The Teacher's Crush

Tasha POV Some memories are impossible to forget. For me, it's the feeling of my ex-husband's long c**k between my legs. It's been months since he left, but the memory still haunts me. I try to push it away, but it keeps creeping back in. Was I the only one who couldn't control her thoughts? I felt foolish for allowing myself to be consumed by memories of a man who had betrayed me. But for the first two weeks after he left, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. His early morning s*x had been so intense that it stimulated every cell in my body and made me smile at work. And now, as I sit here, I realize that I had been fooled for five years. My ex-husband does not find pleasure in working, he spent all day at the gym building his muscles. I was so blinded by love that I didn't see the truth. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see how I was deceived. And I'm ready to take back control of my life, even if it means confronting the memories that still haunt me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tasha Steve, but my childhood friends called me Tas. I am a thirty-six-year-old woman full of pain. I work as a lecturer at Leeds University, and I met my ex-husband at a wedding party, my friend Ava invited me to. With a singular goal in mind, I ventured forth like many desperate single women: to find the man of my dreams. At thirty-one years of age, I was reasonably financially stable, but the next step in my life was to find someone who would slip a wedding ring onto my finger. I yearned to officially change my name from Ms Tasha to Mrs Tasha. My dream came true when I met James Elliott, and we got married just six months later. The wedding was not extravagant, but I didn't mind. All I wanted was to be married and wear that golden ring on my finger. For five years, we had a fairytale marriage, and I thought I had everything I needed until he came home one night drunk and said, "Tasha, I can't do this anymore. I want a divorce." I couldn't believe it, not even the next few days. James sat in the corner of his lawyer's office, his face stony as he pointed to the divorce certificate. "You'll need to sign this," he said flatly. It was as if my darkest dream had come true, a nightmare unfolding before my very eyes. He had convinced me to undergo five abortions, claiming he wasn't ready to become a father. The last abortion had nearly cost my life. Now, it was clear that this divorce had been predetermined by him all along. He knew he would leave me someday, and he wanted no strings holding him back. His selfish, wicked nature was laid bare before me. "I can't sign this," I shook my head and thick tears welled up in my eyes, hoping that my emotions could fix the world that was about to crumble. "You don't have much choice. This is a legal agreement. If you don't sign it, we'll have to take it to court," his lawyer said. At that moment, I felt a deep sense of panic, realizing that I had cultivated a lost garden. I realized he spent too much time at the gym, and I realized that I had been deceived by love and James had nothing to lose. Perhaps he had grown tired of me and found someone for another voyage of love. If my pain were loaded on the biggest truck, I doubt it would have moved. I was crushed to the point where I sought the help of a psychologist named Harriet Douglas. Her kind words helped soothe me, and she suggested, "You should try attending a yoga class on weekends. It could help in your healing process." However, deep down, I knew what would heal me faster, but I was too shy to say it to her. I needed someone to quench the s****l passion that James had ignited in me, someone who knew how to effectively use his manhood. ************** Today marked the seventieth day since James left me. Even as I wake up, I subconsciously stretch my hand to the other side of the bed, only to feel the cold surface that reminds me I'm sleeping alone. It has been incredibly difficult to adjust to this new reality. It was Saturday morning again, my usual day for yoga class. I never enjoyed the class as I was not a fan of constructive exercise. I only attended it as a requirement from my psychologist, and besides, we were on break. My academic session would resume in two weeks, and the yoga class was meant to last for an hour and thirty minutes. I never tried to be friendly with anyone in the class, despite the fact that they were all women, and most of them were wealthy, going by the type of cars they drove. One thing was peculiar about them; they openly talked about their relationships during any free time, and I didn't want to say anything that would remind me of James. From their words, it was clear that the majority of them were single mothers who could afford any man they wanted. Due to the similarity of their gossip, I usually left home by 8:50 am and arrived at 9:10 am, ten minutes after the class had started. One of the ladies usually brought her five-year-old son with her, whom she carried like a king. She would even instruct you on how to look at her baby so that your face wouldn't scare him. Whenever she said this to one of us, it felt like an insult to everyone. But I couldn't blame her; someone who doesn't have a man would treasure what she brought into the world. I intentionally arrived late to avoid the various gossip that often pervaded the yoga class. They would talk about everything, including our instructor, his mannerisms, and even the way he pronounced certain words. But I never contributed to their discussions, and I always stayed at the back of the room. They may have thought that I was only there for body fitness, but in reality, I was there for something that had to do with my mind. This particular Saturday was different. I parked my car in my usual spot and stepped out, only to be met with the sound of the ladies' voices. I quickly checked my wristwatch to confirm that I wasn't late, but it was already nine minutes past nine, and I couldn't hear the instructor's voice. "Why is there still so much noise?" I asked myself curiously. I had no choice but to go inside and find out what was going on. At the door, I saw the ladies dressed in their yoga wear, in different groups, and engaged in discussions. I didn't need to ask anyone. I went inside the inner room to change into my tight and flexible leggings and a fitting top like the other women. As I stepped out of the inner room, a man rushed into the hall, pulling a vacuum cleaner behind him. He was in his early forties, and although I thought I recognized him, his rushed entrance distorted my thoughts. "Welcome, ladies, to yoga fitness exercise," he said in a hurry, wearing casual clothes, a black shirt, and light milky trousers. He had never instructed us before. "Your instructor, Morgan, won't be coming today..." he continued, but before he could say more, one of the ladies at the front interrupted, "When will he come back?" "Yeah! So, Morgan asked me to lead you in some warm-up exercises," the man said, his eyes full of urgency and his fingers moving excitedly. We all sat down as soon as he announced that our instructor had sent him to take the class, but there was something fishy about him. He didn't look like someone who exercised regularly. "Everybody stand up and widen your hands," he demonstrated with his hands, and we all rose and stretched our arms horizontally. "...and let's take a deep breath," he continued, and we followed suit, inhaling and exhaling deeply. As we did, his eyes moved from one lady's chest to another, and he too took a deep breath, showing a sign of satisfaction. "Now let's shimmy," he said, and we hadn't done this before. The man brought his chest forward and instructed us to "pull out our chests" and shimmy them before his eyes. I was glad I wasn't in the front row. "Shake your shoulders. Shake them faster, faster, faster...! Yeah," he said, as our cleavage moved left and right. His eyes moved from one lady's breasts to another, and he added, "Very good. Oh yeah. Now stop." We caught our breath for a few seconds before he said, "Now, everybody turn to face the back of the room, bend over and reach for your toes." One of us I considered too extroverted for my liking said something I have fallen in love with for the first time. "But why do we need to turn around?" We waited for his response, but he raised his voice and said, "Do not obstruct my order, please." We reluctantly turned and bent down, touching our toes. "Now take your right hand, relax your wrist, and slap your right butt. Keep slapping it," he instructed, and we started hitting our butts. I couldn't believe what was happening. Why did this man want me to remember how my ex-husband bent me over and slapped my butt during s*x? "Good! I want to hear that slapping sound," the man said as we continued to hit our butts harder. "Oh yeah. I love this sound. This is wonderful," he moved his eyes from one butt to another as they shook, and he moved his body in excitement, smiling. Suddenly, we heard a strange deep, resonant voice with a rich timbre that commanded our attention. "Good morning, ladies!" the voice boomed. We all stopped and stood, turning immediately to face the man who had just entered. "You ladies started without me," he said, and we realized that we had been fooled by an impostor and there stood a gorgeous stranger in front of us. Who is he?