The Trophy Case

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Chapter Two

He looked, she was familiar, but in thirty some years with classes averaging about a hundred kids over six periods a day, there were a couple thousand or more people who might address him as Mr. or Dr. Crown.

“Sherilyn,” she said.

“Dunphy,” he replied the features amazingly taking shape in his memory. She’d been one of the cute ones as well as one of the bright ones. Some he knew were destined to become trophy wives, Sherilyn didn’t fit in that category, nor was she unattractive, in fact looking at how her body had developed he almost decided he was wrong.

“I’m incredibly flattered,” she said, “I’ve only been teaching eight years and I doubt I could remember every student I’ve had.”

“Where do you teach?”

“Miller. Seventh grade English, eighth grade Reading.”

“You’re married then,” he said. “Mrs. Roberts is well remembered by her eighth-grade reading students.”

She blushed. “I’m divorced, but in the Peyton Place of the Parent Teacher Association it is best not to appear single.”

“I hear you. Sometimes I can’t keep track of all the rumors of whose parent is influencing whose grade in that manner.”

“Ever happen to you?”

“A few offers were overt enough that I caught them, but generally I probably don’t catch on.”

“For some reason, for me, they sort of escalated this year,” she said.

“Sometimes it’s hard to process how long I’ve been doing this. Until a few minutes ago Sherilyn Dunphy was this cute little nearly hyperactive girl who thought that Percy Bysshe Shelly was God, and Edwin Arlington Robinson was his prophet.”

“I did have quite a case on them, didn’t I? Actually did a good portion of my Master’s thesis on “Children of the Night” and the influence of the Vanity Press.”

“You have a master’s?”

She curtseyed.

“Going further?”

“That’s what this year is for. I took it off to see. I’m finding I miss it, so I’ll probably go back next Fall.”

“Are you doing anything for dinner?” he asked. “I usually go to Harvey’s, the steakhouse because it’s close, but if you do Vegan or something there’s a lot of that in the area.”

“Meat and potatoes always works on me. I was raised down in Gilroy between the garlic fields and the black angus pasture.”

They went to Harvey’s, both ordering rare teriyaki with blue cheese on the salad and the works on the baked potato, and each had a martini. He gave her a ride back to the gym for her car and then, on her invitation followed her home for a nightcap.

She lived in Rancho Rinconada, a sprawling tract house development originally built and sold to returning servicemen from the Second World War for no money down. It was what she was left with in her divorce from the COO who now lived in Palo Alto. The neighborhood was fairly far from upscale.

“It isn’t much,” she said, “but it’s paid for and around here lately I’ve noticed that’s a rare condition.”

“It’s very nice. But isn’t three bedrooms a bit large for a single woman.”

“We bought it to start a family, then he decided the only family he needed had bleached blond hair, a forty-inch chest and legs up to her neck.”

“I see.”

She fervently wished she’d been warned that something like this could happen, the house was a mess, well; she was a mess. She didn’t have men over so she never considered the possibility. She sighed a little sigh of relief when she noticed she’d made the bed that morning.

Her divorce and its aftermath, which amounted to basically hiding from everyone because Craig might show up with the second edition Mrs. Roberts and make her feel like last night’s dirty dishes, made her socially retarded. She had gone out a few times, even ended up in a man’s bed a few times. No one called after any one of them.

The plain fact was that she wanted to seduce him and didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about it.

It was going to be a difficult proposition for her in that he saw a little girl, not a woman. While in the end this worked to her advantage, at the beginning it was a major stumbling block.

They finished the drink with some small talk about people they knew in the school system. When he stood to go, she walked over to him and aggressively kissed him. Which surprised him look enough for her to do it again.

Basically, she just backed him into the bedroom, onto the bed and fell on him. She felt awkward, but she really didn’t know what else to do. She started taking his clothes off.

He could sense her awkwardness and a bit of desperation so he went along, helping to strip her a bit and hoping to get her down a notch or two. When they managed to get each other naked, he managed to get her in bed beside him. He kissed her very gently and stroked her between and on her breasts. Tried to show her she’d succeeded, and let that calm her down enough to give her an orgasm.

He stroked her slowly and gently, kissed her tenderly. Tried to relieve the tension that would block a lot of her natural reactions. As her tension started to ease, his guilt started to build. This was a child. A little girl whose English compositions he’d graded. What he was doing violated something inside him.

When he felt that he could satisfy her he climbed on top of her and inserted himself. He put his hand underneath the small of her back to force her to up into him and stimulate herself. He got her to the point where she was naturally rubbing herself on him, all he had to do was hold out. He did just barely. She sighed when he came inside her and her body relaxed. He’d have left, but he knew he couldn’t allow her to wake up alone.

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