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Paula was going out of her mind, she was down to her last twenty dollars and if she didn’t find a steady source of income in a hurry she was gonna find herself out on the street!!! The rent was due in just three more day, no, make that three months rent was due in three days, and even though her landlord had been understanding of her problems, even a nice guy like Mr. Fuller would finally put his foot down sometime, and Paula was pretty sure that time would be this Friday!!! Restlessly she thumbed through the help wanted ads, when suddenly her eyes locked on an ad that read, “Women, Make Big Money Fast, No Experience Necessary, Start Tomorrow, Call 555-4321 and ask for Mr. Zolton”!!! Could this be the answer to her dreams, that she didn’t know, but as her hand reached for the phone, she sensed that her life would be changing forever!?!

“Please, have a chair, Miss Winters,” Ogden Zolton said easily, “I hope you didn’t have any trouble finding the place!?!” “Uh, no, not really,” she replied softly, “your directions were perfect!!!” “Good,” he replied while leaning back in his chair and lighting up a cigarette, “so tell me, Miss Winters, do you know what we do here, I mean how we make our money!?!” “No, I don’t,” she answered quickly, “your ad wasn’t too specific on anything, except for the fact that the money was good!!!” He smiled for a second, and after blowing out a long stream of smoke, nodded and replied, “The money’s very good, in fact I’d say it was excellent, how does five hundred dollars a day sound to you!?!” “F-five hundred,” she stammered, “did you say five hundred dollars per day!?!” “Exactly,” he shot back, “and there’s a chance it could even go higher!!!” Her head was swimming at the prospect of making so much money so quickly, but her good sense told her nothing was that easy, so in a wary voice she asked, “What would I have to do to earn that kind of salary!?!” “A very good question,” Ogden Zolton replied while getting up from his desk and motioning her to follow him as he opened the door, “let me show you and you can decide if you’re cut out for our kind of work!!!”

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When I met Jon he was just past chubby, melted down into a lithe boy who was starting to show signs of man. He was a young man the way a colt is part gangly animal and part magical apparition. He wore his awkwardness like a beetle wears its shell, to cover up the soft inside.

He was my highschool friend. He sometimes flirted with me, just to practice. I watched him hesitating on the cusp of growing up. If he had been more self-assured I would have been smitten, and if I had been any more self-assured I’d have taken him — easy, the way his hormones were trembling and threatening to spill over, like water from a glass. But I was not the one he chose for his first affair.

Mr. White had just been hired to teach at the highschool. He was on a three-year contract, and that was all the longer he would stay, because teachers like him are never hired back. He must have interviewed in his one regular suit — he’d never have gotten the job dressed the way he usually did, in old, old clothes, antique three-piece suits and wire-rimmed glasses and a watch and chain. He was hired to teach drama, of course — that’s probably why they let him slip by — and English.

He looked English, actually, like a headmaster at a shabby third cousin of Eton. He had bright, lavishly-lashed eyes and a mustache that curled. No one in our remote little town had never seen anything like him. He was like a time traveler who had taken a very wrong stop. He could not have been expected to have anything in common with a bunch of ranchers’ sons and daughters. Nevertheless a few of us had determined that we were not going to be hicks. We were over him like flies on honey.

Jon was skittish around Mr. White from the start, manic even. For about a week he joined the other boys, raving about what a fruit and a faggot the new teacher was. But by the end of the second week of school he had arranged to join three extracurricular clubs — the Thespians, the school paper, and a modern novel study group — so he could be near him.

On any given day Jon could be found before class, after class, and often at lunch in Mr.White’s room. I knew that because I was in the habit of dropping by at those times myself. Of all the students who clustered around the new teacher, I was the closest to understanding just why he seemed so odd. He was so completely different from any other man I’d ever known, in his eccentricity so sweet and strange, that of course I began cruising him almost right away. I was just learning that having sex with a person could teach me things about them and about myself, and I was sure Mr. White was a wealth of things I wanted to know.

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She was humming as she changed the sheets from the smooth percale she liked to the fuzzy flannel he preferred. She imagined what she would do to him tonight, and her humming grew quieter until finally it ceased.

First she would undress him, slowly, slowly, kissing him softly as each bit of flesh became visible. “To keep it from getting cold,” she would say teasingly. They’d done this before — he would say, “No fear of that!” and they would laugh together as she began to stroke his skin with her warm hands.

Then she would push him slowly back until he fell onto the bed and she would take his penis into her hand. By now he would be fully erect, and it would jump as she touched it. They would laugh again at this familiar occurrence.

Next she would begin to lick him with little, teasing cat-laps at his skin, all over him, from his collarbones to his toes, but avoiding his crotch. She would roll him over and lap at his back, covering every inch of his skin, and then she would suck at his toes…

The phone rang, shattering the intimate silence. She picked it up. “Hello? Oh, hi! I was just thinking about you! When are you getting here? Oh. Oh, I see. Yes. Yes. Bye, then.” He wasn’t coming after all. Again. She was momentarily disappointed, but then she began to get angry.

“Who needs you anyway?” she demanded of the walls in a quiet but intense voice. “Damn you!” She was already wet and wanting from her imaginings.

She went downstairs to put away the wine she had gotten out for him. She seldom drank wine herself; she disliked the taste. She paused, looking at the bottle. It was almost empty. “Am I sex-starved, or what?” she asked herself, as she noted the phallic shape of the bottle’s neck. She picked up the bottle and one of her two crystal wineglasses and took them up to her bedroom and set them on the nightstand.

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It started when I was in junior high school.

One day, as I was sitting in the back of the classroom during study hall, I began to daydream about one of the older boys in the school. Unconsciously, my hand drifted under my skirt, and my fingers were lightly rubbing the edge of the elastic of my panties.

Vickie’s voice, from the seat behind me, was startling when she whispered, “Oh, Barb, isn’t that lovely.”

“Shut up! Someone might hear you!”

“Don’t worry, No one is paying any attention.” Then Vickie’s hand was suddenly under my skirt, feeling the location of my fingers. She squeezed my hand, and her hand drifted slowly, gently upward. “Where is it?”

Her fingers generated marvelous feelings as they caressed my pubic mound. But, all too soon, the bell rang and it was time to leave. Confused, I tried to avoid her as we left school, but she caught up to me and walked beside me.

“I can make it feel really good,” she said in a hoarse voice, as we walked side by side. Frankly, my knees were weak, and my mind whirled with plans for letting her prove her ability.

Although I hadn’t paid much attention to her before, I began to treat Vickie as a best friend.

Just a few days later, we were playing after school in her back yard. Her house was the same as the others in the neighborhood, but her back yard was very deep–it actually extended the length of two or more of the ordinary back yards. And, there was a grove of about a half dozen pine trees, that surrounded a cool, dark glade. In that glade, I felt completely isolated from the rest of the world.

We were doing something–I can’t recall what–then I felt her presence behind me, and her warm breath in my ear, as she whispered, “I’d like to make you feel good.”

Her arms went around my waist, and she kissed me, or licked me–I don’t know–on the nape of my neck. It would sound icky to a young girl, but it felt–well it felt nice. Very nice.

How hot she seemed as her lips caressed my neck–and how natural it seemed as she pulled my arms upward, and lifted my shirt off in a fluid motion. Her hand rubbed the surface of my ‘teen’ bra, and focused pressure on my right nipple. My breasts were still conical, just developing, but her rubbing showed me for the first time just how sensitive my nipples could be.

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In which a routine marriage is revived by the vagrancies of the weather and the attentions of a good neighbor.

That fateful Sunday started off with the same old routine. We’d been married for just three years, Michelle and I, but that was enough for us to settle into that comfortable routine. Work was routine, play was routine, life was routine. Worst of all our sex life was routine. So, following the old Sunday morning routine, I pecked my wife’s cheek and drove off to the golf course.

This Sunday, however, did not live up to its namesake. That worthy was hiding behind a mass of low lying clouds. Nothing to stop an afternoon of golfing fun, however. But after an hour of whacking a ball around the fairways those clouds had turned ominous and soon the heavens opened up. The more sensible among us broke for the shelter of the clubhouse while a few diehards squinted into the storm, steadfastly refusing to acknowledge its presence.

The rain wouldn’t go away. It didn’t look like it was ever going away. It just, continued to fall hard, determined no doubt to drown the world and all its creatures. So I cursed Nature and the rotten luck she had dumped on me and decided to go home. Not too long after that momentous decision I found myself pulling into our driveway. A lot earlier than I had planned to. All I had to look forward to was the rest of the day, spent with my loving but routine wife.

Cursing the weather one more time I let myself in the front door. And heard voices. Oh great, I thought, visitors. The day was just getting better and better. What next? An atom bomb? Worse! It was, Jeff, one half of the sweet as apple pie couple that lived next door. Five minutes with those two would guarantee a place in heaven and a mouthful of cavities. Even routine ol’ Michelle would be in dire need of rescuing by now, I thought.

But better her than me. Grinning to myself I half-turned on my way back out. That’s when she giggled. I froze in my tracks. It was the same giggle I’d heard all those years ago. The nervous half-laugh that she laughed the first time I seduced her. Cautiously and silently (thanks to the sound of the falling rain) I shut the door, removed my shoes and padded over to the dining room door.

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