A Fresh Start
Chapter 5: Planning For The Future

Copyright© 2011 by rlfj

Do-Over Sex Story: Chapter 5: Planning For The Future - Aladdin's Lamp sends me back to my teenage years. Will I make the same mistakes, or new ones, and can I reclaim my life? Note: Some codes apply to future chapters. The sex in the story develops slowly.

Caution: This Do-Over Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Consensual   Romantic   Heterosexual   Historical   Military   School   Rags To Riches   DoOver   Time Travel   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   First   Oral Sex   Voyeurism  

Taking control of my life meant that I was going to be in charge of the timetable, and this was a major step along the way. Mrs. Bakkley told me to go home, and she would make some arrangements. I would need to discuss this with my parents and meet with her and the administration for permission. She was also going to speak to one of the math teachers over at Towson High. She would tell me when the meeting was.

On Thursday she told me everything was all set, and that she had made an appointment with Mr. Butterfield for after school on Monday. I would need to get at least one of my parents there at four.

At dinner that night I asked them if either of them could come. The results were predictable. Dad wanted to know what I had done now, and Mom wanted to know if I was being punished or given detention. “Your faith in me is overwhelming!” I responded, which brought outraged cries about ‘lip’ and ‘backtalk’ but no hitting. Suzie just stared, not understanding. She liked school and didn’t understand why staying after was bad. Hamilton was much more of the opinion that I was being punished for something, a feeling for which he had an inordinate amount of glee. It was bad enough that I had to mention to Dad that Ham was really starting to get on my nerves, and I was starting to work up the energy to give him a good thumping. This got Dad to give me a stern warning to leave my little brother alone, but it also got him to chew Ham’s ass ragged. He left me alone after that.

Mom pushed for an explanation of the meeting, and I simply told her, truthfully, that it involved getting permission to take an advanced class. I left it at that, and when they pushed, I simply stated that it would make more sense on Monday. Mom would ask Mrs. Bonner across the street to keep an eye on Suzie and Hamilton after school.

Larry and Lenore Bonner were our parents’ best friends. He was an executive at Black & Decker, and she worked part-time at the County offices in Towson. They were older than my folks, and their children were several years older than us. Their youngest daughter Shelley, a senior over at Towson High, was a frequent babysitter, but Mrs. Bonner often sat for us.

I continued running every morning, always taking Daisy for a quick run first, and was now doing three laps around the neighborhood. One day I had Dad drive the route with me and we used his odometer to check the distance. Our best guess was that two laps, one small with Daisy, and then one large by myself, worked out to about a mile and a half. By now the cramp in my side was history, and I was able to speed up enough to add in another small lap. Dad noticed this, and he also noticed me lifting the bricks down in the garage and asked if I wanted a set of real weights for Christmas. I decided barbells would be a better choice and told him so. He just nodded and said he would think about it.

Hamilton was getting to be quite annoying. He was bitching constantly about everything I did. When I got up early to run, he would complain I was waking him up. I started taking my clothes to the bathroom to dress and he complained about my opening the drawers. I started laying out my clothes at night before I went to bed, and he complained about where I left them. He started turning off my alarm clock, so I had to double check it each night, and placed it on the far side of the bed where he couldn’t get at it without going over me. He had a major case of schadenfreude going on; it wasn’t enough to feel good, others had to feel bad.

It really came to a head at dinner on the Saturday night before our meeting with Mrs. Bakkley. Right there at the dinner table, he decided to tattle on me, that I wasn’t sleeping in my pajamas, but in my underwear.

In my humble opinion, pajamas are one of the stupidest things ever invented. Really, clothing to sleep in? Mind you, I certainly don’t mind the look when a woman is wearing a pajama top and nothing else, but on guys it just looks dumb. My mother, however, insisted on them. The day I went off to college I started sleeping in my briefs and an undershirt, like normal men do. I’ve never worn pajamas since then and had no intention of restarting now.

He sat there looking smugly at me as Mom stared at me, horrified. I just looked at him and disgustedly asked, “Why in the world could you possibly care what I sleep in?”

He smugly replied, “It’s the rules! I bet you get punished now!”

“Christ on a crutch!” I muttered under my breath.

“Carling!” protested Mom. “I heard that.”

“Sorry.”

Hamilton started to laugh, saying I had been cussing but I think Dad had enough out of him. He was told to shut up, or else. Ham looked daggers at me, which I just ignored.

Mom, however, was all worked up about my improper sleeping attire. “Carling, why aren’t you wearing your pajamas to bed at nights?” she demanded.

“Because I don’t want to wear them.” Simple answer.

“But you are supposed to sleep in pajamas.”

I smiled at that, blandly. “Oh? Do you wear pajamas?” I asked. I already knew the answer to that was a resounding NO! Mom preferred to wear very small and skimpy sleepshirts, although I also suspected Dad preferred her to wear them as well. At 5’10” tall, Mom was slim and very leggy, and a real looker. She was slender, an A cup, but was within five pounds of the day she had married, and that after three children. She was an elegant and good-looking woman, and she was very fortunate that my father was 6’1” tall, so she could wear high heels and not be taller than him. In the future she would be considered a MILF or a cougar, but back then she was just a hot mom.

Mom had the decency to blush as she stumbled out, “Uhhhh...”

“Really? I think I know what that means.” I hooked my thumb over at Dad, who was now grinning. “How about Dad? Does he wear pajamas?” I knew the answer to that as well. He wore briefs and an undershirt, too, or at least until Mom got into bed with him. For all her coldness with Hamilton and me, Mom was decidedly not cold with Dad. The romance was alive and well across the hall.

Mom blushed again.

I looked over at Suzie and grinned. “I hope the pajama police don’t find me! You want some extra pajamas?” They’d look like they were made by Omar the Tentmaker on her.

“Yuck! You’ve worn them!”

“Yeah, they probably have my cooties,” I said, which got a laugh from Dad.

She stuck her tongue out at me, which I returned, and Mom began protesting that as well. It was a lost cause for her. Hamilton tried to protest but Dad shut him down again. I really began to wonder about him. He had some mental health issues on our first go-around; this time looked to be the same, and I wasn’t sure how much I was going to tolerate this time.

That Monday I hung around the library after school until my parents were to show up. It was always open late for students who needed to do homework. At four I met them in the lobby, and we went into the office. Mrs. Bakkley was waiting there with Mr. Butterfield, and another woman I wasn’t sure I knew.

Butterfield pointed at me and asked Mrs. Bakkley, “This is the student you are talking about? Him?” I definitely got a warm and fuzzy feeling.

“Why don’t we all sit down,” she replied. She led the way into a teacher’s conference room. We all took seats around the table.

“This is your meeting,” he replied. “I think it’s a mistake, myself,” he added nastily.

My parents were thoroughly confused now but getting angry. Mrs. Bakkley took on the lead role. Turning to me, she asked, “Did you explain your plan to your parents?”

“No, I just said the meeting was about taking some advanced classes. Nothing else.”

She nodded and turned to my folks. “Let me start off with an explanation. Last week Carl came to me with the suggestion that he take both Algebra 1 and 2 this year, to, in effect, squeeze two years of math in. When I asked why, his response was that it would allow him to take Geometry next year, which is normally a high school course. That’s why I brought Mrs. Rogers over from Towson High. She is a math teacher there.” Mrs. Rogers said hello.

This was all very confusing to my parents. They tried to ask me what was going on and what I was up to, but they were interrupting each other. Finally, Mrs. Bakkley stopped them. “Let me finish. My first reaction was like yours, that this was a crazy idea, but I talked to Carl about it and he seemed sincere. So, I made him a bet. I would give him a midterm test for Algebra 1, a test I wouldn’t normally give for another two months. It was a one-time deal, take it or leave it. He passes the test and I see what I can do for him. He flunks and he forgets the whole thing.”

She took a deep breath as my parents stared at us. “He got a 97. Half the material on the test I haven’t even covered in class. I think I could have given him the final from the end of the year, and he would have passed that as well. I suspect he is a mathematical prodigy of some sort.”

Finally, my mother looked at me with something akin to pride. It made me a little disgusted, to be fair about it, that she would only be satisfied if I was some sort of genius. Like I said, great person, crappy parent.

My father eyed me curiously. “So, what is your idea here? You want to skip a grade or something? Start high school next year?”

I had anticipated this. I shook my head. “No, not really. If you think I’ve had problems with bullies this year, wait until I’m still thirteen and the smallest kid in the entire high school. No, my thought is to skip some time on the math classes. If I can do geometry next year, I can take some of the other classes early when I get to Towson High.” I named a few of the advanced classes available.

“So, what happens when you finish those? Do you plan to graduate early?”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know yet. That’s a possibility.”

The others all looked at me. My parents stared at me like I had grown a second head, Mrs. Bakkley like I was a new toy to play with, and Mrs. Rogers like a potential science experiment. Mr. Butterfield was the worst. He looked at me in contemptuous disdain. “What could possibly make you think you can do any of that?” he asked.

I returned his haughty look. “Because unlike you, I understand the meaning of the phrase ‘99.9th percentile’. I know what my IQ is, and I suspect it is considerably higher than yours.” As soon as I said it, I knew I had overstepped the bounds. “I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“How dare you! I absolutely forbid this! This meeting is over!” he yelled. “Get out!”

I stayed seated. “On what grounds? An inability to perform the course work? That is something which can be tested for, and failure to allow me to do this will only result in a legal challenge to the school board which you will most certainly lose. I have my lawyer’s card in my wallet. Should I call him?”

The reminder of my lawyer caused him to sputter incoherently. He turned to Mrs. Rogers and said, “This boy is nothing but a troublemaker! You should have nothing to do with him!”

She eyed me closely. She asked me, “In his day, the physics establishment considered Einstein a troublemaker, also. Are you a good troublemaker or a bad one?”

“Probably both, but I don’t presume to think of myself as an Einstein. That would be presumptuous even for me,” I said with a smile.

“Your teacher told me about your difficulties last week. I would be willing to work with you despite that.”

“Towson High will go along?”

She nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time. We usually have a few students who have moved forward, and a few who end up taking classes their senior year over at Towson State. You have to mean it, though. The school will want you to do your best, but more importantly, so will I. I need a personal commitment from you, not your parents.”

“Done!” I held out my hand to her.

“Agreed, then.” She shook my hand. “I will be talking to you near the end of the year, to figure out our arrangements. Until then, Mrs. Bakkley will give you both years of Algebra, and monitor you in Geometry next year.”

She stood up. “My part in this is over. Carl, if you don’t give us one hundred percent, we’ll know it and the cooperation will end. If you do give us that one hundred percent, I promise we will, too.” She shook hands with my stunned parents and left.

Mr. Butterfield sputtered some more, but in the end agreed. Mentioning the lawyer had broken his spirit. Mrs. Bakkley told us she would develop a lesson plan to speed me along, and we left. Just like that I was on the road to a doctorate in mathematics.

It was a quiet ride home, but I could almost hear the wheels grinding in my parent’s heads. Once inside, they dragged me into their bedroom. “So, is that what you want to do? Become a mathematician?” asked my father.

“I think so,” I agreed. “I’ve been thinking about it since the beginning of the school year, actually. I guess I just got bored.”

“Well, what would you do? What do math people do? Do you want to become a schoolteacher?” asked Mom.

Dad and I just stared at her for a moment. Mom’s actually fairly bright, but she’s never been to college, and she met Dad a couple of years after he got out. She simply doesn’t know what college is like. “Well, Mom, I might be able to get a job at the University of Pennsylvania teaching mechanical engineers how to do calculus,” I said blandly. That got a laughing snort out of my father, since that was his degree and college.

“Very funny, smarty-pants. I’m serious!”

I shrugged. “Lots of things, Mom. Even leaving aside teaching at the college level, maybe computers. That’s all math.”

“Isn’t that electrical engineering?” asked Dad.

“Well, maybe back in the dawn of time, you know, the Forties. It was run by dinosaurs, I heard.” The first electronic computer, ENIAC, had been built at the University of Pennsylvania back when Dad had been going there.

He made a rude gesture to me, eliciting a sharp rebuke of “Charlie!” from Mom. To me she said, “Don’t encourage him. What about what they asked? Do you want to graduate early?”

“Mom, I just don’t know yet. Maybe, but maybe not. If I go to Towson State my senior year at Towson High, who picks up the bill? I bet Towson High pays! I bet I can get a free year or more of college out of them.”

That got them both thinking. College wasn’t cheap, and at their income level, was going to result in a hefty chunk of change, even figuring in scholarships or loans. Dad asked the next question. “What did you mean by you knew what the 99.9th percentile was. What do you think it means?”

I looked him straight in the eye. “Low genius.”

“How do you know that?” he asked quietly. This was all supposed to be hush-hush, top secret. Children weren’t supposed to know the results of IQ tests; it would warp them or something.

“Dad, you’d be amazed what you can find out in the library,” was my only answer. Yes, the library and the Internet (when that was invented) and a couple of later standardized tests. Most tests pegged me at about 140, just at the bottom end of the genius rating. It didn’t warp me all that much knowing about it. Hamilton tested even higher - I mean, have you ever actually met somebody who scored a perfect 1600 on their SAT? I lived with the little bastard! - but he was living proof that IQ doesn’t make you smart.

The final discussion was my insulting Mr. Butterfield. Despite the fact I had apologized, I was chewed out for pushing his buttons, and television was denied for the rest of the week. Well, it was better than a beating, and I deserved it. Oh well.

Chapter 6 »

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