*Caveats: *
*All sexual activity or interest is between eighteen year-olds and older.*
*This is the third part in a series but it works as a stand-alone. If you like it I recommend going back and reading the previous two parts.*
*Written by an Irishman taking down Americanisms. So its going to be a trans-Atlantic hodgepodge. You'd have thought by teaching American high schoolers I'd have picked up how to write like the natives. But I teach History, not English, so who cares? The school's just grateful I keep them out of the corridors.*
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It was now week six of the new semester. I had got through a month and a half of teaching seniors. Without fucking any of them. Not exactly a record, I appreciate, but you haven't seen these lot.
We were in Lucky, in the middle of nowhere, USA. The land around was arid, the town was sprawling, not wealthy and largely forgotten. Most the men worked out of town and only came back on weekends or when they'd been laid off. I'd moved here from Dublin with my wife. My friends thought I was mad.
I wasn't mad. I just wanted a change and some peace. Also, I had come through Lucky on a work trip once and realised just how much a dedicated philanderer like me could get away with there. Discretion is built in when no-one cares.
So I applied for a job a the local and only high school, was given it instantly, and moved myself and my wife.
You have no idea. Jesus, literally within weeks of starting the job and just in the school itself --- the vast, dysfunctional high school --- I was being presented with a constant buffet of diversions.
I slept with students and their mothers, mostly. If anyone picked up on it they didn't pull me up on it. Oh, and Jess Colson, my Teacher's Assistant, who, by the time of this story years later, I had managed to knock up a few times, to the absurd misplaced delight of her unwitting husband.
The wife was happy because the plan was we'd move on to California after a few years. She'd always wanted to live in California. She worked from home, was never much for socialising, and never really liked Dublin anyway, for all that it was her home town.
It had been a few years now. I was coming to terms with the fact that this might my last year in Lucky before we moved to California. There weren't many excuses I could think of to put it off longer.
I wondered what I was going to do to make this year count, make it *really* count.
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The problem with making it count was that I'd promised Jess, and myself, that I would be a good lad and stay clear of my own students this year. That was all well and good so long as I had other outlets. So far this semester I had just two.
Outlet one, Jess, had called in sick a day ago. She hadn't told me why. So not only was I not able to get my end away with a quickie between lessons as she complained unconvincingly about not wanting another kid so why would I never pull out (see the 'A Town Called Lucky: Prologue'). It also meant it was just me doing the actual teaching and paperwork this week.
On the plus side, a friend of mine, Leanne Conway, a Phys Ed supply teacher, was in town covering. She was a classic self-described bull dyke of the old school, tall, handsome, fond of hockey. Leanne and I always got on. Possibly it was the shared interest in predating on our students.
So at least I had someone to take lunch with.
I shared my theory with her over said lunches: This year these new seniors, the girls at least, were friskier and more hamfistedly flirtatious than even the average recently-turned-eighteen Lucky girls. She concurred. Except she was perfectly pleased with the discovery. Blast Jess and blast me for paying attention to her.
Outlet two is surely my wife, you say? Au contraire. What would be the point of moving from Dublin to dust-bowel-USA if my wife was an outlet for my sexual frustrations? Philanderer, I said, remember? Honestly.
In any case my elegant water-nymph-like, semi-sexually-active and increasingly distant wife was out of town. For work she wrote for technical journals, guides and so on. There was, she had told me, a convention on in California.
Her absence did present opportunities. It opened up more evenings to go hunting, for starters.
No, outlet no.2 was Savanna.
Savanna was the young, insecure mother of a troublesome girl in the lower grades. She was also, much more intriguingly for me, the aunt of and landlady for an ex-student of mine, Brooke, who had graduated last year.
Brooke had reminded me of my wife in many ways, which meant she intimidated me a little, which meant I'd not tried anything with her until an abortive fumble on the very last day of term 'A Town Called Lucky: Brooke'). I held an entirely inappropriate flame for her. Casually fucking the students and/or their mothers was one thing, and par for the course in Lucky; but a man in his late thirties pining for a nineteen year old he hadn't seen since before the Summer was unseemly.
I had been meaning to ask Savanna about Brooke, but hadn't ever had the nerve. Funny that, you can talk your way into having your wicked way with a woman, but not ask her, "How's the family?" Admittedly it might be a little harder because what I actually wanted to ask is, "How's your lithe, mysterious and dark eyed niece that reminds me so of my wife fifteen years ago?"
Anyway, Savanna had been fun over the last three weeks or so. I'd had her plump and not at all unattractive white trash ass laid out on my desk after work plenty of times, when Jess wasn't around, as Jess didn't know and didn't need to. For Savanna I used the dusty, largely ignored, official office that Jess and I didn't otherwise bother going into much. No need to make things awkward by having the two bump into each other.
But now even Savanna was AWOL (without *my* leave, certainly) as she had left town to bail out her sister, Brooke's estranged mother, from some trouble she got her self in a couple States over.
An abstinent week for me then.
You ever see a street addict when they find out someone's stolen the gear they'd hid under a dumpster?
Yeah. Lucky didn't need to see its tall, dark, charming Irish history teacher crawling up walls and tearing at his hair.
So, an abstinent week... Fuck that.
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I had decided to use the evenings' freedoms to give something back to the community. After all, I had basically moved to Lucky to exploit their bored womenfolk, and exploit I had. Probably I owed it a bit of giving back.
The school put on adult community lessons in the evenings. There was no college in town, not even a hairdressing college or one of those business advice 'colleges' they advertise on local radio. So the school filled in where it could.
They had been on at me half-heartedly for a while to do more community lessons, so I put myself down and decided to hold an evening History course on 'The Long 19th Century and Social Changes in Europe', twice a week, to last the rest of the semester. I put my name down on the Monday; first lesson: that Tuesday.
I had done them before, when my arm had been twisted, so I knew the crowd.
It was an eclectic bunch, usually. A mix of recently graduated nineteen and twenty year-olds who had finally realised that their only chance of escaping Lucky was to have a qualification that went beyond just about scraping a High School Diploma; there were the keen amateurs who just thought they loved history, and some of them really did; and there were the retired, of course, who signed up to more or less whatever was available.
