I’m now a middle aged man but at the time of this story I was a teacher of English and just turned twenty eight.

I was teaching at a high school and enjoyed the interaction between the staff and students of this multicultural, educational environment. The students were great, apart from those who displayed “attitude” to try and conceal their insecurities – but I must admit they were in the minority. In short, I got a high from teaching and watching the students benefit from getting an education.

I got a real buzz teaching a class of Basic English to students from foreign backgrounds. To see the improvement in the way they could progress and fit into their new society; and all because of language, which I was teaching them.

A particular favourite of mine was a very shy and unassuming Iranian student, aged fifteen. She was a real trier; but was having a lot of trouble with the English language. Her father was a businessman and spent a lot of time away from his family trying to get ahead in his new country. Zina’s mother was one of the old school type. She was the one who kept the family home a model of the way she had been brought up to do in the manner of the “Old Country” and had no ambition outside the family home. When Zina’s mother shopped, it was up to Zena or her younger brothers to interpret for their Mum with the local merchants. Zena’s mother had visions of the family returning to Iran when things returned to the way they had been before fundamentalism had raised its ugly head.

As mentioned before, Zena was a trier. She was a keen student and had a strong desire to master the English language but try as hard as she could it was difficult for her. After six months her father had an interview with me and enquired whether I could tutor his daughter after school time. He needed someone at home who could act on behalf of the family during his frequent absences and Zena, as the eldest, was his best bet.

And so the next phase of my relationship with Zena began – two hour sessions, Monday, Wednesday and Friday at my place, which I shared with two female teachers from our school. On the first Monday afternoon of tutoring, Zena arrived wearing her usual traditional garb. She was dressed in a long coat like garment, which reached to just below mid-calf over what looked like loose legged slacks. On her head she wore the traditional hijab, much like a nun’s wimple, that hid her hair and neck. From my reading, I remembered that the traditional dress was worn so women couldn’t flaunt their femininity and cause men to become aroused and want to take advantage of them – I have always thought men should be responsible for controlling their carnal inclinations, but what would a WASP know?

We started out doing the standard English that we were covering at school, then moved onto current events and their interpretation and finished off talking about things Zina was having trouble with at school. These things that were troubling her were mostly the way people reacted to her religion and the traditional clothes her parents made her wear.

These sessions had been going on for a few months when Zina started asking me questions about things she had overheard other girls talking about – sex related things. She had tried talking to her mother about them, but had been told that they had nothing to do with her. Her mother told her when she married her husband would teach her all she would need to know. So began her lessons in sex education. I gave her all the mechanical details of reproduction and had her read a book on the subject as part of our English tuition sessions.

Zina was coming up to her sixteenth birthday and told me she would then become a woman. I thought maybe there was some kind of ceremony she would undergo, some kind of rite of passage. How wrong I was; Zena told me her mother had arranged for her to be circumcised in accordance with tradition. Tradition!!! Circumcision is illegal in this country – but I’m sure it happens. Welcome to the Dark Ages!

Around this time Zina arrived for her tutoring one day carrying a holdall and asked if she could have a few minutes alone. I left the room and after a while Zina called, saying it was OK for me to come in. I was surprised on re-entering the room to see she had changed from her normal shapeless garb to typical western attire. She was now wearing a white short sleeved blouse, a pleated skirt above the knee and ankle socks and shoes. The transformation was astounding. Previously, because of her shapeless costume, I had no idea what she really looked like. I took her in from head to toe – long dark hair with a soft wave that framed her face and fell over her shoulders; firm, high breasts; a trim waist and a nice curve to her hips; and supported by long shapely legs. It crossed my mind that maybe the middle-eastern guys had a point – I was certainly aroused at the sight of her, but as her teacher, I had no problem curbing my carnal inclinations.

After that day a pattern was formed, each tutorial day, Zina would arrive and change clothes for the duration of the tutorial, then change again and go home. She said that she liked to feel less foreign, if only for a few hours each week.

I could tell something was troubling Zina and one day she confided to me that she was worried about the pending circumcision. She told me she would be missing out on the wonderful feelings she had read about – would never experience them in her whole life. What she said next really floored me. She asked if I could help her experience those feelings (but no penetration, because she had to be a virgin when she married) so she would know what other women felt. I blustered and stammered, telling her as a teacher, I could lose my job and go to jail. Why couldn’t she find some nice young guy at school to put her book learned sex education into practice? She shyly explained I was the only male person outside her family she trusted. Besides, she wasn’t about to tell anyone, especially her family or the school.

I felt weak at the knees and slumped, sitting on the lounge. At that point I think her courage failed her and a couple of tears began to trickle down her cheek. I took her arm and gently pulled her down onto my lap, wrapped my arms around her and gave her a peck on the cheek telling her things would be OK. I tasted her salty tears as she told me things wouldn’t be OK; shortly her life would change irreversibly forever. I stalled for time and said we should think about it until our next tutorial and maybe, then, talk about it some more. Zina reluctantly agreed, changed and went home.

The next two days were a blur, I kept thinking of what had happened, the surprise, my confusion. To be honest, the thing I thought about most was the feeling of holding this beautiful young woman in my arms and trying to comfort her.

Zina arrived on the next tutorial afternoon and having changed walked up to me, embraced me and kissed me full on the lips. She said that was her decision and asked what mine was. I wrapped her in my arms and returned her kiss – with interest. We kept embracing and kissing as I sat down on the lounge with her on my lap. As my tongue found hers my hands began to lightly explore her body; moving over her breasts and hardening nipples to her waist, hip and thigh. We were both becoming more aroused and were exploring each other more fervently. I removed Zinas blouse and bra and began to tease her already hard nipples with my tongue while my hand began to explore her inner thigh under her skirt. I alternated from one nipple to the other, sucking them into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them. Zina had undone my shirt and began running her soft hands over my chest and teasing my nipples, sending little thrills running up and down my body. My hand had now reached her panties and she spread her legs a little to allow me to fondle her pussy lips through the thin material. These ministrations soon had Zina squirming on my lap and bringing my cock to full attention. I moved my hand up to the waistband of her panties and she lifted her hips to allow me to remove them. She grabbed my hand and guided it back to her pussy lips for more intimate attention. Her pubis had a nice covering of fine pubic hair, which she may have trimmed, but I wasn’t sure. She was getting nicely damp to my touch so I began sliding my finger along the crease of her pussy, occasionally allowing the tip of my finger to enter to about the first knuckle. Soon I could feel the nub of her clitoris responding to my touch and her hips began to move with my finger action.

Zina seemed to be content and enjoying herself. I removed my hand from her pussy, removed her skirt and lay her down on the lounge with one leg on the floor. I began kissing her inner thigh and working my way up to that warm wonderful place where my hand had been moments before. When my lips met her, now slightly swollen labia, I started to explore them with my tongue; pushing them apart and running it up and down the inner lips and teasing her clitoris. Each time my tongue brushed her clit I was rewarded with a little sigh or moan of pleasure and her thighs pressed against the sides of my head. She was becoming quite wet and my lower face was covered in her juices and my saliva. While I was licking her pussy lips and clit I had managed to remove my shirt, jeans and boxers; we were both gloriously naked. I used my shirt to clean off my face then moved up and lay lightly on this warm and trusting body. Zina responded by clasping my hips with her thighs. I was in heaven; her long legs wrapped around me and her soft resilient breasts against my chest. We kissed deeply; then I raised up on my arms and positioned my cock so it rested along the fold of her vagina. Slowly I started to move back and forth, sliding the underside of my member along her pussy crease and making contact with her clitoris. Zina started to move her hips to my rhythm; grinding her clit against my, now, rock hard cock. As we moved together we were looking into each others eyes – Zina’s eyes reminded me of dark limpid pools and I could feel myself slowly drowning in them Their look conveyed to me that she trusted me like no other and I was overwhelmed by the feelings of tenderness and protection I felt for her.

After a minute or so I could feel Zina was close to experiencing her first orgasm; her breath was becoming ragged and what she was feeling was mirrored on her face. With a series of gasps and moans she came, hugging my hips to her with those lovely legs. At that moment I started to cum; more from the erotic mental stimulation than from the physical. I came in a series of spurts that pooled on her stomach, then lowered my torso to embrace her and to feel a wonderful togetherness with her.


We shared this experience several times over the following weeks. Then one day Zina told me her circumcision was scheduled for the next week. She was obviously upset, said that she didn’t want to go through with it – but what could she do? Almost without thinking I said, “We will go away together where no one will find us”. I hoped they wouldn’t find us or I would be in very, very deep shit!!

I got a teaching job in another state; got Zina a false birth certificate – as far as the rest of the world was concerned, she was my step-daughter. At home we slept in the same bed; but at school, I was the teacher and she was the student. Zina still wanted to be a virgin when she married so we still didn’t have penetrative sex, although with a little instruction she soon learned to provide me with mind blowing oral sex.

Zina graduated from school at age eighteen and we were married soon after. How my sex life changed – but I won’t kiss and tell. She is in second year Law at the university and very busy with our son, named for his two grandfathers, Sandy Jamil McCleod – poor bloody kid. It’s amazing how a grandchild can patch up family relations.

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