Watch Out for Wicked Wanda

Watch Out for Wicked Wanda

A Poem by bigfootprint

Ms. Wanda fairly sparkled with wicked intention. She wanted “to open coeds' minds to volatility.”


My shy college pal Devon May -- heart of gold --

Talked of a teacher -- busty, brazen, and bold.

For three years, he had buried his nose in books,

Though he did relish the coeds' lascivious looks.

Dev, hero of a desert war, true as Texas spring.

He had wife at home, was not looking for a fling.

As a rite of passage, he might imagine a chance

To gain perspective from such a frivolous glance.


Maybe he thought to dispel Puritanical baggage,

But not grind his brain into shredded cabbage.

His young French teacher would defy convention.

Ms. Wanda fairly sparkled with wicked intention.

She awed the class, eager to hear about Sorbonne,

She blushed, revisiting her amorous aversions

In graphic tales of soirees et les bon Parisians,

Even lamenting her boring life of pent-up teen.


Her gutsy rapprochement leaves him shaking --

The class oblivious, but his own heart quaking,

Braced, and solemn from his seat-edge spot

As she played show-it-all with her mini -- hot.

Such flirting with no smile to lighten the tale,

His country brass, her brazen ways did assail.

Feeling distress, watching her squirm and sigh,

He tenses as she plays to the gleam in his eye.

Confessing sacrifice of naiveté to festal whim.

She entrances the class but glares straight at him.

Her synergy with Dev evidences her sociability.

She wanted “to open coeds' minds to volatility.”

"How say you, Mr. May, are you a man or mouse?"

Why, he was a brick, ever true to loving spouse.

She frowned askance, torrid as the Texas heat.

Dev grinned, "Just cheese, sans the sweet meat."


She bats her eyes below the swell of his chest.

He is entranced by her wiles -- a hungry tigress.

Her knuckles whiten as she fingers her blouse.

What pithy mots might bold Parisians espouse?

He had heard of but never braved the delights,

The titillation such a jolie femme fatale ignites.

His breath as stressed as buttons of her blouse,

He must muster courage, this inferno to douse.


He studies his fate, swelling like tsunami crest,

But still uncertain as to purpose  of her quest.

This beauty with her Paris pout wasn't flinching,

Whatever the goal, her tactics were convincing.

Luckily the class bell broke his spell of confusion.

She was a teacher. Should he abide her effusion?

As the class files out, she rises and stares hard,

Feasting on his panicky gaze. He steps forward.


Should he bolt and disappear into the hallway?

She beckons as he stalls, exiting the doorway.

He lags behind to close the door, then follows,

Lock-stepping her pace. Salivating, he swallows.

She nods and steps faster still, testing his will,

But offering no real insight to dispel his chill.

The clicking heels cadenced her girlish verve.

She strutted and swayed. He eyed her curves.


Could he penetrate her contumelious gaze?

His face burned as if heated by campfire blaze.

Her cheeks aflush, matching his shade of red.

This quirky blonde was teasing, had he misread?

After all, she had spoke not of seeking consort.

The mystery cooled the mood, his patience short.

Should he acquiesce to any outrageous game?

Her lustful stares ruled out academic acclaim.


Heaven knows, he didn't offer grand physique

Nor experience in macho romantic intrigue.

Finally, she reaches and unlocks her office door,

Routs sleeping coed aide on some frivolous chore.

Ms. Wanda sweeps in, motioning him to a seat.

He stares blankly, unsure whether to retreat.

Locking the door, she finds her desk and sits.

Boldly she stares at the daybed, giving him fits.


Standing now, she tends a tiny desktop plant.

Flaring her loose top, she strips her underpants.

This is one shocking vision he will never forget.

Satan must be dancing barefoot at hell’s gate.

Keenly sensing peril -- with no witness present,

He stood as she stared, fuming at this peasant.

"Won't make a move, will you?" she snorted.

"You're mouse, not man, but I won't spread it.”


Dev wore his defeat like any vanquished foe.

"You failed me, but your grade is a B.  Just go."

He felt good, but honor weighed like disgrace.

“Better be glad this was final exam day, Ace.

"Talk, and I’ll hunt you down,” she hisses in a frown.

Her Paris friends would never let her live this down.

Closing the door, he catches her gaze burning cold.

He strides and grins, “Such a tale screams to be retold.”

© 2020 bigfootprint

Author's Note

I have always love to listen to raconteurs and their come-to-life oratory. This tale really brought me to life.

My Review

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This is a funny (and sad) tale, though not unusual, at least in the movies. Poor Dev, he really got a shock, and almost fell for it, but sadly he freaked out in the end; but still took it as a tale to be told; and he got a good grade, though he might have gotten an A if he fell for her pranks. She then threatened his silence.
Really good tale and written perfectly!!!

Posted 2 Months Ago

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1 Review
Added on June 17, 2020
Last Updated on June 25, 2020
Tags: Satire, Culture, Education