Did you ever have a crush on your teacher? I did. For me, it was Miss Greenway. Though it was more than just a crush, it was pure, true, love. A love which burned brighter than a billion suns. Unfortunately, of all the subjects she could be my teacher in, it was English. My school reports were all glowing, except for English. English is something I struggled with. Spelling and grammar just doesn’t make any sense. Of course, all the spelling and grammar Nazis just love that, they can’t read what I wrote, they just see the errors and ignore everything else. Fuck them, it’s their loss.

For Miss Greenway I tried, and she appreciated my efforts. My reports from Miss Greenway would all say, “Tries hard.” She made words special for me, I wrote stories and she liked them. An appreciative comment from her made struggling to make the words behave all worthwhile. In my sophomore year, I wrote her a special story. I put my heart and soul into it; I wanted it to be perfect for her.

Then came the day I was going to show it to her. That was the day her name changed. She announced to the class that she was now “Mrs. King.” I didn’t quite process this news; I was excited to show her my story. I stayed behind after class and showed her the story. Her first comment, I’d misspelled a word in the first sentence. I was crushed, she didn’t care one whit about the story, just about a stupid spelling. I slunk out of the classroom, my eyes burning, I was trying to hold back the tears. On top of it, she’d gone and got married. MY Miss Greenway was now someone else’s.

I resolved that if I couldn’t have her, no one would. I snuck home and grabbed a gun out of dad’s cabinet. I knew where he kept the keys. I selected my favorite, the .45 M1911 automatic, and a clip of ammunition. Then, I staked out Miss Greenway’s car (she’d always be Miss Greenway to me). It wasn’t long before her car flashed as she unlocked it. I stepped out of my hiding place and brought the gun to bear.

Then, Ow! Ow! Ow! PAIN! My muscles spasmed, and there was awful pain all over. The pain passed thank God, I was lying on the ground and my muscles were not cooperating. I couldn’t have pulled a trigger even if I were still holding the gun. Looking over me was a guy; he was holding something. He addressed me, “I can’t believe how stupid I was.” He was looking at me saying it, like he was implying I was the stupid one. He continued, “Look kid, I know you don’t have a clue, so I’ll make it easy for you. I’m you. I’m you from your future. I’m also Mr. King, so you do get to bang her. You don’t have to beat off to those bikini shots forever.”

I could see the gun beside me, I was trying to make an arm work to get it. He then showed me what was in his hand, “You’ve also just learnt, Tasers are a bitch. Now beat it before Dad notices the gun’s gone.” Then, he walked off. My limbs gradually started to work, and I got up. I was trying to make sense of what he said, but I heeded his last piece of advice, I put the gun back and no one was ever the wiser.

I wondered, could the rest of what he said be true. He knew my greatest desire was Miss Greenway, to “bang” her as he crudely put it. I’d never told that to anyone, someone could guess that though. I certainly hoped no one else knew about the pictures I’d taken of Miss Greenway with the long lens, or that I’d regularly beat off while looking at them. They were still in the locked and password protected files, I didn’t see how anyone could have known about them, except me.

So now I had a new fantasy, a grown up me goes back in time and successfully woos Miss Greenway. That kept me busy nights. I tried even harder in her class now, knowing somewhere, or somewhen I was banging her. I liked to think it was my doing when she came in extra happy some mornings. I wondered what I’d been doing that morning, and thought about that at night. She gave me a glowing review on the story, A+, and she wanted it published in the school magazine. There were only a few red marks on the printout, where she’d marked the errors for correction. I could forgive her that remark now.

So my life ran its expected course. I graduated high school; I wasn’t Valedictorian thanks to the C in English. I got my B.S. in Physics, I got my Ph.D. I did post doc work. All the while I was looking for some clue to time travel. Someway, I’d go back, stop myself making a big mistake, and of course, most important, get to bang Miss Greenway.

Eventually I found it. Buried in Modern Physics Letters A, was a clue. Along with another I’d just read in the Journal of Physics. Put them together and I could see how to deflect a momentum vector along the time axis, in other words, time travel. Of course, it only worked on the microscopic scale, on protons and electrons. It’d make an interesting experiment to do at CERN. It’d probably win me a Nobel prize, but I had something much more important to do with the idea, get to bang Miss Greenway.

I worked on the theory until I could make it work on the macroscopic scale. That is, a practical application. Something I could use to travel in time personally. Once I’d gotten the theory worked out, I worked on making the theory practice. The apparatus needed eight magnetrons in a carefully phased linear oscillation. The easiest way to source the magnetrons is from microwave ovens, and speaker transducers made ideal linear oscillators.

How far you traveled in time depended on the speed you were traveling at the time of the deflection. It works out at about 10 years for every meter per second you’re traveling (about four and a quarter years for every mile per hour). The convenient factor of 10 there arises from the coincidence that the number of seconds in a year is about ten times the number of meters per second in the speed of light. I wanted to go back about 20 years, so I’d need to be traveling about 84 mph.

For various reasons, a 2010 Crown Victoria was the best vehicle for this. A previous owner had pimped it with a multichannel sound system, so I could drive the speakers independently in the right phase. To satisfy the conservation of momentum, the car had to travel in the opposite direction in time, that is into the future. That’d mean I’d end up twenty years ago traveling at 84 mph, not in a car. That caused me some sleepless nights until I worked out that me and the car were an entangled system. So whatever happened to the car would happen to me, at least for a short time. So if the car crashed in the future, just after traveling through time, I’d also come to a halt in the past.

So to make this work, I had to drive the aging Crown Vic at 84 mph into a solid object, which would still be a solid object 14 months in the future. I selected a mountain road with a sharp bend and a solid granite cliff to crash into. I had to trigger the deflection just as the car was crashing. The airbag sensor was perfect to trigger that. I considered making the speed I needed 88mph instead just to make it like in “Back to the Future,” but then I’d have to wait another eight and a half months. I was too impatient for that.

Do you know how hard it is to drive directly into a cliff? I do now, I chickened out a few times, but I just thought of the payoff; I’d get to bang Miss Greenway. I ended up sitting in a bed of nettles at the base of the cliff, alive and uninjured apart from the nettle rash. I’m glad jeans are mainly nettle proof.

It was almost dawn where/when I ended up. I could see it was about 5am from the direction of the dawn. It was too light to get an idea of the time of year from the stars, but I guessed it was either June or September to have dawn at that time of day. I walked off towards town and managed to hitch a ride. The car’s clock said it was 5:17, it also gave a date in September. That date sounded awful familiar.

I got dropped off in town, and I walked to Miss Greenway’s house. When I got there the door opened, and I hid behind a bush. Miss Greenway emerged, followed by an old dude. He said to her, “Well Mrs. King, are you ready to tell your students about your new name?”

She replied, “I am, Mr. King.” Then, they got in the car and drove off. This was not shaping up how I imagined. The old dude as Mr. King, not me. I was around the right age to be the guy who’d told me he was Mr. King, so I’d thought it’d be me. I also remembered that the date was the day I had that encounter, when Miss Greenway told us she was now Mrs. King.

I needed answers, but I didn’t have any. I walked off, thinking hard. I found myself at my old house, and I watched as Dad and a younger me emerged and drove off. Dad was going to drop me at school and go off to work. The house would be empty until I came home to get the gun. I knew where the spare key was, so I let myself in. The house was just like I remembered it. It felt really weird, it was so familiar, but I felt so out of place there, I felt like an intruder.

That was when I saw, out of the window, Mr. King was driving back home. I thought I could get some answers. I grabbed the M1911 out of the gun cabinet, along with a clip of ammo. I had questions for Mr. King and that was going to help him answer.

I walked back to Miss Greenway’s house, strode up to the door and was just about to knock vigorously when the door opened slightly. Ow! Ow! Ow! PAIN! Fuck, the dude tased me. I still remembered what that was like from all those years ago, I still hated it.

Now I’m lying on the floor, I’m inside the house, my wrists and ankles are bound. The old dude is sitting there, watching me. Seeing me alert, he says, “I really can’t believe how stupid I was. Falling for that twice. And thinking I was going to turn up here and be Mr. King, it takes time to woo a woman, I’ve been at this for ten years.”

I was trying to work out the implications of that when he got up and pulled a knife. Then I was more worried about the implications of the knife, but he just cut the bonds on my ankles and on my wrists, saying, “I did have some pointers for you, but you’re really not worth it. Now get out of my house, I’ll keep her for myself.” Then, he walked off.

The pistol was lying on the floor next to me so I grabbed that, and went after him, “Hey!”

I saw him disappearing into the garage, so I shouted after him, “Hey you!” And shot at him. I think there was an explosion then, things are hazy. I’m lying on the floor of the living room, there’s a smell of smoke and barbecued pork. In the garage there’s a badly charred body, but no fire.

I’m all, “Fuck, now what?” I wasn’t thinking straight at that time. I did hide the body, I found a yard clippings bin in the back yard, wheeled it inside and managed to get the body in that. That got it out of the way for then, I’d worry about getting rid of it permanently later. I found the Taser and an extra cartridge, which reminded me I had to go tase myself. I also needed to get the gun back in the cabinet so I could grab it. As I was walking home, I saw the car in the drive way, that was supposed to be parked at the school.

I got home, cleaned the gun so you couldn’t smell it’d been shot and put it away. Hopefully, no one would notice one missing slug. Back to Miss Greenway’s I got the car and drove to school. I found a parking spot which looked familiar. Then, I went and hid.

Half an hour later, I saw myself, my 15 year old self, find the car, and duck behind some bushes to lie in wait. I got the Taser ready, approached the bushes quietly on his blind side, then readied the Taser and unlocked the car. He stepped out of his hiding place and was pointing the gun in my direction, so I pulled the trigger on the Taser. It’s a lot better on this side of a Taser. The darts caught him square in the chest, and it ticked away as it does. He danced like he was at a Devo concert and went down.

Shooting Miss Greenway really was the stupidest thing I ever thought of doing. So I stood over him, looked down and waited until some recognition sparked in his eyes. Then, I told him, “I can’t believe how stupid I was. Look kid, I know you don’t have a clue, so I’ll make it easy for you. I’m you. I’m you from your future. I’m also Mr. King, so you do get to bang her.” I still wasn’t thinking straight, what was I going to do about Miss Greenway? I wasn’t Mr. King, despite what I claimed, and I hadn’t banged her yet. I remember how I used to think about Miss Greenway, so said to him, “You don’t have to beat off to those bikini shots forever.”

He was looking around, he saw the gun on the ground beside him, but couldn’t reach for it. I showed him the Taser, and said, “You’ve also just learnt, Tasers are a bitch. Now beat it before Dad notices the gun’s gone.” Then, I walked off. Once out of sight, I stopped to spy on him. He did manage to stand up, grab the gun and walk off.

When he was out of sight, I got into the car, and tried to think what to do now. Then, the door opened, and Miss Greenway’s voice was saying, “Well, Mr. King, you were right, no one cared that I’m Mrs. King now. Well, apart from maybe Matthew, I really think he’s got a crush on me. He wrote me a special story.” She got in the car, I was trying to think of how I’d explain not being me, she leaned across and kissed me. Then said, “So it worked then? I owe you a blowjob.” She looked around nervously and reached for my zip and unzipped me.

Like I said, I still wasn’t thinking straight, my second biggest fantasy was about to come true, and I had to open my mouth. “I, err, what? I’m not sure I remember what’s what, there was an explosion.”

She looked concerned, she looked at me very closely, “Oh, you poor dear, we should get you to the ER, you may be concussed.”

“I liked the blowjob idea.” I really did, I wasn’t thinking why she wanted to give me one, just that she wanted to.

She laughed, “Yeah, there’s obviously nothing wrong with you, but we really should get you checked out. Please, I promise I’ll blow you when the doc says its OK.”

I reluctantly agreed and drove to the ER. If I had been concussed, driving wasn’t a good idea, like I said, I wasn’t thinking straight. It took a couple of hours, but we did get seen at the ER. They took a head X-Ray, and “found nothing,” as Miss Greenway said laughing. The doctors were also amazed that I as a sixty-year old, as my ID said, was so fit, healthy, and young looking. Miss Greenway said I was working on rejuvenation technologies, so looked younger than I was. That made for as good a cover story as any I could think of.

The docs were concerned that I’d lost my memory. Really, I’d never had those memories in the first place, but I wasn’t telling anyone that. In the absence of any other signs of a concussion, they let me go. We walked out to the car, and true to her word, Miss Greenway reached for my zip. She again looked around nervously, then bent down to my dick. She took me into her mouth, wow! This was good. I’d had a few blowjobs before, but this was the best ever. I may be biased, seeing as it was Miss Greenway’s mouth. Also, I hadn’t had sex, even jacked off for a while with all the preparations I’d been making, so I wasn’t going to last long. I didn’t, and almost immediately blasted cum into her mouth and slumped down in the seat.

She was leaning against me hugging me, and sighed contentedly. She said, “I’m sorry for doubting you. Obviously your thing worked; you look 30 years younger. And it obviously had a similar effect on him.” She looked down at my crotch. “How long before he’s awake again?” This was amazing, I’d just been granted my second biggest wish, and she wanted to work on the biggest one.

I was just about to say it’d be about half an hour before I was ready again, when I thought a rejuvenated older me wouldn’t know that yet. So I replied, “I dunno, but I want to find out.” Then, I drove us to Miss Greenway’s house. It was only ten minutes to Miss Greenway’s, and when I parked in the driveway I was hard again. I was inspired to make my fantasy a reality. Before she could get out of the car, I took her hand, and pressed it against my crotch and hard on. “There really is nothing wrong with you, is there.” She said.

We walked inside, hand in hand. Inside, the smoke and BBQ smell was largely gone. I had had the presence of mind to open the windows to let the smell out. She looked at the charring in the garage and made sympathetic noises, but I was keen to get on. I dragged her out, then froze. “Where’s the bedroom? I can’t remember.”

She led me towards one door, I’d have guessed was one bedroom, saying, “How conventional of you. But as you say, boring, but comfortable.” I was trying to pick up any clue as to our relationship, so far I got the idea I was a randy old goat and she was a nymphomaniac. This was even better than my fantasies.

In the bedroom, I saw there were panties lying on the bed. There was a thought, Miss Greenway teaching me not wearing panties. I held her to me and kissed her. My hand roamed around her ass, then I slipped it into her waistband; she wasn’t wearing any panties. I moaned, “The thought of you teaching, and your panties lying on the bed at home.” I made a cross eyed face, with my tongue hanging out of my mouth.

“You’re beginning to remember then?” I didn’t respond with words to that, I pulled down her skirt, and she stepped out of it. She was now half-naked. I don’t know which half of her is more interesting when naked, but the bottom half has its charms, and was on display. I sank to my knees and pressed my face into her pussy. Soon, she sat down on the end of the bed and opened her legs to give me better access.

I wasn’t a virgin, I had banged a few girls, but I was not experienced by any measure. Mainly I’d been waiting for my chance at Miss Greenway. I tried my best with my limited experience to get Miss Greenway off, I wasn’t that effective. I had fun trying, but it took her forever, and my jaw was about to seize up when she finally came. I held her while she recovered.

She looked at me and said, “I hope you had fun teasing me like that.” She looked severe, schoolmarmly at me, I shrank. Then, she broke into a big grin. “Do that to me any time, thank you.” Then, she looked down at my crotch, and asked, “Can your little friend perform as well as your tongue?” With that she rolled over, stuck her ass in the air, and buried her face in the bed covers. I still hadn’t seen her boobs yet, and she wanted me to bang her. My biggest fantasy was about to come true.

I piled into Miss Greenway’s pussy with all the grace of a horny fifteen-year old. I was just so eager for this; I forgot any technique I knew. I just pounded my dick into her pussy. I wasn’t going to last long like this, despite the blowjob not so long ago. She shuddered, and I came. We both sort of fell over in slow motion, in opposite directions, so I didn’t fall on her. She was lying there twitching, with my cum leaking out of her pussy. Man, that was an erotic sight. But, I was pretty much done for, all I could do was watch. I couldn’t move.

Amazingly, she was happy with my performance, she said, “God, I’ve missed you fucking me like that. Getting old really does suck, doesn’t it? Being rejuvenated is much better.”

That was about the end of that episode, and I hadn’t even seen her boobs. We got up and straightened ourselves and did normal domestic things for most of the rest of the evening. It was bedtime before I saw her totally naked. It may have been worth the wait. She was as perfect as I ever imagined her to be. I fucked her a couple of times that night and again in the morning. I went down on her a few times and she blew me again. It was fucking amazing being married to Miss Greenway.

So I lived as the sixty-year old me, rejuvenated to thirty-five, that made me just as old as Miss Greenway, and boy was she horny. I did my best to keep up, and failed. I was happy to be totally worn out all the time; I still had a tongue. She liked me to use that on her before leaving for school in the morning, I WAS the reason why she’d get to school happy. She liked me to use it first thing she got home, if I hadn’t otherwise regained my potency. She liked it last thing at night, and would often pop home at lunch time as well. I didn’t work, so I was always available to her. When you love someone like I did, that just makes you contented.

I didn’t work; I didn’t have to. I was rich; I’d made some very shrewd investments in the past decade. You could be that lucky if you were a genius, which I was, but not at investing, or if you had foreknowledge. Given what I’d said about wooing Miss Greenway for ten years, I’d bet on the foreknowledge. So I studied the market of the last decade, assuming I was going to need the knowledge sometime. I also used what I knew of the next 20 years to make the right bets on the emerging technologies in the coming business cycles.

I still called her “Miss Greenway,” even to her face, I never used her first name. She just took it as one of my eccentricities and stopped objecting. At heart I was a fifteen-year old boy acting out his fantasy of banging his English teacher, even if I were thirty-five and sixty officially. She’d even indulge me in some role-play, where I’d be the teenage student, and she’d be the English teacher. She said that was just “so delightfully naughty.”

She’d work out her frustrations and say things she just couldn’t say as a teacher. I’d know she was starting a scene when she’d come home and call me by the name of one of her students. If it were “Tommy,” I’d know I was in trouble, she’d usually end up spanking me for that. I tried to gently discourage the spankings, I didn’t like that, but I was glad to help her. The best occasions were when she called me “Matthew,” and I role-played being myself.

It’d go something like this: I’d hear the door and go to greet her, I’d quite often get hard from just that, Pavlovian response I suppose. More often than not we’d have some form of sex when she got home. This time, instead of kissing me, she said, “Matthew, could you come see me after class.”

I replied, “Yes, Miss Greenway.” Then, she walked off to her den.

I waited for as long as I could, I doubt I could wait five minutes anticipating what’s to come. I went to her den and knocked on the open door, “You wanted to see me Miss Greenway?”

“Ah, Matthew, yes.” She signaled me in to the den, and I stood beside her desk. She picked up a paper, and said, “Matthew, this love poem you wrote to me, it’s terribly inappropriate.”

I stood downcast and said, “Sorry, Miss.”

“But it is very sweet, and I appreciate the thought.” As she was speaking, she reached for my zip, and unzipped me. This was looking good for Matthew, I’m not sure if I’d had this particular fantasy, but I should have done. “But, you can’t go around telling your English teacher things like this.” She was quiet as she took me into her mouth. I don’t remember much of the rest of her speech, interspersed with the blowjob, but she carried on in that vein. Standing became a problem, so I sat on the desk.

Her mouth continued to work away at me, and I flashed back to scenes of her teaching. Sometimes I’d sit there and just watch her mouth, wondering if she’d sucked my (my older self’s) dick that morning. Now, I knew the answer: she usually waited until she got home. I love a blow job from Miss Greenway, as I said it was my second biggest fantasy in school, and here I was living the fantasy.

Eventually I came, I might say all good things have to come to an end, but that wasn’t the end. She was licking her lips and saying, “Thank you for your present, but an Apple is a more traditional treat for your teacher. I also want to congratulate you for spelling ‘cunnilingus’ right this time, perhaps you can be taught after all.” That comment harkened back to a scene where I left in tears when she criticized Matthew’s spelling as her opening line. That had brought back too many memories. She was now more cautious when it came to criticizing spelling.

That gave her an opportunity to put the scene back on a more normal track. “Cunnilingus is also an appropriate treat for your teacher.” She raised her skirt to show me her panty-less pussy, and spread her legs. I didn’t need any other cue, I knelt in front of her and lowered my lips to her wet receptive lower lips. As I said, we both liked this. In the den was one of her favorite places for it. She’d sometimes have me kneel under her desk serving her as she marked her student’s work. That made me think, had she ever come while reading my work, that idea was such a turn on I’d be inspired to take her on the desk.

With Miss Greenway satisfied, at least temporarily, she told me of what had inspired her. It was a love poem I’d written, though I hadn’t explicitly addressed it to Miss Greenway, that was my intent. She had correctly guessed as much. I suggested she seal it with a kiss, and then trailed her finger through her wet pussy, and suggested she leave a wet finger mark. She did. I don’t remember ever getting a paper back like that, I was so unobservant.

I studied my own history, so I could “remember” things about me. I got pretty good at faking being Mr. King. She would call me Matthew, which was also Mr. King’s first name, as well as mine. That made life easy. As I studied him, I saw where a time traveler could waylay him and take over his life while arousing the least suspicion. What was really handy for this was his diaries. He kept a diary of his thoughts, hopes and deeds since he was seven years old, until just that point where he could be waylaid.

I started to think I was going to need to make another time journey and be my older self and become Mr. King. I recreated the time travel theory. I hadn’t brought any incriminating notes or technology back with me, so I had to work entirely from memory. But, once you’ve done the math one way once, it makes sense to do it that way again. This time I worked out a better way of doing it. This one would not need a car or a crash. I could do it standing still, it was also a lot more accurate. I think I could hit a particular minute, if not a particular second in history.

I had a plan, but I had no need to execute it for fifteen years. Fifteen blissful years banging Miss Greenway. Towards the end of that, I did less banging, getting old sucks. It is so frustrating when your woman wants it five times a day, she was still a nympho. But, your body only lets you come once or twice a week. For a while I could still get a hard on, but not come. Then, the hard ons started failing as well. Not even little blue pills helped me there, I was just worn out. I still loved her, with a pure true love, I still satisfied her, and I took my satisfaction in that.

Then, she was killed. She had an accident, the car suffered a software glitch and drove itself over a cliff. She died in a flaming heap; her body burnt beyond all recognition. I was heartbroken, I had nothing to live for, not in this time anyway. Google traced the glitch to a bug in their code and offered a fortune in compensation. I didn’t care about that, I just wanted Miss Greenway back, and I knew how to do that.

So I put my long on hold plan into action. I sent myself back in time. My new version of time travel was also better in that I could put myself down anywhen, and anywhere on the planet. Within some energetic constraints. Basically, I needed to be at the same potential, like the same altitude at both ends, or I risked being cooked or frozen, thanks to the conservation of energy.

I went back twenty-five years to Denver Airport. There, Mr. King was changing planes on his transcontinental journey. He was speculatively flying West to find a new life, leaving all his family and friends behind in Queens. In his diary, he was bellyaching about some chick he’d broke up with. I think that’s a bit extreme just for a girl, but it gave me the perfect opportunity to integrate myself into life as him.

I followed him into a restroom, luckily it was empty. I tased him with a stun gun, not one of the ones which shoots darts, and bundled us into the handicapped stall. There, I changed clothes with his, and sent him on a different journey with the time machine. The time machine had come with me. I emerged from the rest room as Matthew King and no one was any the wiser.

For a time, I disguised myself to look like him. We were pretty similar, but I changed a few things to look more like he did. Then, I made myself a “new look,” and was me again. When family came out to visit they accepted me as him, I knew just about everything he did thanks to his diaries. The diaries were about the only thing he took with him.

I set myself up to live comfortably, Mr. King had done well for himself and was looking towards retirement. I could draw on his retirement assets, there are ways of doing that and not be charged penalties for early withdrawal. I made a series of, what should have been, unwise bets on the Stock Market, and they paid off big time. You can do that if you know the future. The future here was my own personal past. I made enough to buy a house, and I found that Miss Greenway’s house was on the market, so I bought that.

At the same time I also looked up Miss Greenway, she was still doing her teaching credential. I went looking for her and found her in a coffee shop, looking glum. I’d been her husband for fifteen years now, I knew her. I also knew her history and knew what the matter was. I bought a couple of coffees, one was her favorite and sat myself down at her table. I opened with, “A soul as poetic as yours shouldn’t be glum, here you are.”

She was startled, but when she saw the drink, she accepted. Then we talked, I’d missed talking to her so much since she’d died, but I tried to keep morbid thoughts out of it, and keep things light. I succeeded, I was invited back to her place. Now, I knew she was horny. Well, she’s always horny, but this was a low point in her life, and she’d broken up with her previous boyfriend and not had any in weeks.

I knew she was primed and ready, and I’d had fifteen years practicing on her to know how to play her body. I started as soon as we were in her front door. I breathed on her neck, simple but effective for her. She shivered. I held her around her middle and nibbled on her ear lobe. She moaned. Then, I nuzzled her neck; I wasn’t playing fair. Then, I went for the coup de grace, rather clumsy, but very effective. My hand went down the front of her skirt and into her panties and played with her pussy. She came, and her knees gave way. I caught her and carried her over to the sofa.

Her eyes focussed, “What the?” She questioned.

I kissed her lips gently and whispered in her ear, “I could make you come five more times tonight if you let me.” Then took to nibbling her ear lobe. Her description of her feelings at this point was “confused and horny.” She’s recounted her version of the encounter to me many times, in my past, her future. Up until she closed the door and I made her come, she hadn’t considered me as a sexual partner. I was twice her age after all. I had seemed to her to be a kindred spirit, in love with language.

My initial assault had come as a total shock to her. That I could make her come in seconds was a revelation. Now my lewd offer. She was in two minds, it wasn’t proper, but she was horny, so horny. So horny won. While she didn’t give explicit consent, there was plenty of tacit consent. She didn’t stop me. I knelt in front of her, to take up one of my favorite positions. I pulled her skirt up out of the way and drew down her panties. Then, I went in for the kill. Every trick I’d learnt in the last fifteen years with her; I used to get her off in a hurry. Again she came, she describes this one as “crushing”.

While she’s still woozy from the orgasm, I pick her up and take her to the bed. I undress her gently, then turn her over, raise her hips, and pound her pussy as hard and as fast as I can. I’m channelling my inner fifteen-year-old in the clumsiness of my approach. It was a technique we’d found she liked, I didn’t hear any moans, as her face was buried in the bed covers. I’m sure there were moans, I was living my number one fantasy again. I never tired of taking her like this. And again, she came. That way did get her off in a hurry.

She flopped on the bed, I turned her over and hugged her. Slowly awareness dawned, speech took a little longer. She tried to look down, “Did you?” She was questioning whether I’d come.

I replied, “Getting old sucks, one of its effects is I can pound away all night and not come.” She looked conflicted at that prospect. She described her feelings as a mixture of anticipation of that, and horror at the though of that treatment all night. So I reassured her, “Don’t worry, I won’t, unless you beg me. But for now, I’m not going to make you come for another twenty minutes.” I looked at the bedside clock; it was showing quarter-past. “That’d be at twenty-five to.”

She looked at the clock and flopped back from the effort. I then mainly just held her. A few gentle strokes, a little kissing and nibbling. Nothing overtly aggressive. She describes the anticipation she felt, wondering when I’d start up again, just working herself up into a frenzy, and I did nothing to help. I occasionally mentioned how long to go, “ten minutes.” “Five minutes.” “One Minute.” Then, the clock showed twenty-five to. I wiped my finger up her pussy lips and pressed her clit. She exploded.

When her wits returned, I just said, “Two more to go.” She looked at me with an expression of awe, that’s how she described her feelings as well. She was wondering if I were the devil and if she’d have to sell her soul to get me to do that again.

We hugged for a while, letting her recover sufficiently, when I told her, “Time for a blowjob.” And looked down at my dick which was still stiff and slightly sticky with her juices. Again, she looked slightly conflicted, but she crawled down the bed to do it. She says she was wondering how this would get her off for the fourth time, and that she didn’t like tasting her own juices. But, when I told her to do it like that, the thought of tasting her own juices was so naughty, it was a turn on. I also answered her other question by saying, “And play with yourself while you’re at it.”

That was also a turn on, as she’d never played with herself in front of anyone before. She felt so wicked and wanton, she confessed to forgetting about the blow job halfway through and concentrated on jilling herself. That was my impression of the blowjob as well, I was expecting it, so I didn’t complain when she stopped. I let her finish herself off and moved to hug her.

This time her reaction was “No more, please.” I was expecting that too, so I told her we didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to but I did still owe her the orgasm. She did offer to help me get off, she used her mouth and her hand and did manage to do it.

I still said, “Getting old sucks.” Several times. It does. But after my performance she didn’t want to let me go. Despite the age difference we stayed together, she’d found someone with the patience and the skills to satisfy her.

So began my second blissful period of living with Miss Greenway, her first. I helped her out of her financial problems; she moved into her house with me. I worked on growing my fortune and secreting away a large part of it, I’d need that later. She got the job teaching at my high school. Soon enough, I knew I’d have to face my younger stupid self. I spun her a tale about working on rejuvenation technologies, she let me alone as I tinkered away in the garage. She did say if I ever made it work, she’d give me a blowjob. Not that she needed much excuse for that, except an ever rarer hard on.

She wasn’t the marrying kind, but eventually I wore her down enough she agreed to marry me. We decided on a simple ceremony on the beach in Hawaii. Mr. King had been married before, so for a second marriage that wasn’t so unusual. She went back to school for the fall, and we carried on being blissfully happy. She told me she’d not told anyone at school that she was married. So I said that she really should. After a few weeks of resisting the idea, she decided she would.

That morning we were getting ready as usual, she called out from the bedroom, “Could you come in here a sec?” I walked into the bedroom, and she was standing at the end of the bed, she raised her skirt to display her panty-less pussy and sat down on the end of the bed and spread her legs. It was pretty obvious what she wanted, so I did. I took my, very familiar, position kneeling in front of her and started licking away at her very wet pussy.

Being practical, we needed to get out of the house soon, I tried to hurry her along. If we have more time, I like to take my time about this, and enjoy it more myself. This time I French kissed the pussy, before zeroing in on the clit. It was standing up to attention, just waiting to be licked. I pressed it hard with my tongue and there were satisfying shudders, and she flopped on the bed. I got up, and she was lying on the bed, her arms above her head, and her skirt not covering anything. She smiled a very contented smile at me. Languidly, she said, “Help me up, while I find my knees.”

I held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. I kissed her, and she kissed back, and licked around my mouth. She was obviously feeling naughty tasting herself on my lips. She would really have liked to go back to bed for more, but we’d be late if we didn’t move. One of us had to be practical, so I saw her to the door. She left her panties lying on the bed. She didn’t always wear them to school, a thought which turned me on, and would have made my fifteen-year old self’s head explode.

Unusually, I called her Mrs. King, “Well Mrs. King, are you ready to tell your students about your new name?” Instantly I had a feeling of deja vu. The fateful day was upon me.

She replied, “I am, Mr. King.” And we got in the car, and I drove her to school. It was unusual me driving her to school, but it seemed like a new beginning. I got home and got everything ready, then I lay in wait behind the front door. I heard the footsteps outside, opened the door a crack and shot myself with the Taser, my younger self that is.

His momentum carried him through the door as I opened it, and he crashed on to the floor of the entryway. God I was stupid back then, so it was easy to play my part in this. I quickly bound his hands and feet, I didn’t want him jumping me before it was time. When he showed recognition, I said, “I really can’t believe how stupid I was. Falling for that twice. And thinking I was going to turn up here and be Mr. King, it takes time to woo a woman, I’ve been at this for ten years.”

I really didn’t want to interact with the twerp more than I needed to, so I got out my knife and cut the bonds, saying, “I did have some pointers for you, but you’re really not worth it. Now get out of my house, I’ll keep her for myself.” I was lying, I had no pointers for him, I was just playing this as it played previously. I turned my back on him and walked off.

I heard him shout “Hey!” as I walked to the garage. As I got into the garage, the package arrived as expected. The real Mr. King turned up, this is where I sent him, so my earlier self had the problem of disposing of the body. (I’d eventually buried the body in the back yard, to free up the yard clippings bin.) Mr. King burst into flames as expected, I calculated the potential difference between here and there was enough to cause that. I only expected him to burn, so if there was an explosion, I’m really not sure what that was. Then, I triggered the time machine and left the scene to my earlier self.

I landed where and when I expected, and got to work putting my plan into action. I had plenty of resources with all the money I’d secreted away, so I got myself a nice hotel room, then I set to work. I worked on exploiting the flaw in Google’s software to compromise their cars. Their post mortem document on that was very interesting, and helpful. Once I’d done that, I found Miss Greenway; she wasn’t dead yet at this time. I whisked her away to the hotel as a surprise. I also deflected any questions about my sudden change in appearance, though the difference between fifty and sixty isn’t as great as between thirty-five and fifty.

I sent her car off to crash. I was going to have to work out where the body came from later, I never arranged that. It maybe I needed to disposed of a body sometime in the future, or maybe I was finally cremating her for real. I then took her off on a round the world cruise. When we got back, my younger self had disappeared and we were “surprised” that she was thought to be dead.

Now, I get to grow old with her gracefully. Who knows what the future holds, I don’t after five years out. I should probably write that letter about the experiment CERN should do. Should I write that under my own name? Then, I’ll turn up missing someday and it’ll be a mystery. Or I could publish it under my new name, that would make a splash, an unknown person with such a revolutionary idea. Or I could publish it anonymously, make a splash and a puzzle. Whatever, Physical Review D is the right place to publish it.

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