“Mrs. Benson?” Claire said with a look of surprise directed at the older, smiling woman.

The older woman looked to be in her late 30’s or possibly early 40’s.  She wore a white, loose-fitting turtleneck and some mom jeans. She was just barely fashionable enough to fit in at the trendy coffee shop, although it seemed as if it was more by accident than by any deliberate effort.  A big smile crept across her face as she stared at Claire, her slightly thin lips trending outward into very subtle wrinkles that were earned with age and wisdom.  She was by no means fat, but she carried some weight around her hips, thighs, and chest…undoubtedly a gradual accumulation over the years and decades.  

“What are you doing here?” she asked Mrs. Benson as she took a seat across from Claire. 

“Well, you didn’t think I just taught Freshman English 24 hours a day, did you?” Mrs. Benson quipped. 

Claire grinned.  That wit was precisely why she actually liked Mrs. Benson…at least as much as a Freshman could like a dorky teacher; and make no mistake of it, Mrs. Benson was a complete dork.  It actually baffled Claire’s mind that this lady was married.  Not just married, by the way, but married to a big, muscular, handsome, successful guy.  He was old, sure, but he was also pretty hunky and hot;  Claire had caught a glimpse of him once or twice back in her freshman year of highschool. He would pick Mrs. Benson up at the end of the school day and occasionally at some school functions.  Anyway, in a sea of pretentious, boring, egotistical, authoritarian teachers, Mrs. Benson’s dorkiness was completely tolerable…dare she even say ‘endearing’. 

The dorky teacher hid it very well under her baggy clothes and sexually repressed personality, but Mrs. Benson’s physique was definitely up there. Claire recalled a school play where Mrs. Benson, who of course was in charge of the drama club, was wearing a pair of nylon shorts and a normal shirt.  She looked incredibly uncomfortable but she looked really good.  It was funny that so many skinny, bratty girls at her school were jealous of her and the teacher didn’t even know. She had pretty brown hair that could have looked great if she took better care of it.  She had slightly tanned skin but it was still quite pale in comparison to someone who saw literally any sun.  For all these seemingly contradictory attributes, Claire might have called the older English teacher ‘enigmatic’. 

“No, I figured you did other stuff, too…” Claire said, sipping her hibiscus.  “I just didn’t expect to see you in this place.”  

“Well, I can see what you mean.” Mrs. Benson said, looking around at the modern architecture, smaller seating areas, and younger staff.  “Believe it or not, about a million years ago or so before they named it ‘The Cup’, I used to come here with my friends after school.  This place used to be a much quieter coffee shop called ‘Trixies’ and it was owned and run by my best friends’ parents.”

Mrs. Benson took a sip of her coffee. “But enough about me and the days of yore.  What have you been up to?  You must have graduated recently, am I right?”

Claire nodded, “Yup, 3 years ago.” She was already beginning to lose interest in the conversation.

Mrs. Benson smiled, “That’s great. I was a bit disappointed that I didn’t have you again after Freshman year.  There was something very special about you. Very special indeed.  I remember you just couldn’t–”

“--Evette Maziotto?” 

A young man about Claire’s age had approached their table, a silver credit card in one hand and a broom in another. Mrs. Benson looked up at him with a sheepish grin and an extended hand.  

“Oh thank you, honey.”  Mrs. Benson accepted the silver credit card and tucked it into her pocketbook.  “I’d lose my head if it weren’t attached to my body.”

The young man looked proud of his good deed and returned to his menial task of sweeping.  Confused, Claire asked, “Maziotto?  What happened to Benson? Did you remarry?”  

The older woman sighed, clearly not interested in talking about this but Claire let the silence hang to pressure an answer from her.  

“Maziotto is actually my maiden name.  But how about we don’t worry about Maziotto or Benson.  You and I are both adults now.  You can just call me Evette.  How’s that sound?”

Claire shrugged, “I guess.  But so you got divorced then?”

Evette looked uncomfortable, but she nodded, “Yes, that’s right.”

Claire had her suspicions of what happened and she just couldn’t keep them to herself.  “Infidelity, right?”

Evette looked shocked, a little hurt, but most of all embarrassed.  Her slightly chubby face turned beet red and she quietly replied, “Well…yes.”  The teacher was unable to make eye contact, nervously fidgeting with her coffee.

Claire was good.  Claire was really good.  But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that a guy like Mr. Benson would eventually cheat on a prude like Evette. Again, it was nothing against her because she was cool in a dorky way, but…hmm…..how to put it…she was also dorky in a not-so-cool way.  Sure, she was pretty enough, and as Evette leaned over to put her purse on the floor, her turtleneck was pulled tight and consequently stretched tightly to reveal some pretty big boobs. Clearly, though, that wasn’t enough for a hunk like Mr. Benson.  C'est la vie. 

Claire was about ready to ask a followup question about the failed relationship but she saw that Evette was still staring down at her coffee, still red-faced, and still cripplingly embarrassed.  The woman’s eyes were now starting to water.  

“Oh…Mrs Buh–erm…Evette, I didn’t mean..” Claire said awkwardly, which seemed to open the flood gates.  Some students turned their heads to see the woman in her late 30’s crying into her hands.  

“Oh god…jeez…come on, Evette.  Get a hold of yourself.  It's okay.”  Claire reached out and patted Evette on the shoulder.  The blonde’s eyes couldn’t help but fixate on the way Evette’s huge tits subtly jiggled under the influence of Claire’s rapping against the teacher’s shoulder.  

Evette calmed herself down, sniffling and despite red eyes and puffy cheeks, she stopped crying.  

“I’m sorry, dear. I know I’m not your teacher anymore and we’re both adults now, but I shouldn’t do that in front of you.”

Evette pulled out a tissue from the dispenser and raised it to her nose.  As she did so, her elbows pressed toward each other, forcing her large breasts inboard, fighting for the territory at her breastbone, and it was a heated tie.  It was then that Claire practically felt the heat from the lightbulb going off over her head.  She had just found her next volunteer for her experiment.  Well, one of them anyway.  The other one she would have to track down and work her magic on. 

~