The Rites of Dionysus

I came up with the general story concept of this some time ago; a group of girls away together, staying somewhere with the name Dionysus, spend their time coming up with some fantasy rituals. Then, later in life, they come up with a plan to act them out. My drafts folder is littered with attempts to write this story, each with a different group of characters and setup, but the stories were all too big and ambitious for my limited writing time. Eventually I decided to cut it back to a much smaller story with just one male and three women. As a result, I finally finished something.

You will see at the end of the story that I tease a possible sequel, but I should warn you that, at the time of publishing this, I'm not actually working on a sequel, and I might never get around to it. Like a lot of my recent stories, this one includes a fair amount of character development compared to a small amount of action (and no actual sex). However, if I do write a sequel, I will have the benefit of writing less setup and more sexy stuff.

I'm a firm believer that readers will tolerate a ludicrous plot if the characters are relatable, but this story may be too slow to suit readers who just like reading about sex.

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When you're a young male high school teacher, you soon become acutely aware how damaging any hint of scandal would be. Even though some of the older girls at school were less than five years younger than me, there was no way I was going to risk my career by even a hint of flirting. I quickly learned to establish my boundaries at school when I saw them in their uniforms, and even more so when I saw them in their regular clothes in the evenings and weekends. It was only once I had been teaching for a few years and started seeing my former students drinking in bars that those boundaries started to become less clear.

Like any teacher, I was expected to throw myself into helping with extra-curricular activities. Although I taught sciences, I was quite musical, so I offered to help the music teachers with events such as Rockquest and Stage Challenge. In terms of sport, in winter I was asked to run a football (i.e., soccer) skills programme and some informal games for those kids who wanted to play football but weren't good enough to get on one of the school teams. In summer, I was officially the manager of the school's top cricket team.

In the Golden Bay area where I taught, there was only one other high school within a half-hour drive. For the top sports teams looking to take part in proper competitions, it was necessary to take them over the Takaka Hill to the city of Nelson, a drive of approximately one and a half hours by car (or over two hours in one of the old school busses). I was resigned to spending most Saturdays in summer travelling with the cricket team into Nelson (and sometimes further), watching a game that might take all day, before returning to Takaka in the early evening. I was very pleasantly surprised, however, when I discovered that I wasn't actually needed much at all. Three of the dads of the team already shared the coaching duties, and another two were authorised to drive the school bus. All they wanted from me was help getting funding for equipment and other expenses. In return for that, I was free to spend my weekends doing what I loved -- playing golf.

I had started playing golf while I was still at high school, although I have long ago accepted that I'm not likely to compete at the highest level. While I possess a powerful drive off the tee, I have never been able to find the consistency I need in my short game. Sand traps and water hazards are the bane of my life. Still, I was good enough and enthusiastic enough to enter amateur tournaments all over the Golden Bay and Nelson area. I was soon a familiar face playing on many golf courses and drinking in many clubhouses. It was this that lead to my connection to three young women, and my participation in the Rites of Dionysus.

>-<

I'm always alarmed when I get an invitation to an after-school meeting with parents in the principal's office, even though the majority of these are parents asking for help and advice rather than making a complaint. I was encouraged to see the principal was smiling when he opened the door. "Come in Liam. I've got just the thing to utilise your skills." As he ushered me into his office, he announced my arrival to the people waiting there. "Here is our Mister Anderson. I believe he will be the perfect person to run with what we've been talking about."

I was momentarily taken aback when I saw the people waiting to meet with me. There were three senior students: Chantelle Evans, Alice Wilson, and Olivia Campbell. Also present were the mothers of all three girls, plus Olivia's father. The confusing thing was that only Chantelle was actually in one of my classes. I had never taught Alice or Olivia. I recognised their faces, and I knew their names, however, through various issues of my golf club newsletter. Alice, Chantelle and Olivia were treated like superstars at the local golf club. Everyone there knew the three girls who came along to golf lessons at the age of ten and who kept on coming back year after year. They were beloved by all the senior members. The committee even arranged for a Best Junior Girl trophy for them to compete for each year. It dawned on me that it was this golf connection that explained the purpose of the meeting.

Once I was seated beside the principal's desk, he started the meeting. "The reason I have asked you to join us, Mr Anderson, is that I think the school can be doing something to support these girls with their golf. As you know, we encourage all students to participate in at least one sport, but there doesn't seem much point pushing them to play tennis or netball when they are already so keen on golf. Since the cricket team is so well supported by the parents, I am going to ask Mrs Abbott to be the teacher responsible for them. I have been told that you play golf yourself, so I'm sure you won't mind spending your Saturdays watching golf instead of cricket."

Although this might have sounded like an ideal proposal, my initial reaction was one of horror. I couldn't exactly tell the principal that I was currently spending almost none of my Saturdays watching cricket, so this idea would eat into my free time a lot more than he knew. As for the idea of watching three girls play golf -- three quite good-looking girls at that -- I instantly had the male teacher feeling of fear. I wanted to avoid the suspicion and potential accusations that come with spending time alone with female students.

As the meeting progressed, however, my fears were reduced. The families had already thought through a lot of the issues and had come up with a suitable plan. For a start, one of the mothers would always accompany any trips away and would stay with the girls during any necessary overnight stays. I would drive the group using one of the school's minivans whenever one was available, and I would be able to find separate accommodation if we were away overnight, rather than staying with the girls. If there was no minivan available, one of the mother's would drive the girls in a private car and I would be free to stay at home. While I was expected to be supportive of the girls, I wasn't required to follow them around the golf course. I was allowed to play in the tournament myself if I met the entry criteria, or I could hang out in the clubhouse if I wasn't playing.

By the end of the meeting, I had agreed to be the teacher in charge of women's golf. The three mothers who shared the chaperone duties were all nice ladies, ranging in age from late 30s to early 50s. Since amateur golf tournaments often involve an early start, and some of them have rounds on both days of the weekend, we soon found it was best to stay in Nelson for at least one night whenever we went there. My parents live in Nelson, and I have plenty of other friends there, so I had no difficulty finding somewhere to stay. As for the women, they found a small cottage that was owned by part of Olivia's extended family. It was a simple two-bedroom workers' cottage on a vineyard just outside of Nelson. In keeping with the vineyard setting, it was known as Dionysus Cottage.

>-<

To begin with, our trips away were as awkward as you might expect. On the first trip, the girls sat in the back of the van while Alice's mother chatted to me in the front seat. She was a nice woman, not much younger than my mother, very outgoing, and keen to get to know me. I was reluctant, however, to answer too many of her questions as teachers instinctively keep their private lives hidden from their students. For the most part, the three girls in the seat behind us spoke very little, even to each other, so I was conscious that they were listening.

I opened up a bit more on the second trip away. Olivia's mother wasn't as chatty as Alice's mother, but we quickly discovered a common interest in music. As we talked enthusiastically with each other, the girls became more comfortable talking too, either talking amongst themselves or contributing to the conversation in the front seat. By the end of the third trip, conversations were flowing freely. While Chantelle's mother was definitely the quietest of the mothers, further conversations about music (and golf, of course) between me and the girls started to feel more natural, and eventually led on to further topics.

Of the girls, Alice was the easiest to get to know, because she was every bit as confident and vivacious as her mother. She stood about five foot three tall with shoulder-length auburn hair, and her face was adorned with glasses and freckles. Although she wasn't model material, she was definitely cute. I knew she was very popular around school, especially among the boys, and I'm sure this was because she was friendly to everyone and not intimidating like many teenage girls are. From what I sometimes overheard boys saying, though, she was developing a reputation for being a tease. Of course, I don't know how fair this was. Boys who haven't gotten as much as they hoped from a girl can be cruel in their disappointment.

Olivia was more naturally reserved than Alice. She is tall, maybe five foot ten, and I have heard from other staff that she was already that tall when she started high school. Being so much taller than everyone else at that age can be a serious challenge to self-confidence, and it made Olivia quite shy. I think it was only in the last year or two of high school, as a lot of the boys got taller themselves, that they suddenly noticed her beautiful face, her long dark hair, and her quiet sense of humour. It seemed that she was starting to be asked out by boys, but I got the feeling that she was treading carefully, maybe unwilling to trust that they found her attractive.

Even though Chantelle was the only one of the three that I was teaching, I found her the most difficult to get to know. She talked enough, but she had an undercurrent of anxiety that made her reluctant to offer opinions or make jokes. She was tall for a woman, although not as tall as Olivia, with similar long dark hair. Her face might have been pretty too if it wasn't for the fact that she always looked worried. I observed that, when she was together with Alice and Olivia, the three of them got a lot of attention from the boys, but when she was in my chemistry class without the other two, the boys largely ignored her.

During our time together that year travelling to golf tournaments, nothing inappropriate happened. I observed all the expected boundaries, and they mostly did the same with just a few minor exceptions. Because I was on first name basis with the mothers, whenever I picked the group of them up from Dionysus Cottage, the mother would usually greet me with "Good morning, Liam." This would frequently be followed by a giggling chorus from the girls repeating "Good morning, Liam!" Calling me by my first name was low-level cheekiness -- the type of thing where coming down too hard on it can actually undermine your reputation. I would usually just roll my eyes and ignore them, leaving it to whichever mother was there to remind them to call me Mr Anderson.

After the winter break, the girls started taking more liberties. A common occurrence was for them to start teasing me when I was dropping them off at the cottage. They were starting to ask me what I planned to do with my evening in Nelson, usually with a subtle or not so subtle suggestion that I was going to meet up with a woman and 'get lucky.' I would normally try to deflect this by simply saying that their questions were inappropriate, but this didn't deter them for long. The more they continued this game, the more difficult it was to know how to react. If you start reacting defensive, you run the risk of the problem growing. The last thing I wanted was for the comments to follow me back to school and having all the kids there talking about how I was getting laid whenever I took the girls to Nelson.

In the end, I decided the best way of dealing with the girls' comments was to treat it as if we were having an adult conversation. I started answering with calm denials, usually with some humble self-depreciation. I would say things like "I don't think many women are looking for a school teacher" or "I would be happy if I could just find someone to help me mark my Hydrocarbon assignments." This approached appeared to disarm the girls' teasing. In fact, I wondered if they were starting to feel sorry for me.

I didn't know if the girls thought their own dating experiences were any better than mine. Although they didn't speak directly to me about dating, they became more comfortable talking with each other while I was in earshot. All three seemed to be dating to some extent, and the conversations became whispered and giggly often enough that I suspected there was some 'naughtiness' involved, but their relationships all seemed to come and go without any serious commitment.

Just before the final exams, we had an end-of-year gathering with the mothers in a local cafe. They gave me a thank-you gift of a box of golf balls, and we sat and talked about their future. All of them were leaving the bay to attend university, and I thought that it was unlikely that our paths would cross again.

>>>---<<<

Fourteen months later, I was enjoying my summer holidays with a Wednesday afternoon round of golf at my local club. I had intended to play alone, but ended up joining three Australian tourists that I met in the car park. As we were taking turns to chip onto the green at the eighteenth, I had a good view across to the fourteenth tee. In the distance I could see three women; two taller dark-haired women and a shorter redhead.

The Australians and I were on our third beers when Alice, Olivia and Chantelle walked into the clubhouse. They each gave me a friendly smile and a "Hello Liam" as they passed me on the way to the bar. There was no giggling as they used my first name -- they said it with the confidence of grown women. They didn't stop to chat, seeing that I was with a group of older men. I watched as they got a bottle of white wine with three glasses from the bar. There was no need for them to show any ID. After all, the barman had known them for years and knew they were legal.

They took their wine to a table in the back, behind my line of vision. I could tell where they were because the two men across the table from me kept staring in their direction, which prompted the guy beside me to twist in his seat a few times to check them out too. Eventually they couldn't resist asking. "Those hot chicks who said hello to you -- do you think they would be interested in joining us for a drink?"

I knew it was none of my business, but I figured the girls probably wouldn't welcome the intrusion of these guys. They were all a few years older than me and they seemed intent on drinking heavily. They had just ordered shots to go with their fourth round of beer, whereas I had declined and ordered a coke instead. Since they seemed keen on me making introductions, I simply lied. "I don't think that would be wise. They're younger than they look. The barman will definitely get in trouble for serving them alcohol if the police pay a visit." In reality, I knew for a fact the girls were all at least eighteen, if not nineteen.

The irony of implying that the barman was incompetent wasn't lost on me when he cut the three Australians off as they tried to order their next round. It is against licencing laws in New Zealand to serve alcohol to intoxicated persons, and the golf club liked to use this rule to discourage outright drunkenness. The barman insisted on calling them a taxi.

As the taxi pulled away, I was aware of being loomed over. A half-full bottle of white wine was put down on the table as the three young women took the seats recently vacated by my earlier companions. "Hey Liam, why didn't you introduce us to your friends? We might have fancied a bit of random fun." This was said with a very straight face by Olivia. I was suddenly very confused and awkward. Had they overheard what the Australians had said and my response?

Suddenly I heard the giggles that were so familiar to me. "You should see the expression on your face," said Chantelle. "Sorry, I know we should be thanking you for discouraging them."

I was relieved. If they had overheard my lie, it was apparent that they thought it was for a good cause. "I figured you didn't need to be chatted up by a group of older men," I said.

"It doesn't matter to us if they're older," said Alice, "as long as they aren't behaving like drunk teenage boys."

Alice's comment about older men suddenly derailed my train of thought, and I couldn't find the words to calmly move the conversation forward. She also seemed to belatedly recognise what she had said, and we had a moment of awkward silence. Was Alice actually blushing? Olivia rescued us by asking if I wanted her to get another glass so I could share their wine. I told her that I needed to drive home, but I encouraged them to feel free to carry on drinking without me.

"Does it feel weird to see us in a bar buying alcohol?" asked Olivia.

"It is a bit," I answered, "but I imagine that I will get used to it over time. The oldest teachers at school have ex-students in their forties and fifties. Sometimes they've even taught their children. For me, though, this is my first time sitting in a bar with former students. Do you find it weird talking with me? I would have understood if you had pretended not to see me."

"There aren't many teachers whose table we would have sat down at," said Chantelle, "but you were always good to us."

"We get that it's not easy being a male teacher," said Olivia. "Half of them act like they're God's gift, expecting to become our best friend or getting all creepy around us, while the other half seemed terrified of us, acting stern all the time in order to prevent some sort of uprising."

"Or abandoning discipline altogether," added Chantelle. "That seems fun to begin with, but it doesn't work in the long run."

"But you, Mr Anderson, somehow seemed to avoid all of those things," said Alice. "It was like you didn't really notice we were girls at all. Do you know what your nickname was at school?"

I blushed. "I believe the kids all called me Beaker," I said. I'm tall with orange hair, so it was always likely I would be named after the Muppets character, especially since I teach science.

The girls all giggled at my candid admission. "That's true," said Alice, "but it wasn't your only nickname. Some of the girls had another nickname for you. We used to call you Westley."

"Westley? From The Princess Bride? I don't look much like him."

"It wasn't because of your appearance," said Alice. "A lot of the girls were curious about you and why you seemed so unaffected by all the teenage girls around you. Hardly anyone thought you were gay, so the most common theory was that you had already found the love of your life, so that's why you were so oblivious to other women. We started referring to this mystery woman as your Buttercup."