Chapter 11

Miss Appleton carefully pinned up her long dark hair before leaving her apartment for her first class of the day. Reflected in the mirror, she saw a pretty oval face with deep-set blue eyes fringed with long dark lashes. Her creamy complexion needed almost no make-up, and Alice contented herself with applying just the slightest bit of lip gloss to her small but perfectly formed lips. The somber-toned charcoal-grey dress molded well to Alice Appleton's curvaceous figure, but not too closely. Alice preferred the more conservative approach to everything, and she knew that she was admired at the school because of it. She was an excellent teacher of English, and the young twenty-three year old took great pride in her work with the boys of the Scotsdale School. This was the attractive brunette's second year now at the school, and Alice felt that she would like to stay for a long, long while.

It was easy to spend most of her time studying, planning lessons, and correcting papers. That way the pretty dark-haired teacher had little time to think of the past. Even so, however, there were moments when that past pressed into the present, bringing with it unwanted memories.

This was one of those disturbing moments, and Alice blinked her eyes rapidly at her own reflection in the mirror, when she realized that she was no longer thinking of the class that was to come, but of him.

Martin's hands running over her soft exposed skin, there in the fresh night air; the feel of the blanket beneath her; the longing in her loins as she felt him pressed closer and closer to her trembling body. How good it had been to lie back, her head feeling the bumps of the grass against the blanket and up above, beyond Martin's hovering form, the night sky and the stars, and then the feel of her skirt being pulled up, the sound of her own acquiescent sigh as her flimsy silk panties were eased down over her trembling thighs, and she knew what was going to happen. The way her legs had parted--or had he parted them with his own--and then her closed eyes, the naked heat of him against her, and the awful pushing pain. Her cry of fear rising to the night, and then the pleasure, the powerful, moving pleasure filling every portion of her quivering young body, making her know that she could, indeed she would live forever as long as she remained in Martin's arms.

"OH GOD!" Alice turned away from the mirror and scurried into the small bathroom that all the teachers' apartments had. There she dabbed witch hazel on her face with little cotton squares, feeling the cooling liquid bring her back to normal. The trembling of her legs had ceased, and Alice felt she would be able to go to her class now. She reminded herself firmly that Martin and all that was finished, far behind her. She was no longer a foolish eighteen year old, silly enough to fall for the phony promises of a man older and more cunning than she. No, there were no men in Alice's life now, and there had been none since Martin, and that was the way she wanted it. Much better to enjoy her quiet but rewarding life as a teacher, than to risk everything for a man's unfaithful caresses.

Refreshed and determined, Alice made her way from her apartment in the left wing of the main building of the private boys' school, the central portion of which housed some of the boys' dorms on the top floors and most of the classrooms on the lower floors. The left wing was in reality a recently built extension to the main building, designed specifically to house the faculty members who lived on campus.

"Morning, Miss Appleton."

"Nice day, Miss Appleton!"

"You're looking lovely today, Miss Appleton."

Alice blushed and said thank you to Mr. Boyse who was the last person she passed in the corridor that lead to her classroom. A fellow-teacher, she couldn't bring herself to be rude to him, even though she often wanted to tell him that his personal remarks were unnecessary. For some reason, though, today Miss Appleton didn't mind Mr. Boyse's remark as much as she might have. He was harmless enough, and there was no danger whatsoever that the chemistry teacher would seek a more intimate relationship with her. Yes, Miss Appleton felt quite safe at the school, and it was a relief to know that she was secure at all times.

There was a special little lift to her feelings today, however, as Alice entered her classroom. She was a few minutes later than usual, it being her habit to arrive a good fifteen minutes early in order to greet the boys on their arrival and prepare her papers and books. Today several of her students were already in their seats, and Alice was pleased to note that the Larsen twins were among them. Such good boys! she thought as she greeted them with her sunniest smile, a smile reserved only for her best students, and never, for example, for a teaching colleague.

As she sat down at her big oak desk, being sure to pull her sensible-length charcoal-grey skirt down over her knees, Alice thought she knew why she was feeling that little lift. It was certainly because of the papers that the Larsen twins had handed in, and which she had read pleasurably the night before. Miss Appleton had had them read their composition papers to the class two weeks before, and as she bent her pretty dark head over the current assignment, Alice decided that she must have them repeat this performance.

Gradually the classroom filled, and Alice pretended not to notice the little whispers and scuffles that always were a prelude to the final bell. When the bell rang however, the students were always forced to observe the most rigid silence, as Alice Appleton stood and seriously surveyed them from behind her desk.

"Good morning, boys!" she said now, taking them in one by one, noting by each boy's expression whether or not he was likely to have shirked on his homework.

"Good morning, Miss Appleton!" the boys chorused back.

Miss Appleton was in her element.

"First of all," she began, strolling over to the large windows that lined one side of the room, "we will collect your homework assignment... the two descriptive paragraphs about an art work of your choice."

Knowing that the art department of the school was particularly poor, Alice had enjoyed taking her class to the local museum, and she was looking forward to their comments on the paintings and sculpture they had seen there.

"Do I have a volunteer?" she asked, turning away from the pleasant view of green fields and trees below to face her class. "Yes, Tim, you may collect the papers," she smiled, an absent- minded, thoughtful smile that made it clear to all who observed her that she was thinking of many important things related to her teaching.

A short while later, Alice was once more seated at her desk. She looked up as Tim arrived carrying the sheaf of papers. Tim's blue eyes held Miss Appleton's for a brief second before Alice turned away.

"How many did you count, Tim?" she asked.

"Fourteen, Miss Appleton," Tim replied.

"Fourteen? There are fifteen students in this class. Will the boy who did not do his homework please raise his hand?"

"I didn't, Miss Appleton," Tim admitted. He was looking at the soft swelling of his teacher's breasts, two large mounds of flesh that seemed to want to escape the drab coverings that Miss Appleton always gave them. He thought about them now with considerable interest, comparing them mentally with what he knew his father's ex-wife's breasts had looked like. Of course, it was all imaginary at the moment, but Tim was confident that soon he would be able to make the comparison, yes, he and Bennie both would know whether Miss Appleton's breasts were prettier than old Carolyn's had been.

"You, Tim?" Alice was shocked, and the glasses that she had been about to place on her pertly upturned nose fell to the desk. "But... I don't understand. Do you have a good reason Tim? I've never known you to shirk your duty!"

"Uh... not really Miss Appleton," the blond thirteen year old replied.

The class sniggered and Alice looked up sharply. Recovering her composure, she spoke with renewed authority. "We'll have to discuss this after class, Tim. You know that."

"Yes, ma'am," Tim replied, turning to go back to his seat.

Throughout the rest of the class, Alice felt flushed and perturbed. It was so unlike the Larsen boy not to have done his homework, and then not to have a decent excuse at that! The whole thing was very unsettling, and Alice hurried through the day's lesson, postponing her suggestion that the twins read their short stories to the class until another time.

When finally the last bell rang, Alice gave a particularly long homework assignment which was greeted by groans from her students. Ignoring the groans, the pretty twenty-three year old bid the boys good-day and began to leaf through a poetry book that was usually on her desk. The title swam before her eyes, Love Poems of William Shakespeare. The title was decidedly embarrassing, Miss Appleton decided once and for all as she waited for the classroom to empty. But there had been something special about the book when she'd first seen it in the bookstore, that had made her buy it. Perhaps, she thought, she would cover it, and that way she would not be faced with the rather blunt title every day.

"Miss Appleton?" Tim waved good-bye to his brother Bennie and stood watching Alice Appleton with curious interest. How long he had been standing there observing her, Alice could not tell, but she decided that she was angry. Yes, she was angry with Tim Larsen, and she was going to let him know it in no uncertain terms.

"Tim Larsen! What do you have to say for yourself? I must say I am terribly disappointed in you. As you know you and your brother have been at the head of this class, and I certainly expect you of all people to set a good example for the others!"

For the first time in his thirteen years, Tim understood the expression that he'd read and heard on television couched as a joke: You're beautiful when you're angry! For Alice Appleton was most certainly beautiful at this very moment, Tim thought, far more beautiful than his former stepmother who had never been pretty when she was angry, which was quite often.

No, Miss Appleton was something special, that was for sure, and Tim was glad that he and Bennie had chosen her for their little experiment. She would make a perfect subject!

"Well, you see, Miss Appleton..." Tim began, then hesitated. He would have to make this turn out just right for his purposes.

"Yes, Tim? Yes?" Alice was anxious to hear something, anything from the boy that would help restore her faith in him.

"I... uh... Well, none of the paintings and stuff turned me on enough to write about them."

Miss Appleton was genuinely worried. "But... that's just not possible!" she declared. "A boy so sensitive... so..."

"My stepmother always said, Art is bunk!" Tim was stealing it from something he'd learned in history. It was Henry Ford's infamous remark that "history is bunk". Actually old Carolyn had never opened her mouth to either one of the boys about a subject as lofty as art, and Tim had no idea what his father's ex-wife thought about the subject. His statement produced exactly the right effect, however, for Miss Appleton replied, "Why, you poor boy... I... I mean... Didn't I read in your record that your father is, uh, no longer married to... uh... your stepmother?"

"Yeah, they got divorced just a little bit ago... that's when we came to this school!" Tim guessed what Miss Appleton was thinking, and he was quite accurate.

Poor children... no decent guidelines. What kind of woman must their stepmother have been? And now to have no one at all. I've been neglecting my job. Tim and Bennie both need special care... special attention and guidance. Such bright boys... but undoubtedly there are other areas in which their education has been lacking. Why, I might be able to influence these boys so that they go on and do great things.

By the time Tim left Miss Appleton, it had been all arranged that he and Bennie were to have private tutoring sessions with their English teacher twice a week during their usual study hour.