Welcome to Chapter 3 of Charlottesville High School. For those just joining us, in Chapter 1 Natalie Bettis, blonde, buxom, and in her first year teaching math at Charlottesville High, was seduced by two of her students. In Chapter 2 the brunette Sandy Wright, a third year sociology teacher going through a divorce, found comfort in the arms of two of her students. In this Chapter we ask what are Sandy and Natalie to do when their student-lovers go out of town?
As always, all story characters involved in sexual activities are 18 years of age or older.
* * * *
By the end of the weekend it was clear Vivian, Ralph, and I would remain lovers. And, if you are a high school teacher sleeping with two of your students, you do not want to get caught. Which is why, upon our return to town, we reviewed the plethora of news stories on the subject. The mistakes people made were clear and the rules wrote themselves: (a) don't choose students likely to brag, (b) don't send e-mails and do not call or send texts on your cell phone (they were ubiquitous in every story on the subject), and (c) be careful about where and when.
As to (a), I couldn't imagine two better people than Vivian and Ralph. As to (b), swearing off the phone might send me into withdrawal, but we devised a set of signals to express interest. A certain pile of books on my desk meant, "I need you guys now," a certain decoration on my front door said, "Not a good time." I wasn't sure it was all necessary, but it gave the entire thing a wicked depraved feel which, if nothing else, fed my libido. As to (c), my husband had left me the house, which was in the country at the end of a long private heavily wooded road. It was perfect.
We were also, all three of us, free to wander. However, we decided even then to be discreet; we didn't want an outrageous act to attract unwanted attention; there was no telling what an unwanted investigation might bump into.
* * * *
I met Natalie Bettis at the teacher meetings before the school year began. Young, optimistic, enthusiastic, she reminded me of myself before my divorce had taken some of the wind out of my sails. We became friends and I considered asking her to move in after her lease expired; my big house, occupied only by me, could be lonely.
About a month into the school year it became clear Natalie was seeing someone. Her schedule became crowded, her availability spotty, and there was a happy bounce in her step: whoever he was, he was good in bed. She didn't tell me about it and I assumed there was a good reason. Was her lover was a fellow teacher - although the school board did not forbid liaisons among faculty, it clearly frowned on them - or a married man?
It was senior week, when many universities opened their facilities to high school students. Vivian and Ralph had left town to tour several colleges; I was in my classroom, thinking of calling Natalie to see if she wanted to get together, when there was a knock on my door and the subject of my thoughts poked her head in.
"Hey kiddo."
"Hey yourself."
After some small talk Natalie got to the point. "I was thinking about driving to Richmond Friday night, going dancing, maybe more. I've heard The National is hoppin'. Whatya think?"
Sounded like fun. "Sure."
"Now I warn you," she gestured to her conservative attire, " I'm getting all dolled up, looking for a good time."
While going to Richmond to get laid seemed discreet enough - it was ninety miles away - I'm not sure anyone would notice me if Natalie let it all hang out. "Okay honey, as long as I get your leftovers."
Natalie looked up and down my body. "Oh, you'll do just fine."
Then, thinking about my BMW and Natalie's car, a barely operable remnant of her student days, I said, "I'll pick you up at 7:00."
After she left I wondered, was there a problem in her mystery romance and how big was the wild side of this circumspect woman?
* * * *
Natalie greeted me at her apartment door. She was wearing a short black dress with a slit that ran further up one leg. It had short sleeves and, although it showed no cleavage, it still managed to accent her bosom (not that those things needed much accenting). She was wearing five inch black heels. She could have shown more skin, but was showing enough. I'd worn an embroidered navy mini-dress with peep-toe pumps. She invited me in for a glass of wine while she finished getting ready.
* * * *
Traffic was slight, the sky clear, and the two hour drive to Richmond uneventful. We hit The National at 9:30 P.M. Some guys sent drinks, some guys got dances, but the action had been only fair-to-middling when a woman sitting at the table next to ours strained her neck to look at somebody coming in. I followed her gaze in a mirror. Whoever they were, they were gorgeous. Well-groomed, delicious hair, somewhere between light brown and blonde, a couple of inches over six feet tall, athletic but not muscle-bond, and Tom Ford suits to die for. I directed Natalie's attention to them. She smiled, suggested the ladies' room; we walked past their table. When we got back to our seats the bartender, a scrumptious little number, brought us drinks, nodding to the gentlemen. We took our time with the drinks, sauntered over, asked them to dance, sat down with them after a few numbers.
They were brothers, partners in their father's investment business, and trying hard to impress: expensive rings, expensive watches, signed the bill with an expensive pen. The conversation was semi-good - they were a tad full of themselves - and they drank a bit more than they should, but we were there to get laid and we doubted The National would present anything better. So when they invited us back to their place, a condo overlooking the James River, we said sure. Natalie drove with Derek in his Porsche; Mason rode with me in my BMW.
* * * *
Long story short: great packages do not necessarily contain great things. After another drink and a dance on the balcony, Natalie followed Derek to his bedroom, I Mason to his. We kissed a bit, he took off my clothes - he could have been a bit sexier about it - then removed his shirt and pants. Mason had a great body. His boxers came off; it was smallish, but tolerable. I took him in my hand, kissed it, and he came, said he needed a second to recover, fell asleep.
I stared at him, waiting, waiting for, waiting for something. He started snoring.
"Fuck, just fuck."
I was wondering whether Natalie had better luck than I when I heard footsteps in the hallway outside the bedroom. Light steps, a woman's steps. I opened one of Mason's drawers, pulled out a white Brook Brothers' dress shirt, put it on - it hung down to my thighs - stepped out of the room. Natalie was in the kitchen wearing a light blue man's shirt, bent forward, looking in the refrigerator. Nice butt. I cleared my throat so as not to startle her.
She turned, an expensive bottled water in her hand.
"Want one?" she asked.
"Yes."
She reached into the frig, grabbed a second bottle, handed it to me.
"So Frick was a disappointment?" she said.
"Yeah," I said.
"Frack too." I sucked him off on the way here. He said he'd be ready by the time we got back. Got him to the bedroom, he said he needed a little help, asked me to strip, show him the girls. He laid down to watch and fell asleep. I didn't even get his clothes off. And you?"
"Got his clothes off, he came, started snoring."
