just remebered a couple more...
Prep school again (King's cambridge)

Mr Norris, english teacher: obsessed with death. had a part time job as an undertaker. told us repeatedly about the futility of life and the certainty that all of us will die. that, and teaching "Hamlet" andn Philip Larkin to 12-year-olds, can make you kinda depressed. Good teacher though!

Mary, the dinner lady: now sadly passed on (knocked off her bike cycling round Cambridge). Was the official baked-beans distributor for the school. Would thrust her whiskered, grizzly old snout towards you over the counter, and screech "you want some BEANS? BEANS?" Object of much pisstake over the years.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 9:18, Reply)

He wanted to be fired
I really liked this professor a lot, but he was pretty crazy. He taught me social psychology in university, and he didn't want to be there. I later found out he had a law firm that made a massive fortune in the US suing companies that willingly release faulty products (think Cosco car seats). He even appeared on Oprah Winfrey once as the world's leading expert on shopping cart safety.

Anyway, he wanted to get fired bad, and he was an asshole to our entire class. He even tried to flunk us all, but they put him on medical leave and balanced our grades.

One time, according to him, he was chosen to ask the faculty for pay raises for the sociology department professors. Being an expert on persuasion techniques, he was an obvious choice. The goal was to get a 4% pay raise.

So he went to the dinner with the faculty leaders; they gave him the nicest food they could get and treated him great. Then they asked him what he thought would be a reasonable pay increase, and he said "20%." Of course they freaked out, got mad at him for being so brash when they'd treated him to such a nice dinner, and threw him out. He called the next day to apologise, saying he'd realised how rude he'd been to them. He got them to agree to an 8% pay raise, double what they'd hoped for.

I later had him as a professor for my human factors research class, and got to know him a little better. To this day he's my favourite prof.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 9:16, Reply)

Ms. Korny
She has the voice of thousands of live kittens slowly being runover by an unmuffled John Deere tractor.

She teaches french and hardly anyone understands her english because her voice causes such pain.

On the letter she sent to her students over the summer, she said she loved ballroom dancing. I can't help but laugh, as she is about 5'1 and walks in a sort of limping shuffle.

She says A.K instead of O.K...

She somehow got the cell phone number of a friend of mine because the girl called once to check a tutoring session. Two days later, the girl got a call from Kornrich while the girl was at the movies. Korny just called to chat.

She wears matching jumpsuits that are made out of that fake velvet. She reserved her red jumpsuit set for special days.

On the day of a fire drill on a warm fall afternoon, she pulled a giant safari hat out of her bag. We all stared. She explained. "A.K. I have a skiiin conditionnn. I'm like.. A.K.. like. . . Michael Jackson. A.K.. It's a conditionnn, not a disease. *rasp*"

You'd have to hear it to believe it, but atleast, with modern technology, you can see it:
www.mcps.k12.md.us/schools/poolesvillehs/staff/Kornrich/kornich.jpg
(britishbroccoli, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 6:18, Reply)

My Old Math Teacher
Mrs Russell, my high school math teacher had these three moles on her left cheek like fucking Lemmy. She had shocking white hair and long terrifying fingers, and always drank herbal tea, because it supposedly helped with her narcolepsy.
So anyway the story goes that apparently she'd fallen asleep in the class prior to the one I had with her, and as a usual act of defiance against her I left my baseball cap on as the lesson started. However it was hard to keep a straight face when she was ordering me to remove this cap whilst wearing a nice little 'connect the dots' style byro mark between her three moles (complete with smiley face in the middle). she checked in her little pocket mirror and stormed from the classroom, while my classmates and I were left laughing almost as hard as the time Mr Williams the gym teachers shorts fell round his ankles during athletics.
( Dazz - In Your Base, Killing Your Dudes since, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 5:19, Reply)

Some of my junior high school teachers
My 8th grade American History teacher was probably the only decent history teacher I've had up till then or since. He was, of course, somewhat eccentric. Every day, he wore a plaid shirt and upsettingly tight jeans with hiking boots. He would always run his hands through his hair as he talked and had about a millimeter of fingernail on each finger. The way he graded homework was to take it up the day it was due, but not before he went over every single answer in great detail and slowly enough that you could write it down. After grading exams, he would either call you to his desk to see your score or simply belt out in a Southern drawl the immortal phrase, "Many are called, few are chosen." This meant you had gotten a 100%. This phrase was heard frequently in his classroom. There was, of course, the minor detail that he would fly into a rage if one should miss part or all of his class due to some other school-related activity. He and the choir director both carried a thinly-veiled hatred for each other. It was also widely known that he was boinking one of the 7th-grade Science teachers. And three years later, he was arrested for possession of marijuana. He was awesome. I dressed up as him for Halloween that year.

Now, my Science teacher was one of the most frightening human beings I have ever encountered. He had a tremendous superiority complex and was rather fond of picking on the shy students. Being a sensitive child, I prayed each day that he would ignore me. Now, he had some sort of vision issue such that he would not appear to be looking at the person he was actually focusing on. So, I can remember many a moment of pant-wetting terror when those aquamarine eyes would swivel round to focus on me and the ensuing relief when he would bark out some other poor sod's name. About a year ago, I felt a fleeting twinge of fear when I went to a service at a different church than mine and saw that he was in the choir.

Also, my boyfriend's Marketing professor boasted to his class that her water had broken while she was administering an exam, and she had toughed it out until the end of the exam. Of course, she's got a Ph.D., so this qualifies her as being eccentric and not certifiably nuts.

Length, girth, blah blah blah...get over it.
(skinchanger97, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 4:08, Reply)

tune in
My history teacher throughout high school (not sure why but i managed to get him almost every year) was strange.

he started every sentence with the words 'tune in' in an attempt to get our attention. eg. 'tune in, today we'll look at the battle of salamis'

when one of the naughty kids bounced a basketball at the back of the room he threw it out the window of his 2nd story class room. when the kid protested he put the kid's upper body out the window too and held him there for about 30 seconds, not saying a word.

his best feature though was when the class got too much for him he'd just get a tv and turn on south africa's finest screen gem 'the gods must be crazy'. we'd all settle down and he'd just sit there laughing in the corner at the sped up antics and genius script: 'it's an interesting psychological phenomenon'.

now that's history.
(heatmiser, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 2:46, Reply)

Miss Brown
Miss Brown wore red from head to toe - red jumper, red skirt, red tights, red shoes. Every single day!
(b3ta2, Mon 14 Nov 2005, 1:39, Reply)

Struggling here a bit . . . .
Given that I went to a private all boys school I'm struggling to remember many weird stories about the teachers. Usual stuff; gym teacher is evil pervert (Jock Falconer), 1 million year old classics teacher with eccentricities (Batman), younger teachers shagging, alchy teachers drinking in lunch hour in pub right next too school. Having said that if we were taking bets on which of the physics teachers was fucking young boys we probably wouldn't have gone for Belly Simpson who topped himself when he got caught. My money was on Spike Calder tbh.
(garrison, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 23:22, Reply)

Not really strange, but...odd
I don't remember any creepiness, but I had an algebra teacher that when frustrated with the class would SLAM the yard-stick down on his desk, kinda like one of those buddist monks, sure woke me up! Also the german instructor would close my locker and giggle as I fumed at him, and he was an adult.
(annfyban, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 22:39, Reply)

Umm, did they really employ him?
I had this one supply teacher called Mr Weaver - we used to torment him by shouting "WEEEE-VERRRRR!" whenever his back was turned. Anyway, he was always talking about huntiing, going on safari and killing animals etc, but we thought it was just bullplop. Then one day when he was covering art class a kid needed his pencil sharpened, so he went and asked him if he had one. Cool as a cucumber, Weaver goes into the office and pulls out a bloody machete (I kid you not!) and sharpens this now petrified kids pencil, with all the gusto of a trained killer.

I don't think I ever took the piss out of him again.
(Funty, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 22:09, Reply)

MR John
Mr John, A.K.A, Baj

Was a total loony. Not only did he fit the stereotypical teacher image wearing plaid and leather elbows, but he was total prick.

Not content with making lessons hell, he was responsible for driving the TV around to various lessons with the sole intent of running into first years and anyone who didn't know any better to keep the fuck out of his way.

Other times he would pick up school bags outside of classrooms and relocate them to other parts of the school. Whether they were in the way or not.

Most infamously, was his proposal to the RE teacher in the lunch hall in full view of every student present. She ran crying from the room while he stood there looking sheepish.

How we laughed.
(Bodster, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 21:23, Reply)

Where to start?
An old teacher lost it completly and was regulary seen hiking around the school field with his rucksack looking for a place to eat his picnic! He had an enternal obsession with sex and would ask all the older students all the intimate details of their sex lives and advising them on the matters of safe sex, then retiring to his office where he is believed to have knocked one off to the image of the year 11's sex life.
ICT teacher used to go to the local clubs on what he knew would be student night, buy all the female students drinks all night and try it on with them.....despite the fact he was having an affair with a female memeber of staff!
History teacher was rumoured to have had an affair with a 15 yr old student, who would have only been a couple of years older than her daughter.
Supply teacher who we were stuck with for over a term was a pervert, who used to rest his hand on a female students shoulder and breathe heavily whilst trying to look down her shirt. Also lined up a class of students who were late once and threw tables at them until they had "learnt their lesson."
Also a female member of staff who like nothing more than to scratch herself in front of a class, then discreetly smell her fingers again in front of the class.
Finally, there's 100's more I could list including male teacher with a sheep fetish, mfl teacher who once had an incident involving vampires, but what could you could expect from a school run by a headmaster who was regualry seen walking along talking happily to himself as he picked up litter and put it in his pockets.
(NotSaying lurking is fun, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 20:54, Reply)

He's not really weird
but he is the seventh best scrabble player in england and he looks like a troll with a big belly. once he had a suspicious brown smear at the back of his shirt. Well i say smear. It actually looked like he had wiped his arse and several other peoples with his shirt and then worn it again. The Fuck-up.
(RootsRock makes it so it looks through my dogs hole, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 20:17, Reply)

Weirdo
I had a History teacher, who without fail would say "Top of the Pops is on tonight, Kate" everytime he saw me. Even on days when Top of the Pops wasn't on.

The same teacher would tread on another girls foot on purpose.

Weirdo.

Apologies for not having a penis.
(MissKittyKate1, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 19:22, Reply)

Mr Pearson was my Chemistry teacher
He never really believed in doing things on a small scale, so would demonstrate what effect water had on lithium and sodium by checking bloody great lumps at a bucket of water. Or the flammability of hydrogen by chucking burning rags at a 2 litre bottle of the stuff. Didn't believe in fume cupboards. 'Just put your hands up if you feel a bit lightheaded.' Had a tendency to sniff ether when the class was doing experiments and he got bored.

His piece de resistance was to shag the Physics teacher the gym. She was tied up with school ties. We know this because he videoed it and some students found the tape. And told The Sun...

For all I know, he may have apologised for length. The lucky bastard.
( biggus_richus, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 17:16, Reply)

Ike wasn't a teacher, but he taught me so much...
When I think of dirty old men, I think of Ike Thomas and when I think about Ike I get a hard on that won't quit.

Sixty years ago,I worked in what was once my Grandfather's Greenhouses. Gramps had died a year earlier and Grandma, now in her seventies had been forced to sell to the competition. I got a job with the new owners and mostly worked the range by myself. That summer, they hired a man to help me get the benches ready for the fall planting.

Ike always looked like he was three days from a shave and his whiskers were dirty white under the brim of his battered felt fedora.

He did nott chew tobacco but the corners of his mouth turned down in a way that, at any moment, I expected a trickle of thin, brown juice to creep down his chin. His bushy, brown eyebrows shaded pale, gray eyes.

Old Ike, he extended his hand, lifted his leg like a dog about to mark a bush and let go the loudest fart I ever heard. The old man winked at me. ÒIke Thomas is the name and playing pecker's my game.

I thought he said, "Checkers." I was nineteen, green as grass. I said, "I was never much good at that game."

"Now me," said Ike, "I just love jumping men. . ."

"I'll bet you do."

". . . and grabbing on to their peckers," said Ike.

"I though we were talking about. . ."

"You like jumping old men's peckers?"

I shook my head.

"I reckon we'll have to remedy that." Ike lifted his right leg and let go another tremendous fart. "He said, "We best be getting to work."

That summer of1941 was a more innocent time. I learned most of the sex I knew from those little eight pager cartoon booklets of comic-page characters going at it. Young men read them in the privacy of an outside john, played with themselves, by themselves and didn't brag about it. Sometimes, we got off with a trusted friend and helped each other out.

Under the greenhouse glass, the temperature some times climbed over the hundred degree mark. I had worked stripped to the waist since April and was as browwn as a berry. On only his second day on the job and in the middle of August, Ike wore old fashioned overalls. Those and socks in his hightop work shoes was every stitch he wore. When he bent forward, the bib front billowed out and I could see the white curly hairs on his chest and belly.

"Me? I just love to eat pussy!" Ike licked his lips from corner to corner then stuck it out far enough that the tip could touch the tip of his nose. He said, A man's not a man till he knows first hand, the flavor of a lady's pussy."

"People do that?"

He winked. "Of course the taste of a hard cock ain't to be sneezed at neither. Now you answer me, yes or no. Does a man's cock taste salty or not?"

"I never. . ."

"Well, old Ike's willing to let you find out."

"No way."

"Just teasing," said Ike. "But don't give me no sass or I'll show you my ass." He winked. Might show it to you anyway, if you was to ask."

"Why would I do that?"

"Curiousity, maybe. I'm guessing you never had a good piece of man ass."

"I'm no queer."

"Now don't be getting judgemental. Enjoying what's at hand ain't beiing queer. It's taking pleasure where you find it with anybody willing." Ike slipped a handside the side slit of his overalls and I could tell he was fondling and straightening out his cock. Now I admit I got me a hole that satisfied a few guys."

I swallowed, hard.

Ike winked. "Care to be asshole buddies?"

***

We worked steadily until noon. Ike drew a worn pocket watch from the bib pocket of his loose overalls and croaked, "Bean time. But first its time to reel out our limber hoses and make with the golden arches before lunch."

I followed I ke to the end of the greenhouse where he stopped at the outside wall of the potting shed. He opened his fly, fished inside, and finger-hooked a soft white penis with a pouting foreskin puckered half an inch past the hidden head.

"Yes sir," breathed Ike, "this old peter needs some draining." He exhaled a sigh as a strong, yellow stream splattered against the boards and ran down to soak into the earthen floor.

He caught me looking down at him. He winked. "Like what you're viewing, Boy?"

I looked away.

"You taking a serious interest in old Ike's pecker?"

I shook my head.

"Well you just haul out yourn and let old Ike return the compliment."

Feeling trapped and really having to go, I fumbled at my fly, turned away slightly, withdrew my penis and strained to start.

"Take your time boy. Let it all hang out. Old Ike's the first to admit that he likes looking at another man's pecker." He flicked away the last drop of urine and shook his limp penis vigorously.

I tried not to look interested.

"Yer sir, this old peepee feels so good out, I just might leave it out." He turned to give me a better view.

"What if somebody walks in?"

Ike shrugged. He looked at my strong yellow stream beating against the boards and moved a step closer. "You got a nice one,boy."

I glanccd over at him. His cock was definitely larger and beginning to stick straight out. I nodded toward his crotch. "Don't you think you should put that away?"

"I got me strictly a parlor prick," said Ike. "Barely measures six inches." He grinned. "Of course it's big enough around to make a mouthful." He ran a thumb and forefinger along its length and drawing his foreskin back enough to expose the tip of the pink head. "Yersiree." He grinned, revealing nicotine stained teeth. "I t sure feels good, letting the old boy breathe."

I knew I should button up and move away. I watched his fingers moving up and down the thickening column.

"You like checking out this old man's cock?"

I nodded. In spite of myself, my cock began to swell.

"Maybe we should have ourselves a little pecker pulling party." I ke slid his fingers back and forth on his expandingshaft and winked. "I may be old but I'm not against doing some little pud pulling with a friend."

I shook my head.

"Maybe I Ôll give my balls some air. Would you like a viewing of old Ike's hairy balls?"

I swallowed hard and moistened my dry lips.

He opened another button on his fly and pulled out his scrotum. "Good God, It feels good to set Ôem free. Now let's see yours."

"Why?"

"Just to show you're neighborly," said Ike.

"I don't think so." I buttoned up and moved into the potting shed.

Ike followed, his cock and balls protruding from the front of his overalls. "Overlook my informality." Ike grinned. "As you can see I ain't bashful."

I nodded and took my sandwich from the brown paper bag.

"Yessir," said Ike. "I just might have to have myself an old fashioned peter pulling all by my lonesome. He unhooked a shoulder strap and let his overalls drop around his ankles.

I took a bite of my sandwich but my eyes remained on Ike.

"Yessiree," said Ike, "I got a good one if I do say so myself. Gets nearly as hard as when I was eighteen. You know why?"

I shook my head.

"Cause I keep excerising him. When I was younger I was pulling on it three time a day. Still like to do him every day I can."

"Some sayyou'll go blind if you do that too much."

"Bull-loney!" Don't you believe that shit. I been puling my pud for close to fifty years and I didn't start till I was fifteen."

I laughed.

"You laughing at my little peter, boy?"

"Your hat." I pointed to the soiled, brown fedora cocked on his head. That and his overalls draped about his ankles were his only items of apparel. In between was a chest full of gray curly hair, two hairy legs. Smack between them stood an erect, pale white cock with a tip of foreskin still hiding the head.

"I am one hairy S.O.B.," said Ike.

"I laughed at you wearing nothing but a hat."

"Covers up my bald spot," said Ike. "I got more hair on my ass than I got on my head. Want to see?"

"Your head?"

"No, Boy, my hairy ass and around my tight, brown asshole." He turned, reached back with both hands and parted his ass cheeks to reveal the small, puckered opening. "There it is, Boy, the entrance lots of good feelings. Tell me, Boy, how would you like to put it up old Ike's ass?"

"I don't think so."

"That'd be the best damned piece you ever got."

"We shouldn't be talking like this."

"C'mon now, confess, don't this make your cock perk up a little bit?"

"I reckon," I confessed.

"You ever seen an old man's hard cock before," asked Ike.

"My grandpa's when I was twelve or thirteen."

"How'd that come about?"

He was out in the barn and didn't know I was around. He dropped his pants. It was real big he did things to it. He saw me and he turned around real fast but I saw it."

"What did your grandpa do?"

"He said I shouldn't be watching him doing that. He said something like grandma Ôwouldn't give him some,' that morning and that I should get out of there and leave a poor man in peace to do what he had to do."

"Did you want to join him."

"I might have if he'd asked. He didn't."

"I like showing off my cock," said Ike. "A hard-on is somethng I always been proud of. A hard-on proves a man's a man. Makes me feel like a man that can do things." He looked up at me and winked. "You getting a hard-on fromall this talk, son?"

I nodded and looked away.

"Then maybe you should pull it out and show old Ike what you got."

"We shouldn't."

"Hey. A man's not a man till he jacked off with a buddy."

I wanted to but I was as nervous as hell.

Ike grinned and fingered his pecker. "C'mon, Boy, between friends, a little cock showing is perfectly fine. Lets see what you got in the cock and balls department."

In spite of my reluctance, I felt the stirring in my crotch. I had curiositythat needed satisfying. It had been a long, long time since I had walked in on my grandfather .

"C'mon let's see it all."

I shook my head.

"You can join the party anytime, said Ike. "Just drop your pants and pump away."

I had the urge. There was a tingling in my crotch. My cock was definitely willing and I had a terrible need to ajust myself down there. But my timidity and the strangeness of it all held me back.

Hope you don't mind if I play out this hand." I ke grinned. "It feels like I got a winner."

I stared at his gnarled hand sliding up and down that pale, white column and I could not look away. I wet my lips and shook my head.

Old Ike's about to spout a geyser." Ike breathed harder as he winked. "Now if I just had a long finger up my ass. You interested, boy?"

I shook my head.

The first, translucent, white glob crested the top of his cock and and arced to the dirt floor. Ike held his cock at the base with thumb and forefinger and tightened noticably with each throb of ejaculation until he was finished.

I could not believe any man could do what he had done in front of another human being.

Ike sighed with pleasure and licked his fingers. "A man ain't a man till he's tasted his own juices."

He squatted, turned on the faucet and picked up the connected hose. He directed the water between his legs and on to his still dripping prick and milked the few remaing drops of white, sticky stuff into the puddle foming at his feet. "Cool water sure feels good on a cock that just shot its wad," said Ike.

***

"Cock-tale telling time," said Old Ike. It was the next day and he rubbed the front of his dirty,worn overalls where his bulge made the fly expand as his fingers smoothed the denim around the outline of his expanding cock.

I wasn't sure what he had in mind but I knew it wasn't something my straight-laced Grandma would approve of.

"Don't you like taking your cock out and jacking it?" Ike licked his lips.

I shook my head in denial.

"Sure you do. A young man in his prime has got to be pulling his pud."

I stared at his caloused hand moving over the growing bulge at his crotch.

"Like I said," continued Ike, "I got me barely six inches when he's standing up." He winked at me. "How much you got, son?"

"Almost seven inches. . ." I stuttered. "Last time I measured."

"And I'm betting it feels real good with your fist wrapped around it."

"I don't do. . ."

"Everybody does it." He scratched his balls and said,"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Then, looking me in the eye, he lifted his leg like a dog at a tree and let out a long, noisy fart.

Denying that I jacked off, I said, "I saw yours yesterday."

"A man has got to take out his pecker every once in a while." He winked and his fingers played with a button on his fly. Care to join me today?"

"I don't think so."

"What's the matter, boy? You ashamed of what's hanging Ôtween your skinny legs?"

"It's not for showing off."

"That would be so with a crowd of strangers but with a friend, in a friendly showdown, where's the harm?

"It shouldn't be shown to other people. My Grandma said that a long time ago when I went to the bathroom against a tree whan I was seven.

"There's nothing like a joint pulling among friends to seal a friendship," said Ike.

I don't think so." I felt very much, ill at ease.

"Then what the fuck is it for," demanded the old man. "A good man shares his cock with his friends. How old are you boy?"

"Nineteen almost twenty."

You ever fucked a woman?"

"No."

"Ever fucked a man?"

"Of course not.

"Son, you ain't never lived till you've fired your load up a man's tight ass. "I didn't know men did that to each other."

"Men shove it up men's asses men all the time. They just don't talk about it like they do pussy."

"You've done that?"

"I admit this old pecker's been up a few manholes. More than a fewhard cocks have shagged this old ass over the years." He shook his head, wistfully, "I still have a hankering for a hard one up the old dirt chute."

"I think that would hurt."

"First time, it usually does," agreed I ke. He took a bite from his sandwich.

I looked at my watch. Ten minutes of our lunch hour had already passed.

"We got time for a quickie," said Ike. "There's no one around to say, stop, if were enjoying ourselves."

He unhooked the slide off the button of one shoulder-strap, pushed the bib of his overalls down to let them fall to his feet.

"Showtime," said Ike. Between his legs, white and hairy, his semi-hard cock emerged from a tangled mass of brown and graypubic hair. The foreskin, still puckered beyond the head of the cock, extended downward forty-five degrees from the horizontal but was definitely on the rise.

I could only stare at the man. Until the day before, I had never seen an older man with an erection besides my grandpa.

Ike moved his fingers along the stalk of his manhood until the head partially emerged, purplish and broad. He removed his hand for a moment and it bobbled obscenely in the subdued light of the potting shed. Ike leaned back against a bin of clay pots like a model on display. "Like I said, boy, it gets the job done."

I found it difficult not to watch. "You shouldn't. . ."

"C'mon, boy. Show Ike your peckeer. I'm betting it's nice and hard."

I grasped my belt and tugged on the open end. I slipped the waistband button and two more before pushing down my blue jeans and shorts down in one move. My cock bounced and slapped my belly as I straightened."

"That's a beaut." Ike stroked his pale, white cock with the purplish-pink head shining. "I'm betting it'll grow some more if you stroke it."

"We really shouldn't. . ."

"Now don't tell me you never stroked your hard peter with a buddy."

"I've done that," I finally admitted,. "But he was the same age as me and it was a long time ago." I though back to the last time Chuck and me jerked each other off in the loft of our old barn. Chuck wanted more as a going away present and we had sucked each other's dicks a little bit.

"Jackin's always better when you do it with somebody," said Ike. "Then you can lend each other a helping hand."

"I don't know about that," I said.

Ike's hand continued moving on his old cock as he leaned over to inspect mine. "God Damn! Boy. That cock looks good enough to eat." Ike licked his lips. "You ever had that baby sucked?"

I shook my head as I watched the old man stroke his hard, pale cock.

"Well boy, I'd sayyou're packing a real mouthful for some lucky gal or guy." He grinned. "Well c'mon. Let's see you get down to some serious jacking. Old Ike's way ahead of you."

I wrapped my fist around my stiff cock and moved the foreskin up and over the head on the up stroke. On the down stroke the expanded corona of the angry, purple head stared obscenely at the naked old man.

Ike toyed with his modest six inches. "What do you think of this old man's cock?" His fist rode down to his balls and a cockhead smaller than the barrel stared back at mine.

"I guess I'm thinking this is like doing it with my grandpa."

"You ever wish you could a done this with your grandpa?"

"I thought about it a lot."

"Ever see him with a hard-on."

"I told you about that!"

"Ever think about him doing your grandma?"

"I can't imagine her ever doing anything with a man.

"Take my word for it, sonny, we know she did it or you wouldn't be here." Begrudgingly I nodded in agreement.

"Everybody fucks," said old Ike. "They fuck or they jack off."

"If you say so."

"Say sonny, your cocks getting real juicy with slickum. Want old I ke to lick some of it away?"

"You wouldn't."

Ike licked his lips as he kept his hand pistoning up and down his hard cock. "You might be surprised what old Ike might do if he was in the mood for a taste of what comes out of a hard cock."

And that is what he proceded to do. He sucked me dry.

Then he erupted in half-a-dozen spurts shooting out and onto the dirt floor of the potting shed. He gave his cock a flip and shucked t back into his overalls. He unwrapped a sandwich from its wax paper and procede to eat without washing his hands. He took a bite and chewed. "Nothing like it boy, a good jacking clears the cobwebs from your crotch and gives a man an appetite."

***

The following day, We skipped the peliminaries. We dropped our pants. Ike got down on his knees and sucked me until I was hard and good and wet before he stood and turned.

"C'mon boy, Shove that pretty cock up old Ike's tight, brown hole and massage old Ike's prostate.

Ike bent forward and gripped the edge of the potting bench. The lean, white cheeked buttocks parted slightly and exposed the dark brown, crinkly, puckered star of his asshole "Now you go slow and ease it along until you've got it all the way in," he cautioned. "This old ass craves your young cock but it don't want too much too soon. You've got to let this old hole stretch to accomodate you."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Easy boy, easy," he cautioned. "You feel a lot bigger than you look. Put a little more spit in your cock."

"It's awfully tight. I don't know if it's going to go or not."

""It'll go," said Ike. "There's been bigger boys than you up the old shit chute."

I slipped in the the last few inches.. "It's all in."

"I can tell," said Ike. "Your cock hairs are tickling my ass."

"Are you ready," I asked.

"How are you liking old Ike's hairy asshole so far?"

"It's real tight."

"Tighter than your fist?"

"Might be."

"Ready to throw a fuck into a man that reminds you of your grandpa."

"I reckon."

"I want you should do old Ike one more favor."

"What?"

While you're pumpin my ass, would you reach around and play with my dick like you would your own? Would you do that for an old man?"

I reached around and took hold of his hard cock sticking out straight in front of him. I pilled the skin back amd then pulled it up and over the expaded glans. I felt my own cock expand inside him as I manipulated his staff in my fingers. I imagined that my cock extended through him and I was playing with what came out the other side of him.

"C'mon, boy, ram that big cock up the old shitter and make me know it. God Damn! tickle that old prostate and make old Ike come!"

I came. And I came. Ike's tightened up on my cock and I throbbed Roman Candle bursts into that brown hole as I pressed into him. His hairy, scrawny ass flattened against my crotch and we were joined as tightly as two humans can be.

"A man's not a man till he's cum in another man." said old Ike. "You made it, boy. But still, a man's not a man till he's had a hard cock poked up his ass at least once."

Every time I think of that scene, I get another hard-on. Then I remember the next day when old Ike returned the favor.

I never have managed to come that hard again. If only Ike were here.
(gnaa_troll, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 17:08, Reply)

Mr Mallindine
was my geography teacher in year 7. When telling us how to spell his name, he told us, "and if that's too hard for you to remember, G-O-D will suffice". He had a bitter rivalry with Mr Radbourne - one of the PE teachers - and whenever we had to turn to a textbook page with a high number he'd say "Number of friends I have, and Mr Radbourne's age". He also referred to his wife and baby as his wifey and babe. We all loved him - he was hilarious, and he treated us all like adults. I was sorry to see him go at the end of my first year.

Another geography teacher heard me farting, so he put an anemometer behind me and told me he didn't want to see it move for the rest of the lesson. He called clumsy people 'sausagefingers'.

A physics teacher whose name I no longer remember was giving us a demonstration of something on the blackboard. I can't remember what it was, but he said something about travelling at 60 mph, and prompted us for the next stage in the equation. Some hilarious twat shouted out 'a large willy!'. Completely unperturbed, physics teacher says, "Okay, then: a large willy is travelling at 60 mph...".
On another occasion he heard me farting and said "well done".

My dad was a deputy head at the very same school, and recently he told me that when he interviewed Mr Mallindine, he asked him "as Frank Zappa, said to Ian Underwood, what can you do that's fantastic?", to which Mr Mallindine responded "How did you know I'm a Zappa fan?". My dad said, "Look at yourself - it's not hard to tell."

I've also learned from my dad that he and some other teachers once conspired to ensure that the first letter of each line on some kid's school report spelled out 'LITTLE SHIT'. And on another occasion he stood next to the cuntiest kid in an exam hall and dropped a silent fart at him (then he did the badger badger badger dance (when he was telling me, not in the exam hall)). Go dad!
He now works at a different school, and thanks to nepotism I'm getting £50 to invigilate an exam there. Tee hee. *stocks up on baked beans*
( Bob Todd whee, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 16:53, Reply)

Let me think,
It would have to be my old French Teacher, Mr. Salter. If someone was in trouble the teacher would always call Mr. Salter to sort them out. He was like the macho man of the school, and he wasn’t the head. Anyway what was so weird about him was that he liked to bring in items of furniture from home to furnish his classroom. It started innocently with him bringing in an expensive office executive chair instead of the school bog standard one. It progressed to a bed side table lamp, getting the room carpeted then more worryingly a leather sofa. Apart from that we didnt do much french he would tell us intresting facts like, 'When you touch a table you are not actually tocuhing it' I wonder now if he actually had a home at all...
( spaceage, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 16:22, Reply)

He had it coming...
I went to a great Grammar School, with largely great teachers. There were, of course, the others..

Prime example would be our Art teacher, who was not fit to be in a school. Sarcastic nasty people belong in government and police force, not in school, where people are still not prepared for it ..

Our school was full of bright people, the average pass rate was 7.7 ‘O’ levels*. Those of us who went on to sixth form, had this twunt as form tutor. One lad passed 5 ‘O’ levels, which was still very good. But Mr Twunt thought that it wasn’t, and proceeded to be an unbelievable shit toward this guy. Just one example: How would you fancy starting every day at school to be greeted by your teacher with “So, still turning up are you?”.

Moving on a few months…

One of my hobbies was keeping reptiles. This was known, and I’d done a few talks for schools, clubs etc, so my biology teacher (Mr Ritson, top teacher, privilege to know him) asked me to do a talk for the next door Girls Grammar School. Sounded like fun, so I agreed, as long as I could bring them in to school in the morning, and leave them in a warm, locked room until the lunchtime talk, do the talk, and put them back afterwards…

“OK, deal”, says Mr Ritson.

So drove to school (big event in itself, 17, just passed test) with two Burmese Pythons, 9 and 12 ft respectively. Got in good and early, to show [off] snakes in sixth form room. Did it all very sensibly – checked that everyone was OK with it, before bringing them in. Anyway, all went very well people having a laugh, and people getting over snake phobias, which was the general idea. This went so well, that I realised it was registration time, so checked with classmates, brought snakes in to registration, with the intention of taking them to their warm room before classes started.

This is where it all kicked off. I hadn’t asked the twunt teacher about his feelings towards the pythons. He came in, late, and walked to his desk without spotting over 20ft of python draped around the back of the room. Sat down, looked up and went white. Instantly, I mean, flash. Now I was holding one, and Colin, the harassed pupil, the other. So, for the only time in my life (as far as reptiles go), I took advantage of the situation. “Don’t you like these, they’re very friendly” said I, moving towards him. The two of us cornered him in the room using two,frankly, bloody enormous, examples of his obviously massive phobia.

Egged on by the rest of the room (“Come on sir, they’re very friendly – let them give you a BIG hug”)
We had him there for several minutes, until he broke. He ran out of the room crying, never did come back.

This generated a trip to the headmaster to explain the incident. (I asked the rest of the class to look after the snakes, as I might be a while). The head was startlingly cool, I explained why they were in the room, he said “OK, but that didn’t require you cornering Mr Twunt with them did it?”. Fair question. I said “No”, he said “Make sure they’re put where they wewre supposed to be”, and that was the end of it. No punishment, no parental involvement, nada.

Can only assume that the Head had a pretty good idea of what a scumbag this guy was, probably saved him the hassle of sacking him.

Finally, and irrelevently, I’d like to say how gutted I am that most of my favourite B3tans are going to a party in London six weeks after I emigrated to Perth, Australia. If there any B3tans in Perth – fancy a beer?

Apologies for length.


*If you’re of the GCSE on onwards generation, this-is-a-big-number**.

**Only kidding, lighten up and show you can take a joke by pressing the “I have a sense of humour” button at the end.
(BeatsWork, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:50, Reply)

the guitar hero
apologies but i forgot the guitar hero of primary school who was Mr Dully.

he sort of looked like terry nutkins and played guitar in assembly whilst going redder and redder in the face. was the pe teacher and always wore millets trackcuits.

The man is a legend.
(J R Hartley, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:40, Reply)

Drama Perv
There was the head of the Drama department. He used to get the whole class to do those excercises where you lay back on the floor with your eyes closed and imagine you are wherever he says you are. While he was doing this he would occasionally, oh-so-conveniently drop his keys on the floor so that he'd have to bend down to pick them up. And to look up the girls' skirts. When another teacher in the Drama department retired and they needed to get a replacement, his wife came and worked there, presumably so that she could keep an eye on the dirty sod!

A few years later, when I was working in the civil service, I worked with a woman who it turns out was married to a friend of said pervy Drama teacher. Apparently, as well as the naughtiness of looking up girls' skirts, he's an alcoholic as well. He kept that quiet!!!
(Iris_Wildthyme is three sheets to the wind, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:36, Reply)

My history teacher
Thought I was a girl for the whole year.



My other teachers only though that for a few weeks.
(freddiestarfish, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:34, Reply)

Another school perv
I had left middle school when this happened but one of the male teachers was arrested for making phone calls to the kids he taught, at christmnas time prtending to be Santa, once the parent had passed the call to the child he started being utterly perverted down the phone to them (asking them to touch themselves and stuff).
(J R Hartley, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:19, Reply)

A selection of teachers
PRIMARY SCHOOL - Mrs Hamilton. She made me sit at the desk infront of hers with one of the naughty kids and told my mum I was obsessed with sex and babies! I was about 6 at the time and didn't have an inkling of the word sex, let alone what it involved.

Mrs Thomas - she also had me sit right infront of her desk (a pettern emerging? I wasn't a naughty kid just a bit loud). She hated me for some unknown reason. Became Mrs Petchey when she married a bloke who was Peter Sutcliffes' double.

Mr Grange the caretaker - murdered one of the pupils and stuffed her body in the school bin.

MIDDLE SCHOOL - Mrs Ballinger, she hated me with a passion and banned me from a school trip to a museum because I dropped my gingerbread man on the floor during class (i'd been sneakily eating it during lesson). The reason she hated me was because of the "warning" that came with my report from my primary school. I'd love to have read that warning as like i'd said i was loud but not a naughty child. Told my mum at parents evening that she hated me. my mum was not best pleased and complained about her though nothing came of it.

Mr Jones - jolly welsh bloke who was my tutor in the 4th year. at the school summer fete he crouched down on the ground to have a go on a bowling stall and revealed a very hairy arse to the class.

HIGH SCHOOL - Mr Gordon. wore a cream pvc jacket and died his hair a peach colour. Dirty lech, i was his star pupil until when on a school trip to Shropshire I called him a dirty pervert and told him to fuck off. He hated me after that and ensured I failed my IT GCSE.

COLLEGE - i can't think of the guys name but he taught us Finance. He was a weedy little mouse type bloke with glasses and kept threatening to walk out if we didn't shut up. One lesson he did walk out, not only from the lesson but from the College and we never saw him again.
(J R Hartley, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 15:09, Reply)

The Evil French
In high school we had a supply teacher who, no matter what the subject he was supposed to be teaching, would somehow find a way to lecture the class about how the evil French were trying to overthrow the government of the United States. Apparently the French have realised that US currency says "backed by gold," but the Americans do not have sufficient gold to cover the value of all the dollars in circulation. The French are hoarding US dollars so that once thay have enough, they will present them to Washington, and demand gold in exchange. This will cause the collapse of the United States economy, which will then cause the collapse of the government.
(coolchick365ca, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 14:42, Reply)

Mrs Mould
One of my junior school teachers was called Mrs Mould and she was a lovely, kind teacher.

She had a box with dried run-over frogs in that she would periodically bring out to show the class. All the dead amphibians were flat and hard with varying rictuses of agony on their little froggy faces.

My particular favourite was one that had been run over by a bicycle. Great facial expression.
( in vino veritas, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 14:35, Reply)

Psycho teacher from hell!
We had this history teacher that got in a car crash and was off ill for AGES - we all thought he was never gonna come back...

And then one lesson, he was there. However, in the time he was off, we had in the time honoured tradition ran abso-feckin'-lutley riot and given 2 or 3 supply teachers a nervous breakdown.

So: the lesson begins and chaos erupts... Now all of the soft supply teachers must've rotted our brains, because this guy REALLY knew how to take control....

He let the madness continue for long enough until he could identify the ring leader with total certainty. Then he called this scrote out to the front and told him to stand with his head against the blackboard.... at this point the ring leader is still cocky and smirking at the class, The teacher then tells the kid to turn and face the blackboard - and then (and this is the part I still cannot believe) he grabs the kids hair WITHOUT LOOKING AROUND and slams his face into the blackboard with furious vengeance.

Cue every single kid going bolt upright and then as one putting their heads down and concentrating on the lesson.

Masterful, absolutely masterful: he regained control in 5 minutes flat and twatted an absolute wanker of a kid at the same time. I suspect today he'd be charged with a criminal offence instead. Shame!
(brumguvnor www.twitter.com/brumguvnor, Sun 13 Nov 2005, 13:33, Reply)