Bury the Children in the Yard by Andersen Prunty

book. Probably preparing hastily for another exam they were taking later in the day.
    Except her. Ashley Burroughs. She stared right at him. He glanced back down at the stack of essays, caught his breath, pretended to scrawl something on one of them.
    Her essay had come completely out of the blue. Even now, she sat in the middle of the class, wearing a skin tight white sweater, a plaid skirt, knee socks and, dear god, brown saddle shoes and pig tails. And she still managed to look innocent rather than trashy. Until last night, he had thought she was a post-secondary student. But he had looked her up in the student database. Nineteen. He couldn’t believe he was thinking about going through with this.
    Once he was sure his erection had subsided, he cleared his throat, took the essays in hand, and stood up.
    “You’re, um, free to go when you get your essay. And welcome to email me with any questions you might have.”
    He placed the essays on the students’ desks. Most of them merely glanced at the final grade and either sighed with relief or grumbled with disappointment. Most of the grades were good to average. In the back left of the classroom sat Paul Skink. He had pulled a brilliant essay off the Internet and printed it out. Didn’t bother typing it. Didn’t bother reformatting it.
    “Really, Paul ... ” He put the essay in front of the boy, an ‘F’ marked in red followed by a half page diatribe. The kid guffawed, stood up, and walked slowly from the room.
    Eventually, the only student left was Ashley. He had felt her eyes following him around the room. He wouldn’t have thought anything of her essay if he hadn’t been mentioned by name. Calling it an essay wasn’t even accurate. It was really more like a pornographic story and again, if he, if they both , had not been mentioned by name, he would have just thought it was something written to grab attention with its offensive content. It was, however, remarkably free of typos and, at the end, she had written in pink ink: “I’ve wanted you to fuck me all year.” Even if she had been a bad student or a different type of person, he would have just thought she was trying to lure him into something. Normally he wouldn’t even contemplate something like this. But it had been a very long time since he’d had any kind of female contact. A long time since he’d seriously even considered it. It had been a long time for a lot of things.
    “Ashley.” He came up behind her and put the essay down on her desk.
    “Yes, Mr. Brown?”
    “That was, uh, quite a piece of writing.”
    She looked at the essay, noticed the ‘A’ written on it, and said, “Thank you.”
    “Did you, uh, mean what was written in there?”
    “Yes, Mr. Brown.”
    “You mean ... you would like to actually do that stuff?”
    The tiniest of smiles curled her mouth. “Yes, Mr. Brown.”
    He glanced at the door to make sure no one within earshot was loitering there.
    “I have a cabin out by the lake. Would you be interested in spending your winter break with me?” His heart pounded. He couldn’t believe he just asked her that. He was a fifty-two year old man. He was this girl’s professor. He knew he was completely out of line.
    “I would like that very much, Mr. Brown.”
    “Please call me Steve.”
    “Okay.”
    “All right then. How bout we meet at Phuong’s around noon tomorrow?”
    She nodded. Her smile broadened.
    “And wear your hair in pigtails again. I want something to hold onto when I fuck you from behind.” His heart raced and he could feel his erection blossoming again. He walked back to the front of the room and began putting his papers and his laptop into his messenger bag. He watched her uncross her legs, catching just the briefest glimpse of white underwear. Her nipples stood against her sweater. She may have been blushing slightly. She swung her backpack over her shoulder, held her essay against her chest, and left the room. Steve exhaled a breath it felt like