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Teacher

By: LongJoe



Robert was two weeks past his eighteenth birthday and three months short of leaving school. He was a pupil in a prestigious school in southern England in the long, hot summer of 1976. He was of ordinary ability but his parents had money and were prepared to pay large sums annually in the hope that his intellectual mediocrity might somehow be developed. He was a decent young man but like all men of his age, was prone to moments of juvenile stupidity; a tendency of males that does not necessarily abate with age. In these dying months of his school career, one such moment was to teach him a lesson more durable than anything his parents had so far written cheques for.

Miss Pirie was Robert's English teacher, trying to instill into him and his peers some of the subtleties of English Literature. They were not easily receptive. Their bodies were playing grounds of riotous, hormonal activity such that it was scarcely possible for them to think of anything but sex.

The focus of this torrid energy was a young female student called, improbably, Philomena Whyte. She was only fifteen but already burdened with a ludicrously mature body, notably an enormous pair of breasts attached, precariously, to a young and otherwise frail frame. Every smutty thought and fantasy, every morning ejaculation was inspired by Philomena Whyte. They would have sold their mother to a passing horde of bandits just to catch a glimpse of her bra strap.

Whereas the bulbous young woman was the focus of all Robert's and his friends' sexual imagination, Miss Pirie tended to be the target of their jokes. The reason was complex, far too complex for Robert and friends to understand. There was nothing inherently comical about Miss Pirie. She was a very intelligent young woman, twenty three years old, not eccentric in any way, pretty but not in the blond, leggy, outsized bosom sense which was all Robert and friends comprehended. So why was Miss Pirie the focus of their jokes?

The answer, in Robert's case, was that he was, without knowing it, gradually becoming aware of an idea of female beauty rather less quantifiable than mere bra size. This was beginning to trouble Robert rather a lot. To his consternation he realised one morning that the image in his head at the moment of his early morning ejaculation was increasingly Miss Pirie rather than Philomena Whyte. How could this be? Whatever it was stirring in Robert's sexual imagination, it contributed to a humiliating incident that is the seed of this story.

One lunchtime, Robert and friends decided to visit a local bar, an activity that was strictly forbidden. When they returned they had just had enough alcohol to loosen their inhibitions. Walking across the school grounds the boys spied Miss Pirie; Robert, to raucous laughter from friends, let out a very loud wolf whistle at her. Unfortunately, other teachers were in earshot. Robert was duly suspended from school and compelled to appear, with deeply embarrassed and ashamed parents, before the Headteacher. He was reprieved, given a thorough dressing down and required to deliver a written apology to Miss Pirie. The other boys concerned were also severely reprimanded.

Two days after Robert delivered the apology he decided to see Miss Pirie, after school, about another matter. Thoroughly chastened by his actions he wanted to further repair his relationship with his teacher. Also, those pre-ejaculation moments in the early morning were still troubling him.

Robert went to Miss Pirie's classroom at the end of the day as she was preparing to go home.

"Robert! This is a surprise."

"I just wanted to ask you something, Miss. You said something the other day in class about doing extra reading as a way of improving your grades."

"That's right," she replied, her voice full of scepticism at this sudden enthusiasm.

"Well, we've been reading some of DH Lawrence's poetry and you said he was better known as a novelist so I thought it might be a good idea to read one of his novels."

She hesitated, sure there was some other motive for this but unsure what. 

"Well, yes, that would indeed be a good idea. What are you thinking of?"

"I don't know, I only know one of his novels."

"What's that?" She asked naively.

"Lady Chatterley's Lover."

She chuckled, "Yes, I should have guessed that."

"Should I read that?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because.....it's not particularly good and has become famous for all the wrong reasons."

"I see," his disappointment apparent.

"And anyway," she continued, "I don't think it would be appropriate for a pupil of mine to take home, at my recommendation, a copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. There are so many misunderstandings and misperceptions of the work.... it would be unwise."

"I see, what do you suggest then?"

"Try Women in Love or The Rainbow."

"What's Women in Love about?"

She gave a wry smile, "Not what you're thinking."

He smiled back, amused that she had read his thoughts. He agreed to read one of them and let her know what he thought. When he left he realised that it was the first time he had ever spoken to her alone. She seemed different; better. 

Miss Pirie in turn, noticed that he was a man, not a boy.

Robert's parents were equally mystified by their son's sudden attachment to reading; maybe, they thought, the incident with the teacher had forced him to take a good look at himself.

Unfortunately for both parent and Miss Pirie, Robert struggled badly with Women in Love. The prose he thought was turgid, repetitive and the whole thing seriously lacking in action; he only read twenty pages. He returned the book to the school library and browsed through a copy of The Rainbow but it looked much the same. The following day he returned to see Miss Pirie. 

"Robert, have you come for further disquisitions on English Literature?"

Sulkily, he replied, "If you mean have I read DH Lawrence, the answer's no. But I tried."

"And?"

"It was so boring."

"Ah yes, 'boring' the word young people use when they have to concentrate for more than five minutes."

"No, I understood but....what's the point of it all? It took me hours to read about twenty pages. And there's nearly three hundred."

Miss Pirie laughed good humouredly.

"Well, Robert, novels are not for you."

"Can't I read Lady Chatterley's Lover instead?"

"Well, I can't stop you reading anything can I?"

Robert recognized the suggestion of collusion. That Miss Pirie, his English teacher, was considering, albeit obliquely, the possibility of entering into some secret pact with him.

"But I can't find a copy anywhere," he pleaded, "neither the school nor the town library stocks it. Do you have a copy?"

She knew it was pointless to lie; of course, he knew she did. All that she could do was small mindedly say 'yes, but you can't have it.' She was cornered. He waited for her to speak.

Very quietly she replied, "I really do want you to do this reading, Robert, but I want you to make sure your parents don't see you are reading this book; nor anyone else in this school. It's an old fashioned school, as well you know, and encouraging young people to read this would be strongly disapproved of. That is a deeply philistine attitude but that's what it's like."

"I promise."

He left with the book but that was not the prize; the prize was that she had entered into a pact with him. She treated him as an equal. Soon he would be leaving school. They might become friends. They might become lovers.

Robert duly took away the book. That evening he continued to impress his parents with his love of reading only this time he said he needed to concentrate carefully and so retired to the solitude of his bedroom.

To begin with it appeared to be the same turgid verbosity as the previous two. He skipped a few pages every now and then until he found what he thought might be the start of the action and soon his interest grew. Of course, he kept skipping pages, sometimes quite a few but he retained a sense of the story. To his astonishment he began to enjoy it, mainly because of his admiration and envy of Mellors, the Gamekeeper. He was disappointed that Lawrence provided little description of what Lady Chatterley looked like but felt sure she was a "stunner" (the highest accolade Robert could award any female), a mature version of Philomena Whyte. In such ways did the male adolescent brain work. After only four days Robert had finished, minus the skipped pages.

The following day, after Miss Pirie's class, she asked him to wait behind in order to get her book back (she was convinced it would fall into the parent's hands). She asked him how he was getting on with the reading and did not believe him when he said he had finished it and she was cross when he told her it was in his bedroom at home. It was Friday so there was no chance of getting it back until Monday morning; two more days for his parents to discover it and write a strongly worded letter of complaint to the Head. Robert promised none of that would happen and he would return it first thing Monday but privately he had another plan. Every morning he went out running; he knew where Miss Pirie lived and would deliver it to her Saturday morning. Any irritation at visiting her home would be alleviated by knowing the explosive book was now safe.

He usually ran early but the following morning he delayed it by an hour: he did not want his plan to be ruined by arriving when she was in bed.

He ran the doorbell which was answered quickly. It was fear more than any other emotion that she expressed when she saw who was making the early morning call.

"Robert!"

Before she could say anything he thrust the book in front of her and she reluctantly let him in quickly, fastening her dressing gown across her chest. 

"What on earth are you doing here? How did you know where I lived?"

"Some one told me."

"Who?"

"I can't remember."

"Liar."

At this he smiled and this seemed to take the edge off her irritation. She relaxed a little once the outside door was closed. Looking at her wearing her nightclothes was a strange sight; she looked more vulnerable, less in charge.

Her recent realisation that he was a man not a boy was quickly confirmed; particularly seeing him this close in his shorts and running shirt. Physically, he was a magnificent sight: muscular arms and legs, straight back and a firm stomach. No wonder there was always a posse of girls hanging around him and his group. She was almost glad he had come but would not let him know that.

"So, Robert," she began, sitting down at the other end of the sofa to him, "what are your thoughts on the Dirty Book?"

"I liked it."

Not knowing whether to believe him she said nothing and allowed him to speak.

He continued. 

"But I can't really see what all the fuss is about. I mean, some of the language is a bit of a surprise in a book like this, especially the C –word and the F-word, which he uses a lot but that's about all. He didn't want her to leave her husband and marry him did he? He just wanted to..."

"Fuck her...." she finished.

Miss Pirie's resort to this word startled him and in embarrassment he look down at the floor quietly and said, "Yes."

Looking at her in her dressing gown, in her own home and using language like that suddenly made him feel out of place and vulnerable. But he wanted to be able to say something about the book; he wanted to impress her but he did not know why, although he sensed that it was something to do with those early morning ejaculations.

"I don't know what's in for her, though," he added thoughtfully.

"Well don't you think the same thing?"

"What just a..."

"Good fuck, yes. Do you think it impossible that a woman might want nothing more than a good fuck, same as a man?"

This was not the conversation he had envisaged.

"I suppose so."

"You don't sound very sure. Or do you think that fucking is a man's game?"

His uncertainty about what the question meant was confused by coming from the mouth of his English teacher. Did she always use this kind of language so casually? He felt the need to resume the security of the pupil-teacher relationship.

"I don't know," he lamely replied, hoping that, like a good teacher, she would tell him. What he did know was that her dressing gown had slipped a little, revealing more of her neck than he had seen before.

"Well, consider this," she said, picking up the book.

She flicked through the pages and found an extract. Listen to this. She read:



'The man looked down the front of his slender white body, and laughed. Between the slim breasts the hair was dark, almost black. But at the root of the belly, where the phallos rose thick and arching, it was gold-red, vivid in a little cloud.

'So proud!' she murmured, uneasy. 'And so lordly! Now I know why men are so overbearing! But he's lovely, really. Like another being! A bit terrifying! But lovely really! And he comes to me!---' She caught her lower lip between her teeth, in fear and excitement.'

She broke off.

"You know what he means by 'phallos', don't you Robert?"

"Yes, Miss," he replied nervously, not really sure at all.

She returned to the reading.

'The man looked down in silence at the tense phallos, that did not change.---'Ay!' he said at last, in a little voice. 'Ay ma lad! tha're theer right enough. Yi, tha mun rear thy head! Theer on thy own, eh? an' ta'es no count O' nob'dy! Tha ma'es nowt O' me, John Thomas. Art boss? of me? Eh well, tha're more cocky than me, an' tha says less. John Thomas! Dost want her? Dost want my lady Jane? Tha's dipped me in again, tha hast. Ay, an' tha comes up smilin'.---Ax 'er then! Ax lady Jane! Say: Lift up your heads, O ye gates, that the king of glory may come in. Ay, th' cheek on thee! Cunt, that's what tha're after. Tell lady Jane tha wants cunt. John Thomas, an' th' cunt O' lady Jane!---'

'Oh, don't tease him,' said Connie, crawling on her knees on the bed towards him and putting her arms round his white slender loins, and drawing him to her so that her hanging, swinging breasts touched the tip of the stirring, erect phallos, and caught the drop of moisture. She held the man fast.'

Robert listened silently and without expression. His face burned with embarrassment. She carefully closed the book, placed it precisely on the table in front of her and looked at him, as a teacher waits patiently in the hope that the pupil might answer a difficult question; but Robert said nothing.

"You know, Robert, don't you, what John Thomas is?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What?"

Why was she inflicting this on him? What was the test? Was he to use a polite word and be laughed at or a crude one and be reprimanded? How could he know?"

"It's his.....penis," he offered unconvincingly.

He searched her face looking for some sign that it was the answer she was looking for but instead a faint smile spread across her face that seemed to say, 'that's just the sort of stupid answer I expected from you.' Not for the first time, he had abysmally failed one of Miss Pirie's tests.

"So you see, Robert, it seems that Lady Chatterley was nothing more than an upper class tart and desperate for a good fuck. Nothing else, just an honest to goodness, straightforward, fuck. And deep down that's what all women secretly want, don't you think? A really good fuck. 'And tha' wants cunt', Mellor said, and we all want it too. What could be better? What do you think, Robert? Is cunt what you really want in life? There's plenty of it around for a young man like you, with a body like yours."

He hesitated, having no idea what she wanted from him.

"No, no...... I want other things."

"Really! Like what? Love, romance, companionship?"

She stood up and contempt began to enter into her voice. 

"Forget it. You'd be better off with cunt. Cunt is much less complicated, especially for a man. A man knows where he is with cunt." 

He looked at her imploringly and faintly said, "I must go home."

Just as he had stepped out of the door she said, "If you're running this way tomorrow morning you can return the book then."

He opened his mouth to reply but the door was already closed. He walked away, dazed. It would have been difficult enough to comprehend what had happened in the last hour without that parting shot. At times he was ashamed of being so stupid as to think a teacher would want an eighteen year old boy, for any reason. But – why did she not throw him out to start with? And all the questions about Lady Chatterley's Lover and sex. Do female teachers have private conversations, in their own home, with eighteen year old boys about sex? But none of this now mattered – she has effectively invited him back. Or maybe she was just desperate to get her book before his parents did. He could not be sure. That evening and all through a largely sleepless night he went over and over everything he could remember that she had said to him and analysed what it might have meant.

He woke up at five o'clock, four hours before he intended to go for his run. It was unlikely he could wait that long. He slipped his hand down his shorts and clasped his cock; these mornings it was almost fully erect before he woke up. This time his fantasies of Philomena Whyte's breasts were no longer clouded by thoughts of Miss Pirie: Philomena Whyte's breasts were nowhere to be seen. Today he wallowed in his desire for Miss Pirie and delayed the explosion in his hand a little longer than usual. But then, in a moment of heart rending bathos he imagined her opening her door, thanking him for the book and then quickly closing the door, followed by his friends' hysterical laughter coming from the clouds somewhere. 'He thought Miss Pirie was in love with him!!'

But when she did eventually open the door some four hours later she did not take the book and send him away but invited him in and gave him a cup of iced water. The long hot summer of 1976 was still in full swing.

"You look hot, would you like to take a shower?"

He looked as though it was the most terrible dilemma he had ever been posed.

"Well, when you've made your mind up, it's at the top of the stairs."

"Thank you, yes, I will."

Soon he was taking off his clothes in Miss Pirie's bathroom and she herself was only seconds away; the school and class room was another world.

Robert emerged from the shower, torn between looking for an excuse for a quick departure and the masochistic excitement that Miss Pirie was giving him.

He slid open the shower doors; Robert liked his showers intensely hot and for a few moments, outside the shower, was unable to see anything through the steam. As he started to run the towel though his hair, Miss Pirie's voice came through with startling clarity.

"Feel better for that?"

She was standing just inside the door. He panicked and thrust the towel over his private parts. She casually leaned against the door frame.

"Would you like a bigger towel," she asked, teasingly.

Not seeing the joke he replied, politely, "no thank you."

"Don't let me hold you up. Get dry or you'll end up feeling cold."

She did not move. The towel was small and it was impossible for him to dry his hair without exposing what he was desperately trying to cover up. 

"Perhaps I could have that bigger towel," he whimpered.

"Of course. Let me have that one and I'll get you one."

She walked the short distance and took hold of the towel which, of course, he resisted.

Now the tone in her voice changed and he knew that the time for the quick exit was passed.

Very quietly but with an authoritative insistence she said, "Give me the towel, Robert."

He said nothing but ever so slightly shook his head. Now the teacher's commanding voice repeated the instruction.

"Give – me – the – towel – Robert!"

Slowly his fist loosened and he felt very frightened as she pulled it away but replaced it with his cupped hands in a vain attempt at dignity.


Teacher



Once again the stern teacher's voice rang out.

"Put your hands by your side, Robert."

"Miss, please..."

"Do – as – you – are – told!"

He obeyed. As he did so his face contorted in the pain of embarrassment His cock was three quarters erect and rising. 

She moved around him viewing his John Thomas from different angles. In a jeering, mocking tone she imitated the voice of a cultured, antique specialist assessing the value of a piece of porcelain. 

"Impressive, very impressive indeed. A fine John Thomas and no doubt! Do you know, I think it might be seven and three quarters of an inch. Possibly, possibly, even eight inches but I would not go to eight and a quarter. But still, let me take a closer look. Don't move." 

She picked up a small stool from the corner of the bathroom and put it down immediately in front of him. When she sat down Robert's throbbing cock was directly in front of her face. She gripped it and ran her hand slowly up and down.

"It really is impressive, you know."

She felt it with two fingers at its base.

"Really thick, quite magnificent. However, I stick with my original estimate: seven and three quarters of an inch."

Robert endured the humiliation but did not know why. Suddenly her voice turned cold.

"Now get changed," she barked, "I have work to do."

On his way home Robert stopped off in a park, sat on a bench, sat back and closed his eyes. Knowing she was playing with him and realising the cruelty of it was only part of the pain. But not the worst. The worst was that he would spend the night telling himself never to go to her again, to simply resume the school relationship and yet knowing, no matter what he resolved to do he would go again tomorrow; nothing would stop him.

And it did not. Robert rang the doorbell at eight o'clock the following morning. She was wearing just her nightdress. There was a certain businesslike manner to her this morning. 

"Follow me, Robert," she commanded and marched upstairs. He followed, only this time it was into her bedroom not the bathroom. Once they were both in the room she stood with her back to the door and said, very quietly, "OK Robert, take off your clothes." 

Robert opened his mouth to speak but she intervened, impatiently.

"Robert, please don't start whining – just do as you are told." 

He removed his shirt and then his shorts but not his pants.

Again, impatiently she snapped at him, "come on!"

"I don't know what you want from me," he pleaded.

She moved away from the door and walked slowly towards him. Now very close to him she pulled her nightdress off. 

"Clearer now?"

He took in her slim arms and legs, her small pointed breasts and a thick, black bush.

"Take it off," she repeated.

He did. As before, the spectacle of this beautiful young body had a quietening effect on her. She stood closer to him than before, put her hands on base of his neck and with some pressure rubbed her hands over his chest down to his waist. She pressed her thumbs hard to feel the tautness of his stomach; then around the back to feel firmness of his back side. She was so close now he could smell her breath. Unable to restrain himself any longer he lifted his hands to clasp her shoulders but she sternly reprimanded him.

"No, don't touch!"

"Why?"

"It isn't necessary."

"Necessary?"

"Yes, just keep still and do as you are told."

Now her hands dropped and she clasped his cock and ran her hand vigorously up and down its length. They sighed simultaneously. 

"Is it always this hard, or am I especially privileged?" 

Speech had deserted him. Again he raised his hands, this time in the direction of her breasts.

"No! How many more times?"

"I just want to touch you, that's all."

"OK, if that's what you want."

At this she started to move her hand much faster up and down his cock. She stopped, moved to the side and looked at it.

"Perfect," she concluded. Then she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the bed. In a drawer she took out a condom and threw it at him.

"Quick, put it on."

But he fumbled.

"Oh, Robert, give it to me."

She took it from him and he stood obediently while she put it on as a young child might do when his mother is buttoning his coat.

"Now, come on, please!"

He lay on top of her but was as artless at this as everything else until she took his cock in her hand and directed it herself.

"Now push."

He forced his formidable body forward and drove into her at which she gave out a huge cry.

"Christ!" She gasped.

"Are you all right," he asked.

Through his rhythmic thrusts and her loud gasps, she repeated, "yes, yes, yes."

Then as it seemed they were both relaxing, he finished.

"Oh," she cried out in desperate disappointment and frustration, "not yet, please. Oh dear!"

"I'm sorry."

Another test; another failure.

He withdrew and lay beside her.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"It doesn't matter," she replied but the tone was one of resignation rather than consolation.

She got up and put her dressing gown back on.

Again she surprised him, "Tomorrow is the last day of the holiday. Come back then."

Why, after all his failures, did she ask him back? Was there some residual feeling for him? If there was, he could not see what.

He came to her after his morning run. As she opened the door to let him she barely stopped to greet him and marched swiftly upstairs to the bedroom.

"Don't you even want to say anything to me?" He called. By this time she had almost reached the top of the stairs and looked quizzically down at him.

"Such as what?"

"Oh, nothing," he said and obediently traipsed up the stairs to follow her.

When he got in the room she was standing, naked, against the bed.

"Please Robert, do hurry up. I've got other things to do."

Sluggishly he started to remove his clothes as Miss Pirie's irritation grew. As he removed his pants she saw, for the first time since this little escapade started, that his cock was limp. She exhaled one large sigh of impatience.

Robert now raised his voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't do it to order!"

"Don't raise your voice to me!"

But her urge was great and she had to make sacrifices. She walked over to him, took hold of his hands and placed them on her breasts and with her hands on top of his, began to massage them. Quickly it began to have the desired effect, so she dropped her hands and took hold of his cock to bring it to her requirements. 

Finally, she said, very quietly, "excellent, now let's see if you can get it right this time."

He was nervous and fumbled about as usual. Eventually he entered her and again she gasped at the moment of penetration.

"Come on, Robert, fuck me, fuck me, come on, that's it, harder, harder!"

But Robert was like a child learning to ride a bicycle: he had a certain momentum to begin with but soon fell off. She screamed with frustration and he withdrew and whined. They both lay in silent dissatisfaction for a short time before she got up. There was no compassion or sympathy for him at the moment. She put on her clothes and just as she was leaving the room she launched one final volley of anger at him.

"Robert's law – do you know what that is?"

No answer.

"It states that there is an inverse relationship between the capacity of the male animal to brag about copulation and his ability to deliver a satisfying experience to the female animal."

Buried almost beneath the sheets of the bed a thin voice retorted, "I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't."

Robert knew this was the last time. There would never be another time to say what he wanted to say. Her mood was unforgiving. Getting dressed he unloaded his sorrow.

"All you seem interested in is my body and.....doing it," he pined.

"Doing what?"

"You know what."

"Well, you have a truly magnificent body and anyway," Miss Pirie replied in a voice beginning to sound like a confident lawyer summing up her case, "what's wrong with admiring someone's body?"

"It's not that, it's that it's is all you seem interested in, with me anyway."

"What else might I be interested in then?" She replied with unintentional cruelty.

"So my body is the only thing about me that interests you?"

"Of course," she returned, in a tone close to incredulity, "aren't you interested in bodies to the exclusion of other things?"

"No!" 

"Really? What about Philomena Whyte?"

Robert did not see the connection.

"What about her?"

"Oh, I've seen you boys drool, mouths wide open when she walks past. Why is that? Are you desperate to seek out her opinions on a wide range of political, social and cultural affairs? Interested in engaging with her in witty repartee? Lured by her subtle and dry sense of humour? Wondering, perhaps, how she rates DH Lawrence in the canon of English literature? Or could it be instead that, despite being only fifteen years old, she has very large breasts and does you all a service by wearing shirts a size too small so that you miss out on none of their undulating attractions?"

Robert was silent now, his arms resting on his knees looking at the floor. He had been found out; he had been made a fool of; he thought she wanted to sleep with him but it was just another lesson. She recognised in his face the scale of his defeat and softened, slightly.

" 'O, these men, these men,' " she quoted.

"Othello," he muttered without looking up from the floor.

"Very good! And who was speaking?"

"Desdemona." 

"Good," she replied, now with a smile, "so you have learned something."

He turned his head, looked at her naked body and the disheveled bed and replied, "but not much it seems."

She opened the door to let him out.

"I'll see you tomorrow in class," he said stepping outside.

"No."

"Why?"

"I'm not coming back, ever."

He could feel tears welling.

"I have resigned. I cannot suffer the drudgery of teaching any longer. I gave a month's notice a month ago. I'm going to France, to do .....something, I don't know what."

"So I'll never see you again."

"No. Please go Robert, it's not important. Go."

She closed the door.

Robert cycled for about five minutes and then stopped at the park. He found a seat largely concealed by trees, sat down and wept the tears of Niobe. 

The following morning at eight o'clock Robert's mother woke him up to prepare him for school. He complained of sickness and a terrible stomach ache. Mother told him to stay at home for the day.

At the same time Miss Pirie was sitting on a dirty, malodorous railway station waiting for a train to take her to a channel port from whence she would sail to France to begin her unknown new life.

Meanwhile the sun shone brilliantly across the grounds of the school where Robert and Miss Pirie had previously played out their small, domestic tragedy. 

Then, emerging into the brilliant sunshine, through the shade offered by the trees and into the open playing field, came Philomena Whyte. Groups of girls stopped their conversation to watch her but said nothing. Groups of boys, usually full of bravado, quietly melted.

As she walked, or as it seemed, glided, towards her first class, rays of sunshine seemed to hover around her. Strands of her long hair flickered in the breeze and her beautifully formed breasts vibrated gently to her firm, confident step.



Teacher



Sometimes, when I'm all alone in the privacy of my bedroom, I wonder if you still remember me.

I was different then, of course. I was the temporary stand-in teacher at your school; the young one, not all that long out of training college, trying to interest a group of twenty or so young men in English Literature and doing my best to keep their minds off the fact that their teacher was pretty, well-proportioned and, at least for some, the stuff of their fantasies.

Oh, yes, I noticed. Well, to be honest, I couldn't help but notice, could I? When you have an eighteen year old lad at the back of the room desperately trying to look as if he's concentrating on the lesson but actually masturbating furiously beneath his desk well, believe me, the teacher notices! The trouble is, of course, that they don't tell you how to deal with this kind of situation at teacher training college!

No, I know that wasn't you. It was a lad named -- I think -- Gregson, or Grigson, something like that; the one with the John Lennon glasses and the buck teeth. You were always sat in the front row -- and I strongly suggest that you were the one who managed to remove the 'modesty panel' on my desk so you could stare at my legs when you thought I wasn't looking. They never did find that panel, did they?

I can remember my first day at that school as if it was yesterday -- how nervous I was as I got myself ready to leave the little two-bedroom bungalow that my husband and I had rented on a one-year lease.

We'd only been married a few months and we were both already beginning to think that we may have made a mistake. John, my husband, was a wages clerk with the local council. He made a reasonable salary but a fair amount of it went on nights out with his pals. It was a habit he hadn't managed to break and, although I'd gone with him in the beginning, it soon became clear that I wasn't really wanted amongst the all-male company that he preferred. 

His pals were all still single, they were in the local pub almost every night and their conversation revolved around football, cars, and the sexual adventures they claimed to have enjoyed each weekend. They were still 'boys' and, looking back, I see now that John was pretty much the same.

I still went occasionally, but it was an uncomfortable feeling when I was with them. I wasn't able to contribute much to the conversation, most of the 'jokes' they shared either went over my head because of the obscure sexual references or were so crude that they just weren't funny. Eventually, I stopped going and returned to my favourite pastime -- spending my evenings reading all the modern classics that I'd somehow managed to miss; Steinbeck, Conrad, Tolkien and, almost like a guilty pleasure, Dashiell Hammett.

It was okay, but it wasn't anything like I'd imagined married life would be. After coming home from the pub -- usually with at least half-a-dozen pints of beer inside him -- John wasn't exactly the loving and romantic partner he'd been during our courtship and the first few weeks after the wedding.

We'd originally met at the 'icebreaker' disco at the University of Bath. His sister was a fellow student and she'd brought him along because she'd recently broken up with her boyfriend. I was a very shy 19-year-old, many miles from home; on my own for the first time in my life and probably looking as if I was scared of my own shadow. 

His sister, Lucy, introduced us and that was it! I was smitten with the cheeky grin of a tall, dark and handsome young man and he simply swept me off my feet. He kept me company throughout the evening, nearly danced me to exhaustion and, walking back to my residence, asked me to go to the cinema with him at the weekend. We did a bit of kissing and cuddling in the entrance hall before he went home -- we used to call it 'snogging' -- and I couldn't wait to see him again.

He'd kept it cool for the first two or three weeks, just a lot of 'snogging' and a little bit of petting but, there came a Saturday night when he told me that his parents were away and he had the house all to himself. When he asked me to go back there 'for a coffee,' I knew exactly what he meant, but I'd already made up my mind that I was in love with him. 

It wasn't a huge step for me. I wasn't a virgin. In fact, I'd had two lovers in the past. 

The first had been in the back seat of a Ford Cortina which wasn't very satisfactory. His first attempt had ended badly when he managed to erupt into the Durex as soon as he got the it on. I'd been determined, though, to sample the delights of being a 'grown up' so I'd waited patiently until he was ready to go again. The replay had been a bit more successful -- but only a bit. He'd managed to get it inside me -- which hadn't hurt as much as I'd anticipated -- but only completed about ten seconds or so of before he'd finished.

My second time had been with an older man (well, in his twenties anyway), and it had been a little better. Unfortunately, I hadn't been able to appreciate it much because I was fairly drunk at the time. It was at a party in the nurse's quarters of the local hospital; a friend had invited me and, somehow, I ended up going to someone's empty room with a man I can barely remember now. I do recall that he was gentle and considerate; that he took his time and tried to make me enjoy what we were doing but, dulled by the alcohol, I'm pretty sure that he got more out of it than I did. I never saw him again after that night and so, by the time I got to university, I was pretty much convinced that sex was overrated and over-hyped.

Then John took me home with him.

We were on the 3-seater couch in his parents' living room. I was pretty nervous, but that probably just made me even more excited. There was a Jethro Tull album playing softly in the background when we began kissing. He was gentle and patient -- a hint of urgency about the kisses but not too much and I soon began to relax, enjoying the minty taste of his breath and the smell of his Old Spice after-shave. I can't even remember us moving to lie down; I can barely remember him lifting my sweater and pushing my bra out of the way to fondle my tits. He'd done that before, and he was good at it; he knew exactly how firmly to clasp the flesh and how to torment my nipples superbly, but that night it seemed better and more arousing than ever before. He sucked on them and nibbled with his teeth -- which I found wonderful; so wonderful, in fact, that I didn't make the slightest objection when his hand slid down on to my leg. Nor did I flinch when it moved higher beneath my skirt. In fact, in all honesty, I opened up for him -- anxiously awaiting the touch that finally came when he reached the crotch of my knickers.

I didn't do anything (I didn't know, then, that I was supposed to), but just left him to kiss me, to slide his fingers inside the material and to begin playing with my honey pot (that was the name we used for it!), and to slide one finger inside me very gently. I was already starting to moan and gasp a bit, so I made no move to stop him when he carefully pulled the knickers down -- in fact I wriggled a bit to help him do that -- because I really wanted him.

I know he asked if we needed to use a Durex and I said it wasn't necessary -- my mum had insisted on me going on the pill before I went to university -- and then he was settling into place between my legs. There was a brief fumble before he managed to find the target and then, with a gasp of delight from both of us, his cock slid sweetly into me. His thrusts were slow and gentle but, even so, he'd cum long before I could that first time. The second time though, later that night, was beautiful; we were in his bed and he fucked me properly -- slowly at first, then rising to a fierce pace that made me cum and cum and cum! I couldn't believe it. I'd had orgasms through masturbating, but this was the first time I'd had one from having a cock inside me and, believe me, it's a very different experience!

After that night we fucked each other at every opportunity. During my period, I learned how to give him a blow job; I've never been very good at it and I've never been too keen on it, but I was in love and I wanted to keep him happy. A few weeks later he moved out of his parents' home and we got ourselves our first flat. And we were happy. 

All through my time of studying we spent loads of time in bed together -- trying to learn every way we could of turning each other on.

It was only after we were married that it changed. He'd always had one or two evenings with his friends and I'd never objected to it. Unfortunately, there was a glut of teachers at that time and finding a post in my chosen profession was an uphill task. So I'd done a few different jobs to contribute to our finances, but they were poorly-paid and tiring. That was when he started going out more with his pals.

The temporary post was my first and I was terrified. The previous week I'd been shown around the school by one of the older teachers -- Mrs McCorquendale -- and she'd given me several warnings.

"Whatever you do, My Dear, don't get into a situation where you have to spend any time alone with one of your pupils. If you do, he'll immediately go out and tell his classmates that you were definitely 'coming-on' to him -- even if you've done nothing more than set him extra homework. Oh, and don't, whatever you do, wear short skirts! These lads are 18 years old; they don't think with their heads -- that's left to other parts of their anatomies." 

And that was when I met you, wasn't it? Did you think I didn't notice you staring at me? 

Oh yes, a lot of the lads did that, didn't they? In fact, I still wonder about the few that didn't! But most of them were in little groups that used to snigger at whatever grubby little things they were saying to each other about me. I never saw you doing that -- maybe that's why I noticed you?

You were a bright pupil, but one who didn't seem to be reaching his full potential. You were popular enough, but still something of a 'loner.' I could read your look; I knew what kind of things you were thinking when you stared at me that way and, I suppose, it wouldn't have affected me at all if everything had been all right in my marriage. 

Don't get me wrong -- I loved John and I would never have done anything to hurt him. We'd started to have arguments, though. They really began when I had to work a bit later occasionally -- usually for after-school staff meetings -- and his tea wasn't on the table when he came home from work.

He was old-fashioned about that. It was my job to have the meal on the table and the idea of going into the kitchen and making something for himself simply never occurred to him. We argued about that, and then we argued about the time he spent at the pub -- and those few weeks became among the most miserable in my life. We barely talked and, when I made a nice meal, he'd often say he wasn't hungry and he'd get something from the chip shop on his way home from the pub. He slept on his side of the bed and I slept on mine -- and it was as if we'd suddenly become strangers.

I tried talking to him -- I even tried to accept the blame and apologise to him -- but nothing worked. There were even times when I wondered if he might be having an affair but, to be honest, in a small town like that it would have been virtually impossible to do something like that without it becoming public knowledge very quickly. I also knew there was no one at work that would be of any interest to him. 

So, I tried to be sexy for him. I looked in the mirror and what I saw there seemed pretty damned good -- even if I do say so myself! I saw a five foot-four inch strawberry blonde with long and very thick hair, a very pretty face, a neat and trim 34B-26-36 figure and really nice and well-shaped legs. I also saw a woman who loved her husband and desperately wanted him to start fucking her again!

And during the day, I saw you. I saw an 18-year-old with a severe crush on his 25-year-old teacher. I saw a look of almost desperate longing in your eyes whenever I looked at you. I became fascinated by the effect I seemed to have on a handsome, well-built young man with an athletic figure who, within a week of me arriving at the school, had gone from being a near-total slob to being smartly dressed, and whose slouch had disappeared to turn into an upright six foot or so tall figure with an impressive stature. 

You were always polite and well-mannered, but you were also clumsy whenever I was around, weren't you? I noticed that, too -- in fact, you'd be surprised how much your teacher noticed. 

When you were sat right in front of me in class and you started squirming around in your seat, did you think I didn't know that you were trying to get comfortable with an unwelcome erection? Of course I noticed! And I was partly embarrassed, partly flattered.

I imagine that I haven't told you much that you didn't already know, have I? But I will now. 

I'll bet that you didn't know about those nights when I was at home, on my own, reading Madame Bovary, when I suddenly began to feel quite turned on. Those were the nights when I went to bed early; the nights when I closed my eyes and wished that John was there beside me. The nights when I thought of his smooth hands caressing me, touching my breasts, teasing my sensitive nipples.

And then, when the bitter thought occurred that he could be there if he wanted to be -- that he could be exploring my body freely but preferred to be with his mates -- that was when I began to think about you. 

Yes, I did. I imagined your firm, strong young body lying next to me in that bed; naked. I imagined myself giving you guiding touches and gentle encouragement -- letting you know what I wanted you to do -- feeling the warmth of your flesh against mine; taking your hand and placing it on my bare breast. Then I thought how good it would be to feel your enthusiasm as I drew your head down to suck on each of my nipples in turn.

My own hands would slip down between my thighs, and I would pretend that it was your long, thick fingers that were exploring me, eventually finding my clitoris and working it back and forth. 

By then, I would be gasping and moaning and, in my mind, seeing your face -- filled with passion and desire. My fingers would slip easily inside me and I would almost believe that it was you; that you were on top of me, your arms were around me, and it was your hard, stiff cock that penetrated me and began pounding so fiercely and wantonly that, within a few minutes, I would cum with more force than I'd never known before.

On the following day, the fantasy would still be there; inside my head and so vivid that it was almost real. It was so disorienting that, when I passed you in one of the corridors, I could almost hear myself saying; "Last night was wonderful. Can we do that again?" But, thank heavens, I never did; I just walked on, knowing that you were staring at my rear and admiring me.

Then there was that one time when we actually found ourselves alone, just for a few minutes. Do you remember that? It was after the lesson and you'd stayed behind to collect the books for me. All of the others and gone and I watched you as the copies of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' were gathered up, and I felt the most intense desire I'd ever known. You were so vulnerable and so beautiful; your movements, even in that simple task, seemed so graceful and so masculine that I could actually feel my juices beginning to emerge. The room wasn't being used again that day and I was free for the following lesson period.

When you came to the desk with the books I didn't realise, at first, that I was staring at you -- but I know that you did. I saw the blush begin to rise in your cheeks as I stood up to take the pile of books from your arms to put them away in the cupboard -- and felt your eyes boring into my chest then, realising I'd noticed your gaze -- quickly rising to meet my eyes.

When you handed them to me, I felt the purely accidental brush of your fingertips against one of my nipples and it made me dizzy. At that moment, if you'd had the nerve to do it, you could have asked me to come to some quiet place with you and make love -- and I wouldn't have been able to refuse.

But a moment is all that it was. And then you were gone to your next lesson and I slumped into my chair feeling exhausted and drained.

That night, John came home early -- and sober. He'd had an argument with his mates when he'd told them that he needed to get home because they'd started teasing him that he was 'hen-pecked.' He told me all about it -- we talked for a long time, we sorted a lot of things out, and later that night we made love with incredible passion.

The crisis passed. We stayed together -- happily - for over twenty-five years; until he died last summer. 

I'm a widow now and my three children are grown up and gone. I still teach, and I love my job. 

But sometimes I remember that first temporary job and the boy who, for a little while, thought he was in love with me. I think about the young man who never knew how much he tempted me.

Do you remember that? Do you remember that young teacher, who was pretty, well-proportioned and made your heart beat a little faster? 

Do you?



Teacher



Once again edited by the incomparable wires. Without his help this story would not be nearly as readable.

*****

Staff Sergeant (SSG) Thomas Eagle's eyes popped open at the unexpected startling sound. His heart was beating loudly as the noise dragged him from a deep sleep. He lay still for a moment, then groaned and grabbed his phone to shut off the alarm. He was still exhausted from his past several weeks of roaming the hills in Afghanistan as well as the long flight back to Ft. Bragg, NC. To top that off, after they were released the night before he and some friends from his unit who did not have family meeting them went into town to celebrate their return to the States. When he finally got to bed the night before he knew he would be exhausted this morning. The alarm function in his cell phone had been set to allow only three hours sleep before waking him to face the new day. His exhaustion was so severe his body felt weak and shaky, he burned as if he was ill. Tom had a bone deep ache that wouldn't quit, most of which had no basis other than his exhaustion. He knew he should have just gone to his room and gone to sleep last night after his evening meal but his friends would not be denied. They insisted he accompany them to town. They told him it was their intention to get him well fed and staggering drunk as a thank you for his care for them during the deployment.

Tom stood and slowly walked from his room toward the latrine carrying his ditty bag. It was an old, dirty brown bag showing signs of hard use in the cracked and scuffed leather. There was even some blue mold showing in some of the creases. His father gave him the bag upon his enlistment in the Army nine years before. At the time it was new, full of modern bathing and grooming tools and soaps as well as several Indian remedies that his family still believed in. Now it contained almost nothing. There was a soap dish with an almost used up bar of Lava soap that Tom used for all his cleaning needs. There was a well-worn tooth brush in its grungy looking case and an almost empty tube of Crest toothpaste. Also present were a small bottle that held a couple swallows of Listerine mouthwash and a small bottle that held analgesics. 

Tom entered the latrine and placed his bag upon a shelf under a mirror hanging over a small sink. He took a moment to look at his image in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles underneath. His weathered complexion showed his heritage of 3/8 Cherokee Indian and a dukes mixture of other nationalities. His torso and face were scarred from past injuries. Thomas Eagle sighed and opened the bag. It was time to begin yet another day in his life as a United States Soldier. He took out his soap then moved into a shower. He adjusted the water until it was steaming hot then stepped into it. His stoic expression remaining unchanged, seemingly unfazed by the water hot enough to send lesser men back into the cool latrine. He did cringe slightly from the heat, but relaxed as he let the soothing flow of water hit and massage his body. Slowly he turned and moved from the water to soap his sinewy body.

Tom was so used to his several scars he never even noticed himself rubbing them longer than he did the other parts of his body. He paid special attention to his most recent scar. It was still an angry red color and slightly tender. It represented Purple Heart number three and his Silver Star. The scar stretched from front to back almost equidistant from his waist to his armpit on the right side. There had been a place or two where you could see his intestines through the cut on the day he received the injury. A Taliban fighter came within millimeters of killing him that day in the mountains. Tom just barely managed to lunge away from the dirty knife the Taliban fighter tried to skewer him with as Tom tended to a wounded comrade.

In spite of his injury Tom won that fight and stopped only momentarily to render first aid to himself with the assistance of one of his friends. Technically he shouldn't have been fighting because he was a medic, but Tom believed in being where his friends needed him the most. He stayed safe if he could but when one of his charges was injured he frequently went to him instead of waiting for the injured man to be brought to his aid station. After he was bandaged slightly, Tom moved out once again and engaged the enemy while on his way to another wounded soldier. He fought and treated his friends until loss of blood caused him to pass out. His fighting ability surely saved his own life as well as at least three injured soldiers he was guarding. He personally killed five Taliban who were trying to kill his injured charges.

Tom was still leaning with his head against the shower wall gently rubbing his side when one of the other Sergeants in his unit came into the latrine for his morning shower. The Sgt stopped for a moment and watched his friend rubbing his side then said, "Morning, Tom. I thought I was getting an early start. You look like I feel and I feel like warmed over shit. It's been a long time since I got that drunk. Have you checked on any of the others yet? I bet most of them will need some of your medicine this morning.

Tom didn't move for a moment, then he slowly stood straighter and turned to face SGT Jones. Tom was always amazed at the sheer size of Jonesey. He was six feet three inches tall and wide as a barn door. His thighs were almost the size of a smaller man's waist and he was all muscle. He was also black as night and meaner than a snake in a fight. All in all he was one of the best soldiers in the unit, but he was also easy to anger and hard to calm down after becoming angry. His flashes of temper were one of the reasons Tom was senior to him. Jones was an eleven year veteran of the Army and had been a Staff Sergeant once only to lose his stripe because of a fight with another soldier.

Jones adjusted another shower head and moved under the water. As he was lathering up he turned to face Tom and asked, "So, what're you going to do when we go on leave? I'm going home and see my momma, then I'm gonna find me a woman and do nothin' but eat, drink, sleep, and fuck for my two weeks.

"I'm going back to Cherokee and see my folks. After that I'm going to take my horse and a pack mule and go back into the mountains to a little valley my family owns. I'm going to camp there and hunt and fish for the whole two weeks. I don't intend to see another human for the entire time after I go into the hills. I just want to relax and forget all about the world. I want to live like we were meant to and enjoy nature. No killing, no alarms or noise to bother me, no injured soldiers to try to keep alive. There will only be me, my animals, and mother nature.

"Man, that's some shit. Didn't you get enough Mother Nature when we were in country? What about pussy, man? You at least gonna get ya some pussy before you run into the hills, aint ya?" SGT Jones grinned and continued, "Or are ya agonna take some prime pussy into the hills with ya? Man, that'd be the ticket. Take some pussy into the hills with ya and run around bare assed nekkid and skinny dip and shit. Man, I could almost go with ya for that."

"Dunno 'bout no pussy man. I don't have anyone at home. You know my woman ran off with that damn Green Beanie a couple years ago. I don't have one on the string now and I'm not interested in catching some disease from one of the women hanging around the bars here. Most of the women around home aren't the kind to do a one night stand unless they are bar flies and I don't want nothin' to do with those skanks. No, I'll probably just spend a day or two with the family then go into the mountains."

"Man, you some crazy injin, aint ya? Man, jus find a Ho, fuck her, then move on. Man has needs ya know, and Rosie palm and her sisters jus' doan satisfy em, ya know?

Tom felt his anger stir at that comment. He knew Jones didn't mean anything by the comment, but it rankled. It rankled much as his calling Jones a Nigger would bother the big man. Tom was 3/8 Cherokee Indian and proud of it. His parents still lived near the reservation and even worked in the Indian Casino in Cherokee.

The two men finished their morning toilet and moved from the shower back to their rooms. When he left his room SSG Eagle looked every bit the soldier. He stood tall and straight, muscled chest and arms straining the uniform. His piercing black eyes and hooked nose made him look as fierce as his bow carrying ancestors. Before leaving his room he carefully placed his Green Beret on his head and surveyed his reflection. Yep, he was all shipshape and ready for another day.

Tom strode from the barracks and moved to his little Ford Ranger pickup. He drove for about five minutes and parked in a slot near the door of a newer brick building. As Tom strode down the sidewalk he stiffened to attention and snapped a salute to the Lieutenant Colonel heading toward the door from a closer parking spot. He crisply said, "Good Morning, Colonel. How are you today?"

The Colonel smiled and returned the salute then said, "I'm fine, Sergeant. I am somewhat surprised to see you so chipper this morning, though. When I saw you last night I wasn't sure whether I would see you this morning or not."

The LTC (Lieutenant Colonel) looked serious and stared hard at Tom, then continued, "You and some of the men were really tying one on last night. You didn't do anything I'm going to find out about today did you? You were favoring your side last night, too. How is your injury healing, son?"

Tom stiffened to attention and said, "No, Sir. To the best of my knowledge we didn't do anything you will hear about. At least we all got back to the barracks safely with no law enforcement involvement, if that is what you mean, Sir. I'm sorry we offended you. Some of the men wanted to take me out for the evening and wouldn't take no for an answer, Sir. My side is fine now. It is still tender, but I am healed fine, Sir."

The Colonel gazed into the medic's eyes, smiled, and said, "Good, I'm glad you're doing all right. How's the college going, son?"

Tom was surprised the Colonel knew about his after-hours entertainment. Tom was just three classes short of a bachelor's degree in Pre Med. He dreamed of being a doctor, but that dream seemed out of reach. He hoped to obtain a scholarship from the Army when he had his degree so he could go to Medical School. If he couldn't get accepted for Medical School he would try to become a Registered Nurse. He had almost all the credits he needed for that degree, also. His intense training as a Green Beret Medic at Ft. Sam Houston, Texas had not only whetted his appetite for higher level medical training, it had given him several college credits toward that elusive degree.

Tom said, "It's going well, Sir. I need three more classes for my Bachelors, then I want to apply for an Army scholarship to Medical College. If I can't get into Medical College I have almost all the credits I need to become a Registered Nurse Practitioner with a Bachelor's in Nursing or a Physician's Assistant."

The Colonel smiled once again and said, "If you need anything from me to make that happen let me know, Sergeant. I've watched you with the men and I think you'd make a fine doctor or nurse."

The Colonel looked at SSG Eagle once again before turning and moving into the building. Tom gave a silent sigh and allowed his body to relax from attention. He unconsciously rubbed his side one more time, then moved into the building and toward his small office to begin his day.

The next two weeks were filled with all the meetings, briefings, medical exams, and paperwork normal for a return to CONUS (CONtinental United States). After all administrative functions were completed the block leave began for the soldiers. The day his leave began Tom threw a duffel bag into his Ranger and drove off post headed for his home. He had the extended cab area filled with his gear, and presents for his family. There was a cooler in the front passenger floorboard and chips and bread in the seat. He intended to eat and drink as he drove so he could get home sooner.

It was only about a five or six hour drive home but it seemed to take forever. The humming drone of the small 4X4\'92s off road tires lulled Tom and relaxed him. He was not one of those people who hated road noise and bought tires that were quieter but less aggressive. He took his small truck off road so had the Off Road FX4 package. There was a winch on the front bumper and aggressive tires so he could use his little truck.

Finally, Tom arrived home. He pulled into his parent\'92s driveway and tooted the horn. His mother came running from the side door into the kitchen. His father walked out the front door and his sister and her two children followed. After a proper hug and greeting from his family Tom turned and pulled his duffel from the truck. 

The whole family group headed toward the house jabbering and talking, trying to catch up as fast as possible. Tom looked toward the porch once again and stumbled. There was a beautiful woman standing watching the family walk toward her. She had a tentative smile on her face and looked nervous

Tom stopped a moment then walked on toward the porch and waiting woman. The woman was his ex-wife's two year younger cousin. All during their dating and short marriage, Song tortured him unceasingly every time they were together. She made it plain to all concerned she thought Brenda was not the woman for Tom. She let it be known she thought she would be much better for him than her older cousin. Tom never seriously paid her any attention because she was six years younger than he was. When he and Brenda married she was still in high school. He treated her like a loved younger relative and that hurt Song greatly. The day Tom married Brenda, Song cried and not from happiness. 

When Tom stepped onto the porch he noticed his sister looking, almost staring at him. He smiled at Song and said, "Hello, Song. It's good to see you again." He pulled her into a quick hug before stepping back and looking her over once again. "You sure have grown up!"

Song blushed and lowered her gaze for a moment then stood straighter and looked Tom in the eyes. She said, "Hello, Tom. I'm so happy to see you again. I've missed you a lot. I'm so sorry for what that bitch did to you."

Song hesitated a moment then continued talking. "I was so sorry when I heard about your injuries and so scared for you. We were all so proud of you. Are you ok now?"

Without thinking Tom wrapped his arm around Song once again and gave her a quick hug. He said, "I'm fine now, Song. Just a little twinge every so often from the last nick I got. How have you been?"

Tom heard a loud snort from his sister and saw his parent's grin. His sister's oldest boy Toby started talking loudly. He almost yelled, "She's so cool, Uncle Tom. (Oh, crap, did I really do that to all you readers? It was unintentional I assure you.) She's been in jail. She got in a fight with Aunt Brenda and-"

Melody, Tom's sister snapped, "Toby, shut up. It's not your place to talk about things like that."

Tom stepped back and looked at a blushing Song. He said, "In jail? You went to jail for fighting with your cousin? That's not like you. What happened to the nice little girl I remember?"

Song blushed even more, but tilted held her head up. She said, "Yes, I cold cocked the bitch down at the Casino seven months ago. She came in with her new man introducing him around like he was something special. I told her what I thought of her for the way she treated you. She didn't take it too well and we got into it. I promised that bitch if she ever hurt you I would kick her ass and I did!"

Tom stood for a moment with a blank look on his face then he broke out laughing. It had been almost seventeen months since his divorce was final. He had dreamed about beating Brenda and her new lover several times but knew better than to do so. Tom stepped nearer the young woman and pulled the seething Song to his chest. He hugged her and said, "Damn, I wish I could have seen that. I've wanted to smash her smug face ever since I heard about her and asshole, but I couldn't. I wish you hadn't done it, though. There are better ways of taking care of trash than going to jail for it."

"I don't care. I told her what I'd do and I did it. I even landed a couple on the asshole she was with."

Tom turned and wrapped his arm around Song. They once again moved toward the front door and into the house. His father picked up his duffel as he walked past it. Everyone found seats as his father went into the kitchen. He returned with his hands loaded with bottles of beer and coke which he passed around. The family settled down to visit and catch up with the news.

Song was sitting across from Tom. Every so often their gaze would meet and the 22 year old Song would blush once again. She said little but hung on every word Tom said about himself and his career.

Soon the women all stood and moved into the kitchen to prepare the evening meal. Tom and his father visited and played with the kids as they listened to the clattering and the drone of feminine voices coming from the kitchen. Occasionally the female talk was broken by quick barks of laughter. Soon good smells came wafting out of the small kitchen into the living room where Tom and his father now sat in companionable silence. Tom's stomach growled and his mouth watered thinking about his mother's great cooking. He really looked forward to several good home cooked meals while he was here. Just the thought of her cooking almost made him decide not to go into the mountains.

Tom stayed with his parents the next day and visited. Early the morning of the third day Tom saddled his horse and put a pack saddle on the two mules he was taking with him. He loaded all his camping gear, his fishing gear, rifle, pistol, way too much ammunition and even a crossbow. As he was leaving town he stopped in the store and bought way more dry and canned food than he could possibly use in the ten days he planned to stay in the valley. He bought twenty five pounds each of dry beans, corn meal, flour, and rice. He also bought ten pounds each of salt, sugar, and coffee. He purchased several smaller bottles of pepper and other spices as well as some dry gravy mixes. When he left his mules looked like the pictures of old time prospectors heading out into the hills. Tom also carried two 40 pound bags each of corn, wheat, and oats to feed his stock.

Tom could have used his truck and a trailer to drive the nearly twenty miles to the entrance to his valley but he chose to ride. It took him nearly all day to ride the trails through the reservation then back into the National Forest. He moved slowly and enjoyed the quiet, green, peaceful trip. Finally, at dusk he was in sight of the trail into his valley. He found a place to camp and pitched his tent for the night. He intended to get an early start the next morning and be set up for the stay before mid-afternoon.

Several times that night Tom woke to a deep humming sound. He thought it was coming from the direction of the family valley but he wasn't sure. The noise bothered him. He couldn't figure out what it was or exactly where it came from. Tom was up at dawn and cooked breakfast over his small fire. After he finished his meal he packed up and loaded his animals, then poured the remainder of his coffee on the glowing coals to put out the fire. Before he left he urinated in the fire pit and carefully placed the sod he removed the night before over the ashes.

When Tom got to the entrance to the valley he stopped. The entrance was a narrow cleft, almost a canyon between two taller hills. The way was tight and narrow for over 500 feet before opening out into his valley. There was a small stream running out of the cleft. A couple of times in the past Tom had seen a faint shimmering glowing patch extending side to side in the opening to the valley. Today the shimmer was more pronounced. It was difficult to see through it. There appeared to be a deep throbbing hum coming from the entrance.




Teacher



Tom felt a clenching in his belly and an unreasonable surge of fear. He snorted and shook his head in disgust at himself. He looked around then urged his animals forward. The horse and mules did not want to enter the strange shimmer. Tom forced them forward demanding they move down the trail. As they entered the cut Tom felt strange. His body chilled and his vision blurred. The sun even seemed to dim for a moment. Tom felt a twisting sensation then they moved out of the shimmer and into the valley. It was just as beautiful and peaceful as he remembered. To his surprise however, Tom found himself surrounded by Indians dressed in old buckskin clothes. They carried bows and arrows, tomahawks and many belongings. There were horses pulling travois as well as some of the people pulling travois.

When he appeared in their midst, seemingly from nowhere, the Indians yelled as if in fear and pulled back with an uproar. The men moved toward Tom with arrows ready to fire. One of the men spoke in Cherokee and asked Tom who he was and how he got there without them seeing him.

Tom looked at the people in shock. Then he turned and looked back the way he came. He could not see the shimmer from this direction. He shook his head, turned back to the front and urged his animals forward until he got nearer the man who spoke to him. 

Tom said, "I'm Tom Eagle. I came from Cherokee to camp here in my valley. Who are you people and what are you doing here?"

"We are the people. We come to camp here also. How did you appear among us? Why are you dressed so strangely? Are you a spirit come to visit with us?"

"What? Are you nuts? OH, Tom said catching on. He had come upon a group of re-enactors. Hell, he could play that game also. He continued almost without pause, "Yes, I am a spirit from the happy hunting ground. I have come to be with you for a short time. Now I go to make my camp near the waterfall where I can work my magic, heal my soul, and rid myself of my sorrows and bad memories."

The Indians within hearing murmured upon hearing Tom speak. Many of them moved a few steps back as they looked upon him in awe. The Indian who challenged Tom smiled and motioned Tom onward as he said, "Pass in peace, Great One. May your journey be safe and your quest successful."

Tom smiled, raised his hand in farewell, and rode on toward his usual camping spot. He decided not to make an issue of the group trespassing on his families land. The group of Indians opened a path for him and watched respectfully as he departed. After riding several feet past the still watching Indians, Tom turned to look at them once again. He again smiled as he thought what a hoot it would be to watch what he assumed were modern city people trying to play at being Indians. Tom chuckled to himself as he moved away from the small group. He hoped he gave the re-enactors something they could use in their games. He never noticed the deference and reverence they showed him as he left.

Tom decided the shimmer he had seen when he entered the valley was a result of some strange fog rising from the stream and the sun hitting it just right. The hum was probably the wind blowing through the cut and or some vegetation.

The valley seemed different somehow to Tom. The air seemed clearer, fresher and the vegetation seemed more robust. Tom moved down the valley to where the stream tumbled down from the upper hills. There was a small waterfall of perhaps twenty feet dropping into a deep pool filled with trout. Beside the pool was a beautiful little grassy area. There was a small cave opening to the grassy meadow in the limestone bluff over which the water fall flowed. The cave was perhaps ten feet wide and fifteen feet deep. It was really more of an undercut in the bluff than a cave. The opening was only about five feet wide. Tom could walk upright into the cave with only a couple of inches to spare over his head. At one time there had been a log enclosure, a three sided cabin, in front of the cave. It was long fallen down but the remains were still there on his last visit. This time the area was clear of any indication of construction. Once again Tom wondered what was going on. It had only been five years since he was here before and the remaining logs should have still been noticeable.

Tom mentally shrugged and pitched his tent on a level space in front of the cave. He stored his possessions inside the cave. He picketed his animals on the lush grass after he watered them. He removed his shirt and sat in the shade to relax. He watched the Indians make their camp far down the valley near the passage he rode through into the valley.

After resting for a while, Tom took his axe and moved out to cut wood for his fires. When he had his firewood cut for the next couple of days Tom got his fishing gear and moved to the pool to catch his supper and breakfast. In no time at all Tom caught four nice trout. He put the fish on his stringer and stopped fishing. Tom returned to his relaxing and watched the sun sink behind the western mountains before he prepared his evening meal of fried potatoes and onions, fried fish and pork and beans.

To Tom's surprise the next morning when he got up the Indian camp was gone. The only indication they had been there was the mashed down grass, some fire pits and ashes and a little refuse. They disappeared without a trace otherwise. It didn't seem worth it to Tom for them to play the Indian game and walk all this way just to camp for one night. He shrugged his shoulders and decided it was their business. The whole encounter had been strange. He still couldn't figure out why they insisted on speaking only Cherokee during their conversation. That was carrying realism too far in his opinion.

The next three days were perfect. Tom could feel the tension draining from his body. Every morning and evening he could see wild turkey and deer eating in the meadow. He decided early on the fourth morning he was going to poach a little game. He decided to get a turkey first and then a deer if he could.

Tom took his rifle and moved toward the spot he had picked out for his stand. He settled in just as dawn was breaking. There were no turkeys in sight so Tom decided to take a deer instead. Within a few minutes Tom saw the deer he wanted and took aim. Tom took a breath, let half out and squeezed the trigger. The deer dropped immediately and didn't move. Tom stood and began walking toward the deer when he saw three men dressed in buckskins move toward his deer also.

Tom moved a little faster toward his kill then stared at the men. They were dirty and rough looking with longer hair much as the group had been the day he arrived. They were also carrying wooden bows. From the looks of the men they came from the reservation and were full blood or nearly full blood Cherokee. It was not unknown to find Indians in the mountains, but it was rare to see them dressed in the old clothes and in his valley. He wondered if there was a convention of re-enactors or just why so many Indians seemed to be in the area. He was sure his parents would have told him if there was a Pow Wow scheduled for this week.

Tom walked toward the men only to see them suddenly turn toward him and raise their bows. Tom stopped and said, "Whoa, there. What's the problem? Don't be pointing those bows at me." To be safer Tom chambered a round in his rifle and got it in a better position to be used in a hurry.

The men looked at one another then back to Tom. The one in the front spoke to Tom in Cherokee. Tom was surprised, but answered in the same language. His Cherokee was rusty and the Indians were speaking in a strange variant of the language but Tom understood them as he had those he encountered the day he arrived in the valley.

The lead Indian said, "Who are you and why are you in our valley? Why did you kill our game?"

"Whoa there, partner," Tom responded in Cherokee. "This is my family's valley. We've owned it for almost 120 years now. I think you're lost if you think this is your valley."

"No, this whole area belongs to the Cherokee and has for many moons. No one family can own this spot."

Another Indian dressed as a shaman ran up to the group and insinuated himself between the men and Tom. He said, "Oh, Great Spirit, you are still here. We come only to camp for a while if that is permissible. I spoke with the Shaman from the other tribe and he said you were here and friendly. Is it permissible for us to stay for a short while? I promise we will not interfere with your work, oh Great One."

This did not make sense to Tom at all. None of the equipment the Indians carried looked right, or rather it all looked too right, too authentic. All their equipment looked handmade and was well worn but in good repair. Their buckskins and moccasins were obviously hand made from poorly tanned hides. He was beginning to think he had come across some people who were pretending to live in the old way. He felt as if the Indians were playing this charade way too authentically, however. It was almost as if they actually believed what they said. Tom laughed and said, "Sure, no problem, but I expect you to honor my privacy and not trash up my valley."

Tom heard a noise coming from the foot of the valley and turned that direction. He saw a larger group of Indians come through the cut and into the valley. There were a few horses but most of the people were walking. There were women, children, men, and dogs galore. Many of the people were pulling travois. They moved toward the opposite edge of the valley and quickly began setting up camp. Tom watched in fascination as they did so.

The man dressed as the shaman said, "It shall be so, Great One." He turned to the three men confronting Tom and began trying to get them to move on and leave Tom alone.

Finally Tom mentally shook himself and moved to cut the deer's throat then he gutted it. The Indians watched him for a moment then moved toward the forest obviously hunting more venison. Before he was done working on the deer a small cluster of children were standing around quietly talking among themselves while they watched him work.

Tom picked the deer up and walked toward the new camp. When he got there many of the men picked up their bows and arrows to watch him enter. Tom walked up to a large man that appeared to be in charge. He dropped the deer and held his hand out to shake. The man looked at the hand then at Tom.

Tom started talking in English but no one seemed to understand him. At least they acted as if they didn't understand. Finally in desperation, even slight anger, he switched to Cherokee once again. Faces lit up with understanding when they heard Cherokee and the men around him seemed to relax. The women and children returned to whatever they had been doing.

The man in charge motioned toward a spot in front of his dwelling and sat. Tom watched a moment. The Shaman gently guided Tom beside the Chief and motioned for him to sit, also. Tom took a seat beside the Chief and the Shaman sat across from Tom and the Chief. As the conversation continued Tom became more confused. The chief and men insisted they had never seen clothes such as Tom wore and weapons such as his rifle. They had seen a few whites, but very few. Many of the whites they saw were not friendly, either. They insisted they had been camping in this valley for years and wanted to know why Tom was there. Was he really there to make his magic and heal? If he was healing, what was wrong with him? He looked well.

Tom said, "I have been across the sea and seen a great number of battles and much injury and death. I have healed those I could but now I need the peace and quiet I find here to heal my soul." Tom was rather proud of that statement. He felt it fit in with the re-enactment they were obviously trying to have and yet it truly explained why he was here.

The men looked at one another and the Shaman asked, "You are a great Medicine Man also? Can you heal for us if there is need?"

"Well, yes, but I'm not a doctor. I am a medic in the army. I'm just here on leave. I'll be happy to help if I can, though. Do you have someone in need of healing right now?"

The men looked confused when Tom began talking but by the time he finished they seemed better. They heard him agree to heal and began nodding their heads and smiling. The chief said, "No, we have no need of you now."

A woman walked up and deferentially asked, "What should we do with the Spirit's deer?" All the men looked at Tom.

Tom smiled and decided to stay in the role he cast for himself. He said, "You may use my deer for the meal you are preparing. It will be my gift for you this day to welcome you to my valley."

The woman almost bowed when Tom told her she could cook the deer. She rapidly left and got another woman to help her with the deer. It was almost full dark before Tom stood and returned to his camp. He didn't know what to make of his encounter with the Indians. On one hand he believed what they told him, but on the other it was impossible. They all seemed to have a great imagination and stayed in the roles they were playing very well. The next day Tom stayed in his camp except for a short trip to the meadow to shoot a turkey. He watched as the Indians took a couple turkeys and three more deer the next morning. They stayed in camp four days before, early on the fifth day, packing and moving off once again. Tom was again alone in his valley.

Much too soon the time to leave the peaceful valley and return to civilization arrived. Reluctantly, Tom packed his belongings and moved to the cut between the hills to leave his valley. He rode out of the cut and began moving toward his parent's home once again. The forest seemed different this time. The trees were larger and there was not as many open areas as he remembered. None of the trails and roads he remembered were present.

Tom rode all day and deep into the dusk. He should have been in sight of the little settlement and his parent's home by now. He had seen nothing. Not a vehicle, not a fence or road or building was present. Tom began worrying. In fact, Tom became scared, very scared. Finally, at almost full dark Tom arrived at the location he was positive should contain the store. There was nothing there at all except the small stream the store was built beside.

Tom gave up and pitched his tent for the night. The next morning Tom rose with the sun and began exploring. He found nothing familiar at all. Late that afternoon Tom came across an old man dressed in buckskins. He was carrying a flintlock rifle and had a pack on his back. Tom stared in surprise at the authenticity this re-enactor displayed in his dress and weapons. He was not sure, now, that he was even a re-enactor but the other possibility was too frightening to consider.

When Tom approached the man he was faced with suspicion. After Tom assured the man he was friendly the man said, "You shore do look and talk strange there, Tom. 'Cept fer yore clothes ya looks like a Injin. Where 'bouts ya from?"

Tom explained he lived right there. The man looked around, spit, then said, "Ya jus live here in tha trees? Doncha gots no cabin nor lean to? Ya'll gets mighty cold in the winter if'n ya don't."

Tom sat and stared at the man. They continued talking as the afternoon wore on. Finally, Tom became convinced he was in real trouble. The man insisted that, to the best of his recollection, the year was 1833 and it was sometime in the mid-summer but he didn't know the month or day. He said, "I left Charleston summer of '31, it was. I been moving ever since. This is the second summer since I left so I knows it be '33, but I just lost track of months and days, I have. I find a spot and sit a spell and when the mood strikes me I move off again. Sure don't see many folks out here in the woods 'cept for the injins. I seen them many times. Some is friendly but most aint. Every so often I gets me a squaw for a while but they either mostly get used up or I sells em."

Finally Tom and the old man went to sleep. When Tom woke the next morning the man was gone. Tom looked around for a moment then decided to return to his valley. This time when he made the trip there was only a very faint, almost unnoticeable shimmer in the entrance to the valley. This shimmer was like the ones Tom remembered from the past.

Tom moved into the valley and to his camping spot. Once again he set up camp and then fell into his bed in exhaustion. For the next several weeks Tom took almost weekly trips out of the valley to explore. He went to all the nearest places he remembered habitation. He found no buildings or evidence of civilization in all his trips. He even returned twice to where Cherokee would be built in the future. He never saw another white man and only a few Indians. Tom was gaining a reputation as a Shaman and healer so the encounters were friendly albeit the Indians were hesitant to meet with Tom. He was also strange enough to the Indians that they feared him as a crazy man."

Mornings were beginning to be cool and Tom knew he had to do something. He decided to cut trees and rebuild the three sided cabin in front of the cave. Tom spent the next three weeks building the cabin, chinking the logs and preparing for a long stay. He also decided he needed to prepare for the winter and began smoking and drying meat to last through the cold spell. He carefully set aside five pounds of the beans to plant in the spring and even some of the grain he had not yet fed to his stock. If he couldn't get home he would have to grind his own flour and corn meal in years to come, if he could grow the grain.

One morning Tom woke and walked outside his small home to find frost on the ground. This was a day to hunt so he took the mule and moved down valley to find a deer. The deer were restless this morning. The strange hum was back and it seemed to bother them. Tom had already looked at the cut out of the valley and couldn't see the shimmer so he returned to his blind to continue his hunt. He was just getting ready to fire when he saw a horseman seem to appear at the end of the cut. He knew he just came out of the cut in the hills and entered the valley but it almost seemed as if one moment he wasn't there and another he was. Of course, the deer saw the same thing and took off running.

Tom cursed his luck and stood. He walked slowly toward the horseman. When the horseman saw Tom he turned toward him and kicked the horse into a trot. There was a pack horse behind that also began trotting.

When the horse and rider were about fifteen feet from Tom he heard a scream, "TOM! What are you DOING here? Why didn't you come home? What's the matter with you? Where have you been all summer?"

Tom looked closer and saw Song Wolf jump from the horse and run toward him. When she reached him she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. Finally she stepped back and said, "We were so worried about you. Why didn't you come home? The Army's been calling for you and hunting you. They say you're AWOL and have a warrant out for your arrest." She was sniffling and took time to wipe tears from her cheeks.

Tom stood in shock. His face turned white and he slumped to the ground. He said, "How did you get here, Song? I've tried to come home every week since I left and I can't get there. All the buildings are gone. I've seen real Indians."

"Oh, Bullshit. I rode in just like you did. Now really, why didn't you come home and where have you been? We've been looking all over for you. We even had search parties out hunting you the first two weeks after you didn't come home. I came here for one more look before winter because I just couldn't give up on you. 

"Now, where have you been? I know you weren't here because we've been in this valley dozens of times. There was never any sign you ever got here."

Tom stood and said, "Come with me, Song. I'll show you just exactly where I've been."




Teacher



When they got to his cabin Song stopped in surprise. She looked around at all the improvements Tom made to his little home and sank down on a log Tom used for a seat. She looked at him in shock and said, "But this wasn't here last week. I know because I was here with your family, but it looks like you've lived here all summer. You couldn't have built that cabin in four days. There wasn't a garden over there either. What's going on Tom? I'm getting scared here."

"Exactly, Song. I've been here all summer except for the times I rode back to where Cherokee is supposed to be, trying to get home."

"No. You couldn't have."

The two friends talked until full dark before turning in for the night. Early the next morning they loaded their gear and moved out heading home. This time was just like all the others during Tom's long summer. When they got to where Cherokee was supposed to be Song stood and looked around in a daze. She sank to the ground and said, "This isn't possible. Look, there's the tree that's beside the store except it's a lot smaller, now. The post office should be over there. All the roads are gone. Are you sure we're in the right place? There has to be a mistake."

"Nope, no mistake, Song. This is Cherokee, or it will be in about 50 years or so. I met an old man here one of the first times I came. He was dressed in buckskins and carrying an old flintlock. He swore it was 1833. I've been thinking about taking a trip to the coast sometime next summer to see what I can find out. I don't know what else to do here. Now, come on, let's get a good night's sleep and then go back to the valley."

When they were lying in their sleeping bags, Song said, "Tom? What was that real shimmery thing in the cut to the valley yesterday morning? I felt cold and really weird when I rode through it."

"Song, I think that's what got us here. Off and on for years there has been a barely noticeable shimmer many times when I came to the valley through that cut. The day I came this time it was real sharp and very noticeable. There was a deep humming resonance, too. I could almost feel the vibrations in my bones. I've decided that was some kind of time warp or something and threw us back here. I've been hoping to find it again and go out of the valley when it was at a strongly visible level but so far I've never seen it from the valley side at all. We should have never walked into it when we did. Maybe then we'd still be in 2013 where we belong."

Song rolled to Tom and hugged him. She was crying quietly. She said, "Will we ever get out of here and see our family again, Tom? What's going to happen to us?"

"I don't know, Song, but I've about given up hope. I can't remember how many times I've gone in and out of the cut and never ended up anywhere except where we were yesterday. We just need to make the best of our situation and hope for the best. In fact, I've almost decided I'm happier here than I was in 2013. I'm more at peace here and my soul is cleaner. I do miss my family but, really, that's all. Oh, I miss some of the food I used to eat, also. I would kill for one of Mom's fried chicken dinners and a pizza right now."

Song was quiet for several minutes before saying, "Tom, at least I'm glad I get to be here with you."

Tom pulled Song tighter to his side and gave her a kiss before they drifted off to sleep.

Just as the sun was breaking over the hills the next morning Tom woke. When he opened his eyes he jumped. There were two Indian men and a woman sitting quietly beside his still smoldering fire. There was a young boy wrapped in skins lying beside the fire also.

The woman looked at Tom and bowed her head. One of the braves looked Tom in the eye and said, "Greetings, Great One. We have heard of your offer to heal and come to you for your help. My son, Night Stalker, has a great injury that does not heal. We fear he is near death. Please, heal him, O Great One."

When she heard the voices, Song came awake. She looked at the visitors and jerked in her surprise. She turned to Tom and said, "Tom, what is he saying? I only understood part of his speech."

"Not now," Tom said to Song in English. He then turned to the Indians and said, "I will look at the boy and do what I can."

Tom rose from his makeshift bed and moved carefully beside the child. The boy appeared to be about 12 or 13. When Tom uncovered him he grimaced. The boy had a badly broken arm. It was a compound break that was poorly reset. The area around the open wound was still dirty and blood crusted. There were streaks of angry red radiating away from the break. The boy was very feverish.

Tom turned to Song and said, "Get one of my pans out and begin boiling some water. Put on some coffee, too, please. I need to clean this wound first off, then I'll have to disinfect it and set or maybe reset the bones."

Tom turned to the Indians and said, "I need wood for the fire and several small very straight sticks to set the arm with. I will do what I can, but the injury is very serious."

When people began moving to carry out his instructions Tom moved to his packs and took out his medical kit. Like many Medics, EMT's and other Health Care Professionals, Tom carried the tools of his trade with him. He had a fully functional medical kit for a Green Beret Medic. Additionally, he had several vials of bootlegged antibiotics and medications with him. He was confident he could help the boy if the infection didn't turn to gangrene before the antibiotics had a chance to take hold. As soon as the pot of water was on the fire to boil Tom placed the instruments he thought he would need in it.

The young man lay staring at Tom quietly during the exam and preparation. His eyes never left Tom, no matter where he moved. After the water with the instruments in it had boiled for about 20 minutes Tom poured some of the water into another pot to use to clean the wound. He also pulled the pot the instruments were in near the boy and drained the rest of the water into another pot.

Before he began cleaning the wound Tom looked at the adults and child then said, "This will be painful. He needs to be very still while I work on him. I will give him some medicine to help dull the pain but you need to help hold him still."

Tom washed the wound well, opening the wound as he did so. It began bleeding slightly once again. Tom took one of the clean sterile instruments and probed the wound for bone chips and foreign matter. The boy moaned and jerked his arm slightly as Tom worked. Tom only found one bone chip which he removed. He held the wound open and poured a mixture of Hydrogen Peroxide and Alcohol into it then turned the arm so it could drain.

After he was satisfied the wound was as clean as he could get it Tom told the two men to hold the child still. Tom then carefully but rapidly set the bones as well as he could and applied the splint. He wished he could have pinned the bones together but he just didn't have the tools. After the bones were set Tom sewed the wound closed and dressed it. He laid the arm across the boy's abdomen and tied it securely.

Tom stood and said, "I need to watch this young man for several days to finish the healing. I must give him medicines to fight the infection. Can you bring him to my home and stay for a while so I may do this?"

While he was talking Tom prepared a shot of penicillin and injected the boy. He then busied himself cleaning his instruments and putting his medical kit away. After his medical kit was securely packed Tom packed his camping gear.

The Indians discussed the move between themselves then the brave who spoke before said, "We will come." They moved picked up their own belongings to prepare for the move. One of the men walked into the trees and returned with a horse pulling a travois. They carefully placed the boy on the travois and stood waiting on Tom and Song to move out.

For the next two weeks Tom and Song watched the boy. He slowly got better and was moving around on his own. He was weak but out of danger. During that time, Tom found out Song was one semester away from obtaining a Bachelor's Degree in nursing and becoming a Registered Nurse. Her help was invaluable. They spent many hours training the Indians on health issues while the injured boy recuperated. Neither Tom nor Song knew how much good their training would do because of ingrained traditional methods of treating sickness and injury. The old guard Shamans and Medicine Women would be loath to allow change, but they tried.

While they waited on the boy to heal enough to return to his home the Indians helped Tom and Song get in meat for the upcoming winter. Of course, much of what they hunted they ate, but the excess was smoked into jerky or made into pemmican for later use. The woman helped by gathering nuts and vegetables for storage and later use.

On the morning the small group left for their home, Tom and Song watched them go with mixed emotions. They were glad they could help the young man and happy for the family. They were sad to see their friends leave, however, for that is how they came to feel about the four Indians.

As they watched the Indians move out of sight Tom wrapped his arm around Song and hugged her to him. She looked up at his face and licked her lips. Tom bent his head down and gave her a kiss without thinking about his actions. Song whimpered and pulled herself tightly to his muscular body. Her tongue snaked into his mouth and she ground her crotch into his. She moaned once again when she felt the hardness in his pants.

After their new friends were out of sight Tom led Song to their bed and gently undressed her. She helped him remove his clothes and they collapsed onto the bed. Their first coupling was fast, hard and almost violent as they released their pent up need for one another. After the coupling, Song laid her head on Tom's shoulder and gently cried.

When he saw her crying Tom became concerned and said, "I didn't hurt you did I honey? I'm sorry if I did."

Song smiled and said, "No, you were perfect. I'm just so happy. I had almost given up hope you would ever make love to me. Oh, Tom, I love you so much. I always have. When you married that bitch I was so afraid I had lost you forever."

Tom and Song spent the remainder of the day making love and relaxing. They lay in the sun and made love. When the sun became too warm for them they moved to the shade and made love again. Finally, early in the evening they went into the cold pool below the waterfall to wash up before eating and falling into bed for an exhausted sleep.

After the small group left Tom and Song they began to get a steady stream of people coming for medical help. Tom's modern drugs were being depleted rapidly. He racked his brain trying to decide how to continue helping the Indians. His first thought was plain sanitation. He cobbled together a still and made alcohol for disinfectant use. He and Song made lye soap for their own use and the use of those he could convince to use it. He also began experiments to grow his own penicillin and began asking if any of the visitors knew where they could find sulfa so he could use it to help the injured. Of course they didn't know what sulfa was so Tom had to describe the mineral to them. Finally, he found an Indian that thought he knew where there was a hot spring with the yellow dirt Tom described. 

The Indian agreed to take Tom to the place so he could get a sample. Tom and the Indian left early one morning to get the sample. He left Song alone at his camp with an Indian brave who was a patient. Tom and his companion took most of two days to make the trip to the deposit. It was, indeed, sulfa. Tom gathered a large quantity of the mineral before he and his companion returned to Tom's valley.

When they arrived home they found all Tom's horses and mules gone as well as Song. Much of their stored food and supplies were missing also. Tom and his companion quickly replenished their supplies and dropped off the Sulfa then began tracking his horses.

After two long days of tracking Tom and Deer Stalker, his companion, caught up with Song and her captor. It was the Indian brave she had been treating when Tom and Deer Stalker left for the sulfa spring. There were several other Indians in the small camp or village when Tom arrived.

When Tom and Deer Stalker rode into the camp they were met by three men. Tom said, "I have trailed my horses and my woman to this camp. She was stolen while I was away from my camp searching for medicine. I want her and my belongings back, now. I also want the man who took her and my belongings. I healed him then when I was away from camp he abused my hospitality and stole my woman and belongings. I intend to make him pay."

"No. You go now in peace. If not you will be killed," said the chief.

Tom saw the brave who he suspected of taking Song come from a teepee. He rode his horse roughly through the gathered Indians knocking some down. When he rode up to the man exiting the teepee, the horses shoulder knocked the brave down. Tom ducked into the teepee and saw many of his belongings there. Song was tied and gagged lying in the back. Her face was bruised and she had some cuts and scrapes on her skin.

Tom was back out of the teepee before the brave was fully standing. Tom saw Deer Stalker near the fallen brave facing the assembled Indians. When the Indian that Tom's horse had knocked down saw him come back out of the teepee he pulled his knife and moved toward Tom. Tom knew how this was going to end. He dodged the Indian's first strike, then moved in. Faster than the eye could follow Tom went on the attack. He slapped the arm aside with its handful of knife, moved behind the Indian, grabbed his head and gave a quick twist. Everyone around heard the loud snap. The brave collapsed to the ground with his head cocked at an unnatural angle.

Tom looked up and two more braves were coming for him. This battle lasted very little longer than had the first and they, too, were on the ground dead. One had his own knife stuck in his abdomen. The other was choking and holding his throat trying to breathe. Tom stepped back and said, "Are there any more of you who will try to keep me from taking my property and my woman now? As you can see, I have strong medicine. I will help my people but I will not allow them to take what is mine.

There were angry glares from several of the men but none stepped forward to challenge Tom. The chief set his jaw angrily and said, You have defeated those three in a fair fight. Take what is yours and go."

Tom quickly went into the teepee and released Song. She grabbed him and hugged him tightly as the tears flowed. She said, "I knew you would come for me. Tom, I love you so much. Thank you for coming to save me."

"Shhhh. I'm here now. Are you ok honey? Did he hurt you?"

Song broke out in deep sobs and said, "Tom, he raped me. He hit me and then he raped me. I tried to fight him off but I couldn't. I'm so, so sorry Tom."

Tom pulled Song to his chest once again and gently said, "Are you ok, Song? I know that was a frightening thing but do you have an injury I need to treat before we get out of here?"

Song slowly got her tears under control and said, "No. I'm a little sore but I can ride. Let's just get out of here, now. I have some scrapes we need to look at, but not here. I want to go home."

Tom moved out of the teepee to go in search of his animals. He found Deer Stalker leading them up to the front of the teepee. Deer Stalker said, "I brought your animals from where they were tied behind the teepee."

Tom said, "Thank you, my friend." 

Tom and Song quickly loaded their belongings. He helped Song onto her horse then they began the journey home. When they were almost a quarter mile from the camp Deer Stalker said, "I go back to my people now, my friend. You will be welcome in our village any time."

Almost before he finished his farewell Deer Stalker disappeared into the woods.

Tom had not noticed when they left camp that they were followed. He now felt stupid because he did not keep his eyes on his back trail. He now saw there were two women and three children following about fifty feet behind him and Song. When he turned to move out once again he saw them pick up packs and begin to follow once again. When he was sure they were following him and Song he stopped and rode back to them. He asked, "Why are you following us?"

The woman looked at Tom in shock then glanced at her companions. She lowered her head and said, "We thought it was your wish, Husband. Do you not want us with you? You told the chief you were taking your women and property to return to your home."

"What? You are not my wives. Why do you say that?"

The entire group looked upset. The woman who had been speaking lowered her head once again and said, "Forgive me please, Great One. This slave made a mistake. Please do not punish the others for my error. We go with our master to do his bidding."

Tom looked at Song and said English, "What the hell is going on here? Do you have any idea?"

"Maybe, Tom. I think years ago when a brave killed another in a fair fight all he owned became the property of the winner. If the loser had women they also became the property of the winner. I think those women and children are yours to do with as you see fit. You can use them as slaves or concubines. You can also sell them, give them away or make them your wives. The children are treated much the same, although, especially for the boys, they are usually adopted and become your children."

"Shit. What the hell are we going to do about this? Can't I just send them back to the village?"

"You could but it would be cruel. They would be outcast if I understand things correctly. They would get little or no food and would be treated horribly. It would be kinder to just kill them."

"FUCK! Well, let's get along. We'll sort this out later. I want to get away before someone decides to come after us again."

Tom looked at the now terrified group and said in Cherokee, "Well, come on. We'll talk more about this later."

The small group looked slightly happier and picked up the packs they had dropped when they stopped. They all began walking behind Tom and Song. After a few feet Tom stopped once again and got off his horse. He waited for the group to catch up and told them to take off their packs. Once again they seemed scared.

Tom moved to the pack animals and said, "Bring your packs to me. We will tie them to the pack saddles so you can move easier and faster."

A look of relief flashed across the faces of Tom's new family. When they started up once again, Tom put the youngest child, a girl, on the horse in front of himself. He placed the next youngest, a boy, in front of Song then led off toward home once again. This time the women and older boy were able to keep up very well and seemed to be traveling easier.

When they pitched camp that night the newly acquired women rushed around making camp and beginning to prepare the evening meal. They would not let Tom do anything and allowed Song to do very little. Tom noticed his and Song's bedding was together. The women placed their furs nearby and the children's several feet away.

While the meal was cooking the two younger children ran back and forth between the women and Tom. The older boy who appeared to be about ten years old sat and observed. It was almost comical watching him pretend to be a man. His expression was so somber and serious you could see he thought he was cock of the walk.

When the meal was prepared, Song brought Tom his plate piled high with meat and a few wild greens and tubers. She went back and got herself a plate then sat beside him. The women and children gasped when they saw her do that and glared at her. After a few bites Tom noticed no one else was eating. He raised his head and asked, "Why are you not eating this fine meal?"




Teacher



The spokeswoman looked at Tom and said, "Are you through, Great One? We wait our turn."

"No, I am not through. In my camp we all eat at the same time. Now, begin eating if you are hungry."

The boy looked at Tom then stalked to the fire and held his hand out. One of the women gave him some meat. He returned to his seat and began eating. His manners were horrible but Tom knew they could correct that. Tom looked at the women who were still sitting beside the fire. Finally, he almost growled, "Eat."

The women looked at Tom once again and slowly reached for some of the meat. All the time they were eating they watched Tom to be sure they were not angering him. Tom actually had more on his plate than he wanted. He could not force himself to finish it so took it back to the fire and placed the plate by one of the women. She looked at him and the plate then asked, "Is something wrong, Great One? Why did you not finish your meal?"

"I am full. If you want what is left you may have it. Otherwise either throw it away or save it for morning."

The next morning Tom was awakened by sounds and smells of cooking. He rose from his bed and rested on his arms. The two Indian women were busy around the fire already. The children were also up and helping slightly, other than the older boy. He was once again watching the women work.

Tom knew with his additional family members he would have trouble keeping food on the table. He quietly rose from his bed and picked up his rifle to go hunting. He moved quietly through the woods until he came to a small clearing. There were deer grazing in it. He quickly fired and dropped a large doe. The deer were alarmed but did not run. After they settled down somewhat Tom fired and took down a large two point buck. This time the deer ran. Tom moved into the clearing and began dressing his kills. He heard a noise and looked toward the camp. Song was leading the two women and the children toward him. When the women arrived they made him stop dressing the kills and began doing the work.

Tom moved to the edge of the clearing and kept watch. Soon the women and children were carrying the meat back toward camp. Tom followed them. He was amazed at how fast they worked up the animals with their primitive flint knives.

While he was eating his breakfast Tom thought about the future. He was now more than ever convinced he and Song were stuck here for the rest of their lives. He decided he needed to conserve what ammunition he had left and make some long term plans for survival. He already knew his house had to be enlarged to accommodate the five new family members.

Tom did not know how much ammunition he had left. He started with 500 rounds of pistol and about 700 for the rifle. He had only fired his pistol a half dozen times but he had fired the rifle several dozen times. He decided he would inventory when he got back to camp and only use the modern weapons for emergencies. He would stop carrying the rifle and leave it at the camp for defense. He also needed to see how much ammunition Song had for her pistol. He wished she had brought a rifle as well.

As they rode, Tom and Song talked about their situation. She agreed they needed to enlarge the house. She also felt they should use the rifle this fall to build up a large store of meat for the winter, then begin using Tom's crossbow and even build bows and arrows for most of their hunting.

Tom decided they did need to build up a stock of meat but he would try using the crossbow before he expended more ammunition. He would always carry his pistol for defense and emergencies but would try to fire it rarely.

Fall faded into winter and the snow came. Their small house and cave were warmer than the outside but still became very cold, especially at night. Slowly the bedding all moved together and Tom found himself sleeping with three women. The children huddled up on the edges of the bed. All slept warmer that way. It took Tom some time to feel comfortable making love with Song with others in his bed, especially with the children nearby. It was another thing entirely when he first made love with his other two women. The guilt was very hard for him to deal with though he had Song's acceptance, even encouragement.

Many mornings Tom found the nice tit he was holding and the nice ass he was pressed against did not belong to Song. The first time he woke up like that he jumped back and woke Song who was sleeping on the other side of him curled up against his back. When she found out what had startled him she laughed and said, "You need to get used to it, Honey. All the women here respect and look up to you. All of us are willing to give you whatever you want. You are our man, our protector. I love you to death and I wouldn't be surprised if Pretty Flower and Running Deer do, too. I know they expect you to take them routinely and I have no problem with that."

About a week after Tom woke up fondling the wrong breast. He woke up in the middle of the night so horny he could not go back to sleep. He had gone to sleep spooning Song with her ass pressed against his cock. Now Song was snuggled up spooning him and gently rocking her ass against his cock. His cock was deep in the crevice of her ass. He was rubbing and rolling her nipples while he gently thrust against her.

Tom heard Song moan and felt her roll onto her back. Tom threw the covers off and moved over Song. As she felt him rise and place his first knee between her legs she spread them wide for him. Tom needed no help finding the right spot for his cock. Song was drenched. She moaned and thrust her pelvis upward when his cock notched into her cunt. Tom was balls deep in three strokes. Song was clawing at his back and shrieking her pleasure before it fully settled into Tom's awareness that she was speaking in Cherokee.

Tom raised his head in horror just as he reached his point of no return. He growled and slammed his cock into the pussy gripping and milking him. He ground his pubic bone against the woman his cock was invading. That was all it took for her to get her second orgasm. She screamed in her pleasure and woke the entire group.

Just as Tom was relaxing to roll to the side where he had been sleeping, Song threw the door of the cabin open and charged in holding her pistol. The light of the nearly full moon shining in the door showed her all she needed to see. Tom rolled off Running Deer and flopped onto his back where he had been laying. His red shiny cock flopped back and forth for a moment when it came out of Running Deer with an audible slurp then smacked against his belly when he landed on his back.

Running Deer looked over at Tom then rolled onto her side and wrapped her upper arm and leg over Tom. She laid her head on his shoulder and stared at him with love in her eyes.

Tom said, "I'm sorry, Running Deer, I thought you were Song." He looked at Song standing in the door with her pistol and felt fear and disgust with himself. Tom felt his gut clench and he continued talking, "I'm sorry Song, I thought she was you. I woke up spooning her like I had been you. When we went to sleep you were in front of me and I was spooning you. I got so horny I couldn't sleep. You were hunching back at me and I thought I was making love to you. You're both nearly the same size. Well, it was dark and-"

Song laughed her musical laugh and said, "I'm not sorry and I bet Running Deer isn't, either. I suspect the only one who is sorry is Pretty Flower because you haven't made love to her. I told you when they moved in with us that anything you wanted to do to these women you have the right to do. Now move over, I'm cold. We need to figure out how to build a bathroom. A fireplace in here would be nice too. That outhouse gets cold in the winter."

The next morning Running Deer was more solicitous of Tom. Her eyes were glistening and she could not keep her hands off him. Pretty Flower did, indeed, look sad. Song was amused and showed it. She got Tom alone and said, "Tom, you really need to take Pretty Flower to bed now, too. She feels left out and is afraid you do not care for her as much as you do me and Deer."

Two nights later Tom gave in and made love with Pretty Flower. From then on he routinely made love with all three women. He felt guilty about the two downtime women but what could he do. Sometimes he woke up at night with one of them fondling him and before he knew it she was riding him or he was thrusting into her from a spooned position. He had to admit they were some prime fucking and he was beginning to feel love for them.

During one of the coldest days of the winter a white man staggered into the valley. He had an arrow in his shoulder and could barely walk. Tom was outside the valley hunting or the man might have died. Tom found him lying in the snow several feet inside the valley when he came back with a deer he had shot. Tom left the deer and took the man to his home for care.

Tom carefully cut the arrow and arrowhead out, cleaned the wound and sewed it up. He used some of his homemade alcohol for disinfectant and the crushed sulfa to fight infection. It was touch and go for four days but the man finally regained consciousness and then began to rapidly improve.

In two weeks the man, who said his name was Seth, was up moving around. He called himself a long hunter. When asked to explain he told Tom he lived in Western Virginia but he and two or three friends routinely came into the Kentucky or Tennessee area during winter to explore and hunt. This time they ran afoul of some Cherokee who resented their presence and a fight broke out. His companions were killed but he managed to get away.

Seth admitted the practice had all but died out over the last several years but he and his friends kept the tradition going. He said, "I guess I should know better, but my father, Henry Skaggs, was a famous Long Hunter and I grew up listening to his stories. I took a couple trips with him when I was young and really enjoyed it. When he died in 1810 I kept doing it. Oh, I didn't go every year but I went as often as I could. I never expected the damn injins to get so het up over a little huntin' though. I thought they was tamed now so I guess I let my guard down."

"Well, they are pretty peaceful but you have to realize this is still their country and you are hunting and trapping their meat and furs. To them what you are doing is stealing. You wouldn't let someone steal from your farm now would you?"

"Well, no, but that's different. I own that stuff on my farm and I worked to produce it."

"No, it's no different. This is their land and the animals are theirs for the taking. I am sure all you had to do was ask and they would let you hunt to eat."

"Well, what are you doing here then? How come they let you build a house here and hunt their game?"

"I am a Medicine Man. They consider me a Spirit because of how I arrived here. This has been my valley for years and they respect that and me. I don't take more than I can eat and I heal them much as I did you when they are sick and injured."

Seth stayed with Tom and his family until warmer weather then he returned east toward his home. Tom was not sure he ever convinced him what he was doing was wrong but he vowed to be more careful about taking Indian furs and meat in the future if he ever came back.

Tom was sure Seth made it home however because now the occasional white man would pass through his valley and stop for a visit or treatment of a wound or illness. Tom never turned anyone away unless they were mean or arrogant. Those men more often than not ended up staying forever. Tom had a neat cemetery with several graves in it within a couple of years. Some of the graves contained people he could not save when they came to him for help. Some contained those who thought to take what Tom and his family had.

Tom helped everyone when he could. Most of the people he helped gave Tom and his family something in return. He had all the cured hides he needed and many bows, knives and much meat and vegetable food, all from his customers as pay for his treatments.

As word spread about the "Spirit" Shaman, who, along with his women, was a great healer, business picked up. Many times Tom did not have enough room in his home for the patients and his family. He sent word out that he needed more rooms built to treat the sick and injured. A group of Indians came to help him build more rooms. Tom also sent word he would train others to help in their own villages. He began to see students showing up to learn what they could from him. Soon a small town grew up near Tom's home.

There were many garden plots where Tom and his students grew herbs to help with healing. There was also a building where he grew his own penicillin. It was effective but he didn't think it was as good as modern versions. He regularly made trips to collect sulfa near the hot springs. He tried to make vaccines for some of the illnesses and was involved in rudimentary research for more effective drugs.

Tom and Song set up a two year long training program for what he called Medics. They taught anatomy, physiology, surgery and first aid as well as classes on making alcohol and the few drugs they were aware of. They even incorporated the old remedies using herbs if they felt they were marginally effective. They taught modern antiseptic techniques and the importance of cleanliness. They taught all who came the importance of using outhouses or slit trenches for human waste and washing their hands and bodies regularly. Soon Tom\'92s little valley was one of the busier places in the area. He even began to see and treat more and more white men as word of his abilities spread. His valley was used and protected by many tribes. No violence was allowed within the confines of the valley. It was neutral territory IF the warring people could reach it before they were attacked.

Civilization continued to spread westward. Now whites and Indians considered Tom to be a true doctor. Tom did not want that idea to spread. He felt as if that would be sailing under false colors. During one of their discussions, Song made a telling argument. She said, "Tom, why don't you think you're a doctor? Do you think there's anyone else in this time period who knows more than you about the human body and illnesses? Is there anyone else who knows more about pharmacology? NO! There are many men and, I suppose, a few women who consider themselves doctors but they are nowhere near as knowledgeable as you. You have every right to call yourself a doctor here in this time. If you were back in 2013 you could have become a nurse almost just by taking the tests and you could have finished college and became a doctor. You still do research to further medical knowledge. I suspect we are both better educated than anyone else in this time period. Of course you are a doctor. You could go to any college here and take the tests to be awarded your MD degree."

From then on Dr. Thomas Eagle practiced and taught medicine. Song also taught in what eventually became the premier medical college of the Americas. By the time the civil war came around medical science had progressed to the point that the losses from injuries and infections were a small percentage of those that had occurred in Tom and Song's original time period.

Shortly after the Civil War the first foreign students arrived to learn at what was becoming known as the Eagle School of Medicine. They heard about the school from European doctors who had been in the states during the war and took home some knowledge they had obtained from physicians they worked with during the war.

By now the curriculum of the college was so large the students needed five years to obtain what was being called a Doctor's Medical Degree. These men and women went into the world and worked as Medical Doctors (MD's). Tom and Song also expanded the curriculum to include a degree for Registered Nurses (RN's), more commonly known as doctor's assistants.

The new curriculum included courses on anatomy, physiology, pharmacology, English, manufacturing of medical instruments, drugs, identifying and treating of illnesses, surgery, pediatrics, gynecology, and on and on. Some of the most pressing problems initially were how to educate people who could not read and write so the first things people had to learn were those subjects. Now more time was needed for the course. The school expanded then expanded again. Many of the first graduates were kept on to teach others until the valley was full of teachers and students.

Tom and Song made many trips east over the years to purchase glassware and medical instruments of the time. They even commissioned copies of the instruments in Tom's bag to be made. Tom introduced the concept of adding chromium to the steel to make stainless. Admittedly, the instruments manufactured by the primitive blacksmiths and equipment manufacturers did not compare to those made in Tom's time, but they were better than what was normally used before Tom got involved in designing the instruments. Of course, Tom had enough knowledge to patent his new ideas and became very well off. He used his income to support more research in the medical sciences and to support education in those sciences.

The town of Cherokee grew up and became much larger than it had been in Tom's original time line because it housed many businesses that supported Eagle University. There were glass manufacturing plants for glassware needed in the University. There were plants that manufactured the instruments; there were small garment factories for linens and clothes needed for the University. Of course, there were also stores of all types to supply other items students and faculty needed.

Upon his death, Thomas Eagle and Song Wolf Eagle were the most widely known Doctors of Medicine and Medical Researchers in the world. They were credited with many of the discoveries made by other men and women in their original time line such as vaccines for diseases such as polio, mumps, measles, smallpox and other common diseases. They also got credit for inventions of many medical instruments and procedures. Their grave is in a place of prominence on the campus of Eagle University just outside Cherokee, NC, in a beautiful little valley. They are buried where they can see the waterfall and pool Tom so loved and where the rising sun can warm their grave. Their children have carried on their work and are among the leading physicians in the world.

The epitaph on the tomb reads: Thomas and Song Eagle, A couple ahead of their time. Healers, researchers, and Teachers to humanity.



Teacher



It was a Friday evening and a bunch of us had gone to a night club. It was a very informal arrangement. It wasn't that we were couples or anything like that, just a bunch of girls and guys hanging out together.

You know how it is in those places. Some of us drifted away from the group while others joined it. Then some of those who drifted away would come back and others would wander off. We weren't keeping a close eye on each other, just friends having a good time together.

At one point, about midnight, I got separated from the main group. I didn't worry about it. I'm a big girl now. I could look after myself and I'd connect up with the others sooner or later. I drifted over to the bar to get myself a drink.

"Geez, they'll let anyone into these places," drawled a nasty voice behind me.

I just knew whoever it was, was referring to me, and I held my head high, standing on my dignity. I had to stand on my dignity. I was too short to get my head high any other way. Petite, that's me.

"I thought you had to be at least eighteen to get in," continued the voice and this was something I was going to have to nip in the bud. I don't look eighteen and if I hadn't had my ID and my friends to vouch for me I wouldn't have got in. If anyone raised a query about my age I'd be thrown out just so the nightclub could be on the safe side of the law.

I turned around to give the man my patented killer glare. My ire was raised even higher when I saw who it was. Would you believe it was Mr Mac, my English teacher? What the hell was he doing in a night club?

"You know damn well," I started to say hotly, but then caught hold of myself.

"Good evening, sir," I said politely. "I am fully aware that you know how old I am and that I am legally entitled to be in this night club. I thought they had an upper age limit? Don't you have to be under thirty?" 

"Cat," he said cheerfully. "Why are you nightclubbing instead of at home busy studying for your exams?"

"I have completed my exams," I pointed out, "and I am quietly confident that I've passed all of them."

"Well, I don't know about your other exams but I know how you went in English."

That was all he said. I waited, but he didn't say another word.

"Well?" I prompted him.

"Now Cerise, you know the school rules. I'm not allowed to tell you that you have a distinction in English. You have to wait until the official marks come out."

I wanted to jump in the air and shout yes. I thought I'd done really well in English. Some other subjects would be tighter, but English was one of my best. 

"To make up for your disappointment at not being able to find out your mark, why don't you let me buy you a drink? What'll it be?"

Why not? Smiling happily I placed my order, only mildly irritated when he attracted the attention of one of the bartenders by just lifting a finger. I'll admit Mr Mac did have a bit of a presence to him.

I had my drink and tried to pressure Mr Mac into telling me my mark but he just smiled and shook his head. After a few minutes his smile seemed to get a bit blurry and I could feel the drink hitting me.

"You look like you need a breath of fresh air," Mr Mac was saying, and he was holding my arm, escorting me to the door. That was all I knew of the nightclub.

I woke up feeling a little confused. It slowly registered on me that I was in a strange room, laying on someone's bed. That was a downer. On the plus side, I seemed to have all my clothes on. A quick check showed that, yes, my panties were still on, which was a bit of a relief.

I went to sit up and things promptly went downhill. I couldn't. My left arm was stretched out to the side and I hadn't moved it when I checked for panties, just slipping my right hand down and plucking at the material of my dress. Now I found that I couldn't move my left arm. It appeared to be fastened to something. I went to roll over to try to use my other arm to free myself but found I couldn't do that, either. My right ankle was fastened to the bed.

From what I could see, I had some handcuff fastened to my ankle. One I couldn't undo very easily even if I could just reach it. Presumable the same sort of arrangement was on my wrist.

"Hullo, again," said a voice and I looked over to see Mr Mac standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

"What do you think you're doing? How long have I been here? Why am I tied up?" I demanded, feeling distinctly nervous.

"Let's see. You've been here for about half an hour. You're tied to the bed so you won't fall off it and hurt yourself. What I'm doing is entertaining myself. Ah, I take it you did notice that you're still fully dressed, bar your shoes?"

I nodded, the reminder relieving me slightly. After all, if he really had evil intentions he'd have been able to strip my clothes off while I was out cold.

"I noticed," I admitted. "What happened to me and will you please undo the cuffs?" 

"It seems that some nasty person slipped a knockout drop into your drink. A most reprehensible thing to do. You just went to sleep while talking to me, so I felt I'd better see you safely home."

"This isn't my home. Who would have given me a knockout drop? Ah, the cuffs?"

"It is my home, though. I have to admit that I might have slipped you the drops. We'll leave the cuffs for now. You're probably wondering, if the man has evil intentions, why am I still dressed?"

I nodded.

"That's because it's much more interesting undressing a young lady when she's awake and knows what's going on."

My stomach turned over and he was moving closer to the bed. I slapped at his hands with my free hand and he just caught it and held it down. Then he lifted my dress and started pulling my panties down. Started? He whipped them smartly down, ignoring my kicking and swearing and trying to hit him. He caught hold of my left leg to stop the kicking and dragged my panties off that leg, leaving them bunched up around my cuffed ankle on my other leg. And he laughed while he did it.

I guess he must have taken the time to examine my dress while I was out. He seemed to know just where the various fasteners were and how to undo them, and this he proceeded to do. Amid a hot mouthful of descriptive adjectives he removed my dress, leaving me to lie there in my bra, and that didn't take long to undo, finally leaving me naked.

I was helpless and naked and I knew it. He was looking at me, and liking what he saw. It was odd. The fact that he liked seeing me naked started heat burning inside me while, at the same time, I was mentally cringing away from him. He ran his hands over my breasts, rubbing them and pushing them about, finishing up by running his hand down to my pussy and rubbing me there while I squirmed under his touch, protesting bitterly that he had no right to do this.

He stood up and looked down at me. 

"Don't go away," he said with a smile and a wink, and sauntered out of the bedroom. 

Don't go away. Chance would be a fine thing. I tugged at my ankle and wrist but they were both held firmly. All I achieved was the ability to rattle the stupid cuffs.

Mr Mac returned and sat down next to me. He had a bottle of something which he started to dribble onto my breasts. I figured he was going to massage oil onto me, just having his fun. Having his fun was right.

He leaned over me, his mouth on my breast, sucking and licking at it.

"What is that stuff," I asked, realising it couldn't be oil.

"Honey," he said. "Very tasty stuff. A little nipple makes it even tastier."

With that he very carefully cleaned up the honey, his mouth wandering over my breasts, sucking and licking and sucking some more. Then he added some more honey.

Oh my god, I was going mad. If having him sucking honey off my breasts wasn't bad enough he was also playing with my pussy. It started of simply enough, just firmly rubbing against my mons, but I could feel the effects of that rubbing deep inside me. Then his hand moved around a bit, sliding along the cleft in my flesh, rubbing against my lips, stirring me up.

That didn't satisfy the monster, of course. He rubbed my mound firmly, first back and forth along it, then crossways, deliberately dragging my lips apart and letting them slap back together. I could feel the heat building up inside me and I was squirming about under his touch. 

With the third lot of honey his fingers went even further, easing past my lips and probing about inside me, agitating me, working me up, building on my arousal. I was hot and wet and squirming under him, wanting him to stop, wanting him to do even more.

He stopped and stood up, smiling down at me. Slowly he undressed, watching me all the while. His erection bulged against his trousers and I couldn't help but watch as he dropped his trousers and showed himself. Naked, he sat back down on the bed, leaning over me slightly. A hand on either breast and he gave them a gentle squeeze and drew his hands slowly down my sides. There was a hand either side of me, just at the base of my ribs, and then he poked me under each rib.

I shrieked and almost bounced off the bed. That's why I was fastened down, so I wouldn't bounce off. The son of a bitch thought it was hilarious, hands probing in and tickling me while I shrieked and squirmed, giggling my fool head off.

He stopped and I was left lying there, think what the fuck? I couldn't believe he'd done such a thing. Molestation and ravishment was one thing. Tickling a poor girl like that was completely beyond decent behaviour.

He was still laughing at me as he moved between my thighs, his hands lightly stroking my breasts, his cock now gently rubbing against my pussy, sort of sliding up and down along my slit. I was back to moving uneasily beneath him, knowing what was to come and hating the idea and at the same time wanting it, but there was nothing I could do to stop him.

A hand left my breast and travelled down to my pussy, rubbing it, slipping between my lips and touching me inside, preparing the way for his cock. The swine seemed to know just where to touch to have me jumping about. A couple of times I thought he wouldn't have to take me, I'd simply impale myself on his cock. I literally screamed when he stroked me right next to my clitoris.

He took his finger out and aligned himself, hard masculine flesh pressing lightly against soft female flesh. I waited nervously, knowing he was going to drive into me at any second. 

Any second at all, and he would be taking me. 

Poised there, just fucking touching me, ready to slide home. 

I was breathing hard, anticipating that first lunge. Would he try to drive all the way home in a single thrust or what? 

Any moment now he would be thrusting into me.

"What the fuck are you waiting for," I yelled at him, feeling rather frustrated at the delay.

"Permission," he said.

What? What was he talking about? You don't need permission to rape someone. You just do it.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"Well," he said, sounding sanctimoniously smug, "you can't expect me to just take you without permission. Why, that would be rape."

I thought I was going to have a stroke. He had got me aroused, I was burning with need, and now he wasn't going to follow through? I mean, he'd even licked honey of my breasts and now. . .

"Just do it, fuck you," I wailed at him, almost groaning with relief as he laughed and drove forward.

I'd been right about one thing. All the way in with that first stroke, burying himself inside me. I just closed my eyes, feeling myself wrapping around him, holding him there, relieved that it was finally happening. 

Well, not relieved, as I didn't want this, but relieved in a way because I wouldn't have to wait any longer. So while I was relieved, I wasn't really relieved and I just want to make that point clear. Being relieved doesn't mean that I was really relieved. OK. Maybe I was a little confused about how I felt.

He only waited a moment and then he started on me, pulling back and driving firmly into me, with me automatically lifting my hips and pushing to meet him. It seemed reasonable that I should cooperate, as things would go smoother that way. 

I'd lift my hips and I would feel his cock sliding down my passage, stirring me up and making me hot. My temperature was rising with every stroke and there seemed to be a lot of them. Even though he wasn't wasting any time with his love making he sure seemed to be prolonging the encounter. Maybe it just took him a while to get his rocks off.

I suppose I can't really complain that he was taking a while to do the dirty deed. The longer he went the hotter I got, and I was really burning after a few minutes, expecting him to blow at any moment and quite ready for it to happen. I was tossing my heads about, gasping and panting, humping my bottom, doing all that I could to get him over the line, and still he kept going.

I couldn't keep it up. I was over-excited, needing completion, and if he couldn't finish who cared? I was about through and he could go to hell. A couple more strong thrusts from him and that was it for me. I climaxed, and climaxed very strongly, shivering and shaking with the force of my feelings. 

It turned out that that was all he'd been waiting for, giving a grunt and letting loose quite happily with his own climax while I was still shaking with mine.

He rolled off me and lay on the bed next to me, a happy smile on his face. I just lay there, spent. Eventually I came back to my initial request.

"Ah, the cuffs?"

"What about them?"

"I'd like them off," I said, speaking carefully to ensure I didn't shriek at him and offend him.

"Well, take them off," he said.

Oh, yes, so simple. Just chew through my wrist and the cuff will drop away.

"Ah, I don't have a key," I pointed out. (And couldn't reach them even if I did have one.)

"You don't need one. I explained that when I put them on. They're trick cuffs. Just bang them against something hard and they'll pop open."

He was kidding. He had to be kidding. I banged the cuff on my wrist against the bar it was chained to and the fucking thing just popped open and fell off. I was going to kill him. The same thing happened with my ankle, one firm rap and no cuffs.

"You can get those things in naughty stores," Mr Mac observed. "You should have listened when I told you how to pop them?"

"When did you do that?" I demanded.

"The same time as I put them on," he said glibly. "I wouldn't cuff you without telling you how to get free."

I'd been out cold and he damn well knew it.

"You think this is such a joke," I snapped. "You won't laugh when I have you charged with rape."

"What rape?"

"What you just did to me!"

"Like, what I did when you told me to just do it?"

Fuck. He was right. I'd demanded that he do it. Fucking hell. No rape. Trick cuffs. Why hadn't I spotted that there was no keyhole? 

"Well, screw you," I snapped. "That's all I've got to say."

"And it's an invitation I will happily accept," he said. "Shall we start with the honey again?"