Chapter 7: Like a Virgin

Friday, September 14

There was to be an administrative day off at the schools for the 17th, so we were going into a long weekend. Lois and I had driven to class, but I went ahead to the history classroom while she worked on some lesson materials.

When I got there, the students were bullshitting. Arlene Russo, as usual, was surrounded by flirting jocks and other admirers. A little above average height, her figure was strong but womanly. Arlene’s hair was a striking dark copper-red, falling to mid-back. Some thought of her as a more solid version of Marilyn Monroe, or of the sort of bikini model that definitely wasn’t anorexic. That image gave me a nostalgic flashback, as I remembered that Monroe had died in the previous month. Arlene’s ancestry actually was Sicilian.

Arlene wore a white, thin, ribbed, scoop-neck sweater, flowing below the waistband of her skirt. Her top emphasized large and proud breasts, which were, at most, covered and shaped by a delicate bra. While she was younger her boobs seemed bigger than Lois’ were. Her chocolate brown leather miniskirt and knee-length matching, high-heeled boots showed off solid, shapely legs in golden tan. No one would mistake her for an anorexic runway model, but she gave off radiant health. While her coloring was different, her figure actually reminded me of a younger Lois.

I came in, ignoring her drama, walked past her clique, and sat at my desk, failing to admire her, which she construed as a putdown. “Faggot”, she called at me.

She seemed surprised, however, when I responded, “Slut”. The guys around her bristled, but she waved them to silence. I laughed. “Do you really think you intimidate me, Arlene? Tit power, maybe?”

“Hell, my tits are bigger and shapelier than your cock probably is.”

“Want to test that, honey?” She reddened.

Suddenly, I felt I was in two realities. I remembered the slut-faggot exchange from my original youth, and that there was permanent hostility between the popular Arlene and me. As I wondered how it could be different this time, I realized that Lois had entered the room. She watched the interactions for a few minutes, and then slipped successively behind Arlene and me, whispering, “See me after school. That’s not punishment. We need to talk.”

She invited them into the inner office. They were slightly surprised to hear the door clicking shut. Lois gestured the two to the couch in the conversation area. Looking dubiously at one another, they sat as far from one another as the couch permitted.

Lois sat in the big armchair, thought for a moment, and stood up. “Given what I want to discuss with you two, I need you to know it’s informal.

“You two, whether you know it, are the most brilliant historians in the school, although you don’t make it known. Harold, you’re more known as a techno-nerd, and Arlene, more as a hot, popular girl.

Lois’ skirt was perhaps an inch above the knee. Not infrequently, it slid up, especially when she sat on the edge of her desk. That sometimes revealed what looked like the dark edge of stocking tops. Today, however, she reached for her hem and pulled it well over her stockings, revealing bright if tanned skin. She sat down again. Slowly and deliberately, she crossed her legs, swiveling to face each of us in succession. There was no question that she was flashing her sheer black panties at them, sufficiently that they could see that she had black trimmed pubic hair.

“Are you two OK, now, about talking about personal and sexual matters, knowing this is not official?”

We were baffled, but interested.

“Let me start by saying that I’ve mentored each of you individually, and at a college level. I doubt any of your classmates know how deeply you’ve gotten into your historical interests.”

The two looked at one another, surprised. “Exactly,” observed Lois. “Neither of you knew about the other.” You two can work out sexual tension.

“Harold”, asked Lois, “Did you ever read the book, The Ethical Slut?”

“No, I can’t say that I have. What are its premises?”

“That slut may be an honorable term to take back -- a woman who owns her sexual power and enjoys it. The term may even be extended to men who gracefully own their equivalent power. In no way is the book anything other than sex-positive.

“Harold, apropos of sex-positive, do you know much about Arlene’s mother, Terry?” Arlene looked uneasy.

“No, I do not.”

“Harold, Terry is a Registered Companion and a sexual educator, sexual surrogate, and writer. She’s proud of it. I can see where Arlene gets some of her mental power. While Terry and Arlene aren’t that alike physically, both are beautiful women. Arlene has worked with her mother a bit, although she isn’t eligible for the lowest level of the Companion registry until she turns 16. Nevertheless, RCs are honored and official sluts, in my mind.

“Apropos of your ‘faggot’ crack to Harold, Arlene, are you not aware that your mother is happily bisexual? Is it somehow bad for men to be gay or bi, but it’s OK for women? For that matter, do you know that she and I are ‘friends with benefits’”?

“I knew about my mother, but, to be fair, I never really analyzed it as an insult, or what the female equivalent would be. I’ve probably picked up the usage from my jock admirers -- anyone who isn’t as blatantly macho as they are must be less of a man.”

“I suspect, Arlene that you’ll find Harold to be quite a man, although inexperienced. The two of you can complement each other beyond the intellectual. I have an idea.”

She rummaged in her desk and pulled out an elegantly lettered card. “Why, fiddle-dee-dee! Both Scarlet and Rhett are in this room. I do declare!”

There was a land of Cavaliers and Cotton Fields called the Old South ... Here in this pretty world Gallantry took its last bow ... Here was the last ever to be seen of Knights and their Ladies Fair, of Master and of Slave ... Look for it only in books, for it is no more than a dream remembered. A Civilization Gone with the Wind...

“Try getting into role, Scarlett and Rhett. I’m introducing you for the first time. Are you two ready to start afresh, not necessarily anything your classmates will see?”

Arlene looked at Lois and dredged a line from her memory. “Cathleen, who’s that?” She vaguely remembered Cathleen Calvert as a friend of Scarlett, who introduced her to Rhett.