Story: Miss Tran

[lterp]

Wrote this today - hope you guys like it:

***

First day of high school, I was carrying my lunch to an empty table since I didn't see any of my middle school friends around. I was nervous being at a new school as it was, but to make matters worse, my parents were fighting constantly and clearly getting a divorce, and if I tried to intervene, they'd just yell at me. So when I smashed my leg hard against a metal bench, I fell forward, flinging my tray and food to the floor, and I started to cry. And not just tears in my eyes - I started to sob. Kids in the common area started to chant "Dick, dick, dick, dick-dick-dick, diiiiiick," which I figured out later is something they did every time someone dropped something, but it felt very personal to me.

So everyone started calling me "Cryin' Bryan," and never let me forget it. I had a target on my back, both because of that, and because I was one of the best students in school. Over the next two years, I'd get my books knocked to the floor, shoved into lockers, hip-checked, the works. It became a game to see if kids could hit me hard enough to make me cry again, and sometimes I did. I wasn't the weakest or smallest kid in school by a long shot, but I wasn't strong either, and I didn't have the confidence to stand up for myself. Even girls would shove me, just to see if they could. I remember hearing Kelly, one of the tough girls, talking about which boys she thought she could beat up, and including me on the list.

I was too compliant to get into fights, so I just endured the abuse, and I didn't cry so much anymore at school, but I was a social pariah, with no friends who wanted to be seen with me. My parents kept fighting -- why wouldn't they just get a divorce already? -- and I had nowhere to hide.

My sophomore year, I started visiting the school counselor who covered the last names P through S. After a few sessions, she told me I could call her Connie, but I was so shy I kept calling her Miss Tran. She didn't talk much about herself, of course, but I gleaned that she was a single mom with a daughter who had just started college. She was pretty, but chubby and short. Still, she had a welcoming face and she was good at getting me talking. She didn't give me tons of advice, but I really just needed a safe space to talk about my parents, my fear of not getting into a good college, my fear I'd never have any friends.

Her clothes weren't anything revealing, of course. Usually patterned dresses. But one day she was ten minutes late for our morning session and came in wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, still sweaty from a workout. Her legs looked good as far as I could tell, but her arms surprised me. She always gesticulated a lot when she talked, and wearing short sleeves I could see her biceps flex. She was big-chested, with a little bit of a tummy, but muscular too.

I knew I liked strong girls from the first time I fantasized about a girl named Kim, who liked to push me around a bit in middle school. When I heard Kelly talk about beating me up, I fantasized about her over and over again for months. I had really gotten into masturbating, doing it every day, sometimes two or three times. When I'd do homework on the family computer, I'd get good at finding YouTube videos of girls wrestling or arm-wrestling boys, but somehow it was always the people I knew who turned me on most.

Seeing Miss Tran flex, even accidentally, I got super-hard, and I couldn't concentrate during that session. She kept asking me if anything else was going on that I wasn't telling her. It was hard to stand up, and I got up to leave in a way where she couldn't see the outline against my pants.

Miss Tran saw me every week, first appointment on Tuesday mornings, and I spent all week thinking about asking her about her workouts. I wanted to be casual and ask, first thing, "How was your workout?" Maybe I could ask what kind of workout it was, though I was worried it would be something lame like yoga or zumba. My hands were shaking when she arrived, this time dressed for work. She asked "How are you?" like she always did, and I blurted out, "How was your workout this morning?"

She smiled wide. "It was good! I usually do the 6 AM class, but last week I had gotten up late and did the 7 AM class."

"What kind of class is it?" I asked, calmer now.

"Oh, a little of everything. How is tennis going for you?"

Dammit. I couldn't think of a way to ask another question without it sounding weird, so I talked about being 4th singles on the tennis team, and how I wished I could move up. I couldn't believe it myself when I said, "Maybe you could give me some pointers. Help me get stronger."

She just laughed at that. I think she could tell I was flirting with her, so she diverted the conversation further.

Later, I did what every teenage boy would do in that situation: I stalked her on Facebook. I couldn't see many of the pics she posted, but I was able to search for pics of her, finding 16 different photos of her working out at a CrossFit facility, but the most recent of those was three years old, and she was a lot heavier than. Still, seeing her swinging kettlebells or doing overhead military presses was enough to get me off. I saved all the pics and spent some time Photoshopping one pic till she was squatting a total of eight plates, or 405 pounds, and another where she was overhead pressing 225.

I got calmer and the vibe between us returned to normal the next few weeks, until another day where Miss Tran was late again, in her workout gear. This time, she wore a tank-top that read "Trinity Fitness" with a flexed arm on it. I inhaled sharply, seeing her bulging shoulders and tight looking arms, and got an immediate erection pressed against my pants. She had definitely lost a few inches around the waist. "One sec," she said, and went back into her office and came back wearing a sweatshirt.

She knew I had checked her out. I was red-faced, and I started to cry.

"Bryan, what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Tran. I'm just embarrassed."

"About what? Did something happen this week?"

I was terrified I'd start to sob, but managed to breathe deeply. "I didn't want you to know."

"It's OK. This is a safe place. You can tell me anything you want and it's confidential."

"It's stupid. I'm 16 years old. Why would you ever like a 16-year-old?"

Miss Tran was confused, then her face returned to normal, probably trying to remember her training. "Oh, Bryan. It's totally normal for you to develop feeling for me. We spend a lot of time together, and I'm here to help you. I care about you a great deal, and I want you to be happier at school. You need someone to talk to, to support you, and I love being that person for you. I know you understand there's a line we can't cross."

I got myself under control. "I understand, Miss Tran. I just felt so guilty having a crush on you. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable, so I felt weird when you caught me checking you out this morning, and then I felt bad about that."

"It's OK Bryan. I didn't even notice you checking me out, but I'm glad you told me."

I had never, ever told anyone I had a crush on them before, and somehow I just kept talking. I was desperate to tell a woman how beautiful she was. "It's just, your arms. Your beautiful shoulders. You look so strong, Miss Tran, and it's so beautiful so when you were in a tank-top, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." Internally I kept shouting at myself, "Stop saying 'beautiful!'"

She was taken aback by that. I apologized again, and she said, composing herself, "Thank you, Bryan. I work hard at the gym, and it's really nice to be noticed. I've been working at getting stronger for six years, and I feel strong. So thank you - that was a wonderful compliment. I know I was a little late, but is it OK if I run to the restroom for a second?"

A couple minutes later she returned to our session, but she'd taken off her sweatshirt. She sat in her chair, in her tank-top, and I gazed at her arms, so powerful, so thick, but with no jiggle. One time, she stretched her arms out while talking and I saw bodybuilder triceps. Her traps were tight against the straps of her shirt. I couldn't tell you what we talked about, but she acted like it was all normal, all totally normal.

School was out for the next three weeks for Christmas. I spent some time researching Trinity Fitness, which was an incredibly intense gym. Most of the guys profiled on the site were ex-military types or jujitsu competitors, most of them with giant beards. The site boasted that Trinity Fitness athletes were "harder to kill". Miss Tran looked strong, to be sure, but this was hard to imagine.

It didn't stop me from imagining her lifting with these dudes, getting stronger and faster with each class. In my fantasies she was doing weighted pull-ups, bench-pressing so much weight the bar would bend, squatting weights I couldn't even move.

On Christmas, I got an amazing gift: Miss Tran friended me on Facebook. All evening when my parents weren't around, I'd scroll through her photos. There were a million fitness-inspired memes and pictures of her daughter (who was tall and very thin), but then I found a short video of her doing grappling training with a jujitsu guy. It was far from all-out, but then I found in her "Likes" a jujitsu page.

In January, I got to my first session 15 minutes early, vibrating with anticipation. She arrived, dressed normally, and somehow that was even more of a turn-on - thinking about how Miss Tran was strong and fit and no one really knew it at school but me. I told her I missed her, and she said she missed me, too. We talked about the holidays, how they were an awful nightmare for me with my parents and their families all fighting. I thanked her for friending me, and she said, "I thought it was appropriate. You're one of my favorite people, Bryan. You're kind and funny, and once you get out of high school, you're going to be very popular."

I blushed a little, since it was a bit matronly and corny. "Thanks Miss Tran."

"I care about you, Bryan. That's what I was trying to say."

A week after that, I pissed someone off. It was in English lit class, and one of the upperclassmen, Kevin, said something really stupid about "Madame Bovary" and I corrected him in a sarcastic way, when I should have held my tongue. Two periods later, he tracked me down and shoved me hard against the wall. The next day, he threw me to the floor. We were never in the lunch-room at the same time, but he had it out for me in a way no one had in awhile. I tried to push back one time, and he shoved me hard again. He was relentless, but I managed to avoid running into him anywhere where he'd actually beat me up. He weighed at least 200 pounds - 50 more than me - and while he wasn't a star, he did play on the football team.

I didn't tell Miss Tran about it.

The final bell rang that Tuesday, and I carefully walked to the bus area, but this time I had forgotten some homework, so I had to double back. Kevin spotted me and caught me by the arm. "Hey asshole. Time for you to live up to your name, Cryin' Bryan." I sighed - this seemed inevitable, so perhaps I was just happy to get it over with. He dragged me around the corner, out of eyesight of the buses, though the parking lot was visible. He threw me against the brick wall, and I lost my breath a little bit. I dodged his first punch, and he hit his hand and yelled, "Fuck." I was too winded to run, and he grabbed me by the wrists. I was immobilized.

He quieted his voice and said, "Eat shit," and pushed my face in the muddy grass. I started to get panicked without air and thrashed for several seconds, but he was too strong. He had his knees on my back and hands on my head. I screamed into the mud, hoping for a miracle, that someone would hear me, or see him, and I blacked out.

***

I woke up to a sing-song voice: "You OK, Cryin' Kevin? Still crying, Cryin' Kevin?" I rolled onto my side, groggy, wondering if I was dreaming, if I was still unconscious. Kevin was face down on the grass and Miss Tran was straddling him, wearing a pretty, flowery dress. She had one arm around his neck, and the other hand in his hair. Even from 10 feet away, I could see her biceps was swelled hard against his neck. Kevin was, in fact, crying, begging her to stop. "Quiet down, Kevin," she said. "You can ask nicely if you want."

"Please. Let me up," he sobbed. "Who are you?"

She released him, stood up, glanced over and saw I was awake. She had a manic look in her eye, and as Kevin started to push himself off the grass. She squatted back down and launched herself into a strong tackle, pinning him again, this time on his back, with her hands on his forearms. Her legs tightened around his chest and he heaved. She glanced over at me, then back at Kevin and started to smack him in the face with his own hand. "Stop hitting yourself, Kevin. Stop hitting yourself. Are you trying to make yourself cry?"

"I'm sorry."

"Look me in the eye," said Miss Tran. "Tell me you won't bother him again. You won't bother anyone again." He repeated what she said. I could tell he wasn't able to process what was happening, a pretty Asian woman handling him with ease. "Tell me you're a bully, and you're pathetic."

He hesitated, and she must have squeezed him intensely between her thighs because he suddenly cried, "I'm a bully and I'm path-et-ic," between sobs.

She sighed. "OK. Get up and go home. Go to your car and go home."

He was shivering. He looked over at me and said, "Is he OK?"

Miss Tran grabbed one of his wrists and raised her hand as if to punch his neck, which was already bruised. "That's not your question to ask, Kevin. Go home." She released him and he walked away, then turned and walked quickly.

She came to me, helped me to my feet and gently dusted mud off my face, then kissed me on the cheek and forehead over and over again. "Bryan, why didn't you tell me? My poor Bryan."

I was moved, but I didn't cry. I whispered, "Thank you Miss Tran."

"You might have died! He didn't know what he was doing, burying you like that." She hugged me tighter than she meant to.

"Ow!" I was astounded at how strong she was, and she wasn't even trying to hurt me.

"Sorry, my baby. You're a mess, and so am I. I'll drive you home."

"Thanks Miss Tran."

"Call me Connie."

"Thank you, Connie." Calling her by her first name felt good.

She glanced both directions, then gave me a peck on my mouth. "Don't ever keep things from me again, OK? I care about you."

[iceman75]

I liked this story, very well developed, it looks like Miss Tran, or I guess we can call her Connie now, might be developing more than a mentor/mother type kind of relationship with Bryan, I also wonder how strong she might be, perhaps strong enough to make some of his photoshopped fantasies come true.

[mixfightor]

If Brian thought he had a crush on Connie before, his feelings after watching her dominate Kevin and the memory of her lips brushing against his mouth are going to overwhelm him. I liked the way this was written and am looking forward to reading more about Brian and his physically fit school counselor. Thanks for sharing it with us, mate.

[james]

Good story, looking forward to Part 2!

[rassel4fun]

Great job! I hope you decide to keep this story going!

[lterp]

Thanks - hope to find some time to write over the holiday break. I've got a couple ideas...

Really glad you enjoyed the story!

[lterp]

Miss Tran - Part 2

To any outside observer, things returned to normal for me and Miss Tran. I couldn't bring myself to call her by her first name, and even when I fantasized about her, she was "Miss Tran,” not “Connie”. I obsessed over the memory of waking to see her on top of Kevin, throttling him. He was only 17, sure, but he was athletic, and he outweighed her by a lot. It seemed impossible.

I’d stare at the photos of her on Facebook. There wasn’t anything revealing about most of them, but I loved studying her face. She had large eyes and a cute mole on her forehead. Her smile was always so shy, even though she seemed so confident. I imagined her fighting off 10 guys at once, or lifting giant stacks of weight at the gym.

On our first session after the fight, she shared that she was nervous that Kevin would report her assault, but hoped he would be too embarrassed to turn her in. Besides, she said, “Your life was in danger. It was justified, and I think you’d testify on my behalf.” Even hearing her say that, so matter of fact, created a mess of feelings. Thankfulness, horniness, a little fear.

But after that, the focus went back to me, and I opened up to her even more. I talked about my parents a lot, about my sister who died when she was 6 and I was 11. I hadn’t shared with anyone: when I was 12, I willingly hopped into a car with a man who bought me a bunch of Manga. He told me to call him "Uncle Henry," then slid his hands down my pants, grabbed my cock and told me to get hard. I did – no one had ever touched me like that before – and he started to masturbate both of us. He started to talk: "It's so big, it's so much bigger than mine, and you're just a little boy, but it's so big." I concentrated, trying to make mine go soft, determined not to come, and when he climaxed, he stopped. He asked me where home was, and we drove in silence until he dropped me off where I claimed home was, about a mile from my house.

“That must have been so difficult to go through,” said Miss Tran. “And you never told your parents?”

“I was so embarrassed because I thought I liked it, and I thought maybe I was gay or weird,” I said. “Audrey had just died, so I didn't want to make things worse.”

Miss Tran was moved. She didn’t cry, but her eyes were wet, to be sure. She hugged me at the end of the session. It was the first time we'd touched since the fight, a month ago. She felt so thick and strong.

Friday evening, my parents were yelling at each other. My dad had embarrassed my mom at a happy hour, or something. Both of them had been drinking, my mom more than my dad, and she started to shove him. I’d never seen them physically fight before, but she started punching. He tried to stop her, but while he was definitely stronger than my mom, he wasn’t aggressive or mean, and he wasn’t quite strong enough to restrain her. She started calling him a pussy, louder and louder, and I left the house. I hopped on my bike and rode to the shopping area of our town and parked at a Starbucks. I sat with a tea and made sure no one was looking at me, and I let myself cry. I was a lot better at controlling it – you have to learn these things when you’re called “Cryin’ Bryan” – but I couldn’t keep it all in.

I didn’t have Miss Tran's phone number, but we were friends on Facebook so I sent a message that way, hoping she used it. I messaged her that my parents were fighting and I wished I could see her. I got a notification an hour later and she asked for my phone number. “I’m on a date, but it’s almost over. Where r u?” I texted the location, and she said she’d be by as soon as she could. It was after 10 when she arrived at the Starbucks, which had just closed. She called me over to her car, a small SUV and I hopped in.

I sat quietly in the passenger seat, looking out the window as she drove to her house. I felt her hand on my shoulder and she gave me a reassuring squeeze, and the waterworks came out. I cried like I hadn't in at least a year, but Miss Tran had seen me cry a zillion times before. "It's OK, Bryan. You can stay with me awhile." She let go and rode quietly to her suburb. She lived a couple towns over, about a 10 minute drive.

As she led me to the door, I finally checked out her outfit. It was a warm spring night in Texas, and she wore a shawl over a strapless dress with a hem just above the knee. She wore very high heels, and I couldn't stop staring at her enormous calves. The pants and conservative dresses she wore to school always covered them up. I'd stopped crying, and now, once again, I was trying to tamp down an erection.

"Do you want some wine?" she asked. "Have you had it before?" She poured us each a glass of red wine, and after a couple burning sips I started to feel warmth in my chest. I'd only ever stolen swigs of vodka from my parents' liquor cabinet, and this was more pleasant. We sat on stools on opposite sides of her kitchen island. It was a small townhouse without a ton of furnishings, but everything seemed like it was nice.

"How was your date?" I asked. I felt very sophisticated, like we were two adults talking about our days.

She laughed. "Oh, it was bad. Not terrible, just boring. Sometimes you meet someone and it clicks, and other times you just talk past each other. He's a building manager, and he told this long story about how he saved the building money by using less air conditioning. Like - it was a 10 minute story, and that was the entire gist of it." She was feeling chatty, probably due to the wine. She probably had a glass or two at dinner. "I'm happier being here with you." She winked.

Was she flirting with me?

"Bryan, can I tell you something? I've been your counselor, and I wanted to see if we could switch roles. Can I trust you to keep everything to yourself?"

"Of course, Miss Tran."

She laughed again. "Miss Tran, hah!"

"OK, then. Connie."

She talked about how hard it was to be a single mom. She was pregnant at 16 and married the father, Tyree, at 17. He was 10 years older, so he was able to financially support them for awhile, but when Meisha, her daughter, was 1, Tyree got obsessed with Connie's weight. He threatened to leave her for being too fat, since it was hard to lose the baby weight. Connie developed an eating disorder, and he was satisfied for awhile. He paid for her to go to nursing school, a job she ended up loving. She got her bachelor's degree, allowing her to be an RN. But working, plus school, plus raising a daughter, she started to gain weight again, then another round of binging and purging, then he left her for being "too dramatic".

"So I was 24, with a 7-year-old, and it was a blessing when Tyree left, and while I wanted to date boys and party, I decided I couldn't, and made peace with that decision. I started to eat more like a human, so I was a little chubby, but only a little. I bought this house when I was 30. Once nice thing about having a daughter so young is she was old enough to be home alone, so I was free to take night classes, and got my master's in counseling.

"Two things happened after that. First, one of my neighbors took an interest in me. I was cleaning up my little front yard and he started chatting me up. He was friendly and good looking, but it turned out he was married. Back then I didn't work out, but I would go for really long walks - like 5 or 10 miles - to keep my head together and my weight down, but for some reason Tom was convinced I was strong. I told him I would sometimes do push-ups in the morning, and I joked that I wanted to do 100 someday. We walked to coffee once and had a nice conversation, and when we got back to my house, he talked me into arm-wrestling with him. He was stronger than me, and he won, but it took a surprisingly long time, and he asked me to flex my biceps for him. He was really turned on about it, and I joked that I'd arm-wrestle him again once I could do 100 push-ups in a row. He texted me a bunch for awhile, and it started to seem a little weird. Thought I did get to 100 push-ups, but I kind of froze him out. I think he and his wife moved away.

"The other thing happened five years ago. I was in the drive-through line at the bank, and the car in front started moving in line, but stopped abruptly and I barely tapped the bumper. This really large, overweight Hispanic woman came out of her car in a rage and started yelling at me. My adrenaline picked up and I started yelling back, and I got out of my car. She started to push me, then tried to grab me. I guess she was going to wrestle me to the ground, since I bet she had 100 pounds on me. I fought back and eventually shoved her to the ground really hard, and she cracked her head on the pavement. The police came, and they told me she was OK, and it was all self-defense. But I felt like I needed to learn how to defend myself.

"That was when I started CrossFit, but I had to stop after a year because of injuries. They're all about doing exercises really fast. I joined another gym that was like CrossFit, but more about proper form. They had an all-women's class, and I loved it, only partly because I was the strongest girl in the class. I guess I add muscle easily? So I was getting really strong, but I wondered about whether I could defend myself. My daughter's really into fitness, and she suggested I try a jiu-jitsu class because that's what the MMA fighters use.

"So it was awesome feeling confident. I started dating again, and the dates went better just because I never felt self-conscious, at least not about fat. I've got these man-shoulders, but I like them because they make my waist look smaller. Lots of the guys I've gone out with have been super-boring, and I've been picky. But Bryan, I haven't -- I shouldn't tell you that."

"You can tell me anything, Connie. I'm your counselor," I said in a fake deep voice. She laughed.

"You're so sweet. How old are you again?"

"Sixteen. Seventeen next month."

"I'll finish my sentence next month." She laughed at her own joke, though I didn't get it.

After a moment of quiet, she said, "I should take you home." I must have winced or made a face.

"Please, Miss Tran, can I stay? I'll sleep on the couch. I'll send my parents a text; they're probably passed out drunk anyway." I pleaded, and I hated that sound of whining in my voice. "I'm sorry. You've already done so much for me today and all year."

She sighed. "It's OK, Bryan. You can stay. Also, I shouldn't drive after three glasses of wine. See? You're a good influence."

I sent my mom a text that I was staying overnight with a friend. No surprise that she didn't write back.

Miss Tran's couch was really a love seat, and she didn't want me to be uncomfortable, but she felt strange about letting me sleep on her daughter's bed. So we shared her queen-sized bed, though she told me "no touching". She changed into a baggy T-shirt and pajama shorts. "I usually sleep naked," she said. "I don't know why I told you that."

I was exhausted by all the emotional outbursts and the little bit of wine, so even though I was nervous and excited about being so close to her, only a few items of clothing between us, I passed out quickly.

***

If she set an alarm, I woke up before it. Her arm was draped around me, and I could feel her chest when she breathed deep. I stayed as still as I could, aside from a full erection. Maybe I was imagining it, but her arm felt so heavy. I imagined her upper arm as the size of my thigh, though of course that was silly. Still, no matter what I tried to think about - grandma naked, long division, basketball - it was as hard an erection as I'd ever had. After a few minutes of that, Miss Tran stirred, and I wondered what to do. Her bed was in the corner and I was facing the wall, so I couldn't get up without her getting up first, at least not without climbing over the footboard.

Miss Tran inhaled sharply as she awoke, removed her arm from my side and said, "Sorry, Bryan. I shouldn't have spooned you like that." She laughed. "Little spoon." She rolled out of bed, and I didn't want to follow her, because I could not get my erection to go away. "Let's go, rise and shine!"

I tried to hide it with my shirt, but my boxers were totally tented, and I felt my face turn bright red. After the thing with "Uncle Henry," I had done some Googling about my penis, and I knew I was a lot bigger than average, and I knew I was supposed to be happy about that, but my shorts looked like a sailboat. I saw Miss Tran look at it, only for a moment. "I shouldn't have held you like that," she said. "Looks like you need a cold shower!"

Hearing her giggle made me feel like I was going to explode. I went to the bathroom and masturbated immediately - took about 4 strokes and I came into the toilet. I took a cold shower, but masturbated again, thinking about her breath, the weight of her arm, her laugh. Even then, I still couldn't keep it totally down - as I dressed, I still had a semi-erection.

When I came out, Miss Tran had changed into workout gear: leggings and a T-shirt. "I need to get to my workout," she said, "but I'll drop you off at home." I got hard again imagining watching her at the gym, lifting more than I could ever lift, building harder, stronger muscles, learning new jiu-jitsu moves. I wanted to go with, but there was no good way to ask.

On the drive, I asked her about her workouts, and she said, "I love them. They're like seeing a therapist." She glanced over at me with a smile. "My other therapist."

I felt so safe with her, I hated to get out of the car at home. My mom was up when I strolled in, and I said, "Did you get my text?"

"Yeah," she said. "I know you were lying, though. You don't have any friends."

I went to my room, and I laid there in the morning light, reliving those perfect five minutes, with Miss Tran's arm around me, so safe in her bed.

Not completely sure where this story is going, but I can't wait to get there!
Loving every word of it. Thanks!

[jonjac30]

Damn I can't wait for part three!

[mixfightor]

I'm enjoying the journey on which your writing is taking us. I'm sure there is a destination, but for now I am just enjoying the ride. Thank you very much, mate.