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From: Delta <delta@nym.alias.net>
Subject: DELTA: Smalltown Scandal
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RE
If you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at:
delta@nym.alias.net
Comments and critizisms are welcome.
Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's
imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published,
posted or reposted, in any form whatsoever, including being made
available on BBSs, without the express prior consent of author.
Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.
Delta.
SMALLTOWN SCANDAL
by Delta (c) 1998
"There's a Mr. Gregson to see you," Teresa's voice came
through the intercom. "He doesn't have an appointment."
"Please send him in." At last. Now we would see what we
would see. Gregson. Sometimes there is so much in a name.
Sometimes a name can tell you everything about a man, a woman,
an animal. There are times when a name fits so well you would
think that the universe had created the name for that one
particular being. And then again sometimes not.
He was a medium tall man, nothing special about him at
all. You would soon lose him in a crowd. That was good, I
guess. He wouldn't have many women after him for his looks,
but for his job he couldn't have a much better reference.
"Good Afternoon, Mrs. Pylof." He smiled when he should
not have smiled. It ruined the whole picture.
"You have it?" I asked, knowing he did. Had he not,
he would be elsewhere.
"I have it."
I watched her get on the bus. Frank said I shouldn't
have gone, wasn't good publicity. Damn him and his publicity.
Then he recanted. It might be good if I had been noticed.
Sort of like the sheriff watching the madam get on the stage
out of town. Whatever.
Her name was Jane and she had been a teacher in the
district. One of our better teachers. The kids loved her
and the parents were glad to have someone so dedicated
looking after their children. It isn't often we get letters
from parents about a teacher. Jane was an exception. We
received a steady trickle of letters about her. The trickle
turned into a flood.
The flood had become a burden and Jane had done the only
thing which seemed open to her. She tendered her resignation
and she left. Poor children. They don't know why they've
lost their teacher--or maybe they do. Children aren't as
naive as they were when I was going to school. Times change.
Jane had come to us at the end of the last school year.
Old Mrs. Henschel had taken a stroke and Jane was the best
replacement we could get on such short notice. Not too many
teachers wanted to teach in a small town. I didn't know just
what we were getting when I recommended her to the board.
None of us did. Certainly none of us foresaw this.
Yes, the letters came in slowly, then quickly. The file
folder sad on the desk in front of me. It bulged. There was
nothing for it. She had to go.
"You'll see that all my expenses are itemized," Mr. Gregson
handed the paper to me.
"Then you are finished?" I asked, somehow expecting it
would have taken longer, that the expenses would have been
higher. That's what you get for watching too many television
shows.
"All finished, Mrs. Pylof," he confirmed, sitting back
in his chair. He could afford to rest now, his job was done.
Mine was only beginning--should I decide to go through with
it.
"He wasn't even clever about it," Gregson stated, as if
to explain how the job had been done in such short time with
so little fuss; to ensure that I knew that he was not trying
to pull a fast one on me.
I gave a little laugh. Sometimes when you don't know
what else to do you laugh. This was one of those times. He
recognized it for what it was and sensibly said nothing. I
was the client. You don't make fun of your clients, not and
get word of mouth references, you don't.
References. The letters--those received in the beginning,
that is--would be photocopied and those copies provided to Jane.
It was the very least I could do. She was a very good teacher.
Whichever school board acquired her would be a lucky board--if
they were slightly more broad-minded than we were, here in this
part of nowhere.
You don't come into a small town and start having an
affair. Not if you are a teacher and expected to have morals.
Not if you came to our town. Not if you were young and pretty
and female. Jane, young and pretty and female, came into our
town, our small town, and proceeded to have an affair. She
had to go. As Chairwoman of the School Board it had been my
job to tell her.
She had accepted her fate. It had been my duty to let her
know that she could fight it. I was split. Part of me wanted
her to fight it. Damn it, she was the best teacher we had had
in the district. Young, energetic, committed. If I had
children, which I didn't, I would have wanted her for their
teacher--in spite of everything. Period. An affair. An
affair in a small, god-fearing town.
I looked at the manila envelope which Gregson handed me.
"Pictures?" I inquired.
"Pictures," he confirmed. "Look, Mrs. Pylof, it isn't
really my place, but looking at them won't help anything.
If you have to use them, they are there . . . Oh, and don't
worry, I took them to the city to be developed. No one
around here will ever know about them if you decide not to
proceed. The man who developed them is a friend of mine,
very discreet."
He wasn't a bad man, this Gregson. A decent man in an
indecent profession. I looked at him questioningly as his
face took on a look of discomfort.
"Yes, Mr. Gregson?" Might as well get it all out in
the open, so to speak.
"Well, uh," he stumbled, then recovered, "there is
also this." He handed me a cassette tape.
"A tape," the incredulity must have caused him to laugh
inwardly.
"Yes. As I said, he wasn't very clever. They left the
window open."
Poor Frank. Frank was never clever. He was popular and
basically a good man, but never clever. He was clever with
his hands, though. I remember our first summer together, so
long ago. His hands, with their long fingers, had enchanted
me. The backrubs, oh, the backrubs.
I lay down as instructed, feeling a little tense and unsure
of myself. Frank was a gentleman, though. I trusted him. He
started out with long sweeping strokes up and down my back. The
increasing pressure felt so good, so wonderful.
"Unsnap your top?" he asked gently, his voice a whisper
in my ear, seductive.
The break in rhythm when his hands went over the strap were
disconcerting, popping me in and out of reality, in and out of
the wonderful coziness of the backrub.
"Yes," I whispered through my teeth. Anything, just don't
stop doing what you are doing. It felt risky, dangerous, being
there with him, with this man, knowing that all that held my
top on was the string about my neck. The risk, the danger
made me giddy, excited. How far would he go. Far, I hoped,
far.
His hands roamed up and down my back, I never knew anything
could feel so good. Lazy, Hazy, Shades of Winter, the words
came to me, not meaning anything. Sure I liked the song, but
it was the laziness I felt, the hazy way my senses were reporting
that brought the words to the fore. God, he was good.
Ah, the shoulders. I could feel the knots of tension
loosening under his gentle ministration. His hands held my
shoulders and the thumbs went to work on my neck.
My eyes popped open. He'd undone the string on the
bikini top. If I were to roll over or stand up . . . . The
devil! I smiled. This might get good.
"You are so beautiful," Frank told me and he kissed my
shoulder. "So very beautiful."
I loved it, loved hearing it, loved knowing that it
was true. Frank loved me, and I was the most beautiful
woman he had ever seen. I could see it in his eyes when he
looked at me.
Oh, those wonderful hands. They caressed me from my back
down to my butt, where the bikini bottom began. They were
driving me crazy. I wonder if he knew that?
"Turn over, I'll do your front."
I guess he did. I turned over, making no attempt to
take my top with me. My breasts pointed up to the ceiling,
uncovered, their tips hard with pleasure. Through slitted
eyes I saw Frank smile.
From that point the massage slipped from the functional
to the erotic. Oh, those feather light brushes across my
nipples! They made me shiver and want more. The gentle
caresses which he lavished on my face; the kisses in the
hollows of my neck. Delicious, simply delicious.
The bikini bottom was daring, twin ties (one at each hip)
kept it together. His hands were shaking as they approached
one tie. Would I accept or reject him. I think the speed
with which I went for the other tie convinced him.
Naked. Naked and open to his view. I had long dreamed
about this moment. Of course I thought we would be married
when it happened, but now was just as good, perhaps better.
Oh, my! He was hard and ready! Such a lovely looking
cock. I caressed it and smiled as he groaned.
"Now," I told him. "I want you in me, now." I spread
my legs wide and guided him in.
My breath came out in a gasp as he pressed forward and
in. He lay quiet inside me for a minute and my breathing
returned to normal. Then he began moving, slowly, slowly,
but picking up speed. My breathing was ragged. I moved my
ass, trying for the best angle, trying to prolong the sweet
joy of it all, trying to think. Even thinking became
impossible as he moved in and out of me ever faster. I was
reacting, simply reacting to the wonderful feeling of him.
Couldn't breathe. Everything moving towards . . .
towards . . . . Oh, god! Someone was moaning, crying out.
It was me. How could anything be this good? Then he was
groaning, moving fast, hard, collapsing on me. I hugged him
tightly. This was my man. This was my lover. We would
always be together.
"Uh, yes?"
"I asked if there was anything else, Mrs. Pylof."
Gregson was certainly polite. Of course he hadn't been
paid off yet.
"Sorry. No. I think that should do it." I checked
the bill he handed me. He had known that there was nothing
more for him here. Everything was spelled out clearly.
It was all very business-like. Karen had known what she
was talking about when she recommended Gregson. An out of
town detective. Discreet, good.
I picked up my purse and opened it. His eyes widened
slightly as I began counting out the money owed. I smiled
at him. "Can't risk a cheque," I explained.
"Of course," he replied, "but it's not really safe
carrying around that much cash, Mrs. Pylof."
I laughed. "Here? Of course it's safe."
Gregson shrugged and got to his feet. I rose, too.
He didn't attempt to shake my hand or anything, which I
appreciated. His service was necessary, but it was also
on the point of ending something I had cared very much for.
"If you need me to testify . . . if it goes that far . . ."
He allowed his voice to trail off. It was understood.
"Thank-you, Mr. Gregson. If it should come to that, I'll
be in touch. However, I don't think it'll come to that."
Gregson turned and left. I sat down and looked at the
cassette tape and the manila envelope containing the pictures.
Did I really want to look at them, listen to the tape?
No. Not now, with the memories so close. Maybe later.
Frank Pylof, Mayor, led the charge against Jane. He
had to. He was the leader and his followers demanded it
of him. No one ever knew who Jane's partner was, and maybe
that was the worst of it. Everyone was thus suspect.
Jane kept her mouth shut. She was polite to everyone
and dismissed the whole situation as being unworthy of
her attention. It wouldn't have been so bad had it not
been Billy Jacobs who had seen her. Billy was straight-
laced, loud and, at times, objectionable, but he never
lied and everyone knew that. So, when Billy brought out
the news that he had seen Jane going into the motel out
on the highway, no one doubted his word. He had been at
the truck-stop across the way and had seen her.
Even that wouldn't have been so bad, but in his
mean-spirited way, he crossed the highway and walked up
to the motel door. He *heard* what was going on inside.
Unfortunately for the gossips, he was on a tight schedule
and couldn't hang around to see who came out. He had a
glimpse of the other, but it was too quick, he couldn't
recognize the face.
It didn't matter. What he had seen, and the fact that
it was he who had seen it, was enough. The parents whose
letters had praised Jane's work, now turned against her,
some even pulling their children out of her class. We
received a flood of mail. It seemed everyone wanted Jane
gone. There was no one to speak for Jane and Jane wasn't
talking.
I should have stood up and spoken for her. But the
situation . . . . I just couldn't.
Poor Frank. Not clever. Yet he was clever enough to
seek Jane's dismissal. Bastard. As if having an affair
had never occurred to the good folks of this town, mayor
included. Hypocrite. I looked down at the tape, wondering
what sounds I would hear on it, should I listen. What with
Frank's knowing hands, I figured I knew.
There was a quiet moan. It was me. It felt so good,
skin against skin. Hands touching breasts, finding their
way down, down, to the juncture, to the centre. I bucked.
Fingers had found clit and teased it beyond endurance.
"Please, please," I begged.
The laughter at my plea drove me wild. I pressed
upwards, offering myself, lifting off the bed, open and
ready for what I wanted. I was not denied.
"Ah!" I breathed out sharply as a tongue found my
sweet spot. Then it moved here and there, licking, probing,
driving me half insane with pleasure. Lick, kiss, caress.
My ass moved on and off the bed, up and down, trying to
avoid, trying to connect. And that sweet, sweet mouth,
seeking out my every desire, my joy, knowing just what to
do . . . . Can there be anything better.
The pressure was building in me. I spasmed with each
tongue flick, my breasts jiggling with each such spasm.
I pinched the nipples, those proud nipples and felt the
reaction down in my pussy, in my brain--everywhere. I
couldn't last much longer. It was just too beautiful.
I tried to speak, but my breath was catching. I was tense,
lifting off the bed, higher than ever before, yet not escaping
that wonderful mouth.
The wail of joy, of anguish, of release burst forth.
I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. There was only one
thing on my mind. A name. The name of my dear love, now
gently bringing me down. I spoke.
"Mrs. Pylof?" Teresa was breaking in at the most
inconvenient times.
I pushed the intercom button. "Yes, Teresa?"
"It's Mr. Williams to see you. He doesn't have an
appointment, either." Teresa seemed confused.
"I'll see him nonetheless," I said. This was it.
Decision time.
"Please sit down, Jim," I asked him as he came into
the room and closed the door.
"And what can I do for you, today, Mrs. Pylof?" He
was no doubt curious. He and Frank had never been friends,
and when we needed a lawyer we usually went to Read Brothers.
"We've known each other quite a while, Jim," I began,
then had to pause. Was I really going to do this?
"Yes, Mrs. Pylof. Since I took your History course in
Grade 12. You really motivated me that year. I don't think
I would have gone on to college if it wasn't for you." Jim
smiled. He was so self-assured now. "You were the best
teacher I ever had."
"Thank-you, Jim. Now I need the best lawyer I can get."
He looked at me, curiosity in his eyes, shielded, but there
nonetheless.
"For what purpose?"
"I want you to handle my divorce."
There is nothing for me left in this town. Nothing to do
but leave. I have to find love again. There is no love left
for me here, and love is so important, more important than
anything else. That is the name of the game.
There can be so much in a name. A name can fill your
mind with all the little things, the joys, the memories. The
name of a lover in the full bloom of love can be something
exquisite. You roll it around on your tongue, you chew on
it. You call it out when you orgasm. I closed my eyes
and remembered.
Hands, so soft, stroking me, bringing me gently down.
I could think again and my thoughts were of love, of joy
and of beauty. I felt, rather than heard the words.
"You're so beautiful."
All I could say were two words, two words which meant
everything. "Oh, Jane!"
End of "Smalltown Scandal" by Delta 31 Mar 1998
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