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Welcome to Wales, Keiko

Published by Baby Ice Dog Press

© Dave Franklin, 2017

Cover by James at Go On Write


****



I’d been thinking about Keiko’s nipples, whether they were brownish or pink and what kind of moans she’d make if I ever got to suck on them when I became aware of the silence in the office.

I sat up, crossed my legs under the table and looked round to see Nora coolly sipping her latte as her parents regarded me with their inscrutable Korean faces, apparently waiting for some sort of answer.

“Sorry...?”

“Ryan,” Mr Park said. “You OK?”

“Yes, yes...” I offered my boss my best smile. “Just didn’t get too much sleep last night.”

He nodded and stroked his bow tie. “So what you think?”

“About the... textbook?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, definitely Face to Face. Much better than Headway.”

Mr Park pulled on the tuft of grey and white hairs drifting down from his chin and glanced at his wife, who was fingering the small gold cross on a chain around her neck. She made a note and then our weekly staff meeting shifted to the dynamic subject of the new board markers, giving me the chance to slip back into my Keiko sex world.

Keiko, Keiko, Keiko...

How had this girl become my number one wank fantasy? I’d taught much prettier and shapelier students. I guessed there was just something about her – the cute way she clutched that blue ring binder against her chest, those tiny bows and her ultra-politeness.

Then again, never having nailed a Japanese girl probably played its part.

Or maybe it was simply down to my last three Friday nights out on the town drawing a sexless blank. Was I losing my touch?

There was no way I’d act on my Keiko fetish, though. Really. Teachers shouldn’t –

“Ryan!”

“Yes...?” I jerked my head left as Mr Park rapped the table. He was staring intently. Given the school’s precarious lack of new blood, this probably wasn’t the best time to be upsetting the boss. I shifted uneasily in my chair.

“This boy in love,” Mrs Park said, prompting Nora to snort and put her coffee down.

“I said, Ryan... that a student of your... Slaven, we had him let go.”

“Go...?” I couldn’t help glancing across at Nora. Had The Snoop struck again? “But why?”

“He was caught smoking on the fire escape stairs,” Nora said.

“So? He was outside.”

“We have a strict no smoking policy within a hundred feet of the building.”

“Yeah, but...”

I sighed, knowing there really wasn’t any point in continuing the attempted defence. Why give Nora the satisfaction? No doubt she’d called him into her office and done her demented footy ref impersonation, issuing a red card to add to the yellow and orange ones he’d already accumulated for some other utterly trivial infractions. And, of course, daddy always backed his little girl.

But goddamn it, I liked Slaven. He was a good lively student who’d greatly contributed to the class.

“He was also caught using his smart phone in class,” Nora continued. “As well as speaking his own language in the kitchen.”

Speaking his own language? Are you kidding? What are we, Nazis? I squeezed the bridge of my nose, determined not to reply. One day, Nora Nose Around, one day...

I turned to Mr Park. “Do we have any new students on the way?”

Mr Park looked uncomfortably at his wife, apparently wishing her to field the question. She shook her head before touching the corner of the leather-bound bible on the table. I dully waited for her to say something like God will provide but the fleeting contact with the holy book had seemingly provided enough reassurance.

I sighed. If things didn’t pick up soon, I’d be joining Peter out the door. And if that happened, I doubted God would be offering to pay the rent.

“It is difficult time,” Mr Park said during a particularly animated wrestle with his sparse chin hair. “We thought some South American students on way, but...” He grimaced. “All visas cancelled.”

“Don’t worry, Ryan,” Nora said, picking fluff off her immaculate two-piece pant suit. “You’ve been here so long that you’re almost one of us.” She smirked. “I take it you’re coming to my soirée tonight?”

I nodded, thinking it best to keep shtum that I’d rather be bloody anywhere else on a Friday night than having dinner with a pair of conservative Christians and their nit-picky, pain-in-the-arse daughter.

“Of course. Happy birthday. And as it’s your special day, try not to red card anyone.”

“Can’t promise. I mean, all these different cultures and beliefs.” She smiled, revealing sharp little teeth. “Don’t you think every student needs to be told what to do?”


****


“Adele, you go with Sasha,” I said as I stood at the whiteboard, having just finished explaining a list of words used for describing people. “Michelle with Andrea, and Ahmed with Kurt. Keiko, as we have an odd number of students, perhaps you’d like to be my partner.”

Some of the students tittered and hooted as Keiko broke into a grin, stood with her ring binder against her chest and made her way to my desk with her head down.

“Don’t listen to them,” I said, with a dismissive wave. “They’re just jealous they won’t get their picture drawn by me.”

Keiko bowed and sat. “Teacher, you make me pretty?”

“I’ll try. Make sure you make me handsome.”

“Easy, teacher,” she said. “Easy.”

“OK, class.” I clapped to get their attention. “Now don’t forget to write a description of your partner underneath your picture. Use the words I’ve taught you – tall, slim, blonde hair and all the rest. One paragraph, OK?” I held up a finger. “One paragraph.”

The exercise was a tried and tested bit of fun and I was looking forward to working with Keiko, even if my artistic skills bordered on the retarded. It was also a good chance to observe her at close quarters without being pervy. Once again I tried to work out exactly why she’d pushed her way so forcefully into my head. She was prettyish, rather than beautiful with small, dark eyes and black, centre-parted hair streaked with brown. She didn’t have any facial moles. In fact, her skin was like alabaster. I wondered if there were any moles on the rest of her body and what it would be like to peel away her clothing piece by piece to find out.

Fashion-wise, she was a bit clueless. Her baggy, long-sleeved shirt did nothing except suggest small breasts while her dark blue shorts and tights only underlined a fondness for mismatching styles. I did like her warm, open smile (that revealed slightly wonky teeth) but figured my growing obsession was much more to do with her personality, graceful movements and noticeably submissive nature.

We began our respective portraits, which somehow resulted in me depicting her as a skinny, bulbous-headed alien. Even by my standards of creative butchery, it was truly bad. I quickly finished off the description but pretended I was still busy as it enabled me to watch her delicate hands at work. She seemed to be trying quite hard, occasionally glancing at me as the other students boisterously laughed and joked among themselves.

“Finished, teacher.”

I smiled, wanting to say Well, you show me yours and I’ll... Instead, I coughed behind a hand. “Um... This is my drawing of you.”

I turned the pad around, causing her to shriek and put a hand over her mouth.

Teacher! Not me! Not me!”

I held up both hands. “Sorry, sorry, but I’ve never been able to draw.”

She laughed and wagged a finger at me. “Bad teacher.”

“No, bad drawer.” I indicated her picture. “Your turn.”

She flashed a smile and turned her pad around to reveal a sharp, convincing close-up of my face with particularly detailed eyes. The girl had talent.

“That’s really good, Keiko. Excellent.”

“Thank you, teacher.”

“I teach you English, you teach me how to draw. OK?”

“Yes, teacher.” She smiled again as I noticed she’d signed the portrait underneath with a really clumsy attempt at joined-up writing. I read her description: My teacher is handsome and good looker. He is black hair that is short. He is no beard. He is young and tall.

“That’s very good, Keiko, but remember what I said.” I pointed at the passage. “We use is plus adjective and has plus noun. He has black hair. He has no beard. OK?”

“Yes, teacher.” She offered the drawing. “You want keep?”

“Of course! It really is very good.” I slipped it into my bag. “Thank you very much.”

“Teacher, I show you other photo.” She pulled out her phone and began swiping the screen.

I gritted my teeth. It would be just my luck for Nora to pop her head around the door and catch me with a phone-holding student.

“Keiko, you’re not allowed mo – ”

“Just quick second.” She frowned. “Ah! Here it be.”

She got off the chair and crouched alongside. I couldn’t smell any perfume, just the clean fresh scent of a newly washed body. It was appealing, invigorating even. How good would it be to casually lean against a bathroom wall and stroke my cock as I watched her shower? And then yank open the door, drag her out by the wet hair, bend her over the bathtub and...

Since teaching Keiko, I’d really got into Asian porn. It was always great to find a vid in which an oriental woman lay on her back all passive and inert. I liked the way they turned their faces away with their eyes squeezed shut making silly little noises as some well-hung westerner pounded them. It was almost as if such women didn’t like sex, that they’d been pressured into it and were only putting up with it to please their man. Not that I cared. To be honest, that submissive, semi-rapey shit was a real turn on.

Would fucking Keiko be like that? Would she look away, shut her eyes and make silly squeaks as I concentrated on my selfish pleasure and got ready to shoot over her smooth white stomach? Christ, I wanted to drench her in cum, to cover every inch of her.

“You like, teacher?”

I glanced at the photo that had been taken last week when I’d covered the topic of food and asked everyone to bring in an example of their country’s cuisine. I had my arm around Keiko’s shoulders as she leant into me with a big smile flashing a two-fingered peace sign. I was pulling a mock-grimace while stuffing some of her homemade tuna makizushi into my mouth. As I studied the image, I couldn’t help wondering if her pussy smelled like her fishy homemade treat. Would it taste as nice?

“Very nice. You’ll have to send it to me.”

The electronic buzzer went off in the hallway, indicating the end of a good, productive lesson. The six other students immediately stood.

“OK, everyone. Thanks for all your hard work this week. Have a good weekend and don’t get too drunk.” They laughed, even though I pretty much said the same thing every Friday afternoon. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

The students filed past, smiling and waving. I turned to clean the board, aware Keiko hadn’t yet left.

“Yes, Keiko?”

She turned, making sure everyone was gone. “Teacher, you get me private?”

“I can’t, Keiko. I’ve told you this before. It’s against the rules.” She frowned, listening with her head down as she picked at the corners of my terrible sketch. “My contract. Mr Park doesn’t allow it. I can’t take money from the students. He doesn’t want us to fraternise with the students or see them outside of school at all.”

Keiko nodded, probably understanding very little of what I’d just said, which was hardly surprising as I’d used the ridiculous word fraternise. Keiko, however, hadn’t finished.

“I come your house? You teach me?”

I was tempted to put my arm around her waist, bury my face in her neck and drink in her fresh, clean scent. It was getting harder and harder to say no.

“Keiko... I can’t. Mr Park say no... You don’t want me to get fired, do you?”

She shook her head, but then smiled. “You get fired and teach me your house?”


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