Summer School

1

He had graduated from high school over a year ago, Class of '68 in the small city in the Desert Southwest. Some of his friends had gone off to college the following fall, a couple had joined the military, two had been drafted, some had found jobs in town.

His high school girlfriend was one who had gone off to State. She had said, since they were going to be two hundred miles apart and she wouldn't get back home very often, perhaps they should 'expand their horizons' and 'be free to see other people'. So, yes, they broke up.

He was undecided about his future. He felt college was not for him and neither was the prospect of getting a job at one of the two major employers in town and working there for forty years and retiring. He felt there was something more for him but didn't know what it was at the moment.

He was working at the service station up on the highway on the edge of town and made enough to support himself and rent a dilapidated old farmhouse a couple of miles out. It was comfortable enough and isolated. He found he liked the isolation and didn't mind being alone.

He liked to read and sometimes did some writing as well. He had ideas, observations about the world from his own perspective and from his imagination.

He guessed that's why he signed up for a creative writing class three nights a week at the local community college. Maybe he would learn about the mechanics of writing. He had always done well in English in high school, well enough that he had taken literature classes his last two years and his senior literature teacher had praised his writing ability, his ability to tell a story, and encouraged him to pursue it. The first night of the hour long class was a bit of a surprise. First, there were only seven students who signed up for the class, and the other was that the instructor was a younger attractive woman.

She called the class to order and stood in front of her desk and introduced herself as Miss Thompson, then began to explain what the class was all about and what the students would be doing for the semester. She went to the board and outlined the key points of a story and explained what 'creative' meant when it came to fiction writing.

As the class ended, she assigned each of them the task of writing a short descriptive narrative of what the class was like on the first day and bring it in the following Wednesday night.

When the class ended, he asked her if the essays or works they did would be read aloud in class. She said that they would not unless the student gave permission and she would always ask permission first.

The following night after work he wrote a short two pages and turned it in the following class.

At that class, after her discussion and question and answer period, Miss Thompson asked them to write and imaginary biography of any of the other students based on impressions, not using names.

Things went along for the next week and at the end of one class, Miss Thompson asked him to stay for a minute. After everyone left, she said,

"Ray, I'd like to talk to you. Could me meet somewhere for coffee or something?"

He said they could and named a little all-night diner not far from the campus.

He was sitting in a booth with a coffee when she arrived. She smiled when she saw him and joined him. The waitress brought her coffee and menus.

"Ray," She started, "the reason I wanted to meet you after class is...well, I think you have a gift from the things you have written so far. As I said the third meeting, most of the 'first night class descriptions' were more like newspaper reports. But not yours. You....painted a picture. Even describing the smells." She sipped her coffee. "And the one about describing a classmate....do you know anyone in that class?"

"No, Ma'am," He said. "I don't know anyone there."

"You described a women in the class....I think I know which one... and in two pages told a believable, if fictional, biography of her. I was....impressed."

He took a sip of his coffee. "Thank you. It was fictional, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, I am young, but I seem to be a pretty good judge of people. Sometimes I can tell a lot about them just from talking to them or watching them."

"So, who was the story about?" She asked.

"Cheryl. She sits next to me."

"I was wondering, and I guessed right, but...."

He smiled. "She asked me if I'd go get a Coke with her one night after class. We talked a bit. Well, she talked...I listened."

"And you picked up on...."

"Oh, I don't know for sure, but....as I described her in the paper, she's desperate. She wants to be liked....loved...doesn't get it at home, so her father may be domineering and her mother...complacent. So, she's looking outside."

The waitress came back and refilled their coffees and asked them if they wanted to order. They both ordered pie, she apple and he lemon.

"And you mentioned...." She said.

He ducked his head a bit. "I probably shouldn't have put that in. That may have been...too much."

"No, I mean yes, it's maybe a little too far, but... no, you should write truth, even in fiction. What your characters see and what they feel. You described her as....what was it? 'Sexually aware and confused'? What does that mean?"

He looked out the window into the night and said, "Well, that wasn't too hard to guess and I didn't have to invent that part. She sat beside me and kept touching me. Putting her hand on my arm or....on my leg. It may be a stretch, but....she'll trade sex for love. Or the feeling of love. The belief that sex and love are the same thing, not knowing the difference."

She was quiet as the waitress brought their pie. She looked at him as she sat across from her, a slight wrinkle in her brow.

"Is there a difference?" She asked him.

"I think so...maybe..."

"Does this conversation make you uncomfortable?"

"Maybe it should, but it doesn't." He answered, looking at her.

She laughed. "You're old beyond your years. You could be a good....no, a great writer. Or a psychologist."

"Yes, " he smiled. "My girlfriend said I was born old."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"No, I should have said former or ex."

She ate her pie and finished her coffee silently. When she was finished, she said,

"I should go. But....would it be inappropriate for me to ask you to dinner at my apartment tomorrow night?"

"Yes, it would be inappropriate and yes, I will come to dinner tomorrow night at your apartment."

She removed a note pad and pen from her purse and wrote down an address and phone number and tore off the sheet and set it on the table along with three dollars to cover the pie and coffee and a tip. She stood.

"See you tomorrow night, then." She said and left.

He spent Saturday working at the station and afterwards went home, showered and changed and drove into town to her apartment, one of a group of single story detached apartments on a quiet street. He found her apartment and knocked.

She answered the door.

"Right on time." She smiled. "Come on in. Tea, soda... beer or wine? Dinner's almost ready. Spaghetti okay?"

"Great. I'll have a beer if you don't mind."

She told him to have a seat and she went to the kitchen and came back with two cold beers.

In class, she always wore a white or light blue blouse and a dark knee-length skirt. Tonight she was in jeans and a beige long sleeved blouse, sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms. Her trim body and long legs looked good in jeans. Her hair was light brown, cut short, framing an oval face. She was really very attractive.

She sat on the chair next to the couch and sipped her beer.

"You're, what? nineteen?"

"Yeah, a couple of months ago. Graduated Spring of '68."

"Living at home with your folks?"

"No. My parents divorced in '63. Mom and I moved here, she got a job as a school teacher and...I worked all through high school and summers. I rent a place outside town. It's nothing great, but I like it. I work at a gas station out on the highway."

He took a sip of his beer.

"I guess I could go to college, but I don't know where the money would come from. That would keep me from being drafted, but....I don't know. So, what about you? Are you young to be teaching at Community College?"

She smiled. "Not really. I'm twenty eight. Got my master's in literature. Taught high school for two years and....that didn't work out, so...here I am. I hope I can teach this summer and get on full-time in the fall."

"You're not married?"

She looked away. "Not anymore. That didn't work out, either."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Oh, well." She answered. Changing the subject, she said, "I think dinner should be ready."

They stood and moved into the kitchen/breakfast area, bringing their beers with them. She had set the Formica table already and handed him a plate.

"Informal. Dish it up."

She put the spaghetti from one pot on her plate and ladled up the sauce from another and poured it over the noodles. He did the same and they sat down.

After a bite, she said. "I really do think you could be a writer. You have the imagination and insight to tell a good story."

"Thanks. I read a lot and...well, I think I could tell a story. I don't know exactly how to go about it. The right way, I mean."

"Well, I could help you with the mechanics, construction...in fact, I think I would like to. Oh, and I'm not Miss Thompson or Ma'am. It's Jennifer. And I think you should go to college. Learn your writing skills. And it would keep you from having to go off to that stupid war."

"We'll see..." he said as he ate.

When they had finished, she took her empty plate to the sink and he followed her. She rinsed her plate and turned, bumping into him and stumbling. He put his hands out and grabbed her hips to keep her from falling. She leaned back against him to regain he balance. Her back was to his chest and his hands on her hips. They both hesitated a moment before moving away from each other.

"Sorry..." She said with a laugh.

"It's okay...glad I was there to catch you. Of course if I wasn't there I wouldn't have had to."

She laughed.

"Another beer in the living room?"

"Sure, I'll have another."

They both sat on the couch, him in the center and she was leaning up against the arm facing him.

"So, you don't have a girlfriend that would be upset if you were here?" She asked.

"No. I dated this one girl my senior year but... I don't know maybe we were getting kind of...stale. We were going in different directions. She wanted to get married, settle down, kids....the American Dream..."

"You?" she asked.

He hesitated. "Well, I just couldn't see myself that way. I want to...travel...see things, experience things."

He took a long swallow from the beer bottle.

"She went off to State last fall. I think to get away from me, maybe meet someone who...better fit her plan."

"Hmmm..." She said softly.

"And do you have someone? I mean, I'm here tonight so I don't think you do, but.."

"Nope." She answered. "I did have Mister Right but he turned out to be Mister Wrong.... or maybe It was me. Anyway, I put his boots out on the porch and...moved on."

She scratched at the label on her beer bottle.

"So, you've had a girlfriend or two. I guess you're not a virgin....Oh, boy, I don't believe I said that out loud...."

"It's okay," he laughed. "No, I'm not a virgin. I'm not very experienced, but...I've done it before, so..."

She just looked at him for a minute.

"I don't know you very well, yet," She said, "but reading the things you have written for class... Are you.... trustworthy?"

"I think so." he answered.

"Okay, I think so too." She said. "Would you like to have sex with me?"

He just looked at her.

"Oh, shit," She said. "Now I've done it."

"No," he said, quickly, "I mean yes...I mean..."

He took a deep breath.

"No, you haven't 'done' anything." He stammered. "You just surprised me, is all. I've never...well, you're...direct. You don't.... I mean.... You invited me over here tonight and....I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind. I was attracted to you the first time you walked into class weeks ago, but I wasn't going to do anything until I was more sure of you."

He took another long drink of his beer.

"And, yes, I would like to have sex with you....very much."

She set her beer bottle on the table and slowly leaned toward him and kissed his lips. He hesitated a moment and returned the kiss a little more forcefully. She moved one hand to his neck and opened her lips slightly and he did the same and kissed her deeply.

She moaned softly and broke the kiss.

"Mmm, you're a good kisser...." and they kissed again.

She turned a bit and leaned against him. He leaned forward and kissed her neck and she gasped and took a deep breath. His hand was on her stomach and slowly moved up over her blouse until it cupped a breast. Her hand moved to the top of his thigh and slowly rubbed it and then moved in, over the front of his jeans and even through the heavy denim, she could feel his erection.

He rubbed her breast and then with one hand, began unbuttoning the blouse.

She gripped him tighter and held him in her hand.

Her blouse was soon open to the top of her jeans and he moved his hand back up to her white lace bra and her breast beneath it, rubbing and lightly squeezing it.

She slowly moved away from him and stood. She reached down for his hand and said,

"Come with me..."

She led him by the hand to the bedroom and turned on the bedside lamp. She sat on the big double bed and pulled him to her, reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his bare chest, over his nipples, up over his shoulders and down again to his waist and began unfastening his jeans.

He stepped back and toed off his loafers and slid his jeans down and off. He was wearing boxer briefs and she moved her fingers to the waistband at his hips and began pulling them down. His hard cock sprang forward as she slipped them down and off.

"Oh, yes...." She whispered, "I like that." taking it in her hand and stroking it lightly a couple of times.

He stepped back from her as she sat on the bed.

"That's not fair," he said. "I'm standing her in my socks and you have all your clothes on..."

She stood and took his hand, turned him and pushed him to the bed and stood in front of him. Slipping her blouse off and hanging it on the bedpost at the foot of the bed, she unfastened her jeans and pushed them down her long legs and off, kicking them away.

Standing in front of him as he sat on the bed in just her white lace bra and panties, she reached behind her back and in a moment slid the bra off. Her firm round breasts and dark pink nipples now exposed, she reached down to her hips and, bending forward, slid the panties off, too.

He watched her as she crawled up on the bed beside him and lay on her back, her breasts pale where a bikini top had covered them, her nipples in the center of each one and his eyes moved down her trim body to the pale skin between her slightly spread legs, a triangle of downy hair covering but not concealing the slit in the center.

She reached up for him.

"Come here." She said, pulling him down beside her and running the flat of her hand over his hard cock.

He lay down beside her and one hand moved across her breast, his fingers lingering on the nipple and rubbing it. She took a breath as he felt the nipple rise, stiffen under his fingers.

"I like that..." She whispered and he bent to take it between his lips.

He sucked and tongued each nipple as they rose and stiffened with his attention.

One hand moved down below her breasts, slowly moved down her flat belly until his fingers touched the soft hairs that covered her womanhood.

She sighed as his hand moved lower, covering her with his palm, and slowly moved up again, his middle finger tip sliding between her lips and moved up slowly, spreading them with the width of his finger between them as her legs moved wider.

She moaned softly and moved one hand to the back of his head and pulled him tighter to her as his mouth and tongue excited her nipples and her other hand found his hard manhood and gripped it, squeezing a drop of clear fluid from the tip and swirled it around his hard cockhead as his finger moved up and down her slit until the tip found her wet entrance and slowly pushed inside.

She was breathing more quickly and her hips arched up a bit, pushing his finger deeper inside her as her hand stroked him.

"I want you in me..." she moaned, and as he moved closer, her legs spread wider and he rolled onto her.

He released her nipple and supported himself above her on locked arms either side of her, his knees between her legs as she gripped his hard organ and guided him to her and his head entered, stretching her open as he relaxed his hips and his shaft slowly slid deeply into her tight, wet hole.

"Oh, yes," she moaned, "you feel so good..."

With her hands gripping his upper arms, he began to move in and out of her, a little faster and a little faster and she felt him stiffen, his cock swell and thicken and with a groan from his lips she felt the first stream of his cum issue from him and then pulse after pulse filled her.

With another groan, he lowered his body to hers and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held him tight.

He lay still that for a moment, catching his breath and said,

"Sorry...that was... a lot quicker than I expected. Or planned."

"It's okay, sweetie," She whispered against his shoulder above her. "It's okay. It was our first time. I liked it fine."

In a few minutes he rolled from her and lay beside her.

She turned on her side and put her hand on his chest.

"You know," She said, "The reason I asked before if you could be trusted..."

"Yeah," He said, "I get that, I think. This can't get out."

"No, it can't. You might get in trouble and I'd lose my job."

"Well, if it gets out, it didn't come from me." He said.

She kissed his cheek. "I trust you. But...This isn't just a one-time thing, is it?"

"Not unless you want it to be." He answered. "I don't."

"I don't want it to be, either." She said, snuggling closer.

He put his arm around her and rubbed her bare back. She was quiet for a minute and said,

"We can't go out. Like to dinner or a movie or.... I...we ...have to figure some things out."

"We will." He said.

"What are you thinking?" He asked.

"I'm thinking..." she said, "that much as I would like you to stay, you probably should go. I don't think it would be a good idea for your car to be in the parking lot all night and for you to leave in the morning in case someone sees you."

"You're probably right." He said, reluctantly. "How about coming out to my house tomorrow?"

"Where do you live?" She asked.

"I'm renting a place out in the country a little way out of town. It isn't much but... I can give you directions."

He rose from the bed and began to dress. She took a robe from the closet and slipped it on.

"You have my number. Call me tomorrow and let's see what we can do." She told him.

She walked him to the door and put her arms around him and kissed him. He held her close and kissed her back.

"You better go before I drag you back to the bed." She whispered. "I'll see you tomorrow, though."

He left her apartment, got in his car and drove home.