Chapter 1

My name is Richard Campbell, but most of my friends call me Rick. Not Rich, and definitely not Dick! I have decided to write this story to explain what has happened to me in the past eight months. To put it succinctly, I have undergone a complete metamorphosis. I am not the innocent, inexperienced boy-man I was a short time ago. My life is not the same as it was eight months ago. My future is not the same as it might have been. It is far, far better. But it has not been without its difficult and frightening moments.

I am a high school history teacher. It's what I set out to become some seven years ago at the tender age of nineteen. Having just completed my freshman year at college, I was uncertain about my future. What changed all that was a tidy inheritance from my maternal grandmother.

Granny Eliza Cochran had passed away after a full life of self-education and travel. Widowed at a young age, she had a thirst for knowledge and adventure that she maintained her entire life. Even at age eighty, she would think nothing of trekking through the Tibetan mountains, or some arid wasteland in remote eastern Turkey.

I'm sure I know why she chose me for this bequest. It was because I would listen for hours, enthralled with stories of her travels, continually interrupting to ask questions. She correctly believed I had inherited her love of exploration and the history that went with it. But what really confirmed my path to the future was my first journey.

She'd left me the better part of fifty thousand dollars with the explicit instructions I use the money only for travel during my summers off from school. She made it plain that she believed I would learn more in those two-plus months than I would during my entire year at college. She was right.

I am sure it was the intended consequence of her gift to sustain and enhance my interest in travel and history. She was very perceptive in that belief. From that very first summer in the eastern Mediterranean, I was hooked.

I chose that region because it was the birthplace of western civilization. I made copious notes along the way which ultimately morphed into a journal of that first summer. It began in Athens, then on to Alexandria, Cairo, and Karnak before shifting to Mount Sinai. From there to Israel, the Greek islands, including Crete, Rhodes, and Patmos, with side trips to Istanbul and Ephesus, Turkey. A time-out back on the Greek mainland, and then to Italy.

My head was swimming in history when I returned to North America. I couldn't put it all into perspective at first, but my notes were carefully organized in my laptop, and accompanied by hundreds of photos I took with my now-obsolete digital camera. I can't count the hours I sat daydreaming and reminiscing as I ran the slideshows of my pictures.

I knew when I returned to my sophomore classes in September that I wanted to become a history teacher. If I caught this "disease" so easily, I hoped I might cause it to be contagious to others. I immediately went about enrolling in courses that would lead to a degree in education, specifically history.

I still had vivid, ugly memories of the history teachers I had endured through my high school years. In other circumstances, they might have driven out any interest I had in the subject. Too often, they were obsessed with dates and facts and names without any context of the times in which they took place. With the legacy of my grandmother, I was determined to put a stop to that. I might be a lone voice in the wilderness, but I would damn well try.

With my life-course now being decided, I carefully managed my economic resources to insure that I could take advantage of my grandmother's gift for at least the next three summers. My parents carefully put away money in my youth to provide for my post-secondary education, and since I was an only child, I got the full value of their thoughtful planning. So, with my financial obligations securely in hand, I dedicated myself to my future mission; spreading the word about the joy of history.

There was one side-effect to this dedication. I was single and not dating. I encountered several young women, both at high school and college, but the liaisons were fleeting and uneventful. I wasn't a virgin exactly, but I was close to it. Once I decided on my future, women became a secondary interest in my life.

Now, just to make it plain, I'm a healthy, heterosexual male with the usual hormonal urges. I simply hadn't encountered a female that aroused my interest to the point where I wanted to become involved with her. She would either lack my enthusiasm for my chosen future, or had designs on a financial security that I likely wouldn't be able to accommodate.

I graduated magna cum laude in European history, with a very good grade in my minor — economics. My final essay was written on the economic history of Europe, and I found the assignment relatively easy to do. My excellent grade was enhanced by the satisfaction I took in expressing my opinions on the topic. Those opinions didn't always conform to accepted convention, but I backed them up with reason and reference, hence the superior mark. Despite the urging of my professor, I had no intention of entering the Masters program.

After graduation, I spent the next two years traveling through Great Britain, Europe and the Middle East, with side trips to Australia. From the beginning, I found the secret of inexpensive travel as so many other students had. Hostels, hooking up with other groups willing to share rides and rooms, hitchhiking, and all the other low cost alternatives. As a result, I was easily able to stretch Granny Eliza's bequest the additional two years.

When I began to run short of money, I knew I should find work to support my passion. History teaching positions were not plentiful, so I took a job in a book store while I waited for my opportunity. That opportunity came the following year.

I applied and was accepted at Georgia Straits High School in Little River, British Columbia. It was only a day's drive and a ferry ride from my home town, Vancouver, but it was a wonderful community set on Vancouver Island. Prosperous from tourism, retirement communities, and a nearby military base, it was an ideal place in which to begin my career. I reported for duty in early September with my recently minted teaching certificate and my union card in hand.

The school surprised me. It was relatively modern, and larger than I expected with over six hundred students and nearly fifty staff. My classes would be populated by an average of twenty-five students. I only hoped that I could develop enthusiasm for my favorite subject among at least a handful of those young minds. I had some experience with class management during my last two years of college thanks to the student-teacher program. I also had my own ideas of what I wanted to accomplish.

As a "rookie" teacher, I was given a greater share of some of the less desirable assignments. Monitoring the halls during the lunch period, detentions, chaperoning social events, and grounds clean-up detail. They weren't terribly onerous, but they were not what I was trained for. On the other hand, I knew it was an obligation that every new teacher would have to accept, so I mentally shrugged and got on with it.

My first months flew by. I developed somewhat of a flair for the dramatic in the classroom as I recounted the stories of the Minoans of Crete, comparing their accomplishments to the Pharaohs of Egypt. I tried to paint a picture of those times for my students, dispelling myth with facts. The pyramids were built with hired labour, not slaves as so many believed.

I was delighted that a number of my students responded positively to my enthusiasm. Often, my classes were accompanied by slide shows featuring the pictures I had taken, combined with others I downloaded from the internet. I wanted to make the class as interesting as possible and still get the lesson taught. After all, there was a curriculum to follow.

But to get to the meat of this story, I have to recount the events surrounding a party held just before the Christmas-New Years break. I didn't have any meaningful social contact with other teachers up to that point. I was too busy getting myself established in my profession. I expected I would find some personal time in the New Year.

It was a staff party and attendance was mandatory. Not that I wouldn't have gone anyway, but without a date I might have been a little less comfortable. Astrid solved that problem.

Astrid Rasmussen was an English teacher as well as a Physical Education instructor at our school. A Nordic beauty, she was about five-and-a-half feet tall, nicely rounded, particularly in front, with perfect posture. A fair complexion highlighted with a few freckles sprinkled on her cheeks. Her short, tightly curled blonde hair shimmers in the light. Oh, and electric blue eyes. She was, far and away, the most delectable young woman at the school. She was also considered untouchable by most of the single men at the school.

When I describe myself as ordinary, I mean I wasn't an athlete, nor did I think of myself as handsome. I was fit, however, thanks to all the walking I had done over the years, especially on my travels. I was just a shade over six feet and my features were fairly regular, my hair brown as are my eyes, so I suppose I wasn't ugly. I dressed fairly conservatively, but neatly. I was presentable, but not remarkable.

Then feature, if you can, my surprise when Astrid Rasmussen approached me a week before the staff party, asking a very leading question.

"Rick ... are you taking someone to the Christmas party?"

"Uh ... no ... no I'm not," I managed, wondering where this was leading. I didn't even think she knew my name until now.

"Excellent! Would you like to escort me?"

A plain and simple question, I thought.

"Uhhhmmm ... well ... yes ... I guess so," I mumbled.

"You don't seem too sure. Are you uncomfortable being seen with me?"

Cripes ... what kind of a question was that? Who was she kidding? Me ... going out with "Astrid the Ice Queen?"

"Um ... no ... certainly not. I mean ... what guy wouldn't want to be seen with you?" I stumbled.

She beamed. "Good. Pick me up at six. I'm sure we'll have a great time."

With that her hand touched my cheek, she smiled again, spun on her heel, and left me standing with what I'm sure was a slack-jawed face.

It took me a few hours to absorb that I now had a date with the most desirable woman in the school, if not in all of Little River and the surrounding area. Of course, the question that recurred over and over again was ... why me?

"Simple. I think you're quite good looking, smart, polite, conscientious about your responsibilities, and, if I don't miss my guess, undamaged by other women."

That was Astrid's answer when I got up the courage to ask her the next Monday in the staff room.

"Uhmmm ... Astrid ... you have your pick of any of several single guys here that have made it plain they would love to date you," I suggested, still wary of her motives.

"You don't have much confidence in yourself, do you Rick?"

"Well ... I admit ... I'm not very experienced when it comes to women."

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. I'm not interested in some guy who thinks he's doing me a favor by asking me out. Or someone who's convinced that I'm going to go to bed with him just because he thinks he's entitled. I've had my fill of those types. I want someone unspoiled and someone I can... teach." She said the last part with a devilish grin.

"Well, in that case, I guess I'm your guy," I admitted. The drawn-out teach mixed in with the rest of her comment didn't go unnoticed.

We were alone in the staff room at the time and we could talk without being overheard by our peers. There was nothing more revered in that environment than fresh gossip. I didn't care to be part of that. Astrid seemed oblivious to it. Perhaps because she was featured so prominently in the various rumours that circulated around the staff. The perils of being an attractive woman, I thought. I wondered about the "Ice Queen" label though.

When I arrived in Little River, I quickly learned it was not a location conducive to using buses or taxis as primary transportation. Luckily, I saved enough of the remaining travel money to allow the purchase of a modest, previously owned, late-model sedan. A medium-sized down payment, regular monthly payments for the next three years, and the shiny blue Taurus should be mine. Granny Eliza wouldn't have minded.

When I knocked on her apartment door the evening of the Christmas dance, I nearly had a panic attack. Standing before me was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most beautiful woman I had ever been with, live and in person. Forget the movie stars and fashion models. They couldn't hold a candle to Astrid. I just stood there with my mouth open, unable to say anything coherent.

She laughed, of course. I don't blame her. I must have looked like an oversized carp, gasping for breath. It took me a few seconds to recover even a smidgeon of composure.

"My god, Astrid. You look incredible," I blurted at last.

"Thank you Rick. You look very nice yourself. Just let me get my coat and we can go."

I was still partly in shock when I held the passenger door open for my date and closed it behind her. I was rewarded with a lovely smile and I felt my heart rate jump accordingly. I have to admit, I still couldn't come to terms with Astrid wanting me to be her date for this evening. I was determined to enjoy it, even if it was the only time I would have the opportunity.

As we entered the hotel ballroom, I felt every head in the place turn and every eye fall upon us. Astrid was wearing an emerald green dress, strapless with very revealing cleavage. It fit her as if it were wrapped around her by hand. It ended just above her knees, and with a pair of matching heels, she was a vision designed to raise the blood pressure of any male, and maybe a few females. And she was with me!

We walked in and surveyed the surroundings. Astrid suggested a table we might join and I readily agreed. She chose one with three other couples, all married, and all older. I was immediately grateful. I would be more comfortable without the drooling of single men ogling her. Besides me, that is.

Astrid is a woman of confidence. She can start and hold a conversation easily. She must have sensed my reluctance to engage early on, and she skillfully led the conversation to me. She somehow made the transition from polite chit-chat to encouraging me to talk about my travels. I didn't even know she knew about them.

I was surprised and it was a boost to my ego when my fellow teachers complimented me on my approach to my history classes. They had been hearing about my methods from other students, and they thought that I was very creative. I was beginning to relax. Astrid sat close to me, paying attention to the stories of my adventures. Two of the wives remarked at how they envied my ability to travel so much at a young age.

The meal was very nice, and I managed not to spill wine or choose the wrong fork. After dessert, the tables were cleared and a small five-piece band started to set up. Within a few minutes, they opened their first set and Astrid immediately indicated she wanted to dance.

This was the moment of truth, as far as I was concerned. I made no bones about the fact that I wasn't a great dancer and the last thing I wanted to do was embarrass Astrid in front of everyone with my ineptitude. On the other hand, I had no intention of refusing her. Oh well, here goes nothing.

I was a little stiff to begin with, but the number wasn't too fast or too slow ... just sort of a nice medium pace. Holding Astrid was something amazing for a tenderfoot like me. So ... I did the smartest thing I could think of. I let her lead.

This girl is one smart cookie. She sensed immediately what I was doing and she just took over. That is, until about the third or fourth number when I regained my confidence and we clicked. Just like that. We were in tune with each other and I was on top of the world. I didn't want this evening ever to end.

"I'm having a very nice time, Rick," she said, almost whispering into my ear.

"That's great. I am too. I guess you could tell I was nervous."

"I liked that. You didn't try to fake something. You let me help. You're a nice guy, Rick. I have chosen well."

I let the comment pass. This wasn't the time for an in-depth conversation. I just wanted to keep holding her close to me. Her perfume was subtle and lovely, just like her. For a confident woman, she was a curious mix of boldness and understatement. I was looking forward to getting to know her better ... if I got the opportunity.

"A penny for your thoughts," she said as we moved closely to a slow number. By now, I was certain she could feel my seemingly permanent erection.

"Oh ... my ... I think there are a hundred things going on in my head right now. I know I'm enjoying myself being with you. You are the most beautiful woman here and I'm lucky enough to be with you. I'm thinking about what we might have in common. Wondering if there might be a second date." I stopped and looked at her. "As I said ... a hundred things."

She looked carefully at me. "Would you like to have a second date?"

"Yes! Absolutely! No doubt about it!"

She laughed. "Well, don't be so wishy-washy then."

I laughed too. She wasn't fazed by my adulation or enthusiasm. I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to find out what she was hoping for in her life. Did she like teaching? Why was she still single? It seemed so improbable when she was such a beautiful, desirable woman.

The thought crossed my mind that I had no idea what she might want to do on a date. A movie, dinner, or ... what?