The School Secretary

EDITED BY:

Miriam Belle

CREATIVE CONSULTANT:

Simply_Cyn

Author's Note:

"This is one of many small stories that work as a supplement to 'The Finer Points of Sheila.'"

***

My name is David Vervier, I'm 19 years old and this is my story...

The last week of high school was a long one for me. It wasn't so much that I was going to miss my friends, despite the fact I had grown up with them all since we were little. My hometown was small, a population of only 2,500 in a good year, and even then you're counting the tourists who came in from all over the west coast to fish and hunt. Don't get me wrong, I like my friends a lot and have had some good times with them. They're a good group of people, but I'm not really close to any of them in a deep meaningful way or in a place to say any of them are like brothers or sisters to me. We're just a clique, a small group of kids who got through high school in a strange sort of symbiosis, if you will.

It seemed that the last week of school was also the end of our time as a group. Doug, who was something of the unofficial spokesman for us, had his mind on attending the Art Institute in the city that next fall. Brett, our resident stoner, was so wrapped up in his next high and sale that we really barely saw him as graduation day approached. Elle and I would sometimes hangout, but her folks split up a week before and she went into a bad depression. She had a major crush on Doug, and for the life of me I could never really figure out why. Of course, I guess if any of us were close enough to be something more than friends, it was Doug and Elle. Finally, our academic quiz-kid Brad was on his way to Harvard if you can believe it. The man was a genius, and he actually kept a perfect grade point average of 5.0, no matter what. The only thing he couldn't manage was his girlfriend, Abbey. When they split up, he sort of closed himself off and drifted away from us.

That's how it was. In one week, everything changed dramatically to the point I could no longer say we even had a clique. And maybe it was for the best. I got the impression that everyone was ready to move on to bigger and better things. I knew I was. After a while you get tired of the same old problems, the same old redundant bullshit to which the answers seem so clear to you and yet so clouded for others. For example, Doug and Elle were clearly crazy for each other, and who could blame them? Doug was a smart, straight-laced good-looking guy, the dictionary definition of tall, dark and handsome. Elle, who had something of a reputation for being a little loose (I should know, we've fucked each other four times since senior prom) was his match; tall, built like an Amazon with the biggest set of tits I had ever seen pass through the halls of our high school and a face that could have sold makeup to even the most utilitarian of celibate Amish women. They just seemed right together, and they had both asked me and the others on many occasions if they should be together, and despite all the advice to the contrary, they remained apart.

And then a few days later, the whole process would start over again. Wash, rinse and repeat. You can see how this could get weary over a span of four years.

The Monday of that last week, we met up at the pizza parlor for what ended up being the last time all five of us were together. Brett arrived late, his eyes slightly bloodshot and watery, looking relaxed and carefree. Doug and Elle arrived together, heralded by the wisps of blue smoke that belched from Doug's ancient pick-up truck. Elle looked beautiful, her amazing bronze-toned hair pulled back in a ponytail, her hourglass figure accented and displayed by tight jeans and a tank top that looked to be on the verge of ripping at the seams from her large breasts. All of us were guilty of staring, and with the exception of Doug, I knew I was the only one of the group who had ever actually felt her up. I mention Doug as an exception because while I have no proof they ever fooled around, I can't believe they never played doctor at some point during their long friendship.

The two denial-ridden lovebirds joined Brett and I at the table near the gigantic wide screen plasma television at the front of the parlor. The place was relatively empty, and that suited me just fine.

"Where's Poindexter?" Doug asked as he sat down across from me, Elle to his left.

"Not sure," I shrugged as I took a drink of my Dr. Pepper, "Brad was going to stop by Ms. May's house to pick up his letter of recommendation for some scholarship on the way over."

"Ms. May is so fucking hot," Brett observed, his greasy black hair swept back and shiny in the neon lights of the beer signs that adorned almost every wall.

"She is a looker," Doug nodded.

"You guys need to get laid," Elle shook her head as she poured herself soda from the plastic pitcher I had ordered upon arriving. She looked at me and asked, "Dr. Pepper, right?"

"Is there anything else?" I replied. My eyes instinctively dropped to the crevasse of her cleavage, supported by the red fabric of her tank top. My mind recalled the last time we had been together, and she had taken those massive tits and jerked me off with them. I sport an eight-inch cock, and she managed to completely hide me in her breasts. She caught me looking at her, and gave me the evil eye.

"Do you think Brad and Abbey will get back together?" Doug asked as he played with his Zippo lighter.

"I doubt it, man," I said, "Abbey's had a wandering eye for awhile now, and lately she's had wandering hands too."

"That sucks," Brett turned on the bench and leaned against the wall, "Cheating on your boyfriend is a shitty thing to do."

"Things happen," Doug remarked coolly, and I got the impression that there was a load of subtext between the two of them. When I thought about it, it seemed those two had been very tense with each other now for awhile.

"Cheating is cheating, man," Brett said.

"Free advice courtesy of the man from Pennzoil," Doug looked at his lighter, snapping the flint and igniting it, then quickly snuffing it out as the lid flipped back into place. He pointed to Brett's hair, "What do you use? Thirty weight?"

"Fuck you," Brett said nonchalantly.

"Will you two stop?" Elle sighed, "I mean, what is the deal?"

Doug only concentrated on his lighter while Brett seemed to drift off into his own little world.

"We just have a difference of opinion on some things, that's all," Doug said quietly, his voice steady and yet at the same time on the verge of anger.

Brett nodded, his eyes wide with sarcasm.

I decided to change the subject. "So, Doug, when do we get to meet your mystery woman?"

Brett snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Never," Elle said as she took a long drink from her glass, "I've been trying to beat it out of him now ever since the party at the flats."

"What's the big secret, Doug?" I asked, "Come on, tell the truth and shame the devil."

"Yeah Doug," Brett looked at him with what I could only describe as venomous reproach, "Tell the truth, man."

Doug glared at Brett. "The truth is I'm not ready to come out and talk about it. That's all."

"What is she, deformed or something?" I laughed, "Does she have a hump?"

"No," Doug chuckled.

"She's a mutant, isn't she?" I poked at him.

"No," he shook his head, "She values her privacy, just like I do."

"Is she hot?" Elle asked. I was surprised she asked the question, considering how she felt about Doug. I could hear the hurt in her voice, barely audible and yet clearly there.

Doug nodded. "Yes, she is very pretty," he admitted.

"Is she a good fuck?" Brett asked pointedly.

"What does it matter?" Doug asked, suddenly irritated, "Jesus this town is ripe for a movie theater. Find a fucking hobby."

The glass doors to the parlor opened and Mrs. Peterson walked in. Mrs. Peterson was our school secretary, and next to Ms. May the math teacher, she was the hottest woman on the faculty. She had always reminded me of Kirstie Alley in the "Look Who's Talking" movies, only far more curvaceous and with lighter hair. She wore a dark skirt that fell to her mid-thigh, neatly ironed and pressed. The fabric moved almost hypnotically as she walked, being jerked back and forth by her perfectly round buttocks. Her legs were thick, but not fat, tonight contained by sheer, dark pantyhose. Her breasts were sizable, nothing like Elle's twins, but definitely more than a handful from the looks of them as they bounced slightly under her white blouse. Her blonde hair was pulled back into some kind of bun, her dark-rimmed glasses adding a sophisticated eroticism to her sex appeal.

She was forty-eight going on thirty.

As the subtle war of words ensued between Doug and Brett, I excused myself by getting more soda. I fell in behind Mrs. Peterson and followed her to the counter. No one was out in front, and we had a moment to talk. I had gotten to know her pretty well working in the school office during third period as part of my graduation requirements. We laughed easily together, and we got along well. We would joke sometimes about my having a crush on her, and I never could tell if she knew I really did. If only she knew I had been fantasizing about her since the first day of my freshman year.

"Mrs. Peterson," I spoke up, startling her a little. She jumped and spun around, her large dark eyes wide.

"Oh, David," she smiled, her dark burgundy colored lips stretching into a sexy smile, "How are you?"

"Great," I said, mustering all my confidence and charm, "It's almost nine in the evening. Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"Yes I do," she said, "But I get paid for it."

"Getting yourself a pizza?" I asked dumbly.

"No, actually," she said as she showed me a piece of yellow paper. On it was an ad for a yard work over the next week. She was offering ten bucks an hour for three days worth of work.

"Your hedges need trimming?" I asked suggestively, knowing that my comment would either get me in deep trouble or move me closer to her.

She regarded me for a moment with a curious, surprised look. "Yes," she nodded as she handed me the paper, "There's a lot of work to be done around the yard, and Mr. Peterson just doesn't have the time to take proper care of everything."

I couldn't tell if she was just being honest or sending me innuendos. "Well, I know my way around a woman's garden," I smiled broadly, "Trimming hedges and watering lawns is no problem."

"I also need a hole dug out towards the back of the property," she added, "It's for my water fountain."

"No problem," I assured her, "Give me a shovel and I'll take care of it."

She smiled warmly at me, her poker face perfect. "Good then. Is ten dollars an hour enough?"

"More than enough," I folded the paper and put it my pocket, "For you, I'd do it for free."

"That's so sweet," she smiled, "Tomorrow then, five o 'clock?"

"It's a date," I agreed.

She touched my arm and said, "Now David, you know faculty aren't allowed to date students..."

She squeezed my bicep and I felt hot rush of blood blossom in my cheeks. I tried to think of something witty to say, anything to keep our verbal foreplay going, but failed.

"See you then," she said and then left. I watched her leave, my eyes greedily taking in every contour of her body as she went. Images of all the sexual fantasies I had ever had about her flashed in front of my eyes as she pushed the glass door open and stepped out into the warm June air.

I walked back to the table and sat down.

"Where's the soda?" Doug asked.

"What?"

"The soda?" Elle reminded me, "The soda you said you were gonna go get?"

"Oh," I said, my mind jumping back to reality, "I forgot."

"Could you want her more?" Doug laughed as I watched Mrs. Peterson get in her SUV and drive away.

"Your tongue was hanging out of your head," Elle remarked, "Did you get anything on her shoes?"

"What can I say?" I shrugged, "I'm a victim of circumstance."

"You're a victim of your penis," Elle countered,

"You would know," I shot back playfully. Everyone laughed a little, even Elle, though I could tell I hit a nerve with her. We all knew that she and I had fucked, but it was something left unsaid most of the time. I think she didn't want it being brought up in front of Doug.

"What did she want?" Brett spoke up, eyes closed, still reclining against the wall.

"Yard work," I showed them the flyer she had printed up, "Ten bucks an hour."

"Nice," Doug said, "But are you really going to be able to concentrate?"

"You implying something?" I eyed him.

Doug flipped his lighter on and off again. "You'll be so busy gawking, you'll trim the wrong plants."

"And you don't find older women attractive?" I asked.

"Oh I do," he smiled, "I just know how I would be in that situation."

"There's seems to be a lot of May-September sentiments floating around lately," Brett chimed in.

"Whatever," I said. I looked at the flyer and felt my cock stir against my thigh as I considered the possibilities. I felt pretty sure that she had been flirting with me back at the counter, but it could also have just been my overactive imagination. Either way, I figured if I had any chance to fuck Mrs. Peterson, I would have to make my move soon. I decided to put my best foot forward and give it my all.

***

That next day, at 5 pm sharp, as the sun descended towards the hills in the west, I arrived at Mrs. Petersons house. It wasn't that hard to find, and I realized that she lived on the same block as Elle and her family. In fact, their backyards shared a property line, separated by a small creek and overgrowth. If you looked, you could see right into the kitchen and living room of Elle's house from Mrs. Peterson's back porch.

I had made sure to wear my tight-fitting A t-shirt so my arms and chest could be displayed. I played football for the school along with Doug, so we had both been able to work out in the school gym. I had developed my arms and pecs to the point where people actually complimented me on it. My stomach was flat and tight, the result of a lot of sit-ups and a lifetime of swimming. I had spent most of my free time in my backyard swimming in the pool and sunning as it grew unseasonably hot towards the end of April. I had a decent tan going that took the edge off my pale skin. My blonde short hair was spiked and combed to the best of my abilities, and I worn my loose fitting blue jeans and work boots. The jeans hung at my hips and helped accent the natural V-shape to my build.

I rang the doorbell, taking a deep breath and putting on my most charming face. I waited for a minute, and heard nothing. The smell of steaks on a grill wafted past my nose for a moment, and I hungrily realized someone was barbequing. My stomach rumbled at the thought as I waited for her to answer the door. I ran again and heard a door shut inside. A moment later, the door unlocked and opened.

"Hey there," she smiled warmly, inviting me in with a gesture of her hand, "Sorry I took so long."

"No problem," I said as I walked in. The smell of cinnamon and spices permeated every cubic centimeter of the two-story house. Her décor was decidedly country, with paintings of cowboys and Indians adorning the white walls. She led me through the house and to the back porch. We stepped outside again onto the deck, and the smell of the cooking meat was even stronger here. The grill was a fancy set-up, probably costing upwards of three hundred dollars, a technical achievement in and of itself.

"Mr. Peterson loves to grill," she commented, noticing my preoccupation with the barbeque, "He spent way too much on that thing."

"No such thing as too much when it comes to cooking a good steak."

"A man who has priorities, I see," she smiled and caressed my arm again, this time with her open palm sliding up from elbow to my shoulder. I felt my cock starting to swell as my flesh goose pimpled from her touch. I was aware of my nipples growing hard and poking small protrusions in the tight fabric of my white tank top.

"What can I say?" I shrugged as I watched her tend the three slabs of beef on the grill. She was wearing a tan casual dress shirt, buttoned all the way save for the top two. Her shorts revealed her muscular legs, cutting off just an inch or so from the bottom of her ass. I could see no cellulite on her thighs as she bent over the grill a little, her legs slightly parted. She was barefoot, her toenails painted a deep red color that matched her lipstick. Her blonde hair was pulled back again, only a few loose strands hanging by her temples in light curls.

"Okay," she said as she hung the spatula on the grill and motioned to the shed at the back of the yard, "Let me show you what to do."

We walked out to the prefabricated little structure, me following her in a sexually charged hypnosis as I watched the rhythmic movements of her ass. She motioned to the hedges running on the west side of the property, thick and slightly overgrown in front of a high chain link fence. She said, "I need these trimmed back, just kind of straightened up a little. Nothing fancy."

I looked at the bushes, pretending to be interested. "Okay."

She went into the shed and brought back a large, black garbage bag, a pair of hedge clippers and an ancient looking spade. She set them down, propped against he side of the shed. As she knelt down, I caught a glimpse of her tits, tightly contained in a white lacy bra. My eyes widened as I stared, my cock feeling more and more cramped in my jeans. I wished now that I worn my boxers to better hide my erection, so I just shifted myself over casually and made due.

"Don't worry about weeding around the bottom," she said and caught me staring at her. She said nothing and went on as if she didn't notice, "Just bag it all up in this bag."

"Mrs. Peterson," I stuttered, trying to recover.

"My name is Janet," she smiled and touched my arm again, this time letting the touch linger for a moment.

"Janet," I repeated, "Where would you like your hole?"

She smiled, a little embarrassed. "That's kind of personal..."

"Oh," I closed my eyes, blushing furiously, "I mean the hole for your fountain? Where would you like it?"

She smiled knowingly and motioned for me to follow her. I cursed myself for being so suave and smooth with her, and figured my chances for seducing her were pretty much shot. We walked out of the maintained yard and through a small path leading into the brush. The creek was babbling and swirling, and I could hear it's soothing sounds as the water tumbled over the rocks and twigs covering the bottom of its bed. The hot yellow sunlight was turning orange, shining shafts of light into the small clearing near the edge of the property. Comfortable yard furniture had been placed in the clearing, and from here I could see directly over the creek and into Elle's back yard.

"Right here," she pointed at the space in the dead center of the clearing, "Make it about three feet wide, as circular as you can and about four feet deep."

"No problem," I said.

"Good," she nodded, "Now I have to finish dinner. Why don't you start with the hedges? If you finish them up quick enough, we'll start the hole. If not, we can always do it tomorrow."

I followed her back to the yard and began working on the hedges, clipping and carefully making sure not to fuck up her greenery. I was aware of her on the porch, tending the thick steaks as I worked. The afternoon sun beat down hard and coupled with the humidity was making me sweat. After fifteen minutes of this, I took my shirt off and set it on the porch. I made sure to make myself look as taut as I could, my every movement deliberate as I walked over to the deck. Janet looked up from her book and made no effort to hide her appraising glance at my body. I smiled at her, and stretched my back, which allowed my jeans to fall a little revealing my hips and the love trail of pubic hair that ran from the base of my cock to my navel.