I turned the metal knob slowly but couldn't eliminate the squeak from both knob and hinges, as the entire class of parents turned to look at me with boredom and blank frustration. They seemed nearly finished with their discussion, and Mr. Townsend smiled at me without the smile reaching his eyes, and otherwise he made no acknowledgement as I slipped into the back of the class and leaned against a counter, arms at my side, orienting myself to the new surroundings. As I expected, it was mostly women in the classroom, some quite serious-looking--with business suits and expensive hairstyles. Several were casual in jeans and tees, but I enjoyed the well-exposed thighs of a mom in the second row. I smiled quickly when one of the older mothers caught me admiring the second-row legs.
Townsend had obviously been answering parent questions for a while. The Q and A period was a sure sign that he was wrapping up. Some of the parents squirmed in anticipation of being excused from class. Much as I enjoyed my school years, I didn't miss being cooped up in a small room while someone chattered away about obscure topics. I suppose that's why I never completed college. I prefer action to talk, and I prefer solving real problems in the real world to sitting in a room and discussing hypothetical ones. I was such a smart ass in school. I never learned well sitting on my hind end, reading scratchings on a chalkboard.
I tried to disengage myself from the subject matter of the discussion. Primarily because I didn't care much about the topic and daydreaming until the questions ended would keep me from offering an obnoxious remark.
I looked back to the second row. Even in tennis shoes, the second row legs were worth the risk of seeming lecherous. Lean, but well-muscled, smooth and tan, they provided an oasis in my mental desert. So I kept admiring them. What the hell, I wasn't anybody's father from this class. I smiled at the thought of Sandra taking the heat for her lusty brother scamming on the classroom moms. Sandra made a lifetime of creative excuses for my occasional inappropriate behavior. What would one more matter?
When the talk finally ended, I watched the second row carefully, seeing her stand to leave. She stopped and talked to the next mom in the row, and I noticed a huge diamond on the appropriate finger, and a generally bitter and unfriendly look on her pinched face. So much for scamming the moms.
I smiled passively at each as the rest of them filed past me toward the door, and then I waited for Mr. Townsend to finish his private instruction with the shrinking cluster of parents who needed to talk personally to him. When only two remained, I walked to the front of the room and waited to discuss my nephew's health issues with Mr. Townsend. He was patient, pleasant and understanding of my concerns, and handed me a loaded set of assignment sheets so my nephew could catch up on work from home when he felt better.
Townsend cringed a bit when I folded the papers over twice and stuck them in the back pocket of my jeans, but he wished me well and told me to check with the office for more instructions on catching up from sick days. I noticed a United States Navy insignia on letterhead lying atop Townsend's desk, and I asked him if he had served. He had, and we spent a good half hour comparing service stories. I figured it couldn't hurt my nephew for his uncle to develop a respectful relationship with his teacher. Even if Townsend showed the poor judgment to join the navy, at least he had volunteered.
But as I left the room, all I could think about is how much damn schoolwork there was in fourth grade and how happy I was to be avoiding it. The principal couldn't possibly have more for my nephew to do.
The school was nearly cleared out as I walked down to the office, watching the mini-vans and SUVs stream from the lot. The glass office door was held open with a small wedge of gray rubber on the floor. A clear plastic wall separated the office from the school lobby, while a low counter divided the office into the work area for the school administrators, and the public area, where the bad boys like me were forced to sit and think about what they had done. Staring at the administrative area where the principal's secretary sat, guarding the secret rooms beyond, I shuddered a bit remembering my many long treks to the office I'd made in elementary school--for fighting, for mouthing off in class, for kissing the girls. They were all worth every minute of punishment. Especially the kissing.
No one seemed to occupy the office now. I wasn't surprised. I could see Mr. Townsend driving away in his red Ford pick-up, but the school was otherwise starting to seem lonely and a little bit creepy. I hadn't seen a janitor or an administrator here tonight, and I wasn't sure anyone was still in the building. Had I been left alone to turn out the lights and clap the chalk from the erasers tonight? Crap, I hoped not to miss the principal because I spent too much time talking with Townsend. Sandy would be mad at me. And I hated leaving a job undone.
I stepped into the office and picked up the little silver bell on the counter, turning it upside down and ringing it rhythmically with a gentle flick of my wrist. Ding, pause, ding, pause, ding, pause, and ding. Nothing. Ding, pause, ding, pause, and ding. Nothing. I set down the bell and turned to watch the last cars roll onto the street. Waiting quietly, I heard no movement, no talking--just the buzz of florescent lights up and down the hallway. Maybe a slight rustling from behind one of the closed doors, but I might have imagined it. I started walking out of the office when a woman's voice rose from the back office. I heard a muffled, "Wait, wait, don't go," from behind the closed door on the left side of the office. Finally, a sign of life.
So I waited. And I waited some more. Whoever was behind that door took her own sweet time in providing service to the general public. Typical of a school principal--her time is always more important than yours. I drummed my fingers on the counter and prepared to call something like "Today already" or "Before we need wheelchairs" into the office, when the door swung open, and a flushed and flustered woman popped her head out and smiled at me.
"I'm so sorry," she told me. "I was just ... finishing something." Her smile widened and her body followed her head out of the door. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I just assumed everyone had left by now."
"Well" I offered, "They probably have. Everybody but me and the janitor."
"We don't call him a janitor anymore. He is our service engineer."
"Does he have an engineering degree?"
"No, of course not."
"Then why lie about it?"
She said, "It's not a lie--it's a--a--well, ok, it is a lie. All these euphemisms are little lies aren't they? But it doesn't matter in this case, because our service engineer isn't here tonight."
"Euphemism. Good word. But you're the principal, aren't you? You're supposed to be using big words."
"No," she said. "I'm the assistant principal. But it means that if I learn more words like that, maybe I can be principal someday." She seemed to suddenly realize that this banter could be considered flirting, and she straightened up and asked me what I wanted from the school office, and had my child been disciplined.
)
Reunited grade-school classmates spark a first night of passion in a kindergarten classroom. When you add one hot ex-soldier just back from Afghanistan to a sensuous assistant principal unable to control her erotic urges, and multiply by an aggressive dominance and sexual submission, what do you get? You have an all-night lesson in extreme sensuality, bondage and release, and the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
