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The night air was pleasant, cool and slightly moist against your skin, but it brought you no peace. As you leaned out over the balcony, surveying the reflecting pools and gardens of the estate stretching out into the moonlight, you tried to relax, enjoy the panorama, and ignore the sound of the music, laughter, and dancing in the ballroom down the hall from the study whose window you had flung open. Flung open at the end of a mad flight from the ball, trying to escape that which you most desired and, yet, by which you were most terrified.

The party had begun pleasantly enough. You had come unescorted, determined you have a good time regardless of who had or had not come with you. There were enough unattached men, or just outrageous flirts, to more than fill a casual night. Perhaps you would meet someone interesting, or particularly attractive, you had thought, but put the subject from your mind: no expectations except for diversion.

Then, two hours or so after the first dancing had begun, she had entered the room. It was between dances, and the crowd was busy with angling through the floor, looking for someone to ask for the next dance, or making themselves obvious to the person they wished would ask them. When the dark figured had filled the doorway, many had turned to look. Most had given a quick, appreciative glance, and then returned to their partners. You had not; although you were across the room, you stopped and stared as if turned to stone.

She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons. Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black, black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance, she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first appearance faded, and the evening continued.

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It was getting close to lunch time and I was already restless. I was staring into the terminal of my workstation, not concentrating on what I needed to do, but thinking of wild sexual encounters involving myself and my latest lust.

There was a light tap at the door behind me, taking me out of my reverie. I turned to see the part-timer, Anita, looking around the door as she opened it. She had started the previous day. She was doing a report for the boss and I had been assigned to answer any questions that she may have had.

The day before, while she had been in the adjacent office, going over the project with the boss I couldn’t help but notice her. She wore a modest skirt which came to about her knees. He legs were marvelous, thin and shapely. She had a fine body with sensual curves. She wasn’t skinny, or thin, but she was fine. Her breasts, full and perfectly proportioned, pressed against the light blouse that she wore. Her face was pretty and she had a wonderful mane of long, auburn hair.

As she left the office with her bundle of notebooks and papers, Anita’s eyes met mine. They were a light shade of brown. Her smile was infectious. It made an electric sensation go through my body and my head was light. I smiled my best smile back at her. She didn’t look away and with a wave and a crinkle of her eye, she said “See You!” and was out the door. She was scheduled to be here for the rest of the week and suddenly I had the feeling that it was going to be quite good.

She had come by on two occasions the previous day. On the first, she had only inquired about how to format the report she was working on. She stood at the door, leaning into my office as she asked.

I turned in my chair to face her. Her hair fell over her shoulders as she leaned forward and her blouse fell open a bit, offering a brief glimpse of her treasures as she asked, “How should print this when I’m done?” I could feel a stirring in my loins. I said, “You can just keep the text in block paragraphs and put the figures in columns under however many headings you feel necessary.” I couldn’t take my eyes away from the opening of her blouse, hoping that I would get another view. When I finally shifted my gaze up to her face, Anita had a knowing look and a sly smile. She said “O.K., I can do that,” then she stepped out of the office and closed the door behind her.

Later when she returned she had a rough draft of the report compiled from a small percentage of the stats she had reviewed. She set the pad on the desk in front of me and leaned over my shoulder and pointed out key elements as I read. I could smell her scent, not a perfume, but a sweet feminine scent. I could hardly concentrate, I could feel my pulse quicken. Her hair was on my shoulder and felt as light as clouds.

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Sarah and he had been best friends ever since they both could remember. Whenever one of them had a problem, the other was always there to help. Over the years, they had become very close, and had developed a trust that few can claim to know. They were a team, and their friendship was a given, never doubted or questioned.

Lately, Sarah had been having problems with her boyfriend, and was coming to him more and more often for help and advice. On more than one occasion, she would be crying uncontrollably. She found solace in his arms, and quite often remained there for hours on end, while he caressed her and made her feel better. Soon, she began to become more and more confused. She felt a great deal for her boyfriend, and yet she looked forward to being with Joel whenever things went wrong, and that confused her. Once, she even went over to Joel’s house, crying about something that never even happened, simply to be held by him.

His arms wrapped around her, and she felt extremely warm and safe. Almost like a big teddy bear in reverse. Her arms wrapped around his torso, and she buried her face within his chest. Her blonde hair fell around her face, so that he could not tell exactly what she was thinking. She felt a warmth elsewhere, a feeling that surprised her, especially since it was related to Joel, her best friend. She grew worried. What should she do? Should she tell him how she felt and risk losing his friendship? What would change between them?

She soon found out. Her boyfriend broke up with her one day, and the ensuing argument they had totally wrecked Sarah. She sped to Joel’s house, where he was studying in his room. Her eyes, streaked red with tears, told Joel everything he needed to know. Sarah took one step into the room, and her legs gave out. She fell, arms pitched forward as she approached the floor. Joel leaped out of his chair and managed to save her from hurting herself. He lowered Sarah’s limp body to the floor, and then picked her up and brought her to the bed.

She lay in the fetal position, crying hysterically. Her hair was once again covering her face, and Joel tried to stroke it away with his fingers. His large hands paradoxically stroked her fine hair, and she felt better immediately, although the pain of what happened still held her in shock. Sarah lifted herself off the bed, and embraced Joel. He ran his hands up and down her back, saying soothing words to her, hoping that she would feel better soon.

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I hated this feeling. I can can tell exactly where he is standing: over to the side and back a bit. Around the corner of the bar and moving into the hallway. To the bathrooms? Sigh. I am feeling, well, heh, warmed up.

Mmm. If I take a deep breath [BJ breaths in], I can feel the my top tighten against my breasts. As there is no bra tonight, I can feel my nipples rub across the knit fabric. A thick yarn. Rub, rub. My legs too; movement, or squeezing is good. There is that slippery sensation and a bit of dampness on my panties. Arrgh!

What would he be like? I’d love to run my hands through his hair; to feel his hair tickling my fingers. To trace a finger down his chest. What would the hair be like on his legs? Soft and fuzzy like some forest animal? Or strong, tickling my hands as they rubbed his inner thighs? To kiss his neck. He has a beautiful neck. I love to kiss necks; a sloppy sucking kind of a kiss. His ears too. Then to move down to his chest. Maybe nibble a nipple? Wonder what he likes. Across his stomach, which I imagine as a washboard. And then, oh! I should stop thinking like this! Dam it, I’m married!

I open my eyes. Hey — where did Jamie go? Oh, there out slithering with that guy she met on the dance floor. They look like they are having fun. If anything Jamie says is true, boy is he in for a treat tonight! Wish someone would do that sort of thing to me!

Wait. Here he comes again. I can feel that tugging in between my legs. I try to squeeze it way, but it is still there. And stronger. It must be really wet. Mmmm. Oh! He’s coming closer. Checking me out. Ah yes, the usual male scan. Rests a while on my breasts — I push them out and feel my sweater rub across my nipples. Wonder if he saw the expression on my face. Moves down to my legs. I’m wearing a short mini-skirt so he should get an eyeful.

Yikes! Eye contact. I’m locked. I can feel a flood of heat into my face. Good thing the strobe lights, etc. don’t show anything. He looks around at the dance floor. At Jamie. Why did he do that? Back at me. Oh my! He’s coming over. He’s asking me to dance!

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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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