Chapter 4

Bob had fallen into the habit of getting to school two hours early. Many of the other teachers shaved that to thirty minutes, a few even less, but Bob had found over the years that having more time to get ready for the day to "start" made for a much calmer frame of mind. That calm frame of mind could set the tone for the students, too.

He was sitting, thinking about what it might be like having Cee Cee around all day, instead of just for an hour, when his best friend Denny Nelson opened the door and sauntered in.

Bob had wondered more than once why Denny and he were such good buddies. Denny often reminded him of Al Bundy from that goofy TV show "Married with Children." In Bob's opinion Denny was basically an amoral man caught in a moral situation. He was married to a delightful woman named Helen who was fully aware of Denny's wandering eye and took advantage of it during their bedroom games ... if one was to believe Denny's description of events. Bob had no idea if Helen knew about the excruciating detail in which her husband described those bedroom games to his best friend, but she never blushed or seemed uncomfortable when Bob visited, which was frequently. Bob was the adopted uncle of their three small children and was in their home at least weekly.

"Dude!" said Denny as he rushed into the room. "I just found out about Cee Cee. You fucking lucky DOG!" He struck a pose. "What I wouldn't give to be able to tap that regularly," he sighed.

"It's not like that and you know it," laughed Bob.

"Maybe not, but it CAN be!" said Denny excitedly. "Man, it's just not fair. I get a pimply faced geek named Rodney as my student teacher and you get the cheerleader who was responsible for lowering more blood pressure around here than an alpha blocker."

"I thought cute girls raised blood pressure," said Bob.

"Not when every drop of blood in a man's body rushes to his aching prick," moaned Denny. "And whenever she sashayed down the hall in that short little skirt, it was everything I could do to spare a few drops of blood to keep my leg muscles working." He frowned. "This just isn't fair. And you're probably going to take the fucking high road and ignore prime pussy. Bob, I swear, if I didn't know better I'd think you were a fag."

"Gay," said Bob, smiling. "They call them gay these days. You have to be politically correct. You have access to fine young minds, and shouldn't corrupt them with stereotypes."

"The only stereotype I'm thinking about right now is the horny male teacher flipping up the short uniform skirt of the cheerleader to find her not wearing any panties. You should be pounding that pussy into the ground, mister, and swelling that belly until her uniform doesn't fit anymore."

"Don't tell me," groaned Bob. "You've gone and knocked up Helen again."

Denny got a puzzled look on his face. "Not from lack of trying," he said. "I'm beginning to think she's sneaking the pill or something. Do you know I made a special effort to bang her drum every single night for two months and she STILL didn't catch? I would have kept it up, but she got tired of being the captive princess to the barbarian." He sighed. "Man, you ought to see her in that little getup I found on the internet. It's nothing but gold straps that barely cover all the good parts. It's even got rings on it, to use to tie her up, though she drew the line at that." He looked disappointed.

"You know, she's going to dump you some day for a normal man," said Bob.

"Nah," sneered Denny. "She loves me, warts and all."

"Yeah, well wait until some guy comes along and treats her like a lady," said Bob. "Once she finds out there are men who are horndogs only part time, she'll start thinking about what life might look like off her back."

"Ha - ha," said Denny, a wry look on his face. Then his face twisted and he grinned. "That's IT!" he said. "You're going to use the old 'I'm a gentleman' thing on Cee Cee. You'll get her off guard and then get to actually SEE what's cradled in those double C cups! Brilliant!"

Bob's mind jerked as, for the first time, he connected Cecelia's nickname with a bra size. With something like horror he realized that if Denny had made that connection, many other men and boys would have as well. He remembered how she'd said Horace had apologized, and felt stupid for not having known why. And she, no doubt, thought Bob knew too. That explained why she'd been flustered when it had come up the day before.

"Ohhhh man," groaned Denny. "I bet she's got pink nipples that stand up an inch. I remember you could see them sometimes, even through those sports bras Mrs. Nicholson made them wear under their uniforms."

"You need professional help," sighed Bob, who now couldn't get the image of stiff pink nipples out of his mind. He was sure that his first instinct, when Cee Cee got there, would be to look at her breasts, and he started reminding himself not to do that under any circumstances. And that reminded him that she might arrive any minute. "Now, leave and go get some, before my student teacher gets here and you traumatize her by making a totally inappropriate move on her."

"You know I'd never do that," said Denny, sounding injured. "I know how lucky I am to have Helen, and I'd never do anything to risk losing her. It's all fantasy for me, brother. But YOU have a chance to live out my fantasy, and I can ride along vicariously. I'm counting on you. I can't wait to hear all the juicy details." He turned to leave and, just before opening the door, turned back to Bob. "Do you think they make cheerleader outfits that would fit Helen?"

"Get out!" groaned Bob.

Denny opened the door and there Cee Cee was, reaching for the knob. Bob held his breath.

"Good morning, Miss Carter," said Denny, almost formally. "It's wonderful to see you again. Welcome back. If there's anything you need, just let me know."

He held the door open for her and then left.

"Everybody's so friendly," she smiled.

"If only you knew how friendly," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Ready to get to work?"

"It's so exciting to actually be doing something, instead of just studying something. I've been ready since I got here."

Pointed, turgid pink nipples on soft thrusting breasts appeared in Bob's mind, pushing toward his mouth as her soft voice echoed in his brain: "I've been ready since I got here, Bob!"

He blinked and decided not to stand, since he suddenly had a boner.

"Let's get to it," he said, trying to think of schoolwork instead of something else his mind wanted to "get to."

During that day, and three more, Bob and Cecelia spent the hours going over their plans for the summer class. An observer would have seen two professionals working toward a common goal in what appeared to be a seamless fashion.

Of course that observer wouldn't be able to see inside those "professionals." While each tried to ignore the attraction to the other, neither was able to completely subvert his or her feelings. Every day, Bob admired Cecelia's svelte young body and sharp, quick mind. She asked a lot of questions, pointing out the places where what he planned conflicted with what she'd been taught to expect. He was pleased that she did so and even more pleased when she argued with him about some of his ideas.

One bone of contention was his intent to address each student by his or her last name, with the appropriate title of address.

"Teachers have always called students by their first names," Cecelia objected. "Honorific speech is intended for one's social superiors."

"I cannot believe you said that," sighed Bob. "Didn't you address Don Higginbotham as 'Sir' just a few days ago?"

"Of course I did," she said. "He's part of the administration."

"That doesn't make him your social superior," said Bob. "He's part of the educational team. If you'll remember, he didn't expect you to address him that way. It was a pleasant surprise."

"Well, it's just polite," caged Cecelia.

"Exactly," said Bob. "These kids are challenged. A lot of people look down on them. Is that fair? If we want them to assume the mantle of productive adults, shouldn't we treat them with common courtesy, at a minimum?"

"They're going to laugh at you," said Cecelia. "And they won't respect you."

"I called you Miss Carter when you were in my class."

"You did? I don't remember that."

"Sometimes," said Bob. He felt a stab of regret as he remembered what else he'd called her, not knowing then what it meant. He tried to gloss over that. "Sometimes, I called you what your friends called you, and at other times, when I wanted you to respond with maturity, I addressed you as Miss Carter. In my experience it generally works. And I'll get whatever respect I earn. It won't be based on how I address them. I can't demand respect, at least not for myself. I have to earn that."

"But you can't be effective if they don't respect you," said Cecelia.

"True, but I also can't force them to learn. I have to make them want to learn. And once they get that ... once they understand that I — or you — have helped them find the ability to be productively curious, respect just follows."

"If you say so." Cecelia sounded doubtful.

"Tell you what," said Bob. "You call them by their first names, and I'll call them by their last. We'll see if it makes any difference.

"But we need to display a common front," said Cecelia.

"Says who?" Bob smiled. "People are different. They have different tastes and understandings. There's nothing wrong with kids seeing adults agreeing to disagree. It's even better if they hear both sides of an issue and have to think about it to make up their own minds about what to believe."

The days continued and the start of the summer session loomed closer and closer, at least to Cecelia. Bob was eager to begin. It might help take his mind off of how his student teacher smelled, for example. She used some kind of subtle body wash or something, and whatever it was, it made him want to lick her all over.

As for Cecelia, the fact that he let her form and defend her own opinions affirmed that what she remembered about him being a great teacher was correct. She tried to reduce all her feelings to pertain to his teaching skills, instead of imagining him in bed under the poster of a one-armed drummer, pouring emotional sugar all over her naked body.

The only other thing that took her mind off of Bob was the fact that, as the date their class was scheduled to begin drew near, she felt like she was about to step from the frying pan into the fire.

Friday was the first day the cafeteria was open. Prior to this the teachers had to see to their own lunch. But with a football camp running on Friday, lunch was being served.

It was the smell of food that drew her there. Remembered foods made her mouth water and she went into the noisy room. She got in line and selected her items, and paid the same frumpy woman who had been there for years, punching buttons on the cash register at the end of the line. She didn't even look at Cecelia.