Help! I'm stuck in my teacher's body! Chapter 1 (Patreon)

These chapters will post fairly irregularly, but as always you get  the first look! These will be in rough draft form so any input/edits are invited. This one is AP/TG and others I haven't decided yet.

Rated R for simulated nudity (maybe)

Help! I'm stuck in my Teacher's body!

by Raine Monday

Chapter One

Sylvia Manchester stood by her teacher’s desk and watched her Senior English class enter. It was fourth hour, and they were a rowdy bunch. They were talking, laughing, passing notes, and generally acting rambunctious.

She was tired. It was only fourth hour, and she was tired. She was tired of standing, talking, writing, and in general teaching. She had been teaching for 30 years.

Time was growing short. She had been in her body for 55 years. Her body was 67 years old. Her last transfer had happened when little Sylvia was only 13.

She had been a man then, and working at a candy store when cute little Sylvia had walked in. The girl had the cutest little button nose, bright blue eyes, and tangled red hair. She wore a gingham dress with a heavy jacket that was stained with dirt, food, and other spots from playing in the street. Sylvia knew from the moment she saw her that she had to have her.

“Okay, class. Let’s all take our seats.”

The children appeared to not have heard her. It was 1974, and children did not listen to their instructors. This was not acceptable. She sighed and walked over to the blackboard where she picked up a ruler.

“SIT. DOWN!” She smashed the ruler down on her desktop violently.

The children jumped and had shocked looks on their faces.

“Oh, my God, Mrs. Manchester, you almost made me choke on my gum!” Bethany said as she darted toward her desk. Easily the prettiest girl in class, she was all about drama in all its forms.

She gave a little smile and said: “any child not in his or her seat in the next 30 seconds will earn one hour of detention.” She looked at her watch raising her eyebrows.

The children scrambled to get to their seats.

“Open your books to page 312, IMMEDIATELY.”

“Yes Miss Manchester,” they said in unison.

“Mr. Whitmore, please read from the top of the page. The rest of you will listen silently and follow along. Have I made myself abundantly CLEAR?”

Jordan Whitmore began to read in a stilting, stuttering voice. The child did not have a speech impediment, so she had no idea why he would be stuttering. She sighed and walked over to the blackboard patting her hairdo back into place.

It wasn’t that the children lacked for intelligence, they lacked simple manners. She brushed some invisible lint off the front of her black skirt and tugged her long white sleeves down carefully to make sure she was presenting the most professional appearance possible. It was important for a teacher to look professional with hair, makeup, clothes, girdle, pantyhose, and black patent leather shoes all in order. She had been doing this for so long, now, that it was old habit.

She knew the passage by heart, after giving this lesson for the past 30 years. She ached to be young again. She stared out over her class at their bright young faces, shining with the potential for their future. She didn’t want to be standing in front of them as their teacher, she wanted to be among them. She wanted to run home, play sports again, enjoy time with friends, and all of the things she had when she was younger.

Her hands ached with arthritis. She was developing a hunch in her back. The bridge work on her upper and lower mouth irritated her gums and her dentist had been telling her she should be fitted for full dentures soon.

Dentures. She shivered.

It was time to choose a target.

Her eyes scanned the boys in the room. She wanted someone healthy, of good sturdy stock. Jordan Whitmore was right out, with his stuttering nervousness and small frame, as were Miles Gilmore, and Jeff Adelle. She also excluded anyone wearing glasses, imagining a red “X” over Billy Parsons, Davie Bishop, Sherman Pyle, and Devon Alexander.

That left five possible targets: Jeremy Fuller, Bill Radcliffe (my name is BILL, not BILLY!), Marko Kasper, Angel Castillo, and Garrick Sylvanus.

She considered Marko. He was dark-skinned, and his parents owned the hardware store on Elm. It wouldn’t be bad being dark, and he certainly looked healthy… her fingers reached up to stroke the strands of hair at the back of her bun idly.

Angel was a Spanish speaker who had learned enough English to get by. The process would ensure she took his place seamlessly, but she wondered if her magic would be enough to ensure language acquisition during the transition. She had travelled to Mexico a hundred years ago, but her Spanish was rusty and she feared she might slip up and wreck the transition process.

She tongued her bridgework and winced at the exposed wire digging into the roof of her mouth. No, she didn’t have long at all.

She considered Bill Radcliffe. Professional parents: mother was a doctor and Dad was the dentist she would need to visit soon. She winced a bit. It wouldn’t do for her to be a patient during the transition. She risked exposure.

Garrick too was out. His grandmother owned the salon on fifth where she had her hair done. She’d been friends with Pearl for decades, and the risk of exposure again was too high.

Her eyes fell on Jeremy Fuller then. Parents were divorced, and he lived with Mom. Dad was completely out of the picture. Mom worked at the grocery store on eleventh, but she could avoid that by going to Smith’s on 7th. Jeremy was bright too, with a vivid imagination. He was the quarterback for Baldwin High, and all the other boys looked to him as a leader.

She walked over to him as Jordan finished reading the passage. Jeremy dropped his pencil, so Sylvia knelt in front of the boy, letting her aura enfold and encompass him.

Oh yes, he would be perfect. She could feel his life force burning brightly within him, a fierce purple. He had a long healthy life ahead of him.

She inhaled a bit of his force, feeling it suffuse her body with energy, her aches, pains, and irritations momentarily forgotten.

“Ms. Manchester?” Jeremy said, glancing at his pencil in her fingers.

Startled she looked down and held the pencil out to him. “Don’t be so clumsy, Mr. Fuller.”

He took it and nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Casually, she ran her long nails through his hair then turned to let him stare at her backside, carefully molded by her girdle. She swung her hips, perhaps a little too much as she walked away, again patting her bun carefully into place.

“Okay, class, what did we learn from that passage?”

Hands shot up, but not Jeremy’s. His face had turned red. He stood up and went back of the room for the bathroom pass on the wall. For just a moment she could see the front of his pants and his obvious excitement before he quickly put his notebook over it.

“Alyssa?” she called on her pupil.

Alyssa gave an acceptable answer.

She didn’t have much time.

“Class, I want you to read silently for the next 45 minutes and answer all the odd-numbered questions at the back of the chapter.”

“Yes, Ms. Manchester,” they replied and heads all looked down as she approached the blackboard.

She quickly took up a piece of special chalk and deftly sketched an invisible pentangle with runes of power at each cardinal direction. She licked her fingers, placing a hair from Jeremy’s head in her saliva before pressing it to the invisible pentangle and murmuring an invocation.

The pentangle glowed a soft blue, before turning red and fading into invisibility. She felt the little thrill slide down her spine anytime she used her magic. Opening her Eye she saw a line spring into existence, and snake from her head through the wall in the direction of the boys’ bathroom.

She considered her next move carefully. What part of her body should she imbue him with?

Patting her hair, she gave a little giggle, then whispered: “hair.”

She felt the spell slide into place as her scalp gave a little tingle.

A wash of lassitude spread over her, and she gasped a little.

“Are you okay, Ms. Manchester?” Emily Delroy said in her sweet high voice.

She turned. “Of course, dear. Never you mind, now, have you finished your reading?