His fantasy kisses were never like the ones he got from girls he'd dated. They were hard or sloppy or hungry or any number of other descriptions he'd read in his father's magazines. The way he kissed Miss DeShane was tender. Romantic. Erotic. The kind of kissing girls were incapable of. But a woman, especially Miss DeShane, who'd shown her passionate nature in discussing literature and all things artistic and intellectual, would hardly be capable of anything else.
But that wasn't why he was in her classroom. Not directly. Miss DeShane was more than just his favorite teacher and fantasy lover. She'd become a friend and trusted advisor. His motives might not be as pure as possible but his motivation was sincere. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to see him as a man. A real man. Not just a guy who'd reached voting age.
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