ZXCBad Girl Story 2 continued part2
The boys in the class shifted uncomfortably in their seats as I turned around and wrote my name on the board: Miss Flock. I’d expected some whispered comments about my last name, but a girl named Althea Flock either gets used to it or changes her name to Karen Smith. But the question I got asked wasn’t quite what I was expecting:
“Hey,” said a boy in the second row “what do we call you?” “I’m Miss Flock” I told him. He had on jeans that puddled around his ankles, a t-shirt with a big green marijuana leaf on it, and a red ball cap turned sideways. “Nah,” he said “what’s your first name?” I was a bit stunned, and reacted from pure instinct. “I don’t have one as far as you’re concerned Mister . .?” “Fisher,” he said “Jerry Fisher-but everybody calls me Fish.” His mouth was open, and his hair hung over his eyes beneath the brim of his cap. “I’m not everybody, so I’ll call you Mister Fisher,” I answered “and take off that hat, please.” I think it was only surprise that made him do it.
People think teachers haven’t got ears. Students will talk, even while other teachers are present, and they don’t seem to understand how much of what they talk about makes it back to the staff room. During my first year I gained a reputation as a fierce disciplinarian, but a parallel reputation for being fair and for working things through. I didn’t hesitate to give detentions, which surprised and appalled a lot of parents and brought me into a lot of conflict both with them and with the school administration. But I stood my ground, sacrificed my time, and gradually the parents came to know me as the teacher who could get the best work out of their kids. Almost all their kids.
For my part, I settled into school life like I’d been born to it, and for five years I taught high school English and History. I was satisfied and doing useful work. Eventually I got used to the loneliness too.
It wasn’t that I didn’t get offers. In the first couple of years every straight male teacher (and one I wasn’t certain about) and a couple of the gay female ones made me offers. I always felt awkward turning them down. My fling with Tennisball and the discomfort of sharing classes with her after it all came apart (after I broke it apart), or of seeing her around and the misery it brought on, were still pretty fresh to me. I cautiously accepted a few invitations, had second dates with a few men; turned down all the women.
It wasn’t that I was “denying my gay self” or something. I just didn’t feel anything for them. It was that “plain toast, no jam” feeling. Not that I got anything much from dating the few men I spent time with. I took a couple of them home; actually saw one man for several months. We had sex, and it was terrific overall, but eventually the whole relationship came down to sex. There wasn’t anything else. So I thanked him and said goodbye. It wasn’t quite that simple-I wound up sleeping with him occasionally for nearly a year before I decided it was doing me more harm than good.
Once again I said goodbye, and once again he was nice about it. We talked by phone occasionally, but I wasn’t very encouraging, and eventually the phone went silent too. I spent a lot of time working out or reading, and slowly got used to being alone. Then something happened that made my tiny flickering flame roar up and consume me.
At the beginning of the fifth year I worked at the school, I arrived early, masturbated quickly (it had become something of a habit), and walked into the classroom from my little office, which smelt less like smoke and more like sandalwood nowadays.
…End of the part2. To be continued..
ZXCBad Girl Story 2 continued part2
The boys in the class shifted uncomfortably in their seats as I turned around and wrote my name on the board: Miss Flock. I’d expected some whispered comments about my last name, but a girl named Althea Flock either gets used to it or changes her name to Karen Smith. But the question I got asked wasn’t quite what I was expecting:
“Hey,” said a boy in the second row “what do we call you?” “I’m Miss Flock” I told him. He had on jeans that puddled around his ankles, a t-shirt with a big green marijuana leaf on it, and a red ball cap turned sideways. “Nah,” he said “what’s your first name?” I was a bit stunned, and reacted from pure instinct. “I don’t have one as far as you’re concerned Mister . .?” “Fisher,” he said “Jerry Fisher-but everybody calls me Fish.” His mouth was open, and his hair hung over his eyes beneath the brim of his cap. “I’m not everybody, so I’ll call you Mister Fisher,” I answered “and take off that hat, please.” I think it was only surprise that made him do it.
People think teachers haven’t got ears. Students will talk, even while other teachers are present, and they don’t seem to understand how much of what they talk about makes it back to the staff room. During my first year I gained a reputation as a fierce disciplinarian, but a parallel reputation for being fair and for working things through. I didn’t hesitate to give detentions, which surprised and appalled a lot of parents and brought me into a lot of conflict both with them and with the school administration. But I stood my ground, sacrificed my time, and gradually the parents came to know me as the teacher who could get the best work out of their kids. Almost all their kids.
For my part, I settled into school life like I’d been born to it, and for five years I taught high school English and History. I was satisfied and doing useful work. Eventually I got used to the loneliness too.
It wasn’t that I didn’t get offers. In the first couple of years every straight male teacher (and one I wasn’t certain about) and a couple of the gay female ones made me offers. I always felt awkward turning them down. My fling with Tennisball and the discomfort of sharing classes with her after it all came apart (after I broke it apart), or of seeing her around and the misery it brought on, were still pretty fresh to me. I cautiously accepted a few invitations, had second dates with a few men; turned down all the women.
It wasn’t that I was “denying my gay self” or something. I just didn’t feel anything for them. It was that “plain toast, no jam” feeling. Not that I got anything much from dating the few men I spent time with. I took a couple of them home; actually saw one man for several months. We had sex, and it was terrific overall, but eventually the whole relationship came down to sex. There wasn’t anything else. So I thanked him and said goodbye. It wasn’t quite that simple-I wound up sleeping with him occasionally for nearly a year before I decided it was doing me more harm than good.
Once again I said goodbye, and once again he was nice about it. We talked by phone occasionally, but I wasn’t very encouraging, and eventually the phone went silent too. I spent a lot of time working out or reading, and slowly got used to being alone. Then something happened that made my tiny flickering flame roar up and consume me.
At the beginning of the fifth year I worked at the school, I arrived early, masturbated quickly (it had become something of a habit), and walked into the classroom from my little office, which smelt less like smoke and more like sandalwood nowadays.
…End of the part2. To be continued..
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