The Sexual Education Blues

Lubrican

by Robert Lubrican

zbookstore.com Edition

Second Edition 2025

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Twenty-one | Twenty-two | Twenty-three | Twenty-four | Twenty-five

Twenty-six | Twenty-seven | Twenty-eight | Twenty-nine |

Thirty | Thirty-one | Epilogue | Afterword

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Prologue

Belinda Hampton looked at the pile of papers on her desk and sighed. When she'd taken the job at the State Department of Education, she'd thought she was getting into one of those cushy state jobs, where she wouldn't have to work that hard, and wouldn't have to worry about job security. Everybody said that. State jobs are like the goose that lays the golden eggs. And, during the interview, when she was offered the spot as "head" of the Continuing Education Office, she was quite sure she'd be playing with golden eggs very soon.

So far, though, the goose hadn't laid any golden eggs. The goose hadn't laid any eggs at all, for that matter. She'd been shown to a desk in the Continuing Education office, which sounded important, but was, in actuality, only a twelve by twelve room full of file cabinets and a desk piled high with papers. There was a computer with a broadband connection, but all the good sites were blocked.

The previous occupant of the chair she was sitting in had gotten pregnant, and her water had broken much sooner than anyone anticipated. Then there were complications, and she had to be hospitalized. But the business of education insisted on rambling on, which was why Belinda was hired with only a cursory glance at her resume which, in any case, was heavily padded. That she had lied about having a college degree was, ironically offset by the fact that they misrepresented things to Belinda as well. There had never been more than one person in the CE office, and there was no one to be "head" over. They were desperate, though. The previous two applicants had wanted to see the office, and promptly walked out when it was shown to them.

Belinda, though, hadn't thought of that. With stars in her eyes, she had stood, smiled, shaken hands, and said she'd be there bright and early the next morning. Then, to celebrate, she'd gone out and bought herself a brand new Mustang. Now, she was trapped. If she gave up the car, it would ruin her barely established credit rating. And so, she came to work every day and shuffled papers, trying to learn the job that she was already supposed to be experienced at.

She picked up a paper off the top of the "important" pile. She had learned it was "important" by not processing the papers in that pile fast enough. As a result, several teachers, scheduled to do continuing education, hadn't been able to do so. That, she found out, sometimes put their jobs at risk and made a whole lot of people very angry.

As a result, Belinda had a tendency now to approve just about anything. What did she care? All those teachers were making more money than she was and they could even get tenure. She had thought she'd have tenure immediately and then found out wasn't even on the table, as far as administrative staff were concerned. She had to complete her year-long probationary period successfully and could be fired at any time, for any reason, until she did so.

She looked at the paper in her hand. It was for a continuing education seminar for teachers who taught sexual education. She snorted. Who needed continuing education on sex? All you had to do was hang out in a bar for an hour and wear the right clothing and you could get all the sex you wanted. Even if you looked like Belinda Hampton!

Her job was to make all the travel arrangements and book hotel rooms for things like this. The teachers came from all over the state, so that meant she had to see to these details for all nine teachers on the list. That could take hours. She sighed, and then brightened when the description of "The Hall Conference Center" said that rooms were provided at the seminar. That solved that problem. She peered at the paper. No address. That sucked.

She got on the internet and Googled "Halle Conference Center." She wasn't much of a typist, and didn't notice she added an "e" to the name "Hall." When only two hits came up she decided it was her lucky day. The one she wanted was obviously the one in Phoenix, Arizona, since the other one had to do with the culinary arts.

She was further delighted to learn a few minutes later that only one flight left Boise that would connect through Denver to Phoenix. All the teachers would get there on the same plane. Now all she had to do was get them all to Boise for that flight and she could go on to another piece of paper. Of course she had to send the electronic registration and payment for the seminar, but that was the easy part. She could send electronic checks for thousands of dollars with just a few touches to her keyboard. She knew there had to be a way to send herself some of that money, but she hadn't figured out how yet. Somebody, somewhere, checked on that, because she got yelled at for putting in an incorrect amount one time.

Now, where was the information on the seminar itself? She looked at the paper, but all it said was "Sexual Education Continuing Education Seminar." Damn. Now she'd have to go talk to Fredericka, which was never any fun.

She clicked a few buttons on the computer, which took her to the Halle Resort and Conference Center website. There was a tab for "Upcoming Attractions." There it was: "Seminar on Human Interaction and Sexual Relations." Why did they have to use such fancy bullshit for "sexual education"? It didn't matter. What mattered was that she could register them all right there, on line. She wouldn't have to talk to Fredericka after all.

There was only one thing about this application that seemed really odd. That was the requirement that each participant arrange for a doctor to submit results of a blood test, a week in advance of the conference, to an address listed on the website. That meant she had to notify the attendees quickly and that thought pushed everything else out of her mind.

She got to work.

Three weeks later, sixty-one of the expected seventy teachers, from all over the United States, arrived at the Hall Conference Center in Indianapolis Indiana and took part in an updated series of sessions for sexual education teachers that were secretly sponsored by a right to life organization. The emphasis was on teaching abstinence. Sixty-one teachers rolled their eyes at each other and doodled on napkins while various instructors told them things they wanted to laugh at. They considered the nine teachers who hadn't shown up as being very lucky.

Chapter One: The Participants

Tiffany Jones pulled her suitcase along behind her down the concourse of the airport in Denver, worried that she might not be able to make her connecting flight to Arizona. At twenty-three, the former cheerleader, with her lustrous head of blond hair hanging just past her shoulders, and her full, hard breasts, wasn't overtly aware that practically every man she walked by turned to stare after her. Subconsciously, of course, she knew she was attractive. Boys had chased her in high school, and then young men in college, and she had learned how to walk, stand and sit in ways that teased those men. Her walk was confident, with a long stride that was a little hurried, and her breasts bounced enticingly under the silk blouse she was wearing. She had chosen to fly in a skirt but wished she'd worn pants as soon as she sat down on the first plane. She didn't mind if some leg showed, but the skirt kept creeping up until it was showing too much.

She felt a little frazzled as she hurried along. She'd completed one full year of teaching, which had gone pretty well, though her work load was much more than she'd anticipated. Her boyfriend from college had decided to stay there to work on a master's degree, and the distance had slowly killed the relationship. She'd hung on for eight months but she knew there was nothing there now. His letters and calls had begun to space out and then he'd suggested they "see other people." She was pretty sure he was already "seeing other people," based on the sex drive she remembered him having. He'd been her first. Originally, she'd vowed she'd stay a virgin until she married but that all went out the window at a frat party, when she had a little too much to drink and her boyfriend had used that as an excuse. She'd found out what she'd been missing, though. She wasn't too drunk to remember that. She'd demanded he use condoms after that because she found out the pill made her retain water.

She'd maintained her fabulous figure, at first because she thought her boyfriend would miss her so much that he'd abandon college and run to marry her. She wanted to look good in her wedding dress. But his waning interest had killed that dream and her work load had kept her social life to a dismal low. She didn't have time to look for a man but it took much less time to keep in shape. It also helped her relieve her stress, which was the result of both too much work and too little sex. She still had her fabulous figure and she knew she was bright and intelligent, but when the field of men to choose from was so sparsely populated, even her own sex drive wouldn't force her to seek frivolous dates. She was interested in having a real mate ... someone who was dedicated to her above all others ... someone she could give everything too, and get everything from. She'd seen too many young women in college throw themselves away in meaningless relationships that went nowhere. She wasn't a shallow woman, and she didn't want a shallow relationship. She was beginning to wonder if there were any men who actually wanted that too.

Maybe she'd meet someone interesting at this seminar, she thought as she hurried along, leaving men with sagging jaws in her wake. She'd jumped at the chance to attend the continuing educational seminar, even if that meant teaching sex ed the next year. She still remembered what high school life was like for a teenager and she thought she had something to offer those girls who, like her, were trying not to turn into sluts.

Besides, at least she could spend a week meeting new people and doing something interesting, instead of sitting around her apartment trying to figure out how to meet men who weren't over forty, with sagging bellies, and thinning hair. All the good ones had been taken when she got to the little town of Hawkins Point. She didn't even mind submitting to a blood test, though she thought that was taking things a bit too seriously, at least as far as she was concerned. She wondered if that was part of the new curriculum. Maybe they were finally going to start testing students, and catching problems early.

Feeling relief, she saw the gate she needed and turned toward it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Charles Bradshaw was traveling light, with only a carry-on bag hanging from his shoulder. His single suitcase was being transferred to the new plane by the airline. He wasn't in a hurry and was engaged in one of his favorite pastimes ... girl-watching. The airport was a good place to do that. Crowds of people kept the scenery changing constantly and, since he was meandering along slowly, women passed him, so he got a good look at wiggling hips and didn't have to worry about them seeing him looking. Fantasy played a big role in Chuck's life which was why, truth be known, he was still single. He was twenty-eight and taught phys ed at King High School, where he was also the football coach. His team had a respectable win/loss ratio. It wouldn't get him to State Championship games, but then nobody really complained about it either, so there was no real stress. He was able, in fact, to stress team building and sportsmanship, which he believed should be the real reason for high school sports. He also believed, deep in his heart, that the district had used this seminar thing to get a sample of his blood to ensure he wasn't using performance enhancing drugs. He had smiled at the thought. He wasn't doping and none of his kids were either. All anybody had to do was look at their win/loss record! He knew he had a problem, but doping wasn't it.

Part of his problem was that, off the field, he was shy. The bigger part of his problem was that he had a thing for cheerleaders.

He was careful not to expose that at school, but it leached into his personal relationships. Three women had dumped him now because of his repeated attempts to get them to role-play being seventeen year old cheerleaders. They thought he was a bit too odd to keep dating, though their opinion came nowhere near thinking he was a disgusting pervert. That was good, because any of them who would have gone to the school board would have gotten him fired. It was not worth taking chances to have a teacher who had a "thing" for girls he was around constantly. The irony of his situation was that he wasn't really interested in girls that young, because they were all mindless drones who wouldn't do anything if everybody else wasn't doing it too. He just liked the idea of pretending to be the star quarterback, who managed to get between the legs of the head cheerleader.

A young woman hurried by him, her butt wiggling under a short skirt as she took ground-eating strides on two inch heels. He admired her backside, and the cascade of blond hair that fell past her shoulders. He wished he could see her front. If it was anything like the back, she'd be good for hours of cheerleader fantasies.

Sighing, he walked on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Roberta Tinsdale rode the escalator, examining the people going down while she went up. She liked looking at the men, mostly, because she always examined them to see if they looked like the man she should have married, instead of the one she did. She'd met Phillip in her senior year of college and he'd swept her off her feet ... literally. He was a charismatic man, which was probably why he was doing so well in business. He was a go-getter and when he saw Roberta he went ... and got her. Though not a virgin when she'd met him, she wasn't promiscuous and tended to hold to a five or six date rule, where she didn't have sex for at least that long. Her theory was that, by then, she'd know enough about the man to know whether or not it was worth the risk. Roberta was a good, Catholic girl, and for her, sex was risky.

Phillip had her in bed four hours into their first date.

He was hard to resist in other ways too. When he told her they were getting married instead of asking her to marry him, she should have recognized that as a trait of his that wouldn't fade away. She hadn't, though, and now she was paying for it. Phillip was almost never home. His business dealings consumed all his time, energy and attention. He planned on being a millionaire by the time he was thirty. That was three years away, for both of them, and it looked like he might make it. On paper anyway.

That didn't do her much good now, though. She didn't, for all practical purposes, have a husband. All their money was tied up in his business ventures, which were risky in the extreme. She taught, not because he wanted her to, but because he needed the money she generated for his schemes.

He had unleashed the passion in her and she needed sex a lot more than she had before she met him. That last year in college had been fabulous, with him giving her all the attention she wanted, except when she was especially fertile. He laughingly said that after he married her he wanted his wife barefoot and pregnant and in the kitchen. He'd married her, but then, for four years, did nothing to make her that way. He kept saying they weren't financially ready for children yet. She felt like his expensive golf clubs, which he never used, or the magnificent stereo system he'd bought, which only she played, might have taken the place of a child.

She thought about the seminar she was on her way to. Marge, a teacher friend of hers had said she couldn't stand being gone from home for a whole week. It would be lonely. For Roberta, it wouldn't be any different than being home.

She had finally admitted to herself that her husband's fidelity was in serious question. He was gone so much, and the people he worked with were as cut-throat as he was and would do anything to succeed. Especially the women. That's why she didn't mind doing the blood test for the seminar. She wasn't exactly nervous about the results, but it would be good to know Phillip hadn't brought anything ... unwanted ... home. If he was cheating. She didn't have proof ... only circumstantial evidence. But she didn't mind submitting her blood. It was better to know.

She didn't want to think about that any more, and looked at the people around her.

She saw a man going down, reading the Wall Street Journal in the few seconds he was standing still. She snorted. He obviously wasn't the one she should have married.

He was just like Phillip.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jeff Watts jogged through the terminal, not because he was late, but because he could use the opportunity to get in a little exercise. He jogged every day, when he could, and just figured that humping his carry on would make up for the fact that it would be a short jog.

He also needed to work off a little energy. That was, in the main, why he jogged in the first place. He had completed the first year of his first teaching job successfully, teaching art at West High School. Unfortunately, that was about the only thing in his life that was successful. Melanie, his young and beautiful wife, when she found out what his salary was going to be, and looked at the house they would have to live in on that salary, went home to Daddy. He'd known how spoiled she was during their courtship. When he couldn't afford things her father bought them for his baby girl. When they'd gotten married while they were both still in college he'd tried to put his foot down. He was the man of the house now and they shouldn't depend on his in-laws for luxuries. They were starting a new life, and should work their way up.

Melanie disagreed. She got money behind his back, always promising that was the last time she'd do it. She wasted the money on clothing she didn't need, shoes she didn't wear, and furniture that wouldn't fit in their college apartment. He'd thought he would be able to break her of that when they moved away from her parents.

He'd been wrong. She'd lasted a whole three weeks and then, in an overly dramatic wail, said she couldn't possibly live in "these conditions." Not only that, she'd taken their only car and gone back home to mommy and daddy with it, leaving him with just his bicycle to get to and from work.

She didn't file for divorce. She simply wrote him a letter that said, when he got a real job, to let her know. Until then, she was staying at home, where she belonged. It had been embarrassing for him. He'd had to go to all the faculty events stag, where people asked him where his wife was. What could he tell them? Not the truth. He'd be the laughing stock of the whole school.

By the time the first year was over a rumor had started that he'd murdered her and hidden the body. Nobody had ever seen her after the first week of school. It wasn't a serious rumor, but it lay there, in the back of everybody's mind, nonetheless. It caused people to shy away from him.

It was for that reason he was glad to be going to this seminar. Along with art, he taught sex ed. He felt singularly unqualified to teach it. If he couldn't even keep his wife at home, where she belonged, what business did he have talking to teens about relationships? He hoped he could become friends with someone at this seminar. He needed someone to talk to. He was worried that if he was alone much longer, he might to crazy.

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Crystal Smith settled into the cheap seat uncomfortably. She was so tall that flying in coach was always a pain in the ass. At six feet and almost four inches, her head stuck up too and she couldn't even lay it back without craning her neck. She'd brought a book, another in a series of romance novels. She knew they were silly, stupid even, but she was hooked on them. They almost always had happy endings. If she couldn't have a happy ending in her own life at least she could read about other women who found romance, and happiness, and satisfaction in bed. She knew that would never happen for her.

She looked at the cover of the book and frowned. She knew she was jaded, particularly about men. Divorced for five years and having just "celebrated" her thirtieth birthday, she felt her biological clock ticking away the seconds. After the divorce she'd gone back to school and thought a teaching degree would give her a fresh, new start. It had, for that matter, in everything except her love life.

'What am I thinking?' she thought, staring at the ravishing young woman on the cover of the book, being held by the equally ravishing young and shirtless man. 'I don't have a love life!'

That was what had made her so angry about having to submit to a blood test to continue teaching Sex Ed. It was ridiculous, but she couldn't complain about it. How do you go to your principal and complain that you don't need a blood test because you haven't had sex in five years and you're not having sex now? Besides, there were new diseases around that had long incubation periods. People were finding out now, about mistakes they didn't even know they'd made ten years ago. She'd had sex ten years ago. So, she'd gone to the lab. She wasn't worried about the results, though. She'd told herself that at least two dozen times.

She'd met men when she started teaching, but they were mostly married, and all short. Shorter than she was anyway. She didn't mind being at school, where things kept her busy, but at home, in bed, in the still of night, she longed to have someone there next to her, to hold her, and whisper to her ... someone to share life with ... someone to make her a mother. She'd had that, in the beginning, when she married, but it hadn't lasted long. He was addicted to gambling and had been the whole time they'd dated, even though she didn't know that. Things fell to pieces, and when push came to shove, he chose his habit over his wife.

Someone sat down next to her and she glanced over, just out of the side of her eyes ... not making real eye contact ... not inviting conversation ... but just to see what her seat-mate might be like. It was a man, and he was looking right at her. He'd caught her sideways glance, and smiled in return, destroying her attempt to keep him at arm's length.

"Hi," he said.

"Ummm," said Crystal, in as uncommitted a way as possible. He was short, of course. They were all short ... or taken. She opened the book to the middle and pretended to take up reading there, even though she hadn't actually started this book yet. She stared at the pages but didn't see the words. Her legs were already feeling cramped. While she actually had a curvy figure, her height seemed to stretch those curves out, somehow, and she thought she looked like a scarecrow sometimes. She wished she could go into a lotus position and meditate during the flight. She lost hours and hours to meditation, and never missed them. She was so limber that folding her body into strange contortions didn't hurt either, though there was no position she could assume in a coach seat that would be comfortable. She could clasp her ankles behind her neck, folding her entire body in half, with the back of her knees behind her arms, but if she did that the passengers would freak out. Most people freaked out if they saw her do that. She had gotten into obtuse positions just to give herself sexual pleasure before. People would freak out if they saw her do that too.

But, when you're horny, and have no man, what else can you do?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Woody Buckholtz found his seat and edged into it after putting his carry-on bag in the upper bin. He looked at the woman who was already sitting by the window. She was a tall one, probably a basketball player on her way to somewhere, to a game, maybe. Nice looking, but very tall. He thought about the two of them trying to dance. Woody loved to ballroom dance. It was part of his fitness regimen, which he pursued with single-mindedness. If he danced with this woman his face would be right in her breasts, he guessed. He grinned. That might not be so bad. Her blouse looked nicely filled, though he wasn't hooked on big breasts. Every woman had something, and more than a mouthful was wasted ... right?

She glanced over at him while he was assessing her. Her eyes skittered past his and a tense look came on her face as her eyes drifted back and locked, for a fraction of a second, with his.

"Hi," he offered. Woody was a friendly, happy-go-lucky kind of guy who enjoyed talking to just about anyone about anything. He'd even struck up a conversation with the technician who drew his blood for who knew what reason, for the seminar he was going to. He didn't know it, but he was exactly the kind of passenger nobody wants to sit next to because he always tried to engage them in conversation. It didn't matter about what. He didn't care. It was just a fun way to pass the time. What else were you going to do while a two hundred ton pile of wires and metal defied gravity?

"Ummm," she said. Her eyes went back to the book in her hand, like she hadn't meant to look at him at all, and she opened it and started reading.

He sighed. Some people were so suspicious of others that they were stand-offish. He had plenty of time. He'd get her talking sooner or later. Maybe she'd tell him about her team. Maybe he could tell her about Mandy, and how she'd left him because he wanted something deeper and more important than a casual fling.

His mind drifted to Mandy. How could she be like that? When he'd been growing up he'd been taught that you didn't have sex with someone until you got married. As a member of the next generation, he'd altered that position a bit. His opinion was that you didn't have sex with someone unless you were willing to get married to her. And when Mandy had spread her beautiful thighs for him, he'd thought he'd found his life mate on his very first try! She strung him along for two years, but when he started insisting that they talk about "the future" she'd finally frowned and said "There is no future, Woody. I'm not ready to settle down. I want to see the world."

Maybe this globe-trotting basketball star sitting next to him could explain that to him. What was it that made some people want to flit from place to place, like a butterfly? Wasn't it much better staying in one place, with someone you loved and could care about and take care of? That's why he loved teaching. He got to stay in one place and, though the kids moved through, he got to take care of them ... help them ... make their lives better.

He decided to give her fifteen minutes, and then try again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Jane Watson was excited as she boarded the plane. Until she'd gotten out of college she'd never been outside of West Virginia. She had a big family, an old fashioned family, and she had no idea what the "outside world" was like. That changed dramatically when she took a job teaching in an upper Idaho. She'd been recruited while she was still in school, and the thought of getting out of West Virginia ... to be able to see someplace different and meet new people ... was too much to resist.

She'd caught hell for it from her family, from her father on down. Jed Buchannan wasn't happy either. He was her fiancé and had been since she was sixteen. Not that she'd chosen him. Her family had chosen him. He had three hundred acres and a small herd of cattle. He was a man of means in Juniper, where everyone in that neighborhood got their mail.

But, she'd already signed a contract and her word was her bond. It was her Daddy who had said that on many occasions, and when she threw it back in his face it felt good. Then it felt bad, because he looked sad. She could barely stand that. She loved her Daddy. She loved him too much, really. When she'd discovered the hard little nubbin between her legs and how much fun it was to play with that, she'd thought about her Daddy every time she'd ever done it. That was because the way she discovered her own little nubbin, was by peeking at the one between her mother's legs, which her Daddy happened to be sucking on when she was peeking.

She'd felt bad about lusting after her own Daddy while she was a teenager. Not because that wasn't unheard of. She had at least two friends who had babies by their fathers, and three more who got knocked up by a brother, or cousin. But it couldn't happen in her family. Her Daddy was a Deacon, and Deacons didn't do those kinds of things. It had never occurred to her that Deacons "didn't engage in oral sex" either.

Still, he was the strongest, most handsome man in the whole world, as far as she was concerned, and if she couldn't have him to suck on her outrageously active little clitty, she'd almost rather just play with herself.

Jed tried, bless his heart. But Jed wasn't the kind of man who put his mouth on a woman's privates. He was eight years older than she was. When she'd turned seventeen he'd managed to divest her of her virginity pretty well, but about the time she got going he was done and lying on the hay beside her, gasping for breath.

Then she got a scholarship to college. Jed didn't want her to go. Neither did her father. She belonged on the farm, raising babies, they told her. She defied them, leaving on the bus without telling anyone she was going. Jed had "forgiven her" in a letter and said he'd wait. She'd signed the contract for teaching in Idaho because she couldn't bear to go back home. She claimed, in a letter, that it was part of her college program. She said it was an internship, because she knew nobody back home knew what an internship was. To them, it would just sound important.

Her freshman year in college had opened her eyes to the way other women were treated. Worse, she met another man, named Paul. Paul was from Washington D.C., which, technically, was part of the South; but he didn't act Southern. He was one of her study partners and he had the bluest eyes in the world. He also had a ready smile and a girlfriend back home. It just seemed natural to become friends. They even agreed that, since they both had sweethearts back home, it would be safer for both of them if they didn't pal around with others, and hung out just with each other. That way they would be loyal to those back home.

They hadn't planned on finding out they really liked each other, or going to a party, or getting a little tipsy. She hadn't planned on telling him her secret desire either. When he told her to close her eyes, and think of whatever she wanted to, and then started sucking her clit, she went through the roof. Within five or six minutes he had filled her emptiness with more hard meat than Jed would ever hope to have, and was ramming away at her while she, with her eyes still closed, moaned "Oh Daddy .. Oh Daddy, Oh Yes, Daddy." Then, right after she had the best orgasm of her whole life, he was spurting right up inside her, which had never happened before either. She always made Jed use a rubber, even though they were engaged.

She hadn't gotten pregnant, but it had strained the relationship and they made sure never to do it again. She'd gotten a wedding invitation from him, but hadn't gone. She'd have blushed beet red upon meeting the bride.

Now she was twenty-five, with only one year on her contract left to go. Jed was back home, waiting, tending cows and chickens and such, and being patient while she "got it out of her system" and could come back to take up a farm wife's life, like everyone back home seemed to thing she was destined to do.

The trouble was she liked teaching. Her kids were middle schoolers and they were bright and interested and liked to learn things. They were young enough that their sprits hadn't been crushed yet, and just on the cusp of learning what the difference was between male and female - really learning. When she was asked to teach them sexual education she almost laughed. The first thing she thought about was teaching all those girls how to spread their legs and then teaching the boys how to properly suck a clitty.

She didn't do that, of course. She actually took her job quite seriously, even if she didn't know a whole lot more than her students. But that was about to change. She was on her way to a seminar that would give her all the tools she lacked, and she'd be a much better teacher for it. She'd even be able to say she'd had a blood test herself, when she recommends that to her students before they engaged in sex. Not that she planned on engaging in sex any time soon, but she'd at least be a good example to her students. If she was good enough, maybe she'd be offered another contract.

She knew what would happen if she signed it. Her parents would disown her, and Jed would find some other woman to take to his bed and have a litter of babies and work on his farm.

The thought of that didn't much bother her, as she settled into her seat. She felt like she was a tiny woman, standing only five feet six. She had plenty of room in the seat. She hoped somebody interesting would sit next to her. She had only flown once before, and that was to get to her first teaching job.

If whoever sat by her was a fuddy-duddy, it wouldn't really matter. She'd just stare out the window and watch the big old world get a lot smaller as it slid by under the plane.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Roger Zowalski smiled at the stewardess and immediately reminded himself that they called them flight attendants nowadays. In any case, she smiled back and he felt a stirring in his loins. She was a pretty thing. He put her out of his mind, though, and looked for his seat.

He had been teaching for seventeen years, and his salary was high enough now that he could afford some of the simple pleasures in life. One of those was upgrading his coach ticket to first class. He didn't mind the expense. His wife had died ten years past and he really didn't have much to spend his money on anyway. He lived a modest life. About the only other thing he spent a lot of money on was his computer system.

That, however, was state-of-the-art. He spared no expense to make sure that his computer was as properly secure as he could possibly make it. That way he could indulge his hobby without fearing that anyone would find out about it. He had literally tens of thousands of pictures on that computer, and a few hundred videos, any one of which, if the public found out about it, would cut his teaching career extremely short. He wasn't into kiddy porn, but what he liked was very close ... close enough that a lot of parents would scream for his balls to be cut off and roasted.

His "habit" as he thought of it, took the place of his lost wife. Her death to cancer had almost destroyed him, too. He couldn't bring himself to date after that, but fantasies, created by pictures and lived out with his hand, wasn't so bad. At forty-two he could still produce a nice, hard erection, and he could do it three or four times a day. With his pictures, anyway.

About three years ago he'd finally given in to the insistence of his peers and gone on a date. It hadn't been a disaster, but it hadn't been very comfortable either. He sensed that the woman liked him, and that she might be willing to go a lot farther than Gladys had when he'd taken her on their first date, but the thought of working through all the unwritten rules, and procedures, and customs that would get him where she might be willing to go just left him weak. They'd had a good time, of sorts, but it hadn't led to more dates. Since then, to keep his fellow teachers off his back, he'd gone out a few more times. They were always "safe" dates, where someone set him up with "a nice woman." What made them "safe" was that he always worked it into the conversation that he had ED and couldn't "perform" as a man. That cooled the ardor of almost any woman, especially those looking to start a family.

Then, when he got back home he'd pull up a favorite series of pictures. In his mind, he'd meet this girl and she'd need help with something, and, when he helped her she'd pay him with the only currency she had ... her body. Of course, in his fantasy she fell in love with him ... wanted him ... needed him.

Real women of the age he preferred didn't give him a second glance. It wasn't that he was ugly, but the gray wings at his temples made them think he was much older than he really was. To them, he was an "older man". If they'd known he was relatively wealthy, it wouldn't have mattered, but he didn't want a woman to seek him out just for his money. Gladys had needed him and that had made him feel whole.

Nobody needed him these days. He'd teach until he retired and then probably go live on an island somewhere. Maybe there would be some sweet young thing that would need him there. At least, since he'd volunteered to go to the seminar he was on his way to, he'd be able to show them he'd had a blood test and was given a clean bill of health. He had no doubts about that.

His attention was caught by a flurry of activity at the front of the plane. A girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen was ushered panting into the plane.

"You almost missed the flight," said the pretty flight attendant. She looked even prettier beside the girl who'd just made it. That girl was a mousy young thing, with drab brown hair and braces that looked like they were about to burst out of her mouth.

"I wasn't sure where to go," the girl panted. "I'm so glad I made it. I have to get to a seminar."

"Well you're fine now," said the attendant. "Let's just get you to your seat and all settled in, and then we can take off and get you to your seminar. How's that?"

Roger nodded as the attendant calmed the girl down. She was going to a seminar? He was too. It couldn't be the same one, though. He had agreed to take on the sex ed classes in the high school where he had taught speech for years. It had been a daring move, in his own mind. Some of those girls in that class would be fifteen or sixteen. He hoped he wasn't getting himself in trouble. In any case, this girl looked way too young to be a teacher.

Of course, he thought to himself, he was heading for a large resort and conference center. He'd checked it out on the web and been very pleasantly surprised to find out that it was a top notch place. It was big enough they could have lots of different seminars going on at the same time. He was actually amazed that the School Board would cough up money for that nice a facility.

He sat back in his comfortable seat. The attendant brought him a glass of wine. He was looking forward to the flight and soaking in the hot tub the resort's web site had described. There would certainly be some young women hanging around the pool, which was right next to the hot tub in the pictures he'd seen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lori Simpson was still panting when the flight attendant turned her over to another woman, who took her to her seat in the middle of the plane. She struggled to get her carry-on bag into the overhead compartment, both because it was heavy, and because she was so short. She was quite aware that when people first saw her they assumed she was still in high school. They didn't find out she had a brain, or could carry on a decent conversation until she told them she was twenty three, and an honest-to-goodness teacher.

She told everyone she met those two things: "I'm twenty-three and I'm a teacher."

Most people said "That's nice" and then ignored her. Lori was easy to ignore. She was a plain-looking, dowdily dressed slip of a thing, who, despite proudly proclaiming she was a teacher, had never set foot in a classroom, other than during her student teaching.

That she had a contract to actually start teaching, the following fall, was good enough for her. She'd worked hard to finish school, and, by golly, she had been hired as a teacher. The college placement office had gotten her the job. She'd never even seen the school building yet, but a letter had come, telling her that she would be employed as the social studies teacher at the Filbert County Consolidated School. She'd had to look up Filbert County on the map. At first she'd been a bit dismayed that, according to the atlas, all of Filbert County had only sixteen hundred people in it, and that included Dalton's Ridge, the county seat, which, itself, had a population of one thousand, three hundred and sixteen.

As she thought about it, though, a small, rural school was probably the best place for her. That she was going to be teaching sexual education as part of the social studies program was something like science fiction to her. She knew nothing about human sexual interaction. Literally!

She had grown up on a farm, with no other kids nearby. She was home schooled, and the only times her mother had talked about sex at all, was to list the venereal diseases that were sure to be caught, and all the horrible things they would do to you, assuming you didn't die almost instantly upon contracting one. Only sluts had sex, according to her mother. Until, of course, you were properly married. Then it was all right. That's how babies were brought into the world, after all. But only when married. Lori wondered if there was more to it, but didn't dare ask. She saw the farm animals copulating, but they were farm animals. Surely people didn't do it that way. She'd never seen her father without his body being fully and properly covered. She knew he had to have a penis, but had no idea what it looked like. She couldn't imagine something like the horse had, tucked away in his overalls. It was probably more like what Buster, her dog, had between his legs.

That they sent her to college at all was a surprise to her. That they sent her to an all-girls college wasn't. Her mother had cried when she left, warning her over and over not to "have traffic with men" and to "stay away from temptation."

Once there, she realized that her parents actually meant well but were frightened to death of the real world. That wasn't surprising. It scared her half to death, too. The other girls around her talked about the most disgusting things, and claimed to have done the most unimaginable acts. Several of them had talked about "blow jobs," during which Lori almost got physically ill.

She knew instinctively that if she asked the questions that flooded her mind she would be made fun of. For that reason, she didn't ask them. As a result, it was a little like a kid who knows there is such a thing as finger painting, but finds herself in a group that is talking about hues, and polymers, and latex bases, all of which are words she knows have meaning but might as well be a foreign language.

She didn't fit in, socially, so she got a job in a dental supplies company near the school. It was something of a windfall. Her supervisor took one look at her misshapen mouth, and literally dragged her to their head of research and development, who was trying to sell a new type of equipment to orthodontists. That man had arranged for the equipment to be used on her, as a test subject, and she'd gotten thousands of dollars of dental work done free. By the time she got her teaching degree her teeth were almost straight and the series of pictures of her open mouth were firmly ensconced in the company's sales brochures. She'd have to leave the braces on for another year, and she'd have to pay somebody to tend them, but her supervisor had contacted a customer in Dalton's Ridge - the only orthodontist in the whole county - and arranged for her to get a discount.

She sat down in her seat, and took a deep breath. The man next to her didn't even look as the front of her shirt expanded. She had a good body. She knew that, based on comparing hers with girls at college. Hardly anyone knew that, of course. She wore the proper clothing to hide it. She was excited, and she knew the nipples under her sturdy bra were erect. She could feel them tingling. They did that whenever she thought about sex.

Now, perhaps, at this seminar, she could find some answers to her multitude of questions. Maybe, after she got those answers, and got to her new school, and showed them her blood test, and got her braces off, she might even consider trying to figure out how a girl got asked to go on a date.

She closed her eyes. Whenever she thought about dates, she thought about her Uncle Bob. He was the black sheep of the family, almost never welcome at the house, even though he visited quite regularly. He wore different clothes, with colors in them she'd never seen until she went to college. College had made her think about him too. He had a ready smile, and laughed a lot. As hard as she tried, she could never remember her parents laughing at anything.

He was the only man who had ever paid her a compliment. He'd called her "cutie". Her mother had corrected his bad behavior, but he'd winked at Lori when her mother wasn't looking, and grinned.

As she thought about that grin, her nipples tingled again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Bob Nivens was going over the material he would present at his seminar. He was a psychologist, but had found he could make more money and make more of a difference by taking his message to groups of people, rather than trying to convert them one or two at a time.

That his message worked, he knew. He had plenty of anecdotal evidence of that. Not only did he have a stack of testimonials, he had a stack of baby pictures, sent to him by some of his prior clients. At least two of those babies were his, and both the woman who had that baby and her husband knew that.

There was no ill will, however, between him and any of the people who had attended his seminars. People who might develop ill will were weeded out pretty quickly. When they found out what his ideas were, they usually wanted their money back. He gave it to them and wished them well. Then he spent time with those who stayed. A lot of babies had resulted from the relationships of those who stayed.

Not that his process was intended to result in pregnancies. What he taught in his seminars was how to be in love and how to express love under a range of different conditions. People were all different, and so, when they fell in love the relationships were all different. "Different strokes, for different folks," while simple, was about as wise a thing as anybody had ever said. What Bob excelled at, was identifying what stroke was needed and then helping the couples adapt to what, before the seminar, might have been perceived as "perversion", or something "dirty".

Bob didn't believe in perversion. Not between consenting adults. At the same time, he was fully aware that there were things people did to each other and called sex, that weren't about sex at all. Those things were about power and control, and had very little to do with sexual relationships. Most of those things had nothing whatsoever to do with love. Helping people understand that made a huge difference in their lives.

Rape fantasies were a good example. True rape wasn't about sex. It was all about terrorizing another human being and exerting absolute control, even ownership, albeit temporary, of that person. There was no love involved in any way, shape, or form. No woman wanted to be raped, but tens of thousands of women still had a rape fantasy, in which the man (of their choosing) took her (within limits) while she made all the noises of resistance (not meaning them) and resisted physically (though not enough to actually stop him.) The woman who had that fantasy didn't want to be raped ... but she wanted to feel like she wasn't agreeing to the sex involved. It was a complicated role-playing situation, and one Bob explored with couples only in situations where great care could be taken to move things along slowly.

He stretched his back by putting his hands on his hips and leaning back as far as he could. He knew the material by heart. What he needed were the people who had signed up for his seminar. They'd be arriving soon and the games would begin. He looked forward to this part the most. Peering into the psyches of new people was always fascinating. You never knew how things would turn out. Some people took to his program like a duck to water. Others adopted some of his techniques, but not all. Some asked for their money back and left, thinking he was a quack.

All that was fine. He just liked helping people who accepted his help.

Chapter Two: The Arrival

The Halle Resort and Conference Center was located outside Phoenix, ten miles into the desert. It had been built on land formerly owned by a man who raised cattle. His ancestors had claimed the land based on an artesian well, and blood was spilled to keep it. That violent past was nowhere in sight as nine teachers exited a resort shuttle bus that had been sent to pick them up at the airport, and deliver them to the Julia Halle wing of the resort.

Named after the builder's mother, the Julia Halle wing was a self-contained unit that could literally be called an oasis in the middle of an inhospitable desert. It consisted of a series of adobe-faced rooms that led off like two odd looking legs from a central meeting area. Everything was air conditioned, of course, and guests were reminded of that as they left their rooms, to enter a covered walkway that surrounded the pool, which was between the meeting area's legs. Up against the outside wall of the meeting area was an outside bar, a sauna, which many people looked at oddly, since it was in the middle of a desert, and a large hot tub, which also seemed a little odd in the desert.

What many visitors were unaware of was that temperatures in the desert can get quite chilly during the hours of darkness, when the baking sun is absent. Anyone who stayed longer than a day or two soon found that the pool was for daytime, and the sauna and hot tub were for night time.

Other small "compounds" were associated with the center. The central meeting and check-in building was the center of a group of buildings in which tourists had one area, and chartered groups had three others. Each area had its own conveniences and a certain amount of relative privacy, allowing groups to gather as groups, without a lot of strangers hanging around them.

No water was wasted on grass or gardens. What grew around the Halle Center were the plants that thrived in that environment. The sun's energy was put to work in a lot of ways, from solar heating of all water used on the premises, to generation of electricity, and even to imbuing in the center's linens that unmistakable smell of sheets dried in the sun and made soft as silk by flapping in the wind.

The little group of teachers was somewhat in awe of what they saw. This place was obviously ritzy, based on the amenities. When they entered the meeting hall, they found it housed multiple meeting rooms, on both upper and lower floors.

Thus far, the trip had already been educational, at least for some of them, beginning with the landing of the plane in Arizona.

Responding to a sign, held by a liveried driver, the group had begun identifying each other as they collected their baggage, and hurried toward the bus, afraid they might be left behind if they lagged. They needn't have worried. Manuel, the driver, had a list and was an expert at making sure everyone who was supposed to be picked up was picked up.

The first to learn something were Crystal Smith and Woody Buckholtz, who had sat beside each other on the plane, completely unaware that they were headed for the same place. Woody had, indeed, tried to engage Crystal in conversation, several times in fact. The first time had been when she ignored his greeting and began to "read" her book. A few seconds later she turned the book right side up. Woody had noticed it was upside down and was thinking about how badly she must want to ignore him to pretend to read that way. Then she suddenly righted the book, and opened it in the middle, instead of the "beginning" she had been pretending to read the first time. Woody had mentioned that he had to start books over all the time, because by the time he got to the middle he'd forgotten the beginning. Crystal, embarrassed that he'd observed her flustered behavior, had ignored him.

He'd left his seat twice during the flight, and spoke to her each time he came back. The first time she stared steadily at the book. She'd been reading the same paragraph, over and over, because she couldn't concentrate. The man, damn his eyes, smelled good. The second time she glanced at him, and then went back to reading.

She hadn't been worried when he followed her to the baggage carousel, or when he made the offer to carry her bag, which she had also ignored. When their bags had come off at the same time, that hadn't seemed odd either. But, when he began following her to the bus, she finally turned to him and said:

"Look, I'm here on business, and I'm not interested, okay?"

He'd looked at her strangely and continued to the bus, leaving her standing there. When she saw him speak with the driver, who checked something on a clipboard, and then get on the bus, she felt mortified. She even waited until two more people had gotten on the bus, before she approached it herself.

She found the man, who had introduced himself as Woody, sitting in the second seat behind the driver's seat. He smiled, and patted the seat beside him.

"I saved you a place," he said cheerfully. "I mean, we did so well on the plane, I thought you might want to keep not talking to me here on the bus."

He didn't look like he was trying to make her feel bad. He just acted like the whole thing was one big joke to him. To her immediate surprise, she sank down beside him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't know."

"It's okay," he said, looking out the window. "My sister says I scare lots of women."

He hadn't said another word for the whole bus ride.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chuck Bradshaw also got an education, or at least his wish. As he picked a seat on the bus and sat down, he was treated to a familiar silk blouse and short skirt, being worn by a woman whose backside was still etched firmly in his memory. The front looked even better, he decided, as she walked down the aisle, heading for an empty seat. He decided that if he ever fell off a building, he wanted those breasts on the ground, under him, when he hit. He felt a little thrill as she smiled at him, but she kept on going down the aisle past him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Roger Zowalski got a surprise too. He was the last one on the bus, because his bag didn't show up until the very end, for some reason. When he got on, there was only one seat left vacant. There were three "two person" seats down each side of the bus, with a long seat that went across the back. All six of the short seats were occupied. One had two people in it, an extraordinarily tall woman, and a man who looked like a tennis pro, instead of a teacher. As Roger walked toward the long seat in the back, he was amazed to see little miss braces sitting on that seat, leaning against the window. She was looking out of the window, through her glasses, which were at least ten years out of date, and looked hot in her long sleeved, dowdy clothing. He thought back to the sign the driver had held. It had said, simply "Halle Center Human Relations Seminar." He had assumed, just as all the others had, that discretion was being used. After all, sex was the epitome of "human relations." It was a natural pun ... to be expected. Now he wondered if there might be some other conference going on. There was no way this girl was a teacher. He decided it didn't matter. This bus was going to the Halle Center, and that's where he wanted to go. He sat down, wondering if any of the other passengers were teachers.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

They were all delivered to the same building, and herded by Manuel into a little gaggle in front of the check-in desk. The clerk looked up from his computer and smiled.

"And you all must be the teachers from Idaho. Welcome to the Julia Halle Conference Center. I hope your stay here will be both informative and pleasant. My name is Christopher, and I am here to make your stay comfortable. Let me just get the rooms assigned, and then I have a questionnaire for you to fill out that Mr. Nivens asked me to give you. You're to bring that with you when the conference starts, tomorrow morning. That will be in room 2A, which is right over there." He pointed and smiled. "Just about anything else you need to know is covered in the material in each room. You have the rest of the day to relax and look around. If you're hungry, the cafeteria is still open. Should any of you wish transportation into Phoenix, there are usually taxis out front."

He looked at Tiffany expectantly. When she didn't say anything he said "Name?"

"Oh!" she said, her cheeks pinking up. "Jones ... Tiffany Jones."

"Ah, yes," said Christopher smoothly. "I have you in the desert rose room. If I may be so bold, it fits perfectly." He handed her a key on a silver chain.

Christopher was equally complimentary to all the others, Roger saw, as he checked them in. Roger hung back, looking on in shock as the girl stepped up to the desk when it was her turn.

"Lori Simpson," she said clearly. "I'm twenty-three and I'm a teacher."

"Well, Miss Simpson," oozed Christopher's cultured voice. "It is Miss, I assume."

Roger saw the girl's head jerk, as if she'd been struck. "Yes," she said tentatively.

"Well, Miss Simpson," said Christopher. "There's no accounting for taste. Obviously a number of men have been very foolish to let you slip away. I've put you in the Lilac room." He handed her her key and looked past her at Roger.

"And you must be Mister Zowalski. Did they send you down here to ride herd on all the youngsters?"

"You complimented everyone else," pointed out Roger.

"They look like babies," said Christopher, who could only have been in his thirties, at the very most. "Who'd have thought that our teachers were so young? I never had any teachers who looked like them." He smiled, to show he was just chatting. "It's nice to know there's someone with a little maturity out there, showing them the ropes."

"You get pretty good tips, don't you?" asked Roger, grinning.

"I put myself through college doing this," said Christopher, grinning now.

"Really? What was your major?" asked Roger.

"Elementary Education," said Christopher, his face dead pan. "I found out during my student teaching that I hate kids."

Roger took his key, still laughing. He had been put in the Saguaro room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The group, once they had taken their luggage to their rooms, gravitated toward the dining room, which had a buffet style offering. Several of them had brought their surveys with them, to look over and fill out while they ate. There were tables of all sizes in the dining room and they almost shyly assembled at one that seated twelve.

Introductions were made, as people got their food and sat down. Roger was the last to come in and sit down. The younger teachers deferred to him automatically. They went around the table, saying their names and where they were from. He looked at the tall one, who had said her name was Crystal, and the tennis pro, who called himself Woody.

"I thought you two came from the same school," he said. "I saw you sitting on the bus together."

Woody spoke before Crystal could say anything.

"Sat together on the plane. It was totally by accident. Kind of weird, huh?"

Crystal realized that he could have gone on and on about how he'd tried to get her to talk to him, and how she'd snubbed him repeatedly. But he didn't do that. When he'd sat beside her at this very table, all he'd said was "Hi" again. He was obviously friendly, but not in the predatory way she was used to.

"I saw Miss Simpson get on the plane," said Roger. "But I sure didn't think she was part of our group."

Lori sat up straight. "I'm a teacher," she said, her voice loud.

"Of course you are," said Roger patiently. "You just look very young, that's all."

"I'm twenty-three!" she said firmly.

"I'm not picking on you," said Roger calmly. "I'm just pointing out that, had I seen all of you, I doubt I would have pegged any of you as teachers. I just find that interesting, that's all." He looked at Woody. "For example, I thought you might be a tennis pro."

That got titters from some of the people. He turned to Chuck. "And I'm guessing you're a coach."

Chuck nodded. Roger looked at Jane.

"You're quite possibly the only one of us that I'd have thought might be a teacher. You have that look of competence about you."

Jane blushed. She'd been eyeing Roger ever since he sat down. It wasn't that he looked like her father ... he just reminded her of the man she had on the highest pedestal in her life. There were clear differences. He had lines around his eyes that suggested he smiled a lot. Her father didn't smile much at all. And, his demeanor was much more friendly than her father's would have been in this situation.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"I'm not trying to make any bold statement or anything," said Roger, picking up his fork. "I just think that we all carry around preconceptions, and sometimes those are wrong." He smiled. "I've been in this business long enough that you all look pretty young to me. That doesn't mean you aren't talented, or capable, and I need to remind myself of that occasionally."

The conversation laggedas everyone began to eat. Then it picked up again as teachers, like they do everywhere, began talking about their schools, and their administrators, and what was wrong with both.

It picked up again when Roberta, who had been scanning the survey she'd brought with her, spoke.

"Have you all actually looked at this?" She held it up. "It's very strange, if you ask me."

No one had. The other two people who'd brought theirs picked them up.

Roberta read off a question.

"How many lovers have you had since you became sexually active?"

That got some attention.

"Why in the world would they need to know that?" asked Chuck.

"Here's another one," said Tiffany, looking at her survey. "How many different positions do you like to use when making love?" She looked up. "What the hell is that about?"

Roger looked over at the survey Roberta was holding.

"Looks to me like they're trying to get a dialogue going. Isn't that what sex ed is all about? Dialogue? We're trying to get kids to talk to each other instead of just making out and letting nature take its course."

"You mean it's some kind of test," suggested the man who had called himself Jeff. "To see if we're comfortable talking about intimate things."

"Something like that," said Roger. He read another question, and his eyebrows rose. "Then again, I don't know. Take a gander at question number fourteen."

People's heads bent, almost touching each other as the three with surveys shared. Question fourteen said: "Have you ever used a dildo or other sex toy with your partner?"

Lori gasped, and looked shocked.

"You think maybe Christopher gave us the wrong survey?" asked Woody. "This is pretty outrageous, if you ask me."

"You can say that again," said Crystal, whose shoulder was touching his as they leaned together to look at the survey.

"This is pretty outrageous, if you ask me," said Woody, dutifully. He grinned. He was the only one, apparently, who thought it was funny.

"It probably is the wrong survey," said Jane. "They can't ask us stuff like this. It isn't right."

Roger looked at her. She looked embarrassed. That made him wonder why she was embarrassed. Was it because she did some of the things there were questions about? He looked at her more closely. The initial impression one got was that she was young. That was because of her diminutive size. But her face looked fully mature. She had that mysterious aura around her of a passionate woman. There were little things she did, like stroking the table cloth with her fingertips, that suggested she was sensual. She wasn't beautiful in a classic sense, but then, Roger had seen glamour shots of some of his senior girls, and what the makeup and hairdo had done was nothing short of astonishing. So he knew this woman could, if she chose to, become beautiful. While she was small, she didn't have the same childish attitude as the one with braces did. He looked at another question or two, and then back at Jane, wondering if she did any of the things being questioned. He glanced at her finger and saw no ring.

Just then she looked at him, and he saw her eyes stray to his temples. They came back to his, and she smiled tentatively.

"We'll work it all out in the morning," he said. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to fill the things out and then keep them private until we find out what the deal is. We can always destroy them later."

"I can't fill this out." Lori's voice sounded like she was being asked to eat the dead.

"Then don't," said Roger, simply. "Like I said, we'll get this all worked out in the morning. Now. I think I'm going to try out that pool."

He got up and pulled Jane's chair out for her. She smiled her thanks.

"Might I interest you in a short swim?" he asked, bowing.

"That would be nice," she said softly. "But I don't own a swim suit. Back home we always swam in cutoffs, or ..." She didn't finish.

"Ahhh," said Roger, smiling. "I remember skinny dipping with a great deal of happiness myself." He frowned much more fiercely than his voice supported. "I suspect they'd frown on that here at this fancy resort."

Jane was blushing beet red. "Oh I could never do that ... not any more."

"Pity," said Roger, bowing again. "I rather suspect I'd have enjoyed remembering that too."

Jane flushed even harder. "Oh, you're just awful!" she said, her voice half moaning and half chiding.

"Tell you what," he said, his voice becoming serious. "I'll bet you twenty-five cents that this fine establishment has a selection of swim wear available to those guests who ... forgot theirs. If they do, will you take a quick dip with me? I might need someone to pull me out if I have a heart attack or something."

Jane goggled at him. "You're not that old," she said.

"May I take that as a yes?" he asked.

Jane felt a flutter in her belly. He was so different than her father, but so similar to that man in her fantasies. He was handsome, and friendly and surely harmless. Her eyes drifted to his hand and she saw the shine of gold on his third finger.

"What would your wife say about you inviting a strange woman to swim with you?" she asked, archly. She saw the flicker on his face, and he closed down a little.

"I wish she could yell at me," he said softly. "I lost her ten years ago and I'd give anything to hear her again, even if she was mad at me."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Jane, feeling horrible.

"Life goes on," he said. "I still think of her often, but it's not so hard now."

Jane made a decision.

"Let's go see Christopher. Maybe you're right."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Crystal and Woody stood from the table at the same time. She looked at him, but he wasn't looking at her. She was curious. He acted like he was interested in her, but then he acted like he didn't know she was alive. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly.

"I'm ... uh ... sorry about being so antisocial on the plane," she said, as a peace offering.

"That's okay," he said, without any rancor. "My friends all say I talk too much. I guess I like talking. You want to get a drink?"

Crystal analyzed his comments. He'd glanced at her, but not in that way that men looked a woman over. He was just talking ... something he confessed he liked to do. She hadn't just sat and talked with anybody in a long time. His offer of a drink didn't sound like a come-on. That made her curious too. She hadn't had a drink in a long time either.

"Okay," she said, surprising herself.

They went to the bar beside the pool. It was a nice night, and there didn't seem to be as many bugs around as there were back home. He ordered a whisky sour. The last drink she could remember having was a sloe gin fizz, back in college, so that's what she ordered.

"How long you been teaching?" asked Woody.

That surprised her too, along with his next four or five questions, which were all about her. Most men liked to talk about themselves, but he listened to everything she said. She found herself telling him much more than she'd intended to, about her failed marriage, and going back to school to make a new start.

They were interrupted by Jeff Watts, who came up and invited himself to sit with them. He ordered ginger ale.

"Quite a place," he commented.

"A lot fancier than anyplace else I ever stayed," agreed Woody.

They talked about inconsequential things for ten minutes, when they were joined by Charles, who, like Jeff, invited himself to sit with them. He ordered sour mash whiskey, straight, and took tiny sips, relishing the taste.

They began trading teaching stories and were in the midst of laughing about those when Tiffany and Roberta walked up together.

"Join the crowd," offered Woody, moving away from Crystal to let them approach the bar. "We're telling war stories about our profession."

Tiffany ordered white wine and Roberta said she just wanted a Coke.

All of them had sat around the teachers' lounge, at one time or another, and talked to other teachers. But in those situations there was always an undercurrent of local school politics and policies, as there is in any bureaucratic institution. Here, though, there was no concern over what would get back to another teacher, or the administration, and it was a lot more relaxed. There were no romantic pairings, either, which put them all on a level playing field. They found it invigorating to be able to say whatever was on their minds and were soon chatting and laughing like they'd known each other much longer than a short afternoon.

Crystal was in the process of telling a story about a girl who had started her period ... in class ... on the same day the lesson plan called for discussion of the female's menstrual cycle. The girl had been wearing jeans, and by the time she realized what was happening they were stained. It had been a horrifying experience for both the girl and Crystal, back then, but now, it was hilarious. She had just gotten to the point where she was going to tell them how she handled the class after the girl had been excused to go take care of her problem when she was interrupted by Roger, dragging Jane to the pool.

All of them could clearly hear Jane trying to tell Roger that her swim suit wasn't acceptable and all of them saw him tug at the towel she was covered with, exposing a bright yellow bikini.

Woody, Jeff and Charles did what boys do everywhere. They signaled their appreciation for a good looking woman with whistles and catcalls.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Roger had taken Jane to Christopher, who was just about to go off shift. He had smiled at their request.

"Of course we can handle that. We have a variety of new suits we keep on hand just for this eventuality."

He took Jane to a back room, eyed her up and down, in a most disconcerting fashion, and started opening drawers in a large cabinet system on the wall.

"Size six ... right?" he asked, peering into a drawer.

"Uh ... yes," said Jane, surprised he could know that.

"One or two piece?" he asked.

"Um ... one, I think," said Jane. Events were unfolding much faster than she was used to, and she was having a hard time thinking about what to do.

Christopher went through a drawer and sighed. "Can't do that. Not in a one piece. The smallest I have is a ten, and you'd fall out of that. I've got some nice bikinis, though."

"Oh my," said Jane. "I've never worn a two piece. Where I come from that would be a scandal." She didn't think about the fact that, while swimming naked was fine, a bikini crossed the line, somehow.

Christopher turned around and looked at her. He cocked his head to one side.

"You've definitely got the body for a bikini," he said, as if he were saying she'd look good in brown. "I've got some here that are reasonably modest."

Jane didn't know what to do. She felt some attraction for Roger, even though she knew she was just fantasizing, and that that fantasy involved her father. She wanted to spend some time with him. What if he went swimming without her? She didn't want to sit on the side of the pool and yell at him, just to have a discussion. She held out her hand and gulped when Christopher pulled out a bright yellow bunch of cloth. It still had tags hanging from it, and he bit them off with his teeth. When he handed the pile of yellow cloth to her, it felt awfully light in her hands. It was a small pile too.

Christopher saw the doubt in her eyes.

"Miss ... Watson ... isn't it?" She nodded and he went on. "I'm a pro at this. You'll look good in this suit. I promise. It may be a bit more brief than you're used to, but nobody else will notice that. By today's standards this suit is quite modest. I promise you that too." He smiled. "Besides, you'll be in the water anyway, right?"

"I guess so," said Jane, staring at the yellow cloth. The color would go well with her black hair. She knew yellow was a good color for both her hair and her skin tone, which was a mellow tan shade because she spent as much time outdoors as she could. She'd always been tanned.

She took the suit and met Roger, who smiled when he saw she'd found something. He walked her to her room and then said he'd change and come back.

When she got the suit on and looked in the mirror her tan darkened considerably, taking on a rosy glow, from the tops of her breasts all the way to her forehead. If this was modest by today's standards, she wondered what the immodest women wore! The main reason she was a size six was because of her breasts, which were mere swells of flesh that stuck out more because of the muscle under them than because there was any breast flesh to protrude. Her nipples had always been her curse, thrusting out proudly, even though she wasn't proud of them. They were very dark, very large, and usually stiff, even when she wasn't excited. She had to wear the thickest bras, just to mask them.

This suit didn't mask them at all, even though the top was loose. There was no padding in the bra. Her hips stretched the fabric of the panty so that there was not a single ripple in it. That part wasn't too bad, since it covered her whole mons, transitioning into sides that were three inches wide. It pulled up between the fleshy lips she loved to pull at in the dark of night, and she tugged, trying to get that part smooth. The dip wasn't completely gone, but it wasn't as pronounced. The top covered most of her breasts too, though that wasn't hard, really. The problem was that the suit advertised everything she did have, and did it shamelessly. She looked critically at her upper body. She thought she looked like a boy there.

She turned sideways, and saw that she had the smallest of pooches on her belly, just above the waistband of the suit. She let her hair down from the bun she usually wore it in, and it fell, straight and thick to the middle of her back. She pulled it around to lie over her breasts, but that just made it look like she was topless, except for the tiny bit of yellow between her breasts.

She'd lied to Roger. She did own a swimsuit, the one piece suit she'd mentioned to Christopher. She'd gotten it in college but hadn't worn it more than twice. It didn't fit her wel, and she was embarrassed to be seen in it.

Just then someone thumped on the door and she jumped.

"Ready?" came Roger's voice through the door.

She dashed to the bathroom, grabbed one of the big, luxurious towels the center supplied, and wrapped it around her. The thumping came again and she ran to the door and opened it, about to tell him the suit wouldn't work. She was unprepared for him to reach in through the door and take her wrist.

"Come on!" he said. "Let's go get wet!"

"Roger!" she complained, barely able to close the door behind her as he pulled her toward the pool. "This suit is too small!"

"Good!" he said, a smile in his voice. He was wearing baggies, and was bare-chested, a towel in his other hand. "I like looking at pretty women in suits too small."

"But I can't appear in public like this!" she whined.

"You're a grown woman!" said Roger, pulling her along. "We're all adults here."

By then they were at the edge of the pool. Jane looked around, only to see what looked like the rest of their group at the bar. All the faces were pointed her way.

"They're watching!" she hissed, jerking her wrist from his grasp.

"Who cares?" asked Roger. "Look at me ... old and fat ... and I don't care."

Jane did look at him. He looked neither old, nor fat, though he did have a comfortable layer of thickness all over him that suggested his days of bodybuilding had been left behind, and his muscles were beginning to droop a bit.

"I care," she moaned, turning to go back to her room.

Roger reached out and grasped the bottom of the towel, where it crossed the back of her thighs. He gave a jerk downward, and it pulled from her hand, where she had been holding it closed, at her breasts. Her automatic response was to turn around and glare at him.

"Too late!" He grinned. "Now the whole world has already seen you."

There was a ruckus at the bar as three men whistled, and three women began to tell those men how crude they were.

Jane froze. Nobody had ever whistled at her before. Phillip had told her she was beautiful, but he'd been in the process of getting her to have sex with him, and she had later discounted his words as a ploy. Having other men make appreciative, if impolite sounds put her in a world she'd never been in before.

The water was right there. Her room was clear over there! She took three steps and dove into the security of the water.

Roger watched her buttocks bounce as she took her three steps, dropped both towels on a nearby chair, and followed her in.

What both felt was water that, when the sun was baking everything, would have been delightfully cool and refreshing. But, with the evening outside temperature at a very comfortable sixty-eight degrees, the water felt freezing to them both.

They surfaced, gasping, and treaded water, facing each other.

"That was terrible!" chided Jane.

"I didn't realize it would be this cold," said Roger, ignoring her.

"It isn't cold ... it's freezing!" she complained.

Roger propelled himself in a circle. "There's a sauna right over there. We had our swim. Now let's go get warm, while we dry off."

Jane was beginning to shiver. She didn't have an extra ounce of fat on her body. She'd never been in a sauna before, but she knew they were supposed to be hot, and hot would feel really good right now.

"Okay," she said, abandoning her attempt to correct Roger's misbehavior.

They levered themselves out of the pool, side by side. Jane's body was fairly launched from the pool as her strong arms propelled her light body up onto the deck. Roger, heavier, was less graceful, and felt some of his age as she held out a hand to help him stand up.

They ran for the sauna, detouring to grab towels.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the bar, Tiffany, Roberta and Crystal vigorously defended Jane's honor by berating the men. It was all in good fun and all six of them knew it. The men took it as a challenge to their manhood, and they turned their attention on the women trying to correct their behavior.

"We're not being crude!" said Woody, grinning. "We're being appreciative!"

"Complimentary!" added Jeff, also grinning.

"Paying homage to feminine beauty!" said Charles, not to be left out.

"Men only think of one thing!" snorted Tiffany, signaling the bartender for another drink.

"Two things, in your case," said Chuck, looking at Tiffany's bulging blouse.

"I beg your pardon!" she said, her voice tight.

"Just kidding," he said, looking away.

"No you weren't," interjected Roberta. "You were looking right at her breasts when you said that."

"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings," said Chuck.

"I'm quite aware that men look at my breasts all the time," said Tiffany. "That's the point. The first thing men do is make women into sexual objects."

"Oh, come on," said Woody. "We've been talking for at least half an hour, and he didn't ogle you until just a few seconds ago. That's not the first thing he did."

"He probably ogled me sooner," said Tiffany, in a miffed voice. "I just didn't see him do it ... that's all."

"See there?" Woody went on. "We're tried and convicted without any evidence at all. You may think that men only have one thing on their minds, but women assume the worst, even when there may be nothing going on at all!"

"We do not," said Crystal, rising to defend her peer.

"Oh?" asked Woody. "Is that why you wouldn't talk to me on the plane?" He smacked his head with an open palm. "Oh yes, I forgot, you were just too busy, reading your book. You didn't think I was trying to hit on you." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Crystal blushed but, like many guilty people, she tried to excuse her behavior anyway. "Well? What was I supposed to think?" she asked. "You started talking to me before you even sat down!"

Woody smacked his forehead again. "You're right! I actually said 'Hi'. What was I thinking?"

Roberta giggled.

Tiffany, who had been having a good time just chatting with these people, held up a hand.

"Calm down, people. We were having a good time. When did everything get all tense?"

"They got tense when I complimented you, and you took offense," said Chuck calmly.

"That was a compliment?" Tiffany bristled.

"See?" said Chuck, like he had exposed some great truth.

"Why do men do that?" asked Roberta, her voice curiously intent.

"Do what?" asked Chuck.

"Say something about a woman's body, and then call it a compliment." she replied.

Jeff spoke up. "How else do you pay a compliment, unless you say something about how a woman looks?"

Roberta had an answer for him. "You say 'My, you look nice today', or something like that."

"What does that actually mean?" asked Jeff. "It means that something about the woman's appearance looks good, right? You're still commenting on her body."

"You stared at her breasts!" insisted Roberta.

"She has great breasts!" said Jeff.

"Yes, but you're not supposed to say that!" groaned Roberta.

"I'll never understand women," said Jeff, throwing his hands up.

Chuck raised his hand, like he was in school.

"Since I started all the trouble, maybe I can undo it." He looked at Tiffany. "You're a beautiful woman. I think you already know that. My confirmation of that should have come as no surprise. Actually, I was just teasing, but you took me seriously. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I have no designs on you. I'm completely harmless, and poorly trained." He looked at her to see if she accepted his "apology".

"Now you're going overboard the other way," said Tiffany calmly.

Chuck looked at Jeff. "I'm with you on the understanding women thing, brother." He leaned back in his chair.

"Maybe we should change the subject," suggested Woody. "Anybody want to go swimming?"

"So," said Crystal, dragging it out. "Now that you've talked about our bodies, you want to see more of them?"

"Absolutely," said Woody, smiling. "Guilty as charged. We're all pigs and the only thing we have on our minds is sex. That's even why us men got into the sexual education field. It's all we can think about."

Roberta giggled again. "At least he's honest." She looked at the other two men pointedly.

"I'd love to take a dip," said Chuck, "I missed my workout today. But if I invite you to come in too, you'll still just think I want to see your bodies."

"Don't you?" asked Roberta.

"Of course I do," he said calmly. "I'm a man. I'm normal."

"Now, was that so hard?" asked Roberta.

"I just pled guilty," said Chuck. "You happy now?"

"We just appreciate honesty," said Roberta. "That's all."

"No you don't," said Woody, grinning. "He was being honest when he said Tiffany had great breasts, and you didn't appreciate that at all."

It could have been the kind of tense confrontation that makes continued discourse awkward, but it was actually Tiffany who broke the tension.

"Actually, I'm used to it. When I was a cheerleader I bet I lost my virginity a million times and was never touched by all the men who did it. You wouldn't believe how men look at cheerleaders."

"You were a cheerleader?" moaned Chuck. "I'm in love!"

"See?" laughed Tiffany. "It happens every time."

"It doesn't hurt that you're gorgeous," sighed Crystal.

"There's nothing wrong with you," said Woody.

Crystal grimaced. "The only thing men ask me is how the air is up there."

"Okay, so you're tall. That doesn't bother me," said Woody.

"Are you hitting on me now?" she asked, her voice going up half an octave.

"I had to wait until you didn't have that damn book in your hands." He grinned.

What Crystal concentrated on in all this wasn't what he said. It was how he said it, and where his eyes were. They were on her face. And his voice sounded sincere. He actually didn't seem to mind that she was a foot taller than he was. Not that she thought he was actually hitting on her. She still didn't think he was interested in her that way. And that made his comment a real compliment.

She liked talking to him. He was attentive and, other than what had taken place in the last few moments, polite. Even that wasn't so horrible. They were men, after all, and it should have come as no surprise that they acted like it, from time to time, even if they were also teachers.

"I don't know about swimming," she said. "But I might be willing to try out the hot tub, or join them in the sauna."

Woody stood up immediately. He looked around at the others. "Tiffany was right. We were all having a good time. I say we adjourn to the hot tub and try it again."

"I'm married!" said Roberta, nervously.

"So am I," said Jeff. "So what? Just because we appreciate you as females doesn't mean we're going to try to jump your bones."

Tiffany looked at Chuck. "Will you behave yourself?" she asked.

Chuck dropped his eyes to her breasts, and then bounced the immediately back up to her face. He grinned. "I won't want to, but I probably will."

Tiffany saw, in his eyes, a very frank and open appreciation of her. She knew what he was thinking, but he wasn't being outrageous about it. She looked him up and down slowly. He wasn't bad looking, after all. And they were only here for a week. It might be fun to play ... just a little bit ... flirt a little ... feel good again, as a man appreciated her. Not that anything would come from it. But she hadn't felt desirable ... not like this ... for quite some time.

"I'll go, if everybody else goes," she said. It was obvious to them all that "everybody else" meant the other two women.

They all looked at Roberta, who was uncomfortable. She hadn't gotten much attention from her husband, for quite a while. None of the men had commented on her body thus far, but she knew that, if she appeared in a swim suit, they would look at her. In the past, that would have bothered her a great deal. But these were peers, men she had comfortably been chatting with, only moments before. Chuck was obviously interested in Tiffany, and, if she read the signals right, that didn't bother Tiffany all that much. Woody seemed to gravitate towards Crystal, which was a little odd, but not unheard of. If she did this thing, that might pair her with Jeff.

She looked at him, and her eyes went to his left hand, where gold glinted in the lights from above the bar. She felt her own ring on her finger. He was married too, so that gave them something in common, to regulate things. He didn't seem overbearing and his comments during the ... discussion ... they'd just had, had seemed genuine, if a little rough.

"What the hell," she said. She tossed off the rest of her Coke. "I think Jane got her suit from the front desk. I didn't bring one either."

"I have one," said Crystal. "I have to carry mine around, just in case. I can never find anything to fit me in most places."

Tiffany stood up and addressed Roberta. "How about you and me go see what they have at the front desk?"

The Sexual Education Blues

Lubrican

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