Charlottesville High School Ch 02

This is the second installment recounting the goings-on at Charlottesville High School, in which we learn how Sandy Wright follows Natalie Bettis into the bed of two of her students. It's a restless faculty; several more teachers may be in line.

As always, all story characters are 18 years of age or older.

* * * *

Four of us, Keith, Dave, Richard, and I, were sitting on the old stone wall in front of the Presbyterian church in downtown Charlottesville, Virginia, hanging. It was the summer before our senior year in high school and we had nothing particular to do. Richard had mentioned that his friend, Mary Ridley, might join us.

Mary wanted to introduce us to Vivian, who had moved from Montana and would be living with Mary and her family for the school year. Vivian's dad had been a professor at the University of Virginia, but had left for the University of Montana when Virginia adopted a policy emphasizing research over classroom education, a change he opposed. Still, Vivian wanted to go to school at Virginia and it was decided she would return to Charlottesville for her senior year in high school, qualifying her as a Virginia resident, which would increase the chance she'd get in to Virginia and qualify her for in-state tuition. Dr. Ridley was more than happy to help his old friend out.

Now a confession. As I hope I show in these pages, Vivian was a force of nature; smart and wise, mature beyond her years, sensitive and discerning, a free spirit, a good friend and a wonderful listener. I held her, still do, in great respect. Now the confession: when I first saw her walking across the street towards us I saw none of that; what I saw were two large bra-less breasts rocking gently under a white pull over shirt. The shirt wasn't tight, but with those breasts it didn't need to be. I paid secondary attention to her curvy body, oval face, and shock of black curly hair that tumbled down to her shoulders.

The six of us hung around the rest of the day. And the day after. Now Vivian and I were the same age, but she seemed older and wiser. After a couple of days I told her that.

"Most guys wouldn't admit that."

"Most guys haven't met you."

Well, Vivian and I were soon sneaking off to make out and pretty soon after that we were, if not quite a couple, together. She didn't believe in couples. We were eighteen, still learning and exploring the world. This was no time to set restrictions or define roles.

Two weeks later the gang went to Richard's lakeside cabin for a weekend. There Vivian told me she and Mary were lovers. When I didn't object - although I couldn't identify exactly why, I wasn't surprised - Vivian seemed satisfied and for the second time in my life I had sex. It was much better than the first time.

I can't say I was completely comfortable sharing Vivian with Mary, but it was better than no Vivian at all. Part of the problem was that Mary didn't like me, which, unfortunately, was my own fault. At that time in my life I felt free to turn my sarcastic sense of humor on someone for no reason other than my own amusement. Mary had been its victim. Eventually it all worked out; Mary started dating Ned again, ending her fling with Vivian.

* * * *

Sandy Wright, who taught sociology, was in her third year at Charlottesville High. She was attractive, slightly over five feet tall, slender, with brown hair that reached her shoulders, blue/gray eyes, and a triangular face. She was also one of those teachers to whom girls brought their problems; she was upbeat and always willing to listen to the latest bad boyfriend story. At the start of this year, however, her affect had changed; she was sad, often lost in thought. The rumor was that her husband had left her. Still, the girls didn't get it: they'd tell Ms. Wright they'd heard, how sorry they were, then start chattering about some guy who, y'know, they really didn't like anyway, but who hadn't noticed the change in the part o her hair. Ms. Wright, gamely, tried to listen, but sometimes you could see the exhaustion on her face. Then, one day, Vivian had enough. She heard Jillian, oblivious to Ms. Wright's pained expression, yammering about Byron, who was just well, oh too stupid and mean; then Jillian's phone buzzed. She checked it, said, "It's from Byron, he says he sorry," and flitted out the door.

Vivian, who had hung in the back of the classroom took hold of Ms. Wright's hand, and said, "This must be so hard for you." Ms. Wright started crying.

Vivian and I were supposed to meet for lunch. After fifteen minutes I started looking for her, finding her in Ms. Wright's classroom. They were sitting in adjoining student seats. Ms. Wright's eyes were red, her face washed out.

Vivian heard me come in.

"Hey babe, been busy, sorry to stand you up."

While I didn't know what, it was clear something serious was happening.

"No problem Viv, I'll catch you later."

I stepped out.

Ms. Wright said, "Is Ralph always like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"He wasn't angry, didn't complain about being stood up. My husband would have been ranting and raving."

"Yeah Sandy, pretty much. He's good to me, treats me well, doesn't try to change me. He was raised by a single Mom, respects her, respects women." Then, smiling, she added, "Of course, he's still a teen-aged boy's mess of raging hormones."

* * * *

Over the next few weeks Ms. Wright and Vivian formed what can only be called a friendship. At Ms. Wright's request, Vivian was designated her student-assistant, sanctioning their time together. According to Vivian, Ms. Wright's ex-husband (for the divorce had become final) was an abusive jealous narcissistic control-freak asshole (and those were the kinder things she had to say about him) who demanded she account for every minute of her time.

Ms. Wright, in turn, seemed fascinated by Vivian's background, brought up by hippie parents who emphasized personal freedom and pleasure, and us: "You mean he doesn't complain when you hang out with the girls on a Saturday night? He doesn't check up on you? He trusts you?" Over the next few weeks Ms. Wright's bright hopeful eyes returned and while a few students complained she spent too much time with her new pet, that she didn't have time for them, the complaint receded. For now when a girl griped about a clearly bad relationship, Ms. Wright might recommend ending it. Not what the kids wanted to hear.

* * * *

I'd asked Richard about spending Columbus Day weekend at the cabin. He said he and Nina were going to Atlanta to check out Emory University, but that his family was not going up and Vivian and I were free to use it. I headed for Ms. Wright's classroom, the best place to find Vivian these days, to tell her the good news. I walked in to glum faces.

"What's wrong."

Vivian explained. "Sandy was going to go out with Ms. Bettis over the weekend, celebrate the single life, but Ms. Bettis just left, said she had a family emergency and had to leave town. Did you talk to Richard?"

"Yeah. He and Nina are going to Atlanta. He said his family wasn't using the cabin, that we were welcome to go on up."

Then Vivian said something that surprised me. "Sandy, why don't you join us. Rustic, but two full bedrooms, indoor plumbing, beautiful and secluded, you won't see another person unless you really try. Great place to unwind."

You could see the temptation in Ms. Wright's eyes, but she said, "Sounds nice, but I can't. If the School Board found out I spent a couple of days with two students in a cabin, it would be the end of me."

"It's a two hour drive from here and completely isolated; no one will know. It's better then moping around here."

I will spare you the details. Over the next few days Vivian convinced Ms. Wright to join us. Ms. Wright insisted on taking her own car. We rendezvoused thirty miles north of town so Vivian could ride with Ms. Wright and provide directions.

* * * *

We arrived shortly after noon, fixed sandwiches, and then Vivian and Ms. Wright (Vivian might call her Sandy, I still called her Ms. Wright) changed into swimsuits - modest one-pieces - while I readied the small sailboat. After several hours on the lake we returned for a game of Scrabble - old-fashioned board and everything - before I readied the grill. The ladies chopped vegetables and the constant laughter from the kitchen confirmed, as it had all day, that they were having a wonderful time. After dinner the three of us gathered on the screened-in back porch with a bottle of red wine to watch the sunset.

I sat in an over-stuffed wicker chair; Vivian and Ms. Wright on the couch. The temperature dropped and Ms. Wright leaned against Vivian; Vivian absent-mindedly ran her fingers through Ms. Wright's brown hair.

As the sun disappeared Ms. Wright said, "You guys were right, it's wonderful up here."

Vivian said, "We're so glad you came."

I re-filled the wine glasses.

The conversation rambled around. It got chillier; I fetched blankets, laid one over Vivian and Ms. Wright, who in light of the temperature had cuddled up against each other. We were on our third glass of wine when the topic touched on sex. Vivian, giggling from the apparent effect of the wine, said, "So tell us Ralph, how did you lose your virginity?"

Now Vivian knew my story; we'd shared our first time experiences. Her's, as you will learn, was much more interesting.

"It was last summer. I don't want to say who, but a friend of mine and his girlfriend found out I was a virgin. They'd tease me about it - good-natured stuff - then one day she called me up, told me it was time. She picked me up, we drove to the Shenandoah National Park, found a secluded spot, she unrolled a blanket, we did it. The problem was I didn't really enjoy it and I didn't come. I felt like a clinical experiment. Let's see what the virgin does?"

Vivian turned to Ms. Wright. "How about you?"

"Oh jeezum, you guys don't want to hear my story."

"Sure we do."

"It's not pretty."

Vivian, her tone solicitous, said, "If you don't want to, that's okay."

Ms. Wright thought about it, then said, "You know, I've never told anyone about it, but I still think about it. It's sort of how my marriage went. If you don't mind, I'd like to share."

Vivian said, "As long as you're comfortable," I nodded my agreement and, after taking a second to gather her thoughts, Ms. Wright said, "My husband was my first. We dated all the way through college, talked about getting married after the first few months. He said he wanted to wait til our wedding night. Then the week before the wedding he went out drinking with some friends and showed up at my place, drunk. He started pawing me, saying I'd been holding out on him, that I was a tease. I told him I wasn't, that he was the one who wanted to wait, that I loved him, that I was willing. I started to undress, but he said he wanted to do it and pulled my clothes off. He was rough; I got the message: he was much stronger than me, could be physically dominant whenever he wanted to, I should know my place. He got on top, grabbed by breasts, entered me. I wasn't wet; I was trying to hold back my tears. He came and fell asleep. It wasn't exactly rape, I'd been willing, but it was far from love.

"What was weird was, although he never said it, it was clear he blamed me for us not waiting til our wedding. Like I seduced him. I should have run for the hills then, but I put it down to the alcohol and we got married. And now I'm divorced."

Ms. Wright slumped against Vivian, who held Ms. Wright, thanked her for sharing, told her she was brave. I did the smart thing, I agreed with Vivian. Ms. Wright was quiet, processed what just happened, then said, "It was good to get that out. Okay Vivian, Ralph and I have fessed up, what's your story?"

I knew Vivian's story. I suspected one reason Vivian started this conversation was so we'd asked her to tell it. What I didn't know was why.

"Our house was always filled with grad students. The last couple of years there was this particular couple, Rob and Anna; they lived less than a mile from us. They came over a lot and we became friends. There was a lot more freedom with them than at any of my high school friends' houses; it became the regular spot I'd go after school, to hang out.

"It was a relaxed, pleasant place. My girlfriends were always in a state of crisis about which boy liked them, which boy did not, whether they'd gained a pound, whether their clothes were cool enough, how popular they were, whether they were pretty. The mean-spirited gossip was endless. Rob and Anna's pad was an oasis.

"Well, they were open about sex and casual about appearances. Anna thought nothing about coming out of the shower with a towel around her waist to fix tea. I'd show up and they'd be in bed, having just made love, naked under the sheets. I'd fetch them glasses of water, sit on the end of the bed, chat, eventually they'd get up, pull some clothes on.

"Now Anna was real intense, real political; a feminist who rejected birth control pills as chemical experimentation on women and questioned whether she should even be in a relationship with a man. She'd been with women; talked about it in front of Rob. He, on the other hand, was laid back, perfect for her. He always supported her, said she had to do her own thing.

"It became clear that Anna was attracted to me and that, if I was okay with it, they were both open to a sexual relationship with me. They'd had other lovers. At first I wasn't sure how I felt about it, but I wasn't against it and I liked being with them. Things kept getting more and more comfortable and physically intimate. Anna and I would change together, swap clothes. Rob was more reserved with the nudity, but he was a great cuddler and the three of us would sit on the couch, watch a movie, drink wine, ending up in an intertwined heap. On a couple of occasions Anna and I made out. At some point it became clear to me where all this was headed, that some day I'd be ready, but I felt no pressure.

"At the beginning of the summer we went to some hot springs west of town, a local hot spot for skinny-dipping. We spent the day naked. When we got home we jumped in the shower - you had to get the acidic water off you - and cleaned each other, running our hands over each other's body, shampooing each other's hair, and somehow we all understood I was ready. They put on some music, lit some candles, gave me a long sweet massage, then Anna rolled me over and used her mouth on me. I didn't know a body could feel that good.

"The next day I stopped off at their place. I knew Anna was teaching a class and Rob would be home alone. I gave him my virginity. I was pretty apprehensive, heard it could hurt, but he was gentle and patient and wise and my hymen had long been broken, I rode horses. It was exquisite. The rest of the summer I was their lover. We were all close, all loved each other, but there were no demands or expectations, we just celebrated our bodies."

I was watching Ms. Wright, who was watching Vivian. I saw fascination, not revulsion, on her face. Her first question confirmed my observation.

"So what happened?"

"Anna was accepted into a two year program in Cambridge, England. Rob figured he could finish his dissertation there as well as anyplace else, and made plans to go with her. I considered taking a year off from high school to join them, but after long thought and talking it over with Dad, decided to go with the original plan and do my senior year here."

"Did your Dad know about this? What did he say?"

"We didn't discuss the details of course, but, yeah, he knew."

"He didn't object?"

"No, my father's open-minded, sometimes a little too open-minded. He thought there was no better place to explore my sexuality than with Anna and Rob; they were honest, outgoing, kind, no games. I couldn't agree more."

Ms. Wright looked at me. "You're okay with this?"

"Yeah, I can't say it didn't take a little time to wrap my mind around it, but really, look at her. Would you change a thing?"

Then Ms. Wright, in a careful voice, said, "So you wouldn't mind sharing her with a woman?"

I looked at Vivian, my eyes asking permission. Vivian nodded her head.

"When Vivian and I met she was involved with a woman. At first I wasn't sure how I felt about it, but it didn't seem a reason to give up Vivian. The woman eventually returned to an old boyfriend. I think she was jealous of Vivian and I, but Vivian knows her better than I, she's the one to ask."

Ms. Wright looked at Vivian, who shrugged her shoulders. "Who can say?"

The rest of the evening whenever the conversation turned to other topics, Ms. Wright brought it back to Vivian and her sex-life; the subject clearly fascinated her. I wasn't sure where we were going, but this was no accident; Vivian had something in mind. We finished the bottle of wine. While the ladies enjoyed the night, I picked up. Whenever I left the porch the women talked in quick hushed tones.

Eventually Ms. Wright headed for her bedroom, we ours. I'd wondered about sex on the trip; would Ms. Wright's presence be an issue? I quickly found out it would not. Vivian yanked her top over her head, exposing her bra-less breasts, kicked off her sandals, pulled down her painter pants. There were no panties; her thick thatch of pussy hair was fully exposed. I discarded my tee-shirt, kicked off my jeans. My underwear came off, my hard dick stood at attention. Vivian, who was usually big on foreplay, pushed me against the bedroom door, kissed my lips, grabbed a condom off the dresser, tore off the wrapper, slid it over my dick.

"I want you inside me."

I turned her so her back was against the door and entered her. She groaned. She was loud.

Concerned that Ms. Wright would hear us, I nodded my head towards her room and said, "Don't you think..."

"Shhhhh, she's hooked."

"What?"

"You heard me."

I pulled out until only the head of my cock was inside her, pushed back in.

"Mmmmmmhhhhh."

My next thrust pressed her to the door. I moved slowly, side-to-side, dragging my pubic bone over her clit.

"Mmmmmmmmhhhhhhhh."

I entered her again, moved my hips in a long slow oval, twisted my cock inside her, pinned her clit between our bodies.

"Mmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhh."

My next thrust pinned her to the door. I rocked up and down on the balls of my feet, driving my cock harder and deeper inside her.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm hhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

I slipped out, pushed in. She said "My breasts." I grabbed her butt, lifted her, took her thick, dark brown areolas and distended nipples into my mouth.

"Mmmmmmmmm, hhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

She locked her legs around my waist. I fucked her against the wall. The sound of the impacts on the door were unmistakable.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmhhhhhhhh,mmmm, mmmhhhhhhhhhhh,mmmmmmm mmmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

She unlocked her legs from my waist; I lowered her to the floor and fucked her hard, over and over. You could hear our bodies hitting the door; her groans were febrile.

"Mmmmmmmm mmmhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmm mmmhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmm mmhhhhhhhhhh"

Each time I drove into her I emitted a short hard grunt. Her moans morphed into a wail.

"Mmmmmmmm mmhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmm mmhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmmm mmhhhhhhhhhhh."

Then she said, "Pull out."

I stopped, confused. "What?"

"Pull out."

I did. "What's wrong? What's going on?"

She grabbed my hand, opened our door, opened Ms. Wright's door. Ms. Wright, a sheet pulled over her, looked at us. her hand was between her legs. She'd been masturbating.

"Sandy, I'm sorry, I was so selfish. I'm not sure what came over me. All that talk about sex, y'know, it got me all turned on, but it's not fair to you for us to go at it and leave you high and dry."

Ms. Wright's eyes flitted from Vivian to me, down to my dick, back to my face, returned to Vivian. Her hand still pressed to her crotch she said, "I'm not, I'm ..."