Well, maybe not EXACTLY like that, but I can tell you for a fact that Miss Ryan was a prominent subject of discussion and speculative ideas concerning just how sex might actually work and an ongoing pre-jerk-off fantasy for every boy (and probably some of the girls) in the 5th grade.
The poor woman was perfectly respectable and never did anything out of line that I know of (unlike female teachers nowadays, who will apparently bang anyone capable of coming up with a chubby at the drop of a hat, or some other clothing bits) but for most of us she was the first "hot" woman we'd ever been around close-up. Certainly the first we'd ever noticed.
Well, there was Leanne McMurray, who was the class babe and proto-"A-lister" that everyone chased around pretty much as a pro-forma matter. Truth is, she only got chased because she was the first girl in the group to learn that "head cheerleader" trick of being desirable just because she thinks she is. It's an attitude thing. None of us would have had a clue what to do with her if we'd caught her and I suspect neither would she, but that didn't keep her from having three or four semi-rutting studs on the string at all times. She lost her cachet a couple of years later when the tit fairy visited our class and she failed to get sprinkled with any of the magic dust.
But Miss Ryan? Whoof. I did REALLY well in 5th grade, as did most of the boys, because when you did well, Miss Ryan would smile that no-kidding, happy smile at you, and your heart would stop and angels would sing and a glow would settle in somewhere below your belt and fevered imaginings would inform the next round of the above mentioned speculative discussion. The pre-teen heat in that classroom would have been apparent to a blind woman - I've always wondered how Miss Ryan put up with it.
She married some dickhead that summer. We all decided he was a dickhead, anyway, for all that none of us had ever met him. And then she moved away. She'd have to be near 70 now, if she's still alive. But in my mind, she's now and forever the bangin' hot woman in her early prime who first made me ache for something I couldn't even define.
I wonder if she'd be OK with that.
In Our Next Episode: Back to more or less regular blogging.
Love your writing, kiddo. You need to stop stopping.
ReplyDeleteIt is weird how some people (not all) from decades ago seem frozen there. I can't imagine them as they would be now -- or think they might be dead. Nope.
ReplyDeleteYa learn something new every day: I never thought thinking about sex would make boys think about schoowork, too. Here in Norway, they complain about too many female teachers in the schools and how that adversely affects boys. I'm thinking the real problem is too many unsexy female teachers in the schools.
ReplyDeleteAnd what Gekko and Paula said.
When a guy in my 4th Grade class said about Miss Olson, "You wanna fuck her, don't you?" I honestly had no idea what he was talking about.
ReplyDeleteYou were born in '52 or so, and she was prolly born in '40 or so which means (a) she is no longer that much older than you are and (b) there's a good chance Mr. Miss Ryan is gone. And "restuts" is not a word, no matter what your spam catcher says.
ReplyDeleteJust sayin'.
My teachers tended to be ugly. On the other hand, for some reason,our parents tended to retain these really hot babysitters, one of whom was diligent and studious and would sit there doing calculus in these really, really tight sky-blue shorts, which at 13 I was plenty old enough to appreciate just fine, thank you. (Just why our parents thought that we still needed babysitting at 13 and 11 I never did figure out, but I didn't care very much, either.)
ReplyDeleteWell, ten years later I was 23 and the babysitter was 33, except she'd gotten married and divorced and kept her married name and I didn't know what it was so when I was in Boston that summer I couldn't look her up so nothing happened, the end.
As I said over on gekko's site, you are my Internet crack. I avoided your blog because I'm still in my mainstream media moratorium, but now I realized why I really need to avoid it. The crack! I spend enough time on here, thank you very much, without you constantly writing things that make me want to kick you and/or write about how wrong you are.
ReplyDeleteI say this smiling, of course. And, of course, this post here's not something that'll make me kick your intellectual (ha!!!) ass. It will, however, get me blogging more. So, as they said up there, stop stopping the blogging! I may not be a regular reader (see: crack) but when I peek over here, it's always a fun read.
Just realized I'm signed in at tsaphanbabe, but if you don't already know, it's me, serenebabe here...
Gekko: Thank you, thank you very much.
ReplyDeletePaula: Yeah - what's even weirder is when you actually meet someone you knew 20-40 years ago. I don't know about everyone else, but my head resolves the "old" and "new" images by basically considering them to be two different people. I still "see" the old when I think of good ol' Dennis and I sneaking off to smoke down behind the gravel pile, but I also know a guy named Dennis who grew up around the same place and time I did, and remembers all the same stuff.
Keera: Naw, trust me, you always knew it - sex is a GREAT motivator for practically ANY project. Wars, great art, architecture, accumulating wealth - all mostly accomplished by horny men, although more and more frequently lately by lusty women. They don't think of it logically and would deny it if confronted, but deep down in that biological lizard-brain, that's pretty much the point to doing any of it.
Don: We had a slightly better idea in the 5th grade - but I'll promise you it involved stuff that's probably not physically possible.
Dick: Doubt I could track her down, even if Mr Mrs Ryan is dead - and doubt I'd want to. That fuck-fantasy image stuck in my head from all those years ago is likely a LOT more entertaining than the reality - then or now.
Archer: Only had one of those, when I was about 11, who was actually there for my much younger sister and brothers. Once a week, until one week when she invited a couple of her friends over and they sat around smoking and talking about boys and one of them pinched my cheek and said I was cute. I don't remember the rest of the week due to the blood rushing out of my brain headed elsewhere, but Mom fired her when she found the cigarette butts. Story of my life.
Tsaphan: Thanks - :) Keep on reading - I'll doubtless post something eventually that will enflame your leftist sensibilities enough to piss you off entirely. It'll be fun, trust me.