Jeanne sat behind her desk as she waited for her next appointment. She was now a middle school teacher and parent conferences were being held. She was hurriedly scribbling notes from her last session and Buddy's dad was standing beside her before she was even aware that anyone had entered the room.
Looking up, Jeanne shivered perceptibly.
I wasn't even aware that Rodin had used chocolate as a sculpting medium,
she thought, even as the proof stood at her desk. Tall and chiseled, broad shouldered and slim hipped, neck like a pit bull, bare arms bulging with cords of muscle tissue, biceps threatening to destroy shirt seams were they to be flexed, square jutting jaw, full, luscious lips that looked like they could kiss a woman into the next climate cycle, nose as much Caucasian as African, deep black eyes with long seductive lashes, and a shaved head that shone like a blue ribbon apple at the state fair.
"Holy shit, you're...!" but that was all that came out of Jeanne's mouth before she was struck dumb... and embarrassed that such a vulgar depiction had escaped her enchanting mouth.
The most scrumptious male, of any color, she'd ever laid eyes on smiled so brightly even Stevie Wonder would have announced, "Hey everybody, Kendall's here!"
"Yes," Kendall said sweetly and offered his hand. Jeanne was astounded at its size. It would easily require four of hers to equal it.
"Please, sit down," she said, suddenly recalling both the mechanics of speech and her manners. Kendall took a seat in the comfortable chair Jeanne placed to the side of her desk. She preferred a less formal setting for these conferences than sitting behind her desk while the parent sat on the other side because it contributed to a more open discussion.
With mothers or couples, Jeanne would stand and roll her chair over to where they sat. When fathers attended by themselves, she'd sometimes claw at the carpet with her pumps to maneuver her chair into position. In the process, her knees would part briefly and her skirt would inch upward. She was very pleased when Kendall noticed her legs just like men who weren't famous. His eyes there produced the first of several scalding hot flashes.
Kendall Ashe was a local legend. He had been in some trouble growing up but managed to star on the high school baseball team. Finally extricating himself from trouble with the courts, he earned a scholarship to West Virginia University and was now a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates.
Kendall was at the conference for his son Buddy. He had knocked up an older woman when he was just thirteen [he was big for his age, make of that what you will]. Having no capacity for fatherhood, Kendall disappeared from his son's life until recently when the boy's mother was jailed on prostitution and drug charges. Then he stepped up big time, moving back and taking the boy in. Now he was trying to do what was right. He was only twenty-five years old but his finances were bright thanks to professional baseball.
"How do you say your name?" Kendall asked nodding at the nameplate on Jeanne's desk inscribed "Jeanne Hatfield."
"Hatfield?" Jeanne asked, embarrassed that Buddy's dad might be functionally illiterate.
"No, your first name," he answered warmly. "Is it jean like denim or Jeannie as in 'I dream of...'"?
"Like 'I dream of...with the light brown hair.'" Jeanne said, smiling back, swirling her lustrous locks. An electric current set up a loop between her breasts and genitals.
"I think I like Jeanne."
Every teacher learns about a cognitive bias called the "halo effect" in college. Essentially, the "halo effect" describes a phenomenon where, when someone is perceived positively in one dimension, he or she is perceived positively, often undeservedly, in other dimensions as well.
If there was one thing Jeanne's husband Joe had taught her, it was that people needed to sell themselves. "Why go through life being sold short?" Joe often asked her when Jeanne's natural submissiveness threatened to deliver less than she deserved.
Joe had given his wife a two-pronged ploy take advantage of the halo effect when dealing with parents, one that capitalized on the positive qualities of her compassion and the other her breathtaking attractiveness.
With the mothers, Jeanne would spend the majority of her assessment on complimenting the child. Her husband told her that it takes ten positives to overcome one negative and she made sure the ratio was at least that.
For fathers, she deliberately dressed less casually than she did for classes. For example, the skirt she wore that Kendall was visually appreciating, was identical to one she wore with her students except that it was several inches shorter. The white camisole top was also something she wore on regular school days except then, she wore a strapless bra beneath.
Many of the items in Jeanne's wardrobe were duplicates or triplicates with minor, or major, overhauls that she could wear to her advantage in different settings. The simple black skirt, for example, had three iterations in her closet.
The first was the one she wore to school. It rested, modestly, just above her knee. Then there was the one she wore today. It was virtually identical to her school attire except that there was far more of her legs to appreciate. There was also a third form. It was both shorter and tighter than the first two and something Jeanne wore when she wanted to look like a teacher but feel like a slut.
