Called to the school

— Hello! – Artyom decisively entered the teachers' lounge. – You called for me? I'm Sukhostoyev, Petya's father. Ahem… Pyotr Sukhostoyev's father.

Three female faces stared at Artyom.

When Artyom barged in, the ladies were standing by the window, excitedly discussing something. The man even managed to catch the end of the last phrase:

— …finally find yourself a man!!!

This was said by the one who was the oldest.

The conversation was interrupted by the invasion of the aforementioned man, and the women now examined the newcomer.

Artyom, at thirty-seven, was a fit and handsome man. He didn't miss the fact that one of the women, the very one who had suggested finding a man,

greedily ran her eyes over his figure. However, the other two were not indifferent either and examined Artyom with curiosity.

— Oh, colleagues, I completely forgot, — said one of them. — I called for Sukhostoyev's father.

— Petya's? – the mature one smiled mysteriously for some reason. – Hmm… It's about time, long overdue.

She now examined Artyom with even greater curiosity, somehow shamelessly focusing her attention on his legs.

— Come in, come in, Artyom… uh… — the one who had called for him stared questioningly at the man. She was younger than the mature one, but not by much. She looked about forty-five, but had aged well. The third teacher, quite young, about twenty-five, slender, in a semi-transparent blouse, through which Artyom could perfectly see a size A-cup bra, desperately blushed, retreated to one of the desks and tried to turn away.

— You can just call me Artyom, — Artyom helped the teacher. – And you are… Alevtina Vladimirovna?

— Yes, — she smiled. – Petya's homeroom teacher. Your wife attends the meetings, but I wanted to talk specifically with you. You know… — she glanced around confusedly, throwing a look at her listening colleagues, — let's find a place where we can talk frankly – I have a lot of questions for you. About Petya, of course!

— Here! – the mature one unexpectedly intervened and, with a strange smile, handed Alevtina Vladimirovna a key: — This is from my biology classroom. No one will disturb you there for sure.

She sized up Artyom with her eyes again and grinned strangely.

— Thank you, Mary Ivanna, — the teacher was pleased. – I prepared… material… for you… uh… Artyom!

She took a stack of notebooks, textbooks, and journals from the desk.

— Did you take the math ones? – the young one unexpectedly asked.

— I did, I did, — Alevtina Vladimirovna assured her, — let's go, Artyom… uh… Artyom.

— Alya… — the mature colleague called after the teacher heading for the door, — remember?

Alevtina turned around, they gave each other a strange nod, as if exchanging secret signals.

— Let's go!

They went out and Artyom walked after the teacher.

She was curvaceous, in a black skirt just above the knees, hugging her shapely female hips, a white blouse, and high-heeled shoes. The woman had beautifully styled hair flowing, and thin glasses complemented the image of a typical teacher, the kind they depict in cartoons in the crossword collection "Mother-in-Law's Tongue."

Artyom watched with pleasure as the buttocks of the woman walking ahead rolled, how her size B/C breasts shook as she walked, and was glad he had responded to the note in his son's diary: "We ask the father to come to school. Homeroom teacher Onanishchenko A. V."

The pair went down a floor, walked a bit down the corridor until they reached a door on which was written: "Biology Classroom. Resp. Zashchekanskaya O. S."

The school was quiet. Only one shift, the first, and the time – five in the evening – didn't encourage lingering at work.

Alevtina Vladimirovna clicked the lock and they entered the classroom.

*****************

— Let me lock it, — the teacher suggested first thing and clicked the lock again, — I don't want anyone to disturb us. Our conversation… uh… is going to be… uh… well, you'll understand. Have a seat.

She pointed Artyom to a chair opposite the teacher's desk.

The man sat down, Alevtina put the stack of books and notebooks on the desk, and sat down at the desk herself.

For a few seconds, they looked at each other. Then Alevtina swallowed and said confusedly:

— You know… Artyom… uh… To be honest, I didn't expect… that you… uh… I was already prepared… — she embarrassedly lowered her eyes and blushed very sweetly, girlishly, — that you would be… uh…

— What kind? – Artyom prompted. He was smiling broadly, openly examining his son's teacher.

— Like this! – the woman explained impulsively. – You… are such… wow!

— Were you expecting a drunkard or something? – Artyom laughed heartily.

— Well… If not a drunkard… — Alevtina became embarrassed again, — then… a man… uh… uncultured… a boor… like that… Considering Petya's behavior.

— Well, sorry about that, — Artyom snorted, — I have two higher educations, law and psychology, a good home library, a responsible job, progressive views…

— Very good, — Alevtina hastily agreed, — I'm all for it. Strange, then why… ahem… Petya is a very problematic boy!

— Really? – Artyom leaned forward and stared right into Alevtina's cleavage. – And in what way?

— Uh… — Alevtina became embarrassed once again, following the man's gaze. — I… uh… Your wife is a pleasant, calm woman, not a shrew, not a hysteric… like some… money for curtains always on time, helped with costumes, went to the wreath-laying… It can't be that she taught Petya such things!

Artyom leaned back again and laughed.

— Alevtina Vladimirovna… May I call you just Alya? It's too long… — Alya nodded and blushed, — Alya! Still, please explain, what 'such things' has my son been taught? Did he offend someone? Hit someone? As far as I know, he has good grades.

Alevtina snatched a journal from the stack of brought documents and handed it to Artyom. He took it in his hands confusedly, flipped through it. It was the class register for 11-A.

— Further, further… — Alevtina watched Artyom flipping. – There!

She triumphantly poked at the opened spread.

Artyom looked at the long penis drawn across the entire page.

— Well? – he asked, raising his eyes to Alevtina. – So what? A dick.

***************

Alya flushed like a lobster.

— Artyom! Don't you see anything special?

Artyom scratched the back of his head.

— No, you're right, of course. Firstly, it's unethical to draw a dick in a teacher's journal. And secondly, Petya clearly has problems with drawing. But what do you want? The guy has no talent. I tried to coach him a bit, but you need your own experience here too. I was also talentless until I drew my first hundred dicks.

Alya looked at the clearly upset man, her mouth agape.

— But you must agree: the boy doesn't have many opportunities to see dicks in life. We don't go to bathhouses, we're not often naked at home either. I try not to flaunt mine: what if the kid develops complexes, starts comparing. And he hasn't grown his own yet… well, a proportional one, like a man's… And perspective is distorted when you practice on yourself. Mine also seems smaller to me than in reality…

Alya slowly closed her mouth and cautiously asked:

— So you're not bothered that your son drew… uh… a genital organ?

— A dick? – Artyom repeated. – That it's in your journal: terrible, of course. I'll punish him, what can I say. No porn for a week. And when I fuck my wife – I'll close the door. Also for a week. Enough? What do you think?

Alya swallowed.

— He watches porn with you?

— Well, yes, — Artyom was surprised, — and you don't allow yours to, or what?

— I have a daughter, — Alya raised her nose. – And I'm raising her.

— Well, with a daughter it's more complicated, I understand, — Artyom agreed. – You need to be more selective there, more romance. If, of course, you don't want her to become a slut.

— What are you saying? – Alya jumped up and flushed crimson. – Now I understand where… uh… Pyotr is like that…

— Like what, Alya? A regular kid. I drew dicks everywhere I could reach when I was a kid myself. And better than Petya's. You definitely need to show hair on the balls. Veins add realism. The head is better pointed, but Petya's is like a potato, so he's drawing from himself. And you must mark the foreskin. At least with a dotted line…

— The foreskin… — Alya whispered. – he shouldn't draw a di… genital organ at all!!!

— Shouldn't, I agree, — Artyom agreed. – In the teacher's journal. For that – punishment. I already promised. Two weeks!

— And here! — Alya exclaimed and began rummaging in the stack, scattered it, extracted a notebook, handed it to Artyom, opened it to the right page, and poked at a huge female genital organ drawn across the entire squared page: — Our Mashenka, the math teacher, almost fainted when she saw it. When she was checking homework.

Artyom took the notebook in his hands, examined the drawing carefully, and absentmindedly asked:

— Is that the…? The skinny one?

— That one, — Alya responded. – The skinny one.

— Well… — Artyom drawled. – Well… I don't know, I don't know… Proportions are observed, authenticity confirmed, even the degree of wear is discernible. Looks like my mother-in-law's! Although no, Svetlana Palna's lips are more saggy…

He returned the notebook to Alya, who was frozen with bulging eyes, with a smile:

— What's wrong here?

— But… But… But… This is… Mashenka…

— Does your Mashenka not have a pussy? Or is hers different? God gave all women the same pussy. I have no doubt that yours is exactly like Petya drew. If you're married, of course, and fuck regularly. And the homework… It's on the next page. And, as I see, he got an A. Of course, he should have drawn the pussy somewhere else, but… Sorry, if the guy has a creative urge, you can't cut it off at the root!

Alya collapsed onto the chair.

They were silent.

Finally, Alya said quietly, looking at the tabletop.

— Petya shouted in geography class: 'Kathmandu – everyone in… uh… man… uh… du', 'I saw in Australia – uh… bbb… uh… sluts from Italy'… I think. And also: 'Dad fucks mom doggy-style, twisting her fat tits, now she howls like a beast, now laughs like a child!'

— My poet! – Artyom said proudly. – Heir to Pushkin, Yesenin, and Barkov. Didn't he read you his poem about the wet-slit and the king?

— No, — Alya said quietly. – He didn't have time. But he sang ditties in Life Safety class. 'Come to our garden – there I'll take your… uh… penis so to speak… uh… in my mouth.' Something like that…

— Alyechka, — Artyom leaned towards the teacher, — the boy is growing into a multifaceted, gifted young man.

— He lifts girls' skirts! – it seemed this was her last argument, which should kill Artyom.

— Let them not wear such short ones! In their place…

— He lifted mine, — Alya interrupted Artyom indignantly. – I didn't even notice right away. Your scoundrel sits in the front row and when I was standing at the blackboard with my back to the class, he lifted my skirt with a ruler. Some even managed to take pictures of my panties.

— Alevtina, — Artyom stood up, approached the teacher, put a hot hand on her trembling shoulder. – If someone sees your panties, nothing terrible will happen. I, for example, saw them through your skirt – it hugs your lovely butt so tightly – mmm! — crazy little frills. Well, why do you put them on if no one will see this beauty?

Alya was silent.

— Are you married? – Artyom asked quietly.

Alya shook her head negatively:

— Divorced. Three years ago.

— Poor thing… — Artyom stroked the woman's hair. – I understand you. You want to. But there's no one. You won't go with just anyone… And here my… scoundrel… Either confuses with a dick, or with indecent poems… I understand… And you're raising a daughter alone, without a man… Where should you both put your sexual energy? And you're a young, beautiful, fuckable woman… quiet, quiet, don't argue! Fuckable, it's obvious, believe a man. And you all here – are fuckable. Well, who would pay attention that a kid drew a pussy in math class? No, straight to hysterics, call the father to school. Good lord – a pussy! It's clear your math teacher is… underfucked! Single?

— Single, — Alya nodded quietly. – Underfucked. Like me. But where can we find you, men??? The normal ones, see, have been taken.

— Well, why are you hesitating? Here, you called me. Take advantage!

Artyom unzipped his fly and flopped his dick out in front of Alya.

— Wow! – she recoiled. – I thought you… you… were just saying it for effect…

— And you thought, — Artyom giggled slyly. – Petya takes after me, the dog! But he