Chapter 9

Dean's Office

I waited until all of my classes were over on Monday and then went to the Admin Office. Some apologies were going to be harder than others. And, this one was going to be the hardest. The Dean had been against me since the first day we had met. Of course, that was about the credits program that the Dean thought was too much work for him and the school board. Once that was put into place, the curriculum changes raised their ugly heads too.

All of it was needed, I thought. But what I thought seemed to piss off the Dean as a matter of principle. Without actually changing the student council's number one priority, I was going to attempt an apology for my personal behavior. I thought it worth the effort. I knocked on his door.

"Oh, it's you. I don't have much time. Can't it wait?"

There was someone with him. An older woman, close to the Dean's age, but much slimmer with lovely, well shaped legs and bosom. I looked towards her and smiled, then at the Dean with a quizzical look on my face. He finally got the hint.

"Denise, this is Edward, the boy I've told you about so many times in the past few months. Edward, this is my wife, Denise."

It was a french name, so I took a chance and instead of just shaking her hand, I kissed the back of it and said,

"Enchanté, madam." I finished in french with the statement that one did not shake a beautiful woman's hand but that one must kiss it repeatedly." She under- stood what I said, perfectly, and ate it up. I could see it in her eyes, they lit up. She rattled off something that at first sounded like gibberish. I silently thanked Nicole once again for my command of french. Denise had a horrible Boston accent and the teacher, whoever it was, had to have been from french Quebec, another major corruptor of the language. Once I adjusted to the accents, I was OK. I kept to french with my answer. She almost purred.

Denise still smarted from her special trip to Paris twenty years before. Those Parisian bastards kept looking at her like they didn't even recognize their own language. It had really made her mad since she understood everything they said. Now, after all of these years, a real french boy understood her so well and so easily.

The phone rang. The Dean, who understood nothing but english, was glad of the interruption. He listened intently, then hung up.

"Sorry to interrupt, Dear, but there is an emergency meeting of the school board. Something about 'Drug free zone' signs or something. So, we have to go."

"You go ahead, Darling, it is so refreshing to speak french with a real Frenchman. I'll wait here for you."

"Sir," I broke in on their conversation, "I came here to apologize to you about my actions at the school board meeting for the credits program and about the student council's insistence on curriculum changes."

"Then you're dropping the harassment of the board about the curriculum?"

"No, Sir. But we certainly should have been more diplomatic about it."

The Dean thought he would pass on the apology, but it certainly seemed like a half-assed one. Well, at least it was something to pass on. He hurried out the door.

Denise was fascinated by the opportunity to talk freely to a Frenchman. She told him about her trip years ago and he commiserated with her about how nasty Parisians can be. He said that even those who are truly ignorant feel superior to all foreigners when it comes to their own language. Denise was feeling so relaxed with him that the time flew. She went to the drawer in her husband's desk where he kept his brandy. She poured two generous tumblers for them and then settled back down to talk of many things. That he was only fourteen never occurred to her. He was so sophisticated, any feelings she may have had about his age never rose to the surface.

Before she knew it, his words were flowing over her like cool, fresh water in a brook. He was alternately kissing her wrist and the inside of her elbow for emphasis, and then touching her shoulder, her knee, and amazingly, her feet. She had always loved her own feet, they were so dainty. She found herself laying back on the leather couch with both of her feet in his lap, as they continued to chat. His hands were so knowing, he knew what she would like even if she didn't. She took another sip of her drink and felt the dainty big toe of her foot slide into his warm, wet mouth.

She lay there dazed and partially splayed as he sucked her toes and then he exclaimed about the extraordinary dimples on her knees that definitely required kissing. He was so sincere, what could she say. She pulled both of her knees up so she could see these newly acquired dimples for herself.

From deep in her past Denise dredged up her honeymoon experience and the one and only time she had been kissed down there. The Dean had splayed her just as she was now. He had kissed it lightly, and then smiled at her proudly. That was all she remembered about it until just now.

She screamed as what felt like a foot of tongue slid deeply into her. Nothing had ever quite prepared her for anything like this. The boy was kissing, biting, sucking, and licking everything he could reach. She was being ravaged and she couldn't stop giggling at the wonder of it. Then, sometime later, he was french-kissing her mouth and another large part of him was sliding into her. After what seemed like an incredibly short time, she heard herself screaming over and over again.

Someone was shaking her shoulder. She didn't want to respond, she was far too limp and exhausted to do it again. How many times had she done the whole thing over and over? She struggled to open her eyes and finally she recognized her husband. She jerked her head up and looked down at herself, expecting to see a naked body. But She was fully clothed, even her shoes were on her feet. She had heard that some dreams can be very vivid. This must be one of those, she thought. A dream of paradise. The Frenchman was gone, it must have been wishful thinking on her part.

Her husband looked at the bottle of brandy on the desk and sighed. Just another little step off of the dutiful wife façade she normally presented.

Denise stood up and felt dizzy. Oh, my God. It wasn't just a beautiful dream. She was draining, her bra was unhooked, and her panties were on backwards.

Bradford's House

"Hi, Mom, what's for dinner?"

"Me, roast beef, potatoes, gravy and a vegetable."

"Everything sounds delicious." I walked up to mom at the stove and put my arms around her and squeezed. "There is something so decadent about holding a beautiful woman that you know is naked under her baggy shorts. I love it, but I swear there is a sadistic streak in both you and Ellen. But don't change a thing. Is Ellen upstairs, I need to talk to her?"