Part 2

Preamble — Part Two

In Part One we met Nick, the new guy in town, as he made his way through his first day of high-school. This story is about what happened to him that evening...

Chapter Four: Meeting the babysitter

Mom, dad, my sister and I sat down for supper. Mom had made meatloaf and home-made scalloped potatoes ‘au gratin’; there was also a small bowl of salad on top each of our plates. Mom was a great believer in starting a meal off with a salad. There was an assortment of salad dressings sitting in the middle of the table. We all had our favorites, but it was nice to change it up once in a while. There was also a bag of croutons, a shaker of bacon bits and a small bowl of grated cheese. If you’re going to have a salad, you might as well make once you’re going to enjoy eating. A large bowl of corn niblets with a serving spoon and a plate with celery and carrot sticks finished off the bounty of food on the table.

We finished the salads and my sister took the bowls over to the kitchen sink and rinsed them off before setting them in the bottom of the sink.

My mom’s meatloaf was one of my favorite main dishes, and her home-made scalloped potatoes were absolutely my favorite way of eating potatoes. Our plates were soon full of food and we happily ate our meal, enjoying the great taste of the food and telling mom how much we appreciated her effort.

My dad asked, “So how was your first day of high-school Nick?”

“Okay, I guess ... I spent most of my time learning where all the classrooms were and trying to remember the names of the teachers and other students I met.”

My sisters piped up, “You can hardly remember where our house is let alone a big school with a lot of rooms!” She was ignored by the rest of us.

“What were the teachers like?” asked mom.

“Like teachers!” I said with a bit of sarcasm in my voice.

“Seriously though, how were they?” she asked again.

“Most of them are older and there are a couple of younger ones. They’re all men except for the English teacher. My history teacher, Mr. Kertz is also my homeroom teacher.”

“What’s homeroom”, asked my sister who was still in public school, and didn’t have homeroom.

“Homeroom is where you go at the beginning of the school day so they can take attendance and also if there are any announcements, they will be heard on the classroom’s P.A. speaker. As soon as the announcements are finished then you have 5 minutes to get to your first class of the day.”

“How many classes do you have in one day?”, she asked. Being in public school she had the same classes every day.

“Usually 7 classes per day unless you have a spare period; in that case, you have 6 classes that day. Classes are 40 minutes long and you have 5 minutes to get to the next class.

And ... there are 4 days in a high school week. On the fifth day, we start over on ‘day 1’; each room has the day number written on the top right-hand corner of the blackboard. They also tell you the day number during morning announcements.

And just to confuse things even more, lunch period and fourth class switch with each other every other day.”

“Wow ... that’s a lot of stuff to remember”, said my sister.

Mom and dad both looked at me and related to me that things were much simpler when they went to high school. Same courses every day, lunch was always the same time everyday. And of course, they had to walk 5 miles to school, and it was uphill both ways.

We ate in relative silence for a while before dad said, “I hear you have a telephone message and it was left by a female.”

“Wha...”, I looked at my mom, who was smiling like the cat who had eaten the canary. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a girl who left the message?!”

“It must have slipped my mind ... I’m sorry.”

I could tell just by looking at her that she was in no way, shape or form sorry. In point of fact, she was still smiling, though not as broadly and she had turned her head towards the kitchen window in an attempt to hide her face. She always did have a bit of the devil in her.

“Why would a girl leave a phone message for you?”, my dad queried.

“I have no idea”, I said hotly.

“Nick has a girlfriend! Nick has a girlfriend”, my sister teased in a sing-song voice.

“I do not! I don’t even know any other girls in this town!”

“Could it be someone from school?”, asked mom after she had given my sister the ‘stop that right now’ look.

“I don’t know ... I really don’t know”, I asserted.

“Guess you’ll find out after you call her eh?” dad quipped.

We finished eating and mom and I did the dishes. We traded off with dad and my sister for dish-washing duty on alternating days. Finally, we were done; the time was 6:58 pm, nearly time to call the mystery girl.

I waited until it was five minutes past the hour before calling the number; I didn’t want to be seen as too keen. The call was answered on the first ring.

“Hello, Nick” a pleasant voice answered. I had given up on how everyone seemed to know who I was, but I had no idea who they were.

“Hi”, I replied without any questioning inflection in my voice. I may not have known who was calling, but I didn’t want to appear to be a complete dummy.

“I saw you in English class today and you seemed to be ... hmm ... struggling with the material.”

Well ... she had that right. English was my worst course; made even worse by the teacher who looked as though she could easily pass for a Playboy model. I had been sneaking glances at her all through the class and not really paying much attention to what she was writing on the board or what was in my textbook.

As I was formulating a response she said, “I am very good with English and I thought maybe I could help you out with it.”

“Erm ... how?” I really wasn’t sure what she meant by helping me out.

“Well, I’m babysitting tonight and thought that maybe we could get together and go over today’s classroom material. I’m sure I can help you with the parts you’re having trouble with.” Her voice was friendly and inviting.

And so, for the second time in a day, I was being asked to participate in an activity I had no experience with. I really did need help with English though and the thought of an English wizard helping me did have a strong appeal.

“Just let me ask my parents if I can.”

“Okay”

As I turned around I nearly collided with my mom... “Oh ... sorry; I was just going to check if the clothes are dry.”

A white lie from her ... although she did have the laundry basket under her arm, the light in the laundry room was not on. She obviously wanted to hear what was going on over the telephone.

“Can I go and study with ... uhm ... I didn’t get her name yet, but she says she is really good with English; and I can really, really use the help.” I asked mom.

To my great surprise, she said, “All right, but make sure you are home by 11 pm.”

I was certain there would be questions, like, “Where is she? Are her parents home? Has she got permission to ask you over?” and all the other things parents want to know before letting you out of the house in the evening.

“Okay mom, thanks!” I effused. That certainly went a lot easier than expected.

I took my hand off the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “Okay, I can come over, but I have to be home by 11 pm. Where are you?”

“I’m in the apartment above the grocery store. The doorway is between the grocery store and the drug store. When you get there, ring the bell 3 times then come up the stairs. There are two doorways at the top of the stairs; knock quietly on the one on the left.”

I quickly closed my eyes and tried to picture where she was talking about. Although it was a really small town, I had only seen short glimpses of the downtown area.

“Is that on the left side of the Cenotaph?” I asked.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Okay then, I’ll be there as soon as I find my books and walk over there.”

Mom smiled as I hung up the phone; she was still lingering near me, the empty laundry basket still under one arm.

“So where will you be?” she asked.

“The apartment over the grocery store.”

“She is babysitting there?” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

“Yes, she is.”

“Okay. Don’t forget, home by 11 pm” she admonished as she turned away from me and headed in the direction of the living room.

“Yes, mom,” I assured as she started walking away from me.

I went to my room, got my English notebook and textbook, and put them in my school bag as I mentally plotted out the route from my place to the grocery store downtown.

All the way down to the other end of my street, a left turn on the second left, not the first ... that was a dead-end. Keep walking straight after the left turn until I got to the street the arena was on. A right turn and past the arena (and my bus stop), over the bridge (a small bridge to be sure, but a bridge nonetheless) then cross over to the left-hand side of the street just after the Cenotaph. The grocery store and the adjoining drug store would be right on the other side of the street.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the house, staring the walk down the street. In total it took me about 20 minutes to arrive at the doorway between the stores.

I rang the bell the instructed number of times, opened the door and stepped into a small entryway. The stairs were old and wooden with a high step to them. There was an old but clean carpet tacked to the floor and on up the stairs. The carpet helped muffle any creaking and added a bit of color to the stairwell. I arrived at the small landing above the top step and saw the two doorways, one on the left and one on the right. They were very plain, and the blue paint on them was faded, giving them an old look.

I turned to the door on the left and was just about to knock quietly when the door suddenly opened a few inches.

“Nick?” a soft, pleasant voice enquired.

“Yes,” I replied in a whisper.

The door opened just far enough to admit me and she pulled me through the doorway. She quickly latched and locked the door with a dead-bolt and a very old brass key lock. The door didn’t look nearly as old inside as it did from the outside.

“Come with me”, she instructed as she gently pulled on my left arm. We were soon in the kitchen of the apartment. It was open on one side to a small round table and two chairs. The other side was open to a small living room, a TV set turned on with the volume down as far as it would go. Down a short hall off the living room were 3 doors; the two opposite ones were closed while the one at the end opened into the bathroom. The kitchen counter faced the street and there was a window there offering a good view of the downtown area.

I took in all this information with a quick glance around before looking at the girl who had led me to where I was now. The light in the kitchen was bright and quite illuminating...

She was very tall looking; not tall actually but looking that way because of the clothes she was wearing. Her light red hair was coiffed around her head, nicely framing her almost pale face. The coils of it ended on and around her shoulders, curling up nicely where it fell on her shoulders of the blouse she had on.

The button-down blouse was bright white with intricate embroidery starting on the shoulders of each side before running down close to the edges of the buttons. It was not overly done and added a classy look to the short-sleeved blouse. The buttons were quite small with a pearly shine to them; there were quite a few of them giving the blouse a very rich Victorian look.

A dark-indigo colored skirt encircled her waist, flaring out a tiny bit at her waist, then flowing down in a taper until it was a few inches above her knees. That was the part that made her look taller than she was ... she was wearing black leather laced shoes and white lace stockings that ended only 6” from the floor. The large area of bare skin from the tops of her socks to the hem of her skirt was what lent itself to the illusion of her being taller than she actually was.

The color of the skirt was also unusual ... dark indigo was not black, it was like a really deep black with an ink overtone. I had only seen the color once before, and that was at a funeral. I knew that skirt did not come from a big brand name store, but rather from the kind of place that had bolts of cloth displayed in the windows. Custom made and very expensive. The length of the skirt had been purposely created.

Having learned my lesson from Terri about staring I made a point not too linger in any one area and tried not to be too obvious about giving her the once over.

Her breasts barely raised the material of the blouse, but those long looking legs were to die for; wonderfully formed from top to bottom with curves in all the right places. They were just a tiny little bit thin, but that only added to the overall allure created by her clothing and reinforced by the bare skin that was showing.

I had made a point of opening my school bag, putting it on the kitchen counter and then extracting my books. I let the notebook slide over the edge of the counter. It was while I was bent down on one knee to retrieve the notebook that I had a better opportunity to get a good look at her legs above the hem of her skirt. There was little to see as it was very dark up there. My eyes were back on the counter as I stood back up and put my notebook on it.

“So Nick, what do you think of our tiny town so far?” Her voice was very pleasant to listen to.

“Well, from what I’ve seen so far it’s been okay”, I allowed.

“That’s good, I’m glad you are liking what you have been seeing today”, she responded.

Inasmuch as most of what I had seen so far that day been Terri naked and responding to my ministrations, I was quite happy with what I had been seeing as well.

What I was now seeing looked quite nice too. I risked another look at her breast area and could see the faint outline of a bra under the thin material of her blouse. My eyes quickly returned to their prior positions.

I smiled at her for a few seconds before she asked me, “Do you want to study at the table her or on the sofa in the living room? There is more light in the kitchen her, but the sofa is far more comfortable.”

It took me about a thousandth of a second to decide but I let her see me carefully look at the table, then to the couch, “I agree with you, the couch looks far more comfortable.”

“Okay then, let’s get to it!” she said cheerfully.

“Where are the children?” I queried.

She smiled as she said, “In bed sleeping soundly. They’re very young and will sleep right through until morning”.

We grabbed my books and went into the living room. The couch was against one wall, opposite the TV set. There were table lamps, sitting on coffee tables at either end of the couch. She motioned for me to have a seat, her open hand indicating I should sit at the end of the couch.

I sat down on the couch and set my books on my knees. She sat down beside me, twisting a bit so that we could both see the material and each other at the same time. She had one leg on the couch, bent at the knee, her foot tucked under her other leg as it hung down over the side of the couch to the floor.

“All right then, let’s get started.” She plucked my notebook off of my knees and set it on her leg, opening it as she did. She started on the first page and slowly read what I had written on it. She turned the page and continued to scrutinize my work on the following two pages. As she was turning the next page, she could see that it was empty, as were all the rest of the pages in the notebook.

“Okay ... I think I can see one problem here”, she ventured.

“What?” I asked, not knowing what she meant.

“You seem to need some help with your note-taking. Hang on a second...”

With that, she rose from the couch and disappeared around the corner and down the short hallway. I heard a door open and then close again before she came back around the corner and reseated herself on the couch. She had a notebook in her hand, but I couldn’t see the name on it. She opened it and I could see the pages were filled with text in a rounded writing style. I usually printed as my writing was a horror to read. Even I sometimes couldn’t make out later what I had written.

She held the notebook open as scooted a bit closer to me so I could get a better look at the text on the pages.

“See ... you need to make more notes about what the teacher is writing on the blackboard.”

I moved my head a bit closer to the notebook and started to read her notes; her detailed and exhaustive notes. My eyes must have widened somewhat when I was looking at the page, as she said kindly, “I take more notes than anyone else in our class, but I can write very quickly.”

“This is amazing”, I enthused. And it was too; everything I could remember seeing on the chalkboard in the English class was copied down in her notebook.

“I wish I had your gifts”, I said in a somewhat subdued voice.

“Gifts?” she asked quietly. “My gift is being able to write quickly, and being able to remember things for exams”

She went on, the question obvious in her voice, “But that is only one gift, and you said ‘gifts’”.

I turned the page of her notebook and continued to read and examine her wonderfully easy to read writing.

I answered slowly, my head still focused on the notebook, “You haven’t told me your name yet. You know my name, I think it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

She closed the notebook and took it from my unresisting hands, holding it so I could read the name on the label of it: Sylvia Marks.

“Marks ... as in ‘Marks Pharmacy’?” I asked.

“Yes, that ‘Marks’”, she replied.

Her nice hair and nice clothes made more sense now ... Her father owned the town pharmacy and drug stores usually made good money.

“It’s been in the family, here in town, for 5 generations now.”

“You must know a lot about people in town here then?” I speculated.

“Yes ... well Daddy does at least. I know most people in town to see them, but I’m not allowed to look through the pharmacy records. They are strictly confidential he says.”

I looked her in the eyes and quietly said, “I agree with him, I wouldn’t want anyone but my pharmacist looking at my records.”

“So ... now you know who I am. Let’s get back to work on your English skills. Open your textbook to page 23.”

I did as I was told, and opened the heavy hard-covered book to the page she had dictated. She leaned over a bit so she could hold the left side of the book in her left hand. I did the same, holding the right side in my right hand. I looked closely at her hands ... they were the same nearly pale color as her face with delicate fingers ending it perfectly manicured nails colored with nail polish exactly the same color as her hair.

For the next half-hour, she tutored me in English. I found a lot of it difficult and more often than not she would have to go over a certain part of it with me. The textbook was heavy and we schooched a bit closer together in order to switch hands holding the book.

We were particularly close when we were both holding the textbook a certain way; my left hand and her right hand. Our arms occasionally brushed against each other and we would quickly pull them apart. After a while, we didn’t move as quickly when our arms touched and after a while, we stopped moving them at all. It was just plain uncomfortable to try and bend our arms so they wouldn’t come in contact with each other.

“So ... what did you mean by ‘gifts’” she asked pleasantly.

“You are obviously a gifted tutor; I’m actually learning something and remembering it as well. That takes a tremendous amount of talent. Few people are so gifted with that ability.”

Her side of the book sagged as she let go of it. She turned so that she was facing directly at me. Both legs were now over the edge of the couch as she swivelled her hips to face me.

I took the textbook and put it on the coffee table beside me. I tried to swivel as she had done, but my hips were having none of that. I just can’t bend that way as women can.

She leaned forward, taking my hands and softly holding them in hers. Her hands were, to my surprise, very warm. I had never met anyone with hands that warm.

“Are there any more ‘gifts’ you think I have that you would care to tell me about?”

Her eyes, classic green, moved closer to mine, locking me in their grasp. I refused to flinch; I didn’t want her loose her gaze as I started to speak...

Using my most polite tone of voice I said to her, “You are gifted with beauty, poise and grace. You are an excellent tutor, and I feel that I actually learn something from you. You have the body of a Goddess and eyes to match. I have never laid eyes on such a beautiful woman as you.”

As I spoke her the reactions of her face and eyes went from astonished, unbelieving, astounded, disbelief and finally back to a more neutral look. As I finished talking, I dropped my head and eyes to her hands. They still held mine, and now I could feel that her thumbs were very softly moving in small circles on the backs of my hands.

After what seemed to me to be an eternity, she said, “Nick, look at me ... put your head back up”. I tarried until she took her hands off mine and gently lifted my head, cupping it in her hands. Eventually, I raised my eyes until I was looking at hers.

“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I cannot believe you do so poorly in English when you can say words like those. I wonder, where did you learn to speak with such eloquence?”

“A book”, I replied very quietly.

“A book?” she asked incredulously, her voice raised a bit. “What book teaches you to say things like that?”

I waited a little bit until I could see she was just about to speak and answered, “Can’t tell, it’s a secret.”

“A secret? Why?” she demanded.

“I’m sorry Sylvia, but I just can’t say.” I looked at her with real anguish in my eyes and her visage softened somewhat.

“You will tell me someday.” It was a statement and not a question. I slowly nodded in agreement.

“Good”, she said, more softly now, her eyes losing the flash of anger and returning to their normal state. “I need to stretch my legs, and I need to get something from my place. I’ll only be a minute, there’s some juice in the fridge if you want.” Putting action to words she unlocked the door, opened it, stepped through and closed it behind her.

As I walked into the kitchen and over to the fridge I could hear keys turning in the lock of the door to the Marks’ apartment. I opened the fridge and got the juice, giving it a good shake while looking through the cupboards for a suitable glass. Finding one, I filled the glass and put the juice back in the fridge where I had found it. After a moment’s thought, I got the juice and filled up a cup for Sylvia. I had just finished closing the fridge door when I heard the door open again.

“I got you some juice too, in case you wanted some.”

She looked at the juice with a blank look for a moment then looked to me and said, “Thank you, that was nice of you.”

“I always try to be nice to a lady”.

Whereas she had not blushed when I had so extraordinarily complimented her before, she did now. Her face and hair were nearly the same color.

“A lady? A lady you say?” she asked as she walked over to the counter and took the cup of juice and drank from it. I took the opportunity to drink some juice too. I was actually quite thirsty and starting to feel quite warm. As I finished the juice, I rinsed the glass under warm water then left it standing upside down in the sink.

Sylvia took much longer to drink her juice. She did not put the glass down as she slowly drank her juice. She was still watching my face as she finally emptied the glass, rinsing it and standing upside down next to the cup I had used.

Chapter 5: Getting to know the babysitter a bit better.

Not pressing for the moment her question about being a lady she said, “Let’s watch some TV for a while. I’m sure you are probably tired of English by now”. She gently grasped my hand and led me back to the couch.

“Yes ... something more interesting than a textbook to look at would really be very nice.”

She turned her head and gave me an odd look, then turned it back around again. There had been nothing but sincerity in the tone of my voice or on the look of my face.

As we got to the couch she sat me down at the end of it and then sat down very, very close to me. She still held one of my hands in hers. She looked at the TV screen for less than a minute before speaking to me.

“Do you want me to turn up the sound?” she asked quietly.

“No. I like listening to you. Even when you’re not speaking you sound good.”

She turned her head away as a blush started up her face. “Let’s just sit nicely like this for a bit, okay?”

“Sure, whatever you like”, I answered, the sincerity in my voice was readily apparent to her as she suddenly scooched even closer to me. She turned so that she was leaning against me and asked me, “Could you rub my shoulders a bit? They are actually quite sore from leaning over and holding that textbook.”

“I would be happy to”, I answered truthfully. I turned as far as I could so I could more easily reach her shoulders. I sat up straighter up as my hands descended to her shoulders. The first order of business was to part her hair and put it on the front of her shoulders.

Her hair was so soft! I was amazed hair could be that soft. It was almost velvety to the touch. I found myself feeling the coils in her hair, gently lifting them and letting them fall down as I caressed the amazing texture in my fingers.

I leaned my head up to hers and whispered in her ear, “Your hair is softer than rabbit’s fur. I could run my fingers through it all day and all night.”

“I’m glad you like it, and having you touch it so appreciatively is a really nice feeling ... but ... what I really, really want is a shoulder massage,” she whispered back, the desire clear in her voice.

I released my fingers from her hair and gently laid them on her shoulders. She sighed very softly as my hands made contact with her blouse. It was made of very thin silky feeling material and I could easily feel the contours of her shoulders. They felt very pliable under the material of the blouse.

I slowly and gently began to massage her shoulders, taking care not to press anywhere with too much force. After a while, she sighed and leaned back a bit more.

“That feels very nice. Very nice indeed.”

My fingers and thumbs could now feel every bone, every tendon, as well as the cartilage and flesh of her shoulders. It was as if the blouse has ceased to exist as my hands continued to work their way around her shoulders. She sighed a purely luxurious and contented sigh and leaned back even more on me.

“I’m also feeling a bit tense along the front of my shoulders, and all around my neck. Do you think you could help out there too?”

Her voice was so quiet as to be almost unintelligible.

“Whatever you ask, I will be happy to oblige you”, I replied in my quietest voice.

“Whatever I ask?” she asked, impossibly quieter than before.

I moved my head until my lips were nearly touching her ear and whispered nearly silently into it, “Yes ... whatever you ask”.

“And will you stop whenever I ask you to?”, she asked, her voice still quiet but pitched to make sure there would be no question that I had heard her properly.

I whispered again into her ear, “Of course. I would never do anything that would displease a lady.”

“A lady...”, she sighed again, “I like being a lady.”

I could feel her entire upper torso relax slowly but surely until she was as lax as a person could be without falling over. My hands found easy purchase along the base of her neck as I resumed her desired wishes. The bare flesh of her neck as I slipped my hands under the collar of her blouse was almost hot to the touch. I was also feeling hotter as well. I desperately wished for a cool breeze, but none appeared forthcoming.