directly for her armpit. My legs came out from under me and I was unable to break the fall as my nose became buried in the deepest trench of Mrs. Muscarella's right armpit. My weight pushed her backward and before I knew it, we were both falling toward the floor. I took a deep breath as I opened my mouth, shoving my tongue onto her damp skin. It was pure heaven for me! The fact that we were falling was surely enough of a distraction to prevent her from realizing how much I was slobbering over her underarm, and as we hit the ground, my face seemed to become imbedded even deeper into her armpit, the deep, hollow cavity swallowing my face whole.

I heard her grunt as we landed, her back taking most of the load, but I was too busy trying to enjoy the once in a lifetime opportunity I had been given. With Mrs. Muscarella laying mostly on her back, and me laying face down, most of my weight on top of her and my head buried beneath her arm, she tried to roll over. But not wanting the ecstasy to end, I tried to keep my weight on her so that she could not move. Realizing however that she might actually be hurt, I gave her sweet, soft skin a kiss, knowing that she wouldn't realize what I was doing amongst the commotion, before rolling onto my side and pretending I was hurt.

Mrs. Muscarella rolled onto her side as well. I think she was hurt, but she was more concerned about me. Not wanting to look suspicious, I played it up for all it was worth, grimacing in pain, though the only emotion I was feeling was utter joy. Mrs. Muscarella got to her knees before trying to help me up, but I stayed on my back, enjoying the feel of moisture on my face, the slight scent of her perspiration in my nose.

She immediately called for the nurse, and before I knew it, I was being whisked away to the nurses' office for observation, Mrs. Muscarella looking concerned and upset about my condition. But as I was helped to my feet, I continued to act injured, hoping that I might even get a visit at home from my new favorite teacher. And she might even be wearing another sleeveless dress!

THE END.... Or is it?!?!?