The Old Schoolhouse - Her Version

I was going to try and write the story from Ms G's point of view as part of my "learn how to write" hobby I've embarked on. Everything I've ever read about writing emphasizes the need to be able to make characters sound like unique individuals rather than every character in your story sounding like you, the author. As I prepared to write this chapter, I decided to reach out to Ms G and ask her for some background information, hoping it would put me into her frame of mind. Miraculously, I managed to get her to talk to me on the phone. I hadn't seen her in almost 40 years. She talked to me as if I was a long-lost best friend, and we shared some laughs as we caught up on life. I managed to build up the nerve to share what I am doing and asked her to share information. She said she'd think about it. I was pleased to receive an email within a week. However, after several false starts, I gave up trying to write as her, it's just too hard. There were several readers kind enough to provide feedback, and they almost unanimously asked for more information about what she was thinking. Well, here it is, straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak, her email. Enjoy!

J,

Wow, I couldn't believe my ears when I listened to your voicemail. My husband was surprised when I told him you were probably my brightest former student because I had never talked about you before. I think I was able to explain that away by reminding him I only talk about my students when I hear from them or about them, and I had not heard from you or about you since you won all those scholarships so many years ago, long before I even met him.

I was excited to hear you are finally seeing the light and letting your artistic side shine after it spent all those years under the shadow cast by the Spock inside of you. Of course, I laughed when you told me about your plan to complete a series of short stories as practice because that is JUST LIKE YOU! Even when trying to be creative you can't help but be mathematical.

I was also shocked when you told me about your first story. I am a little frightened about what tiny clues you may accidentally leave in the story that point to me, and us, as the basis for the story, no matter how much fiction you add. But it has been a long time, and you have been a faithful keeper of our secret. So, I am going to continue trusting you, and give you the background information you asked for. Please handle with care!

You've never asked, so I've never told you, but you were the first and last student I ever had an affair with. That was a very strange point in my life, and what happened between us would never have happened at any other point in my life. I will have to go pretty far back in time for you to understand why. Please excuse my long-windedness.

By the time I went to college, I was very well-educated and knew I could study anything and be successful. But, unlike you, I knew then that I truly loved the liberal arts, especially English Literature. That is why I majored in it.

This is when I met my first husband. And although I had loving parents who provided a warm and comfortable life, I had been sheltered, so I did not know about passion. I was swept away by my first husband's attention when he was courting me in college. I know my limitations as a beauty queen, but he never made me feel conscious about my appearance, my clothes, my make-up, or my weight. He was also very smart, funny, well-dressed, well-mannered, a perfect gentleman. I felt lucky he was interested in me.

After we married, we faced some harsh truths about life. Our degrees were not the best for the job situation in the mid-70s, so he joined the military. That was how I ended up leaving a wealthy suburb in New England and found myself teaching in a poor rural school in the deep South. That was a culture shock. But that wasn't all.

My first husband was also gay, and there was an underground gay community associated with the military base here that he discovered. That community helped him learn about himself, but I ended up being the ex-wife trying to scratch out a living far from the support of my family.

Speaking of my family, I was an only child. My father had died when I was 10. My mother passed away about two years before you and I had our fling. And I'm sure you know how cliquish the people of our community were. It is a great little town, but it takes a long time for an outsider like me to be truly welcomed. I was so lonely.

I was also desperate for passion. My first husband was my first and only lover up to that time, and our sex life was not what I now know would be ordinary for young lovers. It was like him -- smart, funny, well-dressed, well-mannered, and gentlemanly. As I was going through this time, I also started watching Cinemax alone on Friday nights. And I started wanting the kind of passion I saw and fantasized about watching those shows; lust-driven passion, and I started wanting it more and more and more.

One of my neighbors was an older couple, Bill, and his wife. Bill was the opposite of my first husband. He was poor, ungroomed, foul-mouthed, and driven by his emotions. The way Bill looked at me when he thought he could get away with it made it clear that he wanted me, and I liked that thrill. I encouraged his poorly disguised attempts to seduce me. One day I needed to drop off my car for repairs and needed someone to follow me there and bring me home. Of course, he jumped at the chance.

When I got in his car that afternoon, I had no idea he had no intention of taking me straight home. I had never even been across the bridge on that side of town, much less that far out, but I knew what was happening. When he pulled into that dump area, I was scared and excited at the same time. He drove his car into that bushy area, hopped out, opened up the back, and said "come here!" I simply did as I was told.

He roughly kissed me, and I could taste the whiskey on his breath. When he pulled back from the kiss, he started unbuttoning my dress. I could see the nicotine stains on his fingers as he roughly handled the buttons. As each one was opened, I was getting more and more turned on. This was something I had never experienced, someone wanting me with this much animal lust.

After he pulled my dress off, he told me to get in the back while he took off his clothes. As I lay there watching him, he said "what are you waiting for, take off the bra and panties". I listened to him again. When he slid his pants and underwear down, I was shocked and scared, because he was HUGE. I couldn't believe a man that old, and that skinny could have a penis that big and angry looking. And I had no idea how he was ever going to fit inside of me.

When he crawled on top of me, I opened myself up to him, and he started trying to force himself into me. I was not ready, especially for a man his size. He worked himself into me, and I was holding my breath trying not to let him know how much he was hurting me. After a few strokes, I started to relax, and he was able to move more easily. I was just starting to enjoy hearing his grunts, smelling his whiskey and cigarettes, and feeling so FULL, when he grunted really loudly, pushed himself even further into me, and enjoyed his climax. He rolled over beside me and was clearly thrilled. He was smiling, saying "whooo man that was somethin'" and "when do I get to take you back to get your car?"

At that moment I was looking back on my time with my first husband, and realized that that was the first time a man climaxed inside me. I started laughing at the thought, and Bill thought I was laughing with him about the whole experience.

That's when you walked up. When I heard your voice I knew it was you, even though Bill was back on top of me, kissing and grinning before he heard you. I remember you said something about wanting to join us, and I was mortified. I was embarrassed to be found by anyone in this situation. I was especially embarrassed by who I was found WITH. And I was MOST embarrassed to have been found by you, my best student, the one student who's respect I probably desired the most.

When we locked eyes, I knew you knew it was me. But what you said next made all the difference in the world. "Come on, y'all, I'm a virgin...wouldn't it be fun to teach me how to please her?" You wanted to be taught how to please me! ME! I had never thought any man would ever be interested in trying to please me, but you were asking for help being taught how to do just that.

Bill ran you off, and then we had to rush to get dressed and get back home before "his missus" missed him. I was so scared that night about what was going to happen. Were you going to tell your parents? Were you going to tell our principal? Were you so disgusted by who I was with that you would never respect me in the classroom again? I only imagined the worst.

But you acted normal back in class. You and Shannon were still a bit disruptive with some of your off-color comments, but you were both funny and respectful. And you may not know this, but the fact you were in my class and clearly liked it was something I was proud of. Your debate coach told me how she felt you needed some art to balance out the logic, math and science in your life. She told me how she had recommended you take my basic class instead of the AP course in English Lit because I was teaching it. And I could tell you enjoyed the class and respected my opinion. All of that was flattering to me because I usually did not get any of the advanced college-bound students in any of my classes.

As a result of all these confusing emotions, I ended up obsessing about what to do all weekend. I wanted to teach you how to please me. I fantasized about it. I didn't want my first husband and his once every six-weeks polite sex life. I didn't want Bill's wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sex life. I wanted the politeness and brains of my first husband in the classroom. I wanted lust-driven desire to guide choices in the hidden-from-public recesses of our minds. But I wanted some "please me" physical attention in the bed! I wanted it all.

I had to find a way to talk to you without anyone knowing. I couldn't just leave a note in your locker. When I heard how some of the teachers were providing those personality inventories, I thought I'd try that to get your attention. I thought it was unlikely to work, but I had to try something. You have no idea how my body responded when you came up after class and talked about always doing the same things at the same time every day. I KNEW you were referring to being out at that dump on Wednesdays.

The next day, I made sure to hurry home after school. I took a quick shower and put on my best perfume. I wanted to wear the same dress I had worn during the day because it was also the same dress I had on with Bill the week before. I'm not sure why that mattered to me, but it excited me to imagine your hands instead of his opening my dress. I picked out my sexiest bra and panties, even though I didn't own any sexy lingerie at the time.

I was so full of hope, but still had a nagging voice inside of me saying "it's a trap, he is going to embarrass you" or "he's going to arrest you" or something bad, event though you were over 18 and this wasn't illegal. But then I got excited imagining you getting excited looking at me. I got excited imagining kissing you. My excitement was more powerful than my fears. I got in the car and crossed that bridge, literally and figuratively, heading out towards the dump area.

When I pulled in, I was really scared, because those woods are much more rural than anything I've ever seen. That place really is out in the middle of nowhere. I've never seen where you grew up, but I've heard stories now, and I can only imagine what your life must have been like out there with some of the people I've heard about. It seems like those stories would be more interesting than anything you could ever write about me.

When I saw you, I felt relief, because you are absolutely the most genuine person I've ever met, and I could see immediately that you were happy to see me. When you leaned in and kissed me I was surprised -- "wow, how mature and confident"!

I remember saying "I can't believe I'm doing this. What am I thinking?" And then I remember your reply, the perfect reply: "I hope you are thinking how much fun it will be to teach me how to please you!" That is EXACTLY what I was thinking.

I wish we had not been forced to squeeze into that back seat, so cliché. But it was so memorable. You let me have my way with you and I loved every minute of it. I loved how you didn't smell like whiskey and cigarettes, just an earthy sweat smell. Your skin was so smooth and sweet. You're soft moans and sharp inhalations were like words of encouragement to me. I knew you wanted me more than any man ever had before.

I couldn't wait to kiss you after I took off your shirt. You are lucky I didn't bite you hard enough to leave any marks...or maybe I did? I could tell you loved it when i was sucking your nipples, and I don't even know why I did that, I had never even thought about doing that before. When I finally unzipped your jeans, I knew for certain that you had not lied -- you really were a virgin. You came almost as soon as you felt my mouth on you, and I still laugh thinking about that. But we were both having fun, and now it was my turn to relax!

You started to show me what you had "learned" from me, and boy were you a quick study. You were a great kisser. That was also the first time anyone had ever given me oral sex, but even now after being with my second husband after all these years I can tell you that you must have done your homework before we met. I had the strongest orgasm I'd ever had.

And then you made love to me. I remember fighting the seatbelt buckle that was constantly jamming my back, trying to get more comfortable, the same time you were trying to push my dress up and my panties down. I could see Monty Python doing a skit about our little tryst. But when we finally got comfortable, it was heaven.

I was so wet, and you were so hard, that we felt like a perfect pair. I loved hearing the slapping sound of your loin hitting mine, sometimes with a slower tempo, sometimes faster. And I REALLY loved watching your stomach and hips as you entered me. You got a bit excited at times when you would bite my nipples a little harder than needed. But you paid attention to my sounds. I could tell you wanted me to enjoy, and I did. You lasted much longer inside me than you did with the blow job, and when you finally climaxed I was so thrilled. It made me feel like I had done something special.

I really remember how, when it was time to leave, I was thrilled when you told me you couldn't wait for next Wednesday. I couldn't either!

So now, after all this time, this is one of those memories I enjoy visiting from time to time. It's a shame we can't share them with anyone, but we can't. I did want to share one more thing you may not know. I kept a copy of what I wrote in your yearbook at the end of the year, and still have it in with some of my other papers. I don't know if it meant much to you, but it did to me, which is why I kept it:

"I have watched you change and exult and hurt and plan. I have been vulnerable to your mischief and your hopes and dreams. I have always understood them and most of the time, approved. I am afraid for you. I won't be around to put things into perspective. Remember Othello, who loved not wisely but too well. Remember Macbeth, who's tomorrow's creep. Remember Stephen Crane, who cares that the world doesn't. Whatever happens, don't measure out your life in coffee spoons. You're too good to waste. I've loved being part of it. Don't you dare forget!"

Ms "G"