(Apologies to Cassandra Peterson, the real Elvira)
DISCLAIMER: Neither the author or the Elvira character promote the use of illegal drugs or condone the practice of unsafe sex. This is just a fun little erotic romp, so don't get your panties in a wad.
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It seems like a lifetime ago, but actually it's only been ten years since I last substitute taught at our local community college. Moving to our present location, I was yet to get state-certified to teach fulltime. Teaching was never that high on my list of career choices anyway, so I didn't eagerly pursue it. However, our leaky finances demanded I find some form of income, so subbing was a necessity. My background and certification in computer arts served me well. The pre-requisite course I was assigned would mean easy money, however I had never taught at the college level.
"It's kind of like teaching high school kids, without all the babysitting. You'll like it," claimed Jean, my new confidant. Jean, a tall attractive brunette about my age, was a lifer, with almost twenty years of teaching under her belt. The shapely math teacher knew the ropes, and she was eager to help orient me to life in community college.
Whatever negative premonitions or reservations I had proved to be unfounded. Jean was right, I was enjoying myself and the extra money, of course. For the most part, the kids were hard-working, courteous, and even respectful. My course, "Intro to Digital Photography & Editing," was a pre-req class for students to see if the subject held any interest to them at all.
"So, what's the verdict, Barb, think you'll stick it out?" Jean asked, after several weeks into the new school year.
"It's not bad. The kids are so enthusiastic. It's fun!" I replied.
"Glad to hear it," smiled Jean, crossing her long gams, and taking a sip of hot coffee.
"There is this one sophomore, Denise West. She's could be a challenge," I remarked.
Jean's eyes opened wide at the mention of Denise's name. She physically led me to a more secluded area of the teacher's lounge. "Barb, you need to be very careful with the West girl. She has a bit of a history. She's not the world's best student, but she knows how to get what she wants, if you catch my meaning?" Jean disclosed, casually brushing back a stray strand of my blonde hair from my brow.
"Hmm, she IS having a hard time getting past the basics. She seemed so nice though, I told her I would help tutor her, until she felt more confident. Was that wrong of me?"
"All I'm saying is watch yourself. She is quite the manipulator," Jean warned, as we parted paths to head back to our classrooms.
I was glad to get the inside info on Denise, but I found it hard to see her for anymore than what she appeared. The petite blonde sophomore turned every guy's head within viewing distance. Back in my day, she would have been a cheerleader captain and/or prom queen. If her affable, bubbly personality was a put on, she sure fooled me.
I had discovered some time ago (probably half-learned in teachers college) that focus and consistency were critical components, if any tutoring was to be effective. With flighty Denise, those components were definitely required. Her tutoring was scheduled immediately after school, in my home classroom, and with the least amount of distractions. She did fairly well with the consistency concept, but staying focused was not her strong suit.
"Brad is so medieval! I mean, he has the brain of a walnut, but he fucks like a total machine," Denise pouted, tossing her books all over her desk. She had that ability to alter the aura of any room just by entering. It was simply the two of us in a stark, boring classroom, and she'd done it again.
"Please don't use that, you know, language, Denise," I lightly prompted.
"Cool Missus B. I have no idea what Medieval means anyway. Some of the girls started using it," she replied, with all the clueless innocence of a blackboard eraser.
No, I won't say she was the epitome of a blonde joke. Save a healthy dose of ash, I'm mostly blonde myself, damn it. In many ways Denise was the typical narcissistic, self-centered, "whatever" type. Normally, ditzy little tramps like her hold little interest for me, but there was something else inside this seemingly empty vessel. A generous part of her personality was magnetic and tantalizing. She also carried the weight of a subliminal sadness that women twice her age might project; something in, or beyond, her too-made-up eyes. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I had a degree of compassion for her.
"So Denise, are you ready to go over some aspects of photo scanning we discussed in class today?" I asked, trying to keep her on task.
"Sure, tell me why that damn Brad is spacing me off. He hasn't even asked me to the Halloween dance. Just pisses me off!" She ignored me, and reached for her Chemistry book.
"Denise! First of all, this is not Chemistry. Second, this isn't high school. I'm sure Brad will get around to asking you soon enough," I affirmed, taking a cleansing breath. "Now, let's discuss the difference between dots per inch and lines, okay?"
"Oh yeah, sure. God, but he's such an idiot. If he didn't have such a huge cock..."
"PLEASE, let's not discuss c...such things," I interrupted.
This was a fair example of how each tutoring session started. I was glad in one respect, that she felt at ease enough with me to mention such personal things. However, it kind of put learning anything on a back burner, until she vented. Believe it or not, by the end of that particular session she had partially mastered most aspects of scanning. As usual, before the session ended, she poured over me with appreciation for taking the extra time to help her. It was hard to be upset with her for any length of time.
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The Bakers' Halloween party was one tradition that both my husband and I looked forward to attending every year. Each party held the distinction of being rather risqué; not generally PC for school teachers for sure. There had been toga parties sans underwear; a nursery rhyme-themed party with only the skimpiest outfits allowed, etc. Basically, it was the one event when spouses really shed their inhibitions and openly flirted to the point, but just short of, swapping. It was all good-natured sexy fun, but not the type I would advertise, least of all to my fellow teachers.
This year's Halloween theme was scary characters in cinema or television. When hubby opted to go with the traditional Dracula costume, I guessed I would go as his emaciated, blood-dripping (but extremely seductive) female victim.
"I was just thinking how delicious you'd look as Elvira," Donny suggested, with an evil grin.
"The vampire gal that does all those beer commercials? That 'The Mistress of the Dark' TV gal from the '80's? Oh, I see. So, you want everyone to see my tits," I hit him.
"Sooo, is that a problem?" He challenged.
"Okay damn it! If you can handle it, I have no problem," I shot back.
"Good!" He got his wish.
Shit, now I've got to find a costume. I was committed to the challenge. Thank God for this Internet thing. Ninety-five dollars plus shipping covered the costume and over-sized beehive wig. I was ready for our sexy Halloween party.
Side Bar: Now, if you're not familiar with the Elvira costume, what planet are YOU from? Without going into a vivid description, try elvira.com and you'll get the idea. At 36-D, I certainly have the necessary attributes to fill the bill. The trick with the costume would be to reveal my entire cleavage, neck to navel, without showing my nipples. Sure, I could have bought a tamer version of the steamy vixen's costume with a simple plunging neckline. (I could also wear Army boots with it, instead her intimidating 4-inch stiletto heels.) The plunging neckline wouldn't be nearly as effective; this had to be authentic. We're probably talking industrial-strength hydraulics here, but more on that later. "The invite says 6:30, Donny," I remarked, doing a double-take at the Baker's colorful flyer. "That's my night to tutor. There's no way I can be ready by then!"
"You mean that little ditz can't give you ONE night off?" Hubby quarreled, referring to my tutoring session with Denise.
Focus and consistency flashed through my brain, "I HAVE to do the tutoring; get over it!" I fought back.
"Just doesn't seem fair to US," he pleaded.
