Jan Marshall was the Home Economics teacher at the school I taught at. She was about forty, quite good looking, had a daughter of around nineteen and was a widow. When I tell you her husband probably died as a desperate means of self defence, you will understand my opinion of her wasn't too high.
In this modern era of political correctness we are supposed to let boys do Home Economics if they wanted to. None of the lads at our school had taken up the option, Jan Marshall subtly letting it be known that any boy pansy enough (or horny enough – all those girls doing Home EC) to attend her class was guaranteed a fail before they even entered the room.
In Jan Marshall's little world there were two types of men, known rapists and rapists not yet proven. I was her superior at the school, so I came under the not yet proven category. And where she was concerned, it never would be proved. Any man brave enough to tackle her would probably join her husband in the afterlife, voluntarily.
I'd met her daughter, Denise, at a couple of school functions, and there was a contrast. A bright spring morning against her mother's chill of winter. She was popular and I'd seen her out and about in the evenings with a variety of male companions. I'd heard no rumours about her sexual proclivities, but if she was a virgin I'd be surprised.
There again, after living for nearly twenty years with Jan, it was possible that she was too intimidated by men to let one actually take her to bed.
I knew there was a lot of friction between mother and daughter, as Jan made no bones about complaining about Denise's behaviour. She'd complain about her attitude, her clothes, her friends, her makeup, her anything she could think of. I suspected that Denise probably complained to her friends about her mother, and probably with a lot more reason.
One week Jan was absent from school, sick. On the Friday the school received a call from her asking if someone could drop of her Home Economics class's grade papers so she could mark them over the weekend.
As Jan lived fairly close to my place this request was passed on to me, with instructions to bring Jan up to date about various school edicts that affected her and her classes.
I strongly suggested that, knowing Jan's antipathy to the male of the species, a female teacher might be a better choice. All I got was a rude comment about are you a man or a mouse, and my subsequent squeaking was ignored.
So after school I fronted up at Jan's place. I explained that there were several things from school I had to go over with her, so I was reluctantly invited in and I reluctantly entered.
I dumped the papers where told and then went over the items I'd been requested to bring up. I gave reasoned explanations to several queries, agreed that some rules were invented by men purely to add to the burden of hard working teachers and did my best to hurry the meeting along so that I could be out of there before the chill froze me.
Then in walked Denise, a towel wrapped around her hair, using it to rub her hair dry. Nothing else. Bare butt naked, and she was a stunner. Apparently she'd just had a shower and it was obvious that she'd also taken the time to shave.
My jaw probably made a dull thud as it fell open, probably low enough to bounce off the carpet. Jan didn't notice this little trick of mine because she was bouncing off the ceiling.
I'd have thought that if you've got a visitor and your daughter is bare assed in the shower common sense would be to give her a warning so she didn't innocently wander into view displaying her charms.
Failing the giving of a warning, when your daughter wanders in giving your visitor a beauty show, a gentle word saying that you had company would be enough to send the daughter scurrying for cover.
Not in this case. Denise blushed as the fact of my presence and her nudity hit her and she was starting to turn and bolt when Jan went into action.
How dare Denise shame the family that way? Had she no sense of decency? Where had she, Jan, gone wrong to have such a terrible daughter. Her father would be rolling in his grave. Etc, etc, etc...
Denise got her back up right away. She'd been in a fight or flight state and was in the middle of opting for flight when mummy started on her. Straight away she switched to fight.
It wasn't her fault. How was she supposed to know her mother would have a man in the house? It had never happened before in living memory. Anyway, what did it matter if someone saw her naked? I'd probably seen naked women before. (True, but not many as nice as Denise.) Anyway, she wasn't showing anything that she hadn't shown to other men. (So, not a virgin it seemed.)
They went to and fro like that for a while, while I kind of kept a low profile and enjoyed the scenery.
Jan finally points out that as she's naked in front of a man I'm probably going to rape her, it will serve her right and she needn't appeal to her mother for help, because she wouldn't.
At that I promptly pointed out that rape wasn't my style and, even if it had been, I was unlikely to rape her daughter in front of her.
Denise, at the same time, points out that I appear to be a friend of Jan's, and in her books that probably meant I was gay and incapable of raping anyone, unless it was a little boy. (Snarky little bitch, I thought at that comment.)
Jan ignored Denise's comment but reacted to mine.
"It won't be in front of me," she shouted. "I'm not staying here to watch."
Then she went charging out of the house and a few moments later I heard her driving away,
Denise was looking satisfied at that, then suddenly looked a little nervous, flicking an apprehensive look towards me.
