Ain't No Shame in Bein' a Ho

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Ryan Reeves woke slowly and stretched his slender frame. A bolt of anxiety raced through him as he saw the morning sun peeking under the drawn blind, but then he realized it was Saturday. No school. Ryan relaxed. He had a hard on. Reaching between his legs, he grabbed his cock and squeezed. He had to pee. He lay in the warm sheets thinking of Dray, his student and all-star basketball player from Bronx Academy. Ryan had moved from a wealthy suburb in Connecticut to teach in the South Bronx so that he could help girls just like Dray. She was eighteen, long and limber with a light brown complexion and big chunky lips. Ryan rolled off the bed and made his way to the bathroom.

He stood over the bowl in his jockey shorts and waited for his erection to diminish so his water could come. He toyed with the idea of beating off. He was a good-looking man, with a thin but well-built body, a full beard, and dark inquisitive eyes. He thought of his girlfriend, a Jewish girl with long wavy hair and a strong nose who taught English at Bronx Academy, and soon he was able to make his water.

Ryan tugged his cock back into his underwear, sat on the toilet seat, and fixed up a shot of heroin. It was his morning fix. Drugs were more plentiful in the Bronx than in Connecticut. He slipped the needle into his arm and felt the chemical warmth swallow his brain.

Ryan heard a faint tapping noise.

Tap, tap, tap.

He was unsure where the noise was coming from. Pulling on his jeans, Ryan padded bare-chested to the front door and peered through the peep hole. The hall was empty, except for Mook, a neighbor who slung dope for one of local dealers and a streetwalker in tight pink shorts. Ryan put his hands on the door and pressed his face for a better look. The streetwalker was actually a neighbor woman who lived with her mother just down the hall. As she negotiated with Mook, Ryan's eyes were drawn to the finely articulated muscles in her shoulders and back, her ripe round ass cheeks, and those sturdy black thighs. Ryan felt his cock swell in his pants. If she were already being pimped out, her mother would be disappointed.

"Mr. Reeves?" Dray's voice sounded meek and hesitant.

Ryan spun from the door with a guilty look on his face. Dray wore jeans, a light-colored T-shirt, and low-cut Converse, the uniform of the day for all the students at Bronx Academy. Sometimes Ryan felt as if he were the only thing standing between these sweet brown girls dressed in their modest jeans and t-shirts, and the neighborhood pimps so eager to dress them as whores.

Dray averted her eyes. Ryan couldn't be sure if she looked away because of the look on his face, his lack of a shirt, or the bulge in his pants. "Mook was in the hall," Dray said, "so I came through the window. I hope it's okay."

Ryan loved how adaptable and smart these girls were. A drug dealer in the hall just meant they'd climb the fire escape and come through a window. He grinned, casting off any lingering feelings of doubt.

"What up, Dray." He spied a terrycloth robe and drew it over his bare shoulders.

Dray grinned a brilliant smile. Her full cheeks glowed in the dim light. She was an athlete and it showed. Her thighs were bursting out of her jeans, fraying the seams at her hips and along the insides of her legs. Her family wasn't wealthy, so she'd probably owned those jeans for years and only now was her ripe body able to fill them out in all the right places.

Dray turned her head to the left, then to the right. Her hair was done in neat cornrows, half an inch apart, covering her entire scalp in geometric swirl pattern.

"Did Ms. Jesum do your hair?"

Ms. Jesum was Dray's guardian. Ryan wasn't sure how Ms. Jesum was related to Dray or if they were even blood, but it didn't matter. He knew Ms. Jesum loved Dray and wanted only the best for her. She'd made Dray sit for the hours it took to braid her hair because Ryan had once mentioned enjoying Dray with her hair that way at a parent teacher conference. He had only been making small talk, but since that day each time Dray came to his house for a practice test, Ryan found her hair braided and oiled in fresh new cornrows.

"You know she did," Dray murmured. He ran the back of his fingers along one of the knobby spine of braids and Dray ducked her head and blushed.

"You here for your practice test?" he asked.

Dray wordlessly nodded. He insisted on four practice tests each semester from every girl. The girls were responsible for making time for the tests outside of school. Ryan felt it was important for the girls to make an active investment in their future.

"What grade do you want, Dray?"

Dray grinned and looked at the floor. She shook her head.

"It's not funny," Ryan said. He gave her a cross look, produced a yellow legal notepad, and opened it to a blank page. "Write down the grade you want," he said.

Dray took the pen and studied the blank page. Ryan reached for her pen hand before she could write anything, touching his fingers lightly to her knuckles.

"You have to believe to achieve," Ryan said. This was Ryan's thing with the girls. He always told them they had to ‘believe to achieve', and he expected the girls to adopt this slogan and repeat it back to him, too. He felt it made them more comfortable with success. He was grooming them for their future after Bronx Academy.

"Do you believe Dray?"

Dray's shoulders began to quake with silent laughter. "Oh, I believe, Mr. Reeves. I believe," Dray said. Her voice had taken on a silky, dreamy quality, as if she were responding to one of the Reverend's calls at the local Baptist church. Looking up, she met Ryan's eyes and her eyes were wet and sparkling with joy.

"Then achieve!" Ryan said.

He put his fists on his hips and stared at the blank page before his student.

Dray bit her bottom lip.

She made a large "C" on the pad.

Ryan let his shoulders slump. He made a deep inhale and folded his arms acros

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Written by Huck Pilgrim
Cargado April 11, 2021
Notes A maverick teacher grooms students for success by building certain crucial, real-world "skills."
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