Carol Anne Anderson taught history and social studies. The job, the profession for her had placed her in the midst of a life time love. She loved teaching. She was fairly laid back with the high school kids in her classes and around the school but she was, for all of her basic niceness a 'no nonsense' type of teacher and was treated that way by her students. She was popular and was the advisor of the year book committee and the student council.
At a lovely 28, Carol Anne was not particularly a lonely woman but, admittedly, had very little social life. She'd cared for her invalid mother for most of her adult life from her immediate post college days, when her strong willed but loving father had died in an auto accident, from which her mother never seemed to recover, nor wish to recover.
She lived with her Mom on a small farm outside of town, which had been her Dad's fancy. A successful businessman, he had left his wife and his college aged daughter well off, fairly independent.
Carol Anne never complained about 'her lot'. She loved her mother and was eternally saddened by the fact that her Mom never seemed to try very much, after Dad was gone. She took care of her Mom until the time when the cancer, which had occurred in the past year and a half, finally took her too.
Carol Anne was lovely, of medium height at five foot four inches, not over weight, though she thought that her butt was too big. In reality she was proportioned very nicely, with a 37c inch bust line and her generous hips. She never had a super abundance of 'romance' in her life, since the time when she began to take care of Mom. But Carol Anne never complained. She never really dated, although she'd had overtures from various married faculty men, which she never honored. A life as 'the other woman' was simply not what she was going to allow herself.
She tended to dress in a conservative fashion, favoring straight skirts, keeping the pleated minis in the closet for days, when she was feeling braver than usual.
Getting used to a 'free' life, a life alone in the lovely old farmhouse was taking some time for her. At first she tended to mope at home and her brightness was mainly found in her activities at work, at school. Time alone, as the first half year after her Mom's death passed, seemed to make her more at ease with herself at home.
One of the 'romantic' things that entered her life, and she began to allow, after she started to live alone in the family home alone, was masturbation. She was always ashamed to be 'pleasuring' herself, when her Mom was at home and sick, so she very rarely ever did it, though she loved the sensations of it.
These days she would fill herself, her mind, with tales from online story sites, favoring, for reasons she'd not taken time to analyze or understand, those romantic kinds of stories where women would give themselves over to a man, to be 'used', as the stories called it, and be fulfilled by being someone's kind of property.
Those were delicious stories. She thought that she should take time soon to sit and think about this tendency within her, which seemed to go back, maybe, to the constant 'yes, Daddy' attitude of her teenage days and her college youth.
She was, for all intents and purposes, ripe for life, which seemed to be passing her by: a fact that she didn't rage against and tried not to allow to bother her.
Her bastion, her refuge, her place of freedom and joy, these days, was in subjects such as the Civil War, which this year she was teaching to a group of select senior honor students. It was a teacher's delight and Carol Anne reveled in this, almost as an alternative to a sex life.
Having been 'missed' didn't seem to bother her, as she spun around herself this world of the joy of teaching, of making the past re-live, and the steamy sessions that her night time 'finger wandering times' were providing.
That changed for Carol Anne Anderson in a way that she simply never anticipated. It was a late in the day double period with her honor students. The first part of the hour was spent leading a discussion of General Sherman's war aims. The second part of the long period was then to be devoted to each student writing an essay on the subject. They all were busy with their laptops, and Carol Anne sat for a few minutes.
Then she got a message notification on her own laptop, sitting on her desk. It went this way: Carol Anne Anderson, I want you to know that you are the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive.
I've waited until I got past my 18th birthday to send you this message. I don't want it written off as the ranting of callow teenaged mind, which is not the case.
Please don't try to trace this e-mail; I've made sure that it's sent via blind addresses and is not traceable.
What I do want is for you to think of what I've said; think of it all week long. Let it be your mantra this weekend for silent, and possibly sweet personal moments.
On Monday give me your reaction. Make it known by the first thing that you say to our class on Monday. If you choose to ignore this, so be it. But I have made my statement, and I assure you, Carol Anne, that I've never been more serious about something in my life.
Think about this for the weekend: that is your task.
Me Her breath caught in her throat. She, of course, looked out at the students in the room but no one was looking at her in any way. There was no obvious hint about who it might be that sent the message.
After the initial shock wore off, she tried to get her thoughts and, she realized, her emotions under control.
Her first reaction was kind of a reality check one. She realized, almost right away, that she wasn't taking this as a prank nor as the work of an adolescent. Carol Anne thought that she detected some real adult emotion in what was said in the e-mail, which she made sure to print out and send along to her home computer, after which she deleted it from her school computer.
The very next thing that happened to her was the weight of what he actually said settling in on her.
" ... the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!" she whispered to herself. "It's what he said."
She stopped and thought about it; it had in effect stopped her cold, and she found herself mumbling with some wonder:
"No one has ever said that or anything like that; not to me!"
She let it fill her mind, and knew that this compliment she'd keep with herself, even if this note was only a fluke and whatever promise there was with it went away.
Then her mind went on to his instructions for the following Monday:
"What ... what am I ... should I say on Monday?" she mused. "He said it needs to be the first thing that I say to the class on Monday. I need to ... uh think about this and make sure that I say the right thing."
She laughed at that point and talked to herself:
"Girl, this little note certainly has you rattled!"
She laughed at the truth of it: "It sure does!" she admitted, the smile not moving from her face at all. She came to a decision, at least about her night, then:
"Up, girl," she said to herself, "Even if nothing comes of this, we're going to celebrate tonight."
She swept her stuff to take home into her brief case and left the room, putting the lights out as she went. There were still students in the hallways and she got smiles and nods from all sides; she was a popular teacher. She wondered with each intended greeting: "Is he the one?" At times she winced at the prospect of some of those she encountered being 'the one'.
She also found that her constant asking the question had her giggling to herself, by the time that she was leaving the building. (Our Carol Anne is a giggler really!) Before she had arrived at her car, she had another world shaking thought:
"What if it's a ... a woman?"
The answer came quickly: ""Now you're being just silly; it was certainly a man."
But the only reply to that thought was a moaned: "Oh my!"
Carol Anne Anderson was, to the best of her knowledge, a very contented woman. She loved her teaching. She had, had no time for romance, except for some torrid happenings during her college days. Her devotion to her Mom had combined with the teaching job to fill her time, her days, her years, her life. This message was a significant crack in all of that wall of self built protection and contentment.
The more she thought of it, the more she rationalized that it was precisely because she'd been so careful about her world and the parameters of the world that this 'assault', as she chose to see it at times, was getting to her.
"Girl," she said to her self, later that night, sitting in the dark, wearing a floor length white nylon gown, that was slinky and clung to her hips, butt and breasts, "this is Mr Normal living knocking at your door."
She giggled at that thought, and once the giggle was over, she lapsed back into the mantra that 'he' had dictated for the weekend: '.the most gorgeous, sexy woman alive!' She allowed it to run through her mind, and capture her thoughts, imagination and emotions.
.... There is more of this story ...