13 comments/ 21396 views/ 7 favorites Shakespeare in the Orchard By: Anitole I was 25 when I returned home with my tail between my legs and feeling none to proud of moving back into my dad's house. Six years in a college setting had had there affect on me and as I unpacked the last box of books and folded the it up to haul to the garage, I felt a pang of self-pity. "Three degrees and you're going to work at your old high school. Sorry sack of—" Anyway, with over $15,000 in loans to pay off, a recession in full swing, and my father's health declining, it was my most viable option. I tossed the folded box in the garage can and, seeing it was full, closed the lid and hefted it down the drive. My parents' place was technically in the country, with 19 acres, a pond, a barn and an orchard with apple and peach trees. In late summer the heat was just breaking and the burnt yellow landscape was beginning to green again at the edges, signifying the transition to the cool September season. As I set the can down at the side of the dirt road I noticed a car parked in the ditch down near the orchard. I walked down to find the car was a small Honda civic, its door ajar and the engine running. Without hesitation I took the keys out of the ignition and wandered into the orchard. I came to a tree in which I detected movement and in a moment a few apples fell, landing neatly on a thin flannel shirt spread out on the ground. I cleared my throat. The rustling in the tree stopped. "Okay, I know you're up there. Come on down." "Why? You own this place?" The voice was challenging and girlish. There was a shutter of branches as the figure dropped down, landing gracefully on her feet. She was about 5'5" and athletic looking, though not scrawny by any means. Her hair was dirty blonde and her eyes were squinted against the sunlight. "How do you know I haven't got permission to pick them?" "Do you have permission?" I cocked my eyebrow dubiously. She shrugged. "No, but I figure if the owner catches me he'll be lenient." "Oh he will, huh?" "Yes, I'm such a terribly nice girl. Anybody who talks to me for five minutes can tell that." She put her hands on her hips confidently as she spoke. "And I'm also quite stubborn and independent and not about to put up with the miserly stance of a person who grows so many apples and doesn't share them. Besides, I've driven by every day since these things started to ripen. Nobody's picking them, they'll just spoil anyway." She picked up the shirt with the apples and bundled them up, keeping one out for herself to eat. "Anyway, there just apples. Not like I'm steeling Faberge eggs or anything." "No, I suppose not." She was dressed for the end of summer, jean shorts and a faded blue tank top. When she bent over to bundle the apples a nice line of cleavage revealed itself. I did my best not to take much notice. The girl was young. "Still," I said, looking off toward the house, which was barely visible through the trees. "It is rather impolite to just invite yourself into somebody else's orchard." She polished her apple on the tattered hem of her jean shorts. "So call the cops. If you're the farmer, though, I have to say you're a bad one. Why haven't you started picking yet?" "I'm not the farmer. My dad is. And... well, he's been sick." "So, why don't you pick the apples for him? That'd be what a nice son would do. Got any siblings? You could make a family event out of it." I smirked. "I have two brothers, but they're both in the service." "Oh, one of those families, huh? So what are you, like home from military school or something?" It was at this point I realized that this girl had mistaken my age. "Actually, I'm going to be a teacher." "Oh," she said, blinking as she reappraised me and then took a big bite of her apple. "I bet your daddy didn't like that." "Like what?" "You rebelling," she paused, munching loudly. "Going off to become something other than a farmer or a soldier." "Actually, he liked the idea." She nodded, swallowing. "See, I could be Sherlock-effing-Holmes." "I think you're closer to Nancy Drew." "Ooh, a burn from the old man. You want a bite?" She offered the apple to me casually. "No thanks." "It's good." She held it closer to my mouth. I could smell the sweetness of the fruit and pushed it away. "I was raised on them." "Overloaded, huh?" "Yep." She sighed and turned, slinging the shirt with the apples over her shoulder and walking idly in the general direction of the road. "They say you can have too much of a good thing. But then again, I don't think I'd ever get tired of apples. They're my favorite fruit, you know. After breadfruit, that is." "Breadfruit?" "Yeah, have you ever had breadfruit?" "No." "Neither have I. I bet I'd like it though. Something about the name tells me as much. Speaking of which, I'm Rosie." She whirled and extended her hand, leaving the apple core in her mouth as she did so. I took the hand, it was moist and sticky from the apple. "John," I said, casually whipping my hand on my shirt after the handshake was done. She took a bite of the apple and talked around it. "Nice simple name," she said. "I like simple names. My name's simple. In fact, my mom named me Rosie because she didn't like all these cookie-cutter names that girls have. You know, like Amanda or Ashley or Jessica. So many of those wondering around... Rose is unique, don't you think." "I suppose." "Your last name isn't something like Smith or Jones, is it?" "Pollock," I said. "John Pollock." She nodded at the name. "Sounds stout and square but friendly." She stopped her idle sauntering as a thought struck her and when whirled around again, looking me up and down, I could see a flash of shock come over her cute little heart-shaped face. "Wait, Pollock? Oh my god, you're the new drama teacher!" "I... Uh... well, yes, but..." She cut me off with a sudden squeal. "Holy shit, I've been flirting with my new teacher." She dropped the shirt of apples and walked around in a circle making a few odd random gestures with her hands. "Oh, ewe! I can't believe this. You must think I'm some kind of slutty weirdo, or something. I had absolutely no idea... I mean I knew the new teacher was named Mr. Pollock but I was expecting someone..." She stopped and thrust her hands out at me as if making a point. "Someone what?" "Old." "Well, I'm 25." I smirked, picking up the bundle of apples and holding them out to her. "Sorry to disappoint you." She tentatively reached over and took her shirt and the apples. She cradled them against her torso just under her nice young breasts. She was suddenly very sheepish and demure. Not knowing what to say. "You like theater?" I asked taking some steps past her toward the road. She followed. "Uh-huh," she said. I looked over, she was looking more at her feet now thaen at me. "Don't be embarrassed," I said. "What do you like about theater? Acting, directing, tech?" "I just like plays." I nodded. "Me too." I reached in my pocket and took out her car keys. "Oh, by the way, you shouldn't leave your car running at the side of the road. It wastes gas and someone could come along and steel it." She reached out and took the keys. "Thanks, Mr. Pollock." I smirked as she opened the passenger door of her civic and dumped the apples out of her shirt onto the car seat. As she did this she bent over and I did my best not to look at her cute little bottom. She straightened and pulled the shirt on over her faded blue tank-top. She walked around to the driver's side door and opened it. She looked up and our eyes met. "So you're in my class then, I imagine?" She nodded. "Y-yes." "Okay then, see you Monday, Rosie." I waved and turned walking back into the orchard. I didn't look back as I heard the car door shut, assuming she would have taken her chance to escape quickly, but then I heard movement behind me and when I turned around she was right there, holding out an apple. "You're my teacher. You have to eat it." I laughed and took the apple. I wiped it on my jeans and took a big bight out of it. She giggled as juice ran down my chin and dribbled onto my tee-shirt. I'd only half finished the bight when she moved in close and kissed me. I was taken by surprise and stumbled back a bit, my back landing up against the trunk of one of the apple trees. I pushed her away after a second and then, with a giggle, she was gone, scampering off toward the road. In a few seconds I hear the engine of the civic whine to life and the tires kick up gravel as she sped away. I stood, a bit shocked and confused by what had just happened. But then I found myself running my tongue over my lips, as if I were trying to saver the sensation of the apple-sodden kiss of the girl with the dirty-blonde hair. Her breasts had squashed up against my chest and her fingers had buried themselves in my hair and those lips had felt so warm and wet and wonderful... I bent down and picked up the apple where I had dropped it in the grass. I whipped it on the leg of my jeans and took a second bite, smiling and yet a bit terrified that I'd just been skillfully and yet awkwardly seduced by a student. ***** The first day of classes came less than a week later. During the lapsed time I'd taken up Mrs. Hendricks' old classroom off the auditorium, hung a few inspirational posters with quotes from Shakespeare and Tennessee Williams, and stocked the shelves with every book I owned on acting, theater, dramaturgy, and so on. I received the class rosters that Friday and sure enough, Rosie Alderson was in not one but two of my classes. As the first hour bell rang at 8:40 A.M. the 17 students trudged into the classroom, looking very much like zombies. The boys were all dressed in dark clothing, probably taking the class as an elective so they could avoid gym. The girls ran the gambit from small to large, thin to fat, pretty to not-so pretty, but one thing I noticed was that all of them were looking to the front of the classroom as I turned around from writing my name on the board. "I'm Mr. Pollock," I said, holding my hand up to my printed name. "This is introduction to advanced drama. You will find a copy of the class syllabus on your desks along with a reading list. There are 13 plays on the list, you and a partner will pick one of the plays and over the course of the next week the two of you will rehearse together a selected scene from that play. On Tuesday next we will start performances, the acting pairs taking turns, and the rest of us watching and taking notes." As I spoke I walked carefully down one aisle and up another, talking in my best authoritarian tone, trying very hard to sound like old Mrs. Hendricks had sounded on my first day of classes... "After each performance there will be a five minute critique period and we will, fuck, this is boring isn't it?" I was at the front of the classroom when I uttered the expletive and immediately the classroom perked up and took notice. I leaned against the blackboard and smiled at them. "What do you say we screw all that shit and just have fun, huh?" A few smiles bloomed, one of them at the back looked particularly familiar. "Okay, you have a list of plays. Read them. That's all I ask. Read one, read five, read all of them, I don't care. But find one you like, find one you love and then try and figure out why you like it, love it, can't get enough of it... Then write, a paragraph, a page, a spiral notebook, write it down for me. The goal of this class isn't an A, it's to explore. If any of you find you like a play enough to want to try and put it on, let me know. If not, that's fine, but I will expect you to help out with productions and do your part to help you peers. Now, let's play a getting to know you game..." Though the class was fun and by the end of it, I was pretty sure I'd secured myself at least a few devout followers, when it ended and the kids rushed out I felt a slight pang of disappointment that Rosie had stayed towards the back of the class most of the time. Of course, I shouldn't have been surprised. She was probably embarrassed, or maybe she thought I would have some stern words to say to her should the opportunity present itself. The day passed by, 1st hour advanced drama gave way to 2nd hour acting. 3rd hour was my planning period followed by lunch and then after lunch came English Composition 1 and Advanced English Literature. These classes were both college preparatory courses and therefore had a more serious tone to them. In Comp 1, I gave out a list of textbooks, including Strunk & White's Elements of Style and the Everyday Writer as well as information on the MLA website. I then handed out photocopies of Hemingway's "Hills Like White Elephants" and "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" saying that the class should have them read by the end of the week and that on the subsequent Monday, they should have a one page parody of one of the stories ready to turn in. "The goal of this class is to teach each of you to write efficiently and precisely. I'll try to make it as fun as possible, but I'll be honest, this is a class where grades are determined by hard work and heavy reading..." I'd never liked composition courses in College or High School, and now that I was teaching one I felt like the world's biggest hypocrite. When the bell rang signaling the end of the hour the kids trudged out under the mountain of homework I'd assigned them, giving me dirty looks as they went. I went into my little office at the back of the room and collapsed in the seat. My mind was suddenly mush. "You know, in this light you do look a lot older." I looked up to find Rosie leaning on the door frame, shaking her head in mock pity. "So you're one of my nine-brave hearts taking Literature 101, huh?" "Girl's got to expand her mind, right? And pot just doesn't do it for me, much as I've tried." I smirked and took a pencil from the jar on my desk. "I could right you up for mentioning drug use," I said, mockingly. "You do that I'll tell them you touched me inappropriately." "Really?" "You kissed me in the orchard, remember?" "Did I? I thought it was the other way around?" "Who they gonna believe, the innocent young girl or the lecherous old teacher?" I put the pencil down, defeated. "Just don't think I'm under your thumb or anything." "Tell you what, you let me pick apples with a clear conscience, I'll behave myself in class and be a star pupil. What do you say?" "Deal." I stuck out my hand to seal it, but to my surprise she stepped into the office, leaned down and kissed me, gently. "Seal it with a kiss, that's a real deal." The bell rang, startling us both. She rushed out of the office to her desk just as the nine other students burst into the room from the hallway. I ran the back of my hand over my lips, hoping to god she hadn't been wearing lipstick and then moved to the front of the room, trying my best to look calm, collected, and very much in control of things. ***** After class was done, they all left together, Rosie pairing up with another girl with short dark red hair, giggling together as they went out. I cleaned up the room a bit, went over and finished up a few more learning plans and then grabbed my jacket and hit the lights. The school was only a brief walk from my dad's place and as the weather was nice, I walked home along the sidewalk of main street and then in the dry ditch along the side of our old dirt road. When I came to the mouth of the drive I saw the little civic parked there at the mouth. She was sitting on the hood, sunning herself, waiting. "You like Tennessee Williams, Jack?" I smirked. Nobody had called my Jack since my grandmother had died. "I do. Why?" "Just making conversation. Me, I like him a lot. And I like Wilde and Shaw and what's that guy's name who wrote about the five characters in search of something..." "Luigi Pirandello. And it's Six Characters in Search of An Author." "Yeah, that one's good." She climbed down off the hood of the car and walked up to me. She was so short she only came up to about my collarbone. She reached up and played with my tie. "Why haven't you yelled at me for being so forward with you?" "I'm not very good at yelling at people." "But you do know it's wrong, right? The way I'm acting." "You know it, too. Why aren't you stopping yourself?" She stopped fiddling with my tie and let a hand rest on my chest. "Want to help me pick apples?" "Haven't you got homework?" She buried her face in my chest, laughing at me as she nuzzled her nose against my chest gently through the cotton fabric. "I do, actually, this asshole English teacher gave use reading assignments on the first day, can you believe it?" "The nerve." "You want to help me?" I nodded and she went to the car, grabbing her book bag and tossing it over a shoulder. She locked the car and began walking toward the orchard. I watched her until she turned and looked at me. I ambled along behind her slowly, watching her as she turned down a row and walked between the trees. She came to a tree in about the middle of the orchard and dropped her book bag on the ground beside the trunk. She then kicked off her tennis shoes and leapt at the trunk, gripping it firmly with her hands and using her feet to walk up to the crotch. She straddled the crotch of the tree and then bringing a knee up to her chest, she stood and reached up into the high recesses of the tree to extract a large red apple. I watched this simple ballet with fascination, for today she was not wearing the jean shorts but a blue pleated skirt that allowed brief flashes of her pale blue panties. She looked down at me, smirking up at her and instantly knew what I'd been staring at. She threw and apple at my head and I dodged it quickly as she laughed and then picked another apple and another, letting them drop to the ground next to her bag. When she had about six, she sat down on the crotch of the tree, demurely, and held out her arms to me. I sat my briefcase down with my jacket and then reached up to grip her waist with my hands and heft her down. She wasn't as light as I'd expected, nor was her figure as soft as one might have imagined. There was a toned firmness to her body that was a bit of a pleasing shock and when her feet touched the ground, she stumbled on purpose into me. Her hair smelled as if it had been recently washed and I found my lips brushing against the straight strands of it as my own hands ran up from her hips up to her ribcage. Her right leg was pressed into my groin and I felt a slight stiring there as my member began to harden. She shied away then, going over to her backpack, opening it and taking out her English textbook. "So, Hamlet..." she said, settling down with her legs crossed on the grass. "What about him?" "Well, I've been leafing trough it and I'm wondering what it's really all about." "People have been wondering for 400 years. I guess it's about conflict, the nature of struggle, doing what you can when the world's collapsing around you. Sometimes we can't help complications, but that doesn't mean we should give in to a sea of troubles." She considered this and then walked once around the tree, circling me and thinking. "Do you like Hamlet?" She asked as she came back around to look me in the eye. "The play or the character?" "The play." "Oh, very much. I played Horatio once." "Really, I would have cast you as Hamlet, myself?" "I don't look sad enough. At least that's what the actress playing Ophelia said." "You and Ophelia, huh?" She smirked. "Maybe she was right, you don't seem the depressed type. I bet you don't even think about death all that much?" "What's the point in thinking about it?" "I don't know. Lots of people do, though. Must be important for some reason." Shakespeare in the Orchard Ch. 02 "You understand we can never talk about this," I said, closing the door of her little blue civic and leaning down with my hand on the rooftop. The night had fully fallen and only the lights from the distant school and the glow from her dashboard gave the scene any illumination. She nodded. "I know, you'd get in trouble." "Yeah." "Why'd you do it? I mean, if you don't trust me..." "I didn't say that, Rosie." She fiddled with her keys, I couldn't help but look down at her lap in the little short shorts, her legs bare-- I wanted to touch them one more time before she left. She sighed. "I know you didn't. I'm... I'm just not very good at getting exactly what I wanted when it isn't even Christmas." I leaned into the car, taking my hand from the roof of her car and holding her face up for a soft kiss, our tongues danced lightly a moment and then I pulled back. "Now you're getting sappy." She nodded and looked at me. "You're a cynic. I just realized." "Not at all true, to be a teacher in America today, that takes optimism of the highest degree." "And to be a teacher having an affair with a student?" She leaned back in her seat, studying me. "Are you of the mindset that this could end well?" "It's late," I said, stepping back from her car. "See you tomorrow." "Can I use the shower in the dressing room again tomorrow?" I nodded. "Was that a tease, by the way?" She smiled. "Yes. I was waiting the whole time for you to come in and..." her lips came together over her teeth as she quashed out the rest of the sentence. "But you'll never do it at school will you?" "Would be rather risky, wouldn't it?" "Isn't that the point of Hamlet?" I cocked an eyebrow. "Huh?" "We take risks and rely on chance because to do nothing, to sit around letting life pass by, is worse." She put the car in gear. "Hamlet could have just as easily accepted his uncle. It would have been easier, but it wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining." And with that, she sped off, her tires causing the gravel on the road to skitter a bit off into the ditches along either side. I watched the gravel roll into the grass a bit and then looked up to see her tail-lights fading into the night. I looked at my watch. It was almost nine. I turned and looked up the road toward the lights of the school. You can see the blue halogen bulbs from the road outside. I put a hand in my pocket and took out a quarter, sighing. I flipped it and caught it in my closed fist. "Heads" I said, and then opened my fist. I nodded at the coin and put it back in my pocket. I turned on my heel and walked up the drive to the house. I could see the television light trough the front window. I knew dad was up, probably unable to sleep. I sighed, turning and looking back at the shadowy trees of the orchard. I resisted the impulse to think of that random Tuesday as one of the better days of my life. ***** "But, what's the big deal about a guy's uncle marrying his brother's wife? I don't get it. How is that incest?" I set the play booklet down on the table and looked at the young man in the front row. "Well, this is the problem with Shakespeare. You have to remember were dealing with the sensibilities of 14th century England, referring to the sensibilities of 12th Century Denmark. At the time, any marriage between relatives, whether they shared blood ties or marriage ties, was considered incestuous by the church. But the incest doesn't have to be an issue, there's still murder, possible conspiracy, vengeance, greed, the perversion of love..." "Does Hamlet want to fuck his mom?" I scowled. "Language, Mr. Tanner." "Sorry," He shifted. "I'm just, it's kind of gross if that's the case." I nodded in agreement. "Well," I said thoughtfully, "it's just a play, Tanner. Lighten up." The bell rang and I watched them all leap up at once to head out the door as I shouted over them, "Taming of the Shrew," I said. "Make a dent in it tonight. We'll try reading it in class tomorrow." When the room was empty I found a book bag at the rear of the class, it was pink and looked familiar. I smiled at the cuteness of her ploy and imagined her walking out of the building with her friends. "Oh, I forgot my books..." I smiled at the book bag and took an eraser off the board and ran it over the board, deleting the character list while removing my glasses and rubbing my eyes. I heard the door open and turned to see her. "Hey," She said, kicking of her sandals and walking barefoot over to the board where I'd already begun making the outline for first hour the next day. "Hi." "I have a confession to make." I put down the dry-erase marker and folded my arms. "Oh?" "Yes, I made a bet with Jordan Palillo. I'm going to kiss you in front of the whole class in one of my scenes." I shook my head. "No." "You're going to be totally surprised and very angry with me when I do it, but, hey, I'm a senior, I have to do rash, wanton, shocking things, like flashing the football players after practice." She was wearing a yellow tank top, her fingers clutched the hem of the shirt and she began lifting it. "You never had dares with your friends when you went here?" "I did." She walked away, around the room, looking at me only peripherally as she talked. "I stopped and looked at the yearbook photos by the gym. I found your picture." "Oh?" "Did you have a lot of girlfriends in high school?" "A few." She leered. "I've kept shy of boys for the most part. Not that I don't like looking at them. I mean, I have urges, fantasies..." "You going to take a shower and leave?" She looked at me head on. "Why leave?" "The longer you're here the better the chance someone will walk in and find you." She crossed the room, slowly, "What if they do?" She took the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head. She tossed it on the floor. "And if I'm like this, would that make it worse?" "You're enjoying this far too much." She leaned into me, I could feel her small breasts clad in the sports bra pressing into my sternum and she put her lips within kissing distance of mine. "Aren't you? Just a little?" I smiled and pushed her away. "Go get in the shower. I'll be along in a minute." She took a step close but then nodded and did as I'd instructed, turning at the dressing room door, to say. "There's a lock on the door, nobody will walk in." I nodded. "I know. I have to finish this. I'll be in after a second." She smiled and went through the door into the dressing room. I picked up the top she had dropped on the floor and stuffed it into her pink book bag before I returned to the board. *** The boy's dressing room was all tile. Tile topped counters along one wall with mirrors and lights over tile floor set in tile walls. There was a rack of costumes, probably left over from the Spring musical. I took all of it in slowly, not wanting to rush toward the half-cracked door out of which steam was pouring in white clouds. I could see her elbow reflected in the mirror and then she moved and I could see all of her. Her eyes downcast as she lathered with soap from the wall dispenser, a little smile on her face. I pushed open the door and leaned against the frame. "You look cute when you're wet," I said. And she did, her hair falling down in crinkled ringlets over he shoulders, stray strands sticking to her face and neck. "You going to join me or just stand there and watch?" "I still haven't decided," I smiled. "In fact, I'm still not sure I'm fine with what happened in the orchard yesterday." "You've been thinking," She wagged a soapy finger at me. "That's you're problem." "You aren't at all concerned with consequences are you?" I folded my arms. "Say we carry on like this all year... then what?" "I go to college. You stay here. I visit you whenever I can." "And you think you'll want to visit me, huh?" "Of course, Jack..." "That's another thing. I'm not 'Jack'. I'm your teacher, for Christ's sake." She shut off the water, abruptly and crossed the shower room to stab a wet soapy finger against my necktie. "Why do you have to ruin it?" "Because it's going to get ruined no matter what we do, Rosie." "If I can't call you Jack, you can't call me Rosie." "You see, you are still such a child." The smack was abrupt, and when I turned my head back to look her in the eye her hand had already gone to her mouth. "I... I'm sorry," She moved her hand to my cheek and despite a little flare of anger I didn't pull away. "Not at the school," I said, as she pulled her hand away. "You finish your shower," I straightened my tie. "I'll watch and then you can drive me home." "I've never smacked a guy before." I smiled. "I've never been smacked." "Was that a good first argument?" I leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Excellent. Now rinse off so we can go." She went over and turned on the hot water once more. She turned to face as she stepped under the stream to rinse the soap out of her hair. "I was looking forward all day to having your hands..." She moved her fingers through her hair and then down over her breasts and hips. She swayed a bit. "I've seen movies where couples showered together and..." She smiled. "You ever shower with a girl?" I nodded. "It's not overrated." "Maybe we could take a shower at your place?" I shook my head. "I live with my dad, remember." "So? Didn't you ever sneak a girl in after curfew?" I smiled. "You have this uncanny ability to make every really dangerous idea sound so appealing." "You got to love the danger..." She turned into the stream and I admired the rivulets of water running down over her little round backside. She turned and caught me staring. "You really want to, don't you?" I sighed. "But you're not going to because you like standing there in control. Is that why you became a teacher? So you could have control of a classroom? So you could give little high school girls like me detention..." "It's a job." I said. "I actually didn't think much of the high school girls as a perk until recently." "You think we're terribly immature." "And terribly irresponsible." "Maybe that's what you need? You seem to be Mr. Responsible." She shut off the water. "Hand me a towel?" I got one and walked it over to her, unfurling it and holding it out. She turned. "Dry me, please." I started with her shoulders, feeling her supple firmness of her shoulder blades, the curve of her spine through the scratchy terrycloth. When I reached her backside she bent forward slightly and then when I'd finished she turned around, pressing her breasts into the towel and putting her lips close to mine as I dried her shoulders, neck, chest, stomach, hips... She took it then and dried her hair as I watched. When she finished she put it up in a turban and leaned in. "You're going to turn me into a tease, Jack." As our lips met there was a sudden sound from the dressing room outside the showers. We both started and I went out to find the room empty but the dressing room door slowly drifting closed. I ran out and there was no one. The backpack, the one I'd thought was Rosie's, was gone. Shakespeare in the Orchard "Lot's of people think about love, too." I settled down on the grass next to her. "Shows you what lots of people know." "The cynical Mr. Pollock. You don't believe in love?" "Never had experience of it myself, though a great many friends have told me about it. It sounds quite serious from the inside. However, from the outside, I'd have to say it's always seemed to me to be the greatest unresolved comedy that nobody's ever written." She stretched out on the grass then, letting the back of her head come to rest in my lap. She smiled up at me. "So you're saying you'll never fall in love, huh?" "Nope." "Ophelia do a number on you?" I scowled down at her. "Do you get all these bits of intuition from the Ether or are you just a really good guesser?" She shrugged and opened her English book. She cleared her throat and began to read the play aloud, pausing only to take big bites of her apple and to ask me occasional questions about the meanings of things. "What is a fish-monger?" She'd ask, looking up quizzically. "One who sells fish. At least, that's the literal translation. What Hamlet's really calling Polonius is a pimp." "A pimp?" "One who prostitutes women. You see Polonius has been trying to use Ophelia to get information out of Hamlet to give to the king. Hamlet knows this and is making a veiled insult." "I don't get it." "Well you know how sometimes you hear it referred to as a beaver or a clam," I let my hand run over the plain of her abdomen to rest over the particular patch of human female anatomy. She wriggled a bit as I let my hand rest there a bit. "Yeah, so?" "Well, in Shakespeare's day they called it a fish." "No way!" "Way." "Shakespeare's making a cutter joke?" "He makes more of them than I think people realize. So dose Chaucer." Suddenly her hand was over mine, pressing my palm against the moistening denim skirt. As her laugher subsided and was replaced by soft little moaning breaths. I stopped after a few moments and directed her to keep reading. She pouted momentarily before continuing on. Her voice was simple and direct, and though Shakespeare is by no means easy to read aloud for the virtually untrained, she managed to display a great deal of natural acumen. When the final scene came she sat up and read excitedly as the characters crossed swords and then, when the time came for Hamlet to give his final speech, her voice became soft and sad as she read the last words with great gravity and then closed the book reverently. The sky was passing from late afternoon now into twilight and I looked at my watch, suddenly wondering in the back of my mind whether or not someone was waiting for her to come home. "Well," she said stuffing the book into her backpack. And then she leaned over and kissed me again on the lips, this time lingering longer than the times before and letting a bit of her tongue sneak out to run over my bottom lip. And then her fingers were at my collar, working down the buttons of my shirt, and that was when I put my hands over hers and stopped her. "It's late," I said. "You should go home. Your parents are probably waiting." Her face pressed forward, her lips forcing themselves against mine. I pushed her back, my hands on her shoulders and I saw the hurt in her eyes. "You don't think I'm pretty?" I shook my head and let my hands move around her, lifting her up so that her legs parted and she straddled my lap and could confidently look down at me. "If pretty were the only word to describe how you look, I'd have to think up a better one. No, it's not that I don't think you're pretty. It's not even the fact that I'm your teacher and you're my student and there are rules against this sort of thing. It's just late and I don't want you to get into trouble for staying out late." "My parents won't care." I smirked. "But they'll ask where you were." "I'll lie." I shook my head. "Or you can go home tonight and stop by again tomorrow. I'll still live her tomorrow. There will still be apples to pick." "And we'll do it then?" I looked into her big brown eyes; they had a bit of green in them in the fading sunlight. I ran a hand over her naked thigh and up under her skirt, brushing lightly against the fabric of her panties. "There are boys your own age who'd be less complicated," I said. She leaned her head down to kiss along my collarbone and up my neck to whisper in my ear. "Sometimes we can't help complications." It took willpower but after kissing heavily for a few minutes I lifted her off my lap and she stood reluctantly. I gathered up my briefcase and jacket as she put the two remaining uneaten apples in a pocket of her backpack and I walked her to the mouth of the drive where her little civic waited. I opened the door for her and watched as she climbed in, her small sunburned legs folding and unfolding, and then she fastened her safety belt and I shut the door and through the open window she waved me over for a final deep kiss. "Tomorrow can I bring Williams?" I nodded in acquiescence. And as she backed out of the drive, and put her car in D. I felt a slight twinge of relief mixed with sadness as she sped off down the dirt road to her home somewhere over the next hill. ***** Classes came and classes went. The morning was filled with discussions of various plays, Neil Simon, Christopher Durang, Peter Shaffer... When Rosie stood up she said that she didn't have a partner because the class was uneven. I did my best not to scowl at her as I got up and took the copy of the script she offered me. It was a scene from Cat On a Hot Tin Roof, and as we read the scene, Rosie truly impressed everybody by her ability to make Maggie quite sympathetic. The end of the scene ended with Maggie trying to kiss Brick and when the moment came she took a step toward me and I caught her wrist and then, to my relief, the bell rang. She went out with the rest, only stopping to pick up her bag, and not giving me a second glance she was gone. I ate lunch in the teachers' longue with Mr. Grant, my old art teacher, talking about his various students showing promise. "Of course, none of them are anything like your brother Tom. I swear that kid came up with some good glazes. Half our catalogue came from him, you know? And I still talk about you sometimes, too. You remember when you were working on three paintings at once, taking up all the easels and none of the other kids were complaining because they liked to watch you work." I chuckled. "They were all high. Anybody doing anything with colors in front of them was fascinating." "I got a girl in my fifth hour class. She's a senior this year. Of course, she was held back, so I don't really like to call her that. She draws like you did when you were her age. Driven, focused, like nobody's in the room with her. Name's Alderson. Her older brother graduated with your kid brother Mike." I shook my head finishing a big bite of my chicken sandwich. "Held back," I said at last. "Why, she seems very precocious." Grant leaned in close to whisper. "Family problems. Her father drinks. Beat her old lady one winter to within an inch of her life. Rosie had to take off the entire semester and most of the spring to take care of her mother. Of course, she tried to make it up, but..." Grant shrugged. "But things are better now. Her dad got sent up for it and Rosie's mom is doing fine." I didn't know how to react to this bit of information. So I simply nodded and took a sip of soda before changing the subject almost immediately back to Tom and his magical glazes. He'd been a freshman when I'd been finishing up my senior year and there had been a merry war between the pottery class and the painting and drawing class with Mr. Grant egging us on all the way. By the time the bell sounded the end of sixth hour I was once again exhausted. I went around the room straightening the desks and finally jumped up on a table at the side of the room to wait for the students to come bursting in at the last minute. She was naturally the first to come in, and she sat at her desk across the room from me, working diligently, laying out her notebook and the textbook open to the first page of Hamlet. We didn't say anything, she just looked up at me and I nodded to her and then the bell rang and the other student's trudged in. We went through Hamlet as best we could, considering only about half of them had managed to read anything of the play. Many of the girls had been hung up on the scene between Hamlet and his mother Gertrude, making disgusted faces as they tip-toed around the idea of incest. When it came to discussing the point of the play there were a hodgepodge of answers ranging from, "let sleeping dogs lie" to "fuck the crazy girl so she doesn't drown herself." The bell rang and when they were all gone, I wanted to run my head through a brick wall. I went into the office to mark down the participation grades for the day. Only three of the students had demonstrated any sort of productive behavior during the final hour and Rosie was at the forefront. I heard the door to the classroom open and looked up to see her once more leaning against my office doorframe. "I forgot my backpack," she said, by way of explanation. And then she went to pick it up from under the desk where she had been sitting. She came back to the office door and lingered. "You know," she said. "I could use a shower." She let the book bag drop to the floor at my feet and she turned and walked across the room. In the drama room there were two doors leading to dressing rooms, one for the boys and one for the girls. Though only for use during performances of the school plays, the two dressing rooms were generally left unlocked. Each dressing room had a long counter with two sinks and a private water closet with a shower and toilet. Lifting her shirt over her head as she went, Rosie walked into the men's dressing room and after a few moments I heard the sound of the shower being turned on and the temperature being adjusted. I capped my pen and let it drop to the desk. She was a miserable little tease, she was and I couldn't help but smile at the thought of her in there, soaping up with the liquid soap from the dispenser, letting the suds run down over her sunburned shoulders and stomach, burned brown and almost orange when compared to the pale skin of her breasts and small round bottom. I imagined her lathering her hair and sticking her face up under the shower's powerful nozzle and then I imagined my hand running over her smooth skin, over her chest to cup a single breast and my mouth kissing the wet flesh on her shoulder... The water shut off then and I came out of my fantasy reluctantly. In a few minutes she was out, her hair wet and dripping as she had only had paper towels to dry herself with. She picked up her backpack and smiled as she saw the bulge in my trousers. She tossed the bag over her shoulders and walked out of the room, tossing a "Thank you, Mr. Pollock" over her shoulder as she went. As the door to the room closed I didn't need to hear the rest of her thoughts spoken. She'd be under the tree, waiting. ***** I'd walked to school again that day, though the weather was practically boiling for early September. By the time I reached the edge of the orchard I'd stripped off my jacket, tie and shirt and was walking in my undershirt and trousers. I reached the tree and found the backpack leaning against the stump. I put my briefcase down beside it and that's when the foot came down from the tree to touch my shoulder. She was reclining on a branch, her tee-shirt and shorts were hanging from the branches above her and when I turned she slid down out of the tree so that I had to catch her. One of her legs went over my shoulder as my hands cupped her bottom and her arms went around my neck and she kissed me hard on the mouth. I fell to my knees at the base of the tree, and let her gently fall back on the grass. She pulled my undershirt up and ran her fingers over my chest. She laughed out a shallow breath. "You're hairy," she said, looking downward to watch her fingers weave in and out of the thin dark hair on my chest. I was hovering over her, keeping myself above her, not wanting to press myself down onto her, suddenly afraid and then I felt her hands move around my chest up to my back, and I felt them pulling me down so that my stomach was pressed against the wet moistness over her young hungry pussy covered by her thin white cotton panties. I nearly lost myself in the sensation of this girls legs wrapping around me, her mound pressing up against me hungrily and then her lips yearning upward for me to kiss. There was need and want and passion in this girl and it was breathtakingly beautiful, far more beautiful than her physical attributes and her youth. And then I let her have the kiss and the embrace and my hand clutched at her and ripped away the cotton and with a squeal of surprise she shuttered as I let my hand run over the exposed flesh, finding the lips and probing between them to the inner-heat, and the hungry opening. "Jack, ooh, ooh, that's..." And there was a squeak from the back of her throat and then a great exhale as the little orgasm came to both of us as a surprise. I let my fingers rub tiny circles over her clitoris as she came down slowly and then she brought up one her hands to run it through her hair. She looked at me and laughed, it was a throaty little laugh, one of satisfaction and pleasure, very much a woman's laugh and not a girl's. We lay still for a while, a sudden breeze had come up and the wind cooled us down. Though my erection was staining against the inseam of my trousers I was in no hurry. I was content to let my fingers run over her skin, along the edge of her ribcage and under the curves of her breasts. She seemed to like the gentle friction of my fingertips as much as I did, and when she sat up and reached for her bag, her let a hand rest on my inner thigh. She dug in the bag and brought out the little playbook. "Cat On a Hot Tin Roof?" I sat up to read the cover, but was a bit perplexed. The little blue play booklet was the actor's edition of Night of the Iguana. I smirked. "Cute." "You want to read this one?" I lay back laughing at the joke of the play. "What is statutory rape, Shannon?" She smirked, not even flipping through the book to find the line. "That's when a man is seduced by a woman under twenty." I reached out and took the play from her. "This your favorite?" "Today, yes." I smirked. "Alright, sit back..." And I began to read, starting with the character list and going on to the end when the Reverend T. Lawrence Shannon, as always, agreed to stay with Maxine in her hotel on the Mexican Riviera. All the while I read, I had my back up against the tree, with her spread out on the ground in front of me, one foot up and pressed against my chest while the toes of the other played in the grass. She kept a hand always on my thigh, sometimes she would let her fingers drift up and over the bulge for a few minutes, keeping me semi-turgid as a bit of an afterthought. When I finished with the last act and shut the little play booklet, she was quiet, her eyes closed so that she looked almost asleep. "Well," I said. Tapping her ankle with my fingers. "What's it about?" She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Why does it have to be about anything?" "It's a play. Plays are about things. It's a rule." "A rule?" "Yeah." She shrugged and looked up at the patches of sky showing through the leaves of the apple tree. "I guess it's about passion in some ways." I nodded. "Or insanity." "Can't they be the same thing sometimes?" She had a point. "But what's the significance of the iguana?" "Well, in a way Shannon is the iguana, right?" I nodded. "And the cross around his neck, it's like he's choking himself to get free of... of... of this idea of God that he doesn't agree with." "Very good, Miss Alderson." She let her bare foot come away from my chest and then she kicked me with it softly so that it made a slight playful smack. "Don't be an asshole." I tossed the play over onto her backpack and grabbed her foot, kissing the rough underside of it. She laughed and her hand which had been on my groin, rubbed my more firmly and the pressure made me instantly hard. I didn't wait for her to sit up this time, merely sifting and moving forward, to lie on top of her. Her hands undid my belt and the button on my trousers and then she had me in her hands, stroking the length as I kissed her and then she pressed me back so that she could see and once seen she had me stand as she moved to her knees and after a few gentle long strokes she kissed the tip and then licked it and then took a bit into her mouth to suckle. She made great use of her lips, as she slid more inside and then to my surprise she opened her throat and took a great bit more. It was breathtaking and when she drew me out again, she looked up, smiling as she traced the tip over her half-parted lips. Her brown eyes were showing the same green now as they had the day before and she took me in again before she let a hand come up to cradle my testicles as she licked the length and swirled her tongue over the tip, leaving the whole cock wet in the cool breeze when she finally stood to be kissed and held close, with the firmness of my erection against her stomach and my palms lightly caressing her little brown nipples. Her put her hands on my shoulders and looked up, smiling as she leapt up into my arms, and I felt her wet little opening hot against my pubis. I cradled her bottom as she held herself tight against me with her thighs and with a hand I took the tip of my aching member and guided it home into the tight opening of her young vagina. She was silent, save for her sudden intake of breath and as we moved together, increasing our unified strokes, she let her head lull back and her eyes close. When the speed increased, I felt the spasm inside her clutch my cock and the sensation brought me instantly to my knees. I caught her and let her back rest gently in the grass as my cock slipped out of her and I felt the tightening there. "Rosie..." She gripped my cock and with her other hand she pushed me back so that I was the one lying on the ground, the grass tickling my back and buttocks as she climbed on top of me and sat herself astride my thighs, burring all of me deep inside of her as she grimaced and began pumping herself up and down. It happened then, I gripped her hand and tried to say the words but it came so quickly and it was explosive as I shot stream after stream of hot cum into her hot little cunt. She let out a little shriek of surprise and then I felt the spasms inside her again as she feel forward on top of me, her hair falling over my face as she sheik became a moan and then a sigh of utter satisfaction. We lay there afterwards, my stiffness softening slowly until my spent member lay drying beneath her dripping opening. She snuggled up next to me under the tree. The sky was almost purple now, and soon there would be stars. And as she fell asleep, I watched them come out in the patches of sky visible through the leaves of the tree.