Chapter 7: Mrs. Joanna Simpkins - Guidence Teacher

I can still remember the advice Mrs. Simpkins had given to me, three long years ago at the end of my first high school guidance session, "Well Jimmy, if all else fails you can always join the circus. I understand they're always looking for midgets."

She had been Miss Boyle in those days, the dark haired daughter of a Fundamentalist Christian minister, and a recent graduate of some second rate bible college in rural Oklahoma. How she had ever convinced any school board, let alone Dade County's school board to accept her, was a mystery to any student who subsequently spent any time in her office listening to her dribble.

She was only twenty-seven years old, four years out of school, but dressed and acted like a librarian from the nineteen fifties. Even in the tropical climate of South Florida she wore long sleeved, high necked, old fashioned blouses and long, dark, heavy tweed skirts.

She piled her long, auburn colored hair on the top of her head, held up in a neat but bizarre hairdo by perhaps twenty old fashioned hair pins. She had married Reverend Simpkins about fifteen months ago, he a gangling Texan she'd met at their college in Oklahoma.

Her father, who ran a large and prosperous congregation up in Broward County, was sponsoring Simpkins, backing the younger man's satellite church in inner city Miami. Why the two newlyweds had set up in an area that was populated by Central American immigrants was a mystery, especially as neither spoke fluent Spanish.

And yet, in spite of all this, Mrs. Simpkins was a striking woman, neither her clothes, nor hair style, nor lack of make up could hide the strong, long legged, full busted girl lurking behind all her finery. And as I entered my final year I wondered if I could somehow open up this reserved churchwoman, let her finally experience what God had made her body for.

It was mid September; the start of my senior year at Miami's Washington High and not much had changed, Mrs. Simpkins was still my guidance teacher and still as stunned as ever. Over the three previous years I had learned how to handle this strange young woman. I simply moved all our conversations towards her favorite subject — Christianity — and let her talk while I nodded sagely.

"Hi Mrs. Simpkins," I said breezily as I entered her office three weeks into the new school year.

"Oh, hello James," she started hesitantly, looking down at my file, clearly confused, not recognizing me immediately, probably due to my new height. I was still short at 5'1" but after having grown 13+ inches in the last fifteen months could no longer be considered a midget. "You're taller," she finally added.

"Praise the Lord ma'am," I intoned.

"Praise the Lord," she echoed back stupidly.

"You look lovely Mrs. Simpkins; you must have had a rewarding summer. Did you and the Reverend go somewhere?"

"We went to Guatemala on a mission for six weeks," she started excitedly and I knew I'd hear all the details over the next hour.

Finally after forty-five minutes of church stories she flipped open my file and said, "You did surprisingly well on your exams last spring Jimmy, actually very well. You know, I never thought of you as a potential university student but you never know. What are your plans?"

"I'm hoping to study math, computers and science at university ma'am," I explained.

"Oh science. I don't know Jimmy. Daddy doesn't approve of a lot of these new fangled ideas. 'The work of the Devil', he says."

"But Mrs. Simpkins, what about computers? Surely you use them in your ministry?" I exploded, forgetting for a second my resolve to silently get through the hour.

"Pornography young man, just filth and works of the devil," she insisted, reddening as she spoke.

"I read something about 'Intelligent Design' on the web the other day ma'am," I told her, unable to resist tweaking the ignorant woman. "It was very interesting," I added, "I never really believed in Darwin and all that. What's your opinion of evolution?"

"Do I look like a monkey?" she demanded. "I didn't know the proponents of 'Intelligent Design' were able to get their voice heard on that Internet thing," she said with interest in her voice.

"Oh yes Mrs. Simpkins, Christians are finally getting their voices heard out there. Its one of the reasons I want to study computers and science," I lied.

"It is?"

"Yes ma'am, I think it's important that computers serve God. We Christians have to get his ideas into the twentieth-first century."

"I don't know. The Reverend and I don't really know much about all that."

"I could show you."

"But..."

"I'll bring my laptop down after class; I'll show you some of the important Christian sites. You definitely don't want the Moslems or Jews getting ahead of you, do you? Or the Pope."

"No, no..."

"Good, I'll come back at four," I told her as I backed out of her office.

Of course, like almost any other subject you search the web for, millions of sites were offered when I typed in Christian and then Jesus on yahoo for the now fascinated teacher. Fuck, I thought, as I led her through a sampling of sites, a high school guidance teacher who can't operate a computer.

She smells nice though, clean and fresh I thought, as we sat facing the screen, my arm lying lightly against hers. I even tentatively put my arm on the back of her chair, her excitement making her oblivious to my thigh pressed against hers, my fingers softly caressing her shoulder.

"You must show the Reverend," she insisted, "Can you come to our home some night, explain it all, give us lessons?"

I immediately agreed, but as I went to shut down the computer, I momentarily clicked to a site that I knew showed a daily picture of a beautiful, young naked girl. She saw it; I saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes as I hit the close button, a small first step in the eventual seduction of Mrs. S.

Two nights later I ventured into an area of Miami called Little Panama, a small but densely populated inner city barrio that housed most of Miami's burgeoning Central American immigrant population. It was a one square mile area of small, tightly packed homes and three and four story apartment buildings, tucked between the blacks to the east in Overtown, Little Haiti to the north and the Cubans of Hialeah to the west.

It wasn't an area of the city I'd ever visit normally, but the Metrorail got me pretty close to the Simpkins house and church so that I felt my odds of surviving the trip intact were relatively good. It was a small storefront church, two rows of benches fronting the plain altar and the large cross on the wall behind.

Their house was simple, a two bedroom, one floor, cement structure that sat on a small lot behind the church. But someone, Mrs. Simpkins I guessed, had tried to brighten it up, two flower beds were planted brightly on both sides of the newly painted, bright blue front door.

He talked Texan, did the Reverend, call me Billy Joe, he insisted, and I immediately sensed the hunger for fame that lurked just below the surface of this thin but wiry looking Pastor. It just took seconds in front of the screen for him to realize the implications, the value, of the technology I was showing him.

He had the hard stare and body of a rodeo rider and I wondered if he hadn't turned to God as an easier way to make a living than getting thrown to the hard dirt floors of small town arenas. And whether the choice of his wife hadn't been a strategic decision based on her fathers power and influence as much as her good looks.

"This can definitely help us honey," he said to his wife as he watched over her shoulder, and I knew the help he was thinking of was measured in dollars and cents and not saved souls. "You're going to have to learn everything, you'll be our expert," he ordered as he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Are you willing to teach Miriam son?" he asked me.

"Well," I hesitated.

"We can't pay you boy, we're just poor Christians," he quickly interjected.

"Well, maybe at school, at lunch or after school, I can't come way out here," I temporized. "And there are lots of computers at school of course. I'm sure Mrs. Simpkins could get the school board to buy her one..."

"Good idea son, good idea. And you can call the Missus by her name, its Miriam, when you're teaching her. That's okay isn't it hon?"

"I guess," his wife stammered, not completely sure she wanted to get involved in all this computer stuff.

I finally escaped around ten after we agreed to start Miriam's lessons the next week. Mom was asleep when I got home, so I just slipped under the sheet and curled against her without waking her; just happy I'd survived my visit deep into the barrio.

"You need your own website Miriam, that's our first order of business," I explained as we sat side by side in her office after school ended the next Tuesday.

"A what?"

She turned out not to be as stupid as she had always seemed, and when faced with a specific task that interested her, was quite capable of working in an organized and diligent manner. That first afternoon, with my leg pressed against hers, with our heads just inches apart, I awakened her interest in the possibilities of the technology.

I led her to home page after home page of various Christian churches, finally eliciting a forceful, "We need one of those, I don't know why Daddy doesn't have one."

My comment of, "I bet he'll be pretty proud of you if you can get one up and running," was all I needed to say to set her going.

I slowly explained what was required, what jobs we'd have to do...

Two days later we met again, this time at noon, as we both had a free period after lunch and so had two hours to work. As I became more comfortable with her I started to probe the defenses of the young bride.

"You and the reverend don't want to have babies Miriam?" I asked innocently after a half hour of work.

"What... what did you say?" she demanded, startled away from the flickering screen.

"Well, I don't know... you've been married quite a while... I thought maybe it was against your beliefs or something..." I stammered.

"We're Christians Jimmy, not some weirdos, of course we want children."

"Oh good, I thought maybe... you know... maybe you didn't believe in sex or something," I said, purposely blushing.

After we had worked silently for a few minutes Mrs. S whispered without looking at me, "We're trying Jimmy... just so far, no... no luck."

"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, I'm sure you'll get pregnant soon... God willing."

After another half hour of hard work, our legs almost stuck together the whole time, I asked, "What do you and the Reverend think of premarital sex Miriam?"

"It's evil Jimmy, the work of the devil! What kind of question is that anyway?"

"Well, I just wonder what you tell all the young teens who come to your Sunday school. I mean, it's everywhere. Topless girls at the beach, sex on the internet," I said as I clicked on a site that featured explicit pictures of couples making love. "Gee, everyone here at Washington High does it," I added.

"It's disgusting," she stammered as her eyes followed the parade of pictures that flickered continuously across the screen. "I'm sure not everyone does it, surely you haven't," she finished, not taking her eyes from the monitor. Finally after getting no response for second after second, she turned and looked into my eyes, "You haven't, have you?"

"I have, yes ma'am."

"Ooooh Jimmy, that's terrible. With who"

"A few..."

"What? More than one? That's awful. The poor girls!"

"But it feels so good Miriam," I said quietly. "I mean, when you put it in and it feels so good... gosh, look at those two," I said pointing to the screen. "Didn't you do it when you were in high school Miriam?" I asked as I lightly traced my finger over her neck.

"No, of course not. I was home schooled Jimmy, Daddy didn't let me date in high school. And at Stillwater Bible College there was no kissing let alone..."

"But... you like it now, don't you?"

"We're married Jimmy. Now let's stop all this tomfoolery and get back to work," she ordered.