"Right on, man," Watson chuckled lewdly. "We get her soaking drunk. Then what?"
"We get Mark here to lure her up to the gym storage room. You know, where all the wrestling mattresses are kept. She'll believe him more than us. Then we'll be waiting for her, and… pow! She'll be so boozed up that the rest will take care of itself."
"Hot damn, that's a fine idea," Watson said. Then he frowned and turned to young Mark Trenton. "But you in this with us, kid? Come on, are you chicken-shit?"
Yes… yes, he was! Mark's mind told him over and over. He was scared of the whole idea of helping Joey and Don fuck Mrs. Dodge… but then, this was his big chance with them! If he backed out now, he'd never get another chance of getting in with them. Crap, what could he do?
"You want to tear into that pussy of hers again, don't you?" Joey said. "Well, you help us, and you get some of the action, okay?"
"Well…" Damn it, the mere thought of that tight wet pussy sliding up and down over his prick was making it grow hard in his gym shorts. Shit, he sure wanted more of her! "Well, all right. I'll do it. Only you gotta promise you won't hurt her none."
"Naw, we won't," Watson said.
"Hell, for the way you tell it, Mark," Gore added lewdly, "we won't have to. She'll be like a mink in heat for all of us! All ever-loving, fucking three of us guys!"
Miriam Dodge was late for school Monday morning, the result of a throbbing hangover and a fearful reluctance to want to see Roger Trenton or his son ever again. She had been foolish enough to hope she could change her warped sexual desires, but that had been before yesterday and her depraved actions with young Mark. Now she could see that when at last she did face the loving, gentle widower again, it could only be to tell him she could not marry him, not ever! As for his handsome boy, she just prayed that she'd be able to seal away the unspeakable sordid episode with him in some dark recess of her mind. Eventually, if she could stay as far away from the temptation he presented, she might be able to feel nothing except a guilty scar to remind her what she'd done to him. She knew that she had to keep her mind off her nightmarish situation, or she'd never be able to go on, and that simply being around either of the Trentons would only make her wounds fester…
Yet as she thought of her alternatives, she realized with sinking heart that her only choice was to somehow continue her life here in Logansville as though nothing had happened to her. A hasty, feigned sick-call would only delay the inevitable, and she would have to go back to work sooner or later. In the meantime, Roger might become concerned and drop by – and then what could she tell him? A quick resignation and a sudden leaving of town would only place her where she'd been when she'd arrived – running in a fugitive-like panic. And this time, she didn't even have enough money to travel, her savings used up just to get her cross-country to California! She had to stick it out here, to somehow brazen through and hope things didn't get any worse. But God, how could they get worse than they already were?
She dressed hurriedly, not even taking time for breakfast. She'd lost her appetite anyway, the mere thought of what she had to look forward to making her queasy in her stomach. She speedily drove to the school, a thick lump congealing in her throat and her eyes constantly threatening to burst into tears.
Logansville High was a century-old, three-storied brick cube, situated in the midst of a tree-shaded park near the center of the small downtown area. By the time Miriam had parked her car, the first bell had rung and only a few stragglers were to be seen scurrying across the broad expanse of lawn to the building. She was walking quickly down the almost deserted corridor to her classroom, when she bumped into the school's principal, Harlow Cartwright.
Cartwright was a large man, balding and plump, with a round, moonish face given to grinning at things which displeased him. He adjusted his pince-nez glasses as he regarded Miriam with a thin, disapproving smile.
"Indeed, Mrs. Dodge," he said in his thin, nasal voice. "Late, aren't you?"
"I… I'm sorry," she apologized, blushing. "I… I had a little trouble with my car this morning. A flat tire," she lied. "I had to have it repaired."
"I see."
"M-my class must be waiting for me," Miriam said, now completely flustered. "I better be off, Mr. Cartwright."
Cartwright pursed his thick, rubbery lips, still studying her intently. "I'm glad we did run into one another, in spite of the fact you're tardy, Mrs. Dodge. I wanted to tell you, you don't have to be at the dance Friday night at seven o'clock as we'd planned."
"Oh?"
"Yes. My wife has decided to come, too." The principal made a small grimace, his mouth tightening as though in a grin of rigor mortis. "Agnes insists on taking care of the decorations and refreshments beforehand, so you can come around eight, if you wish."
"Thank you. That would be wonderful."
"Oh, and Mrs. Dodge…?"
"Yes?"
"Do try to be on time."
"Of course, Mr. Cartwright. Of course I will…" Miriam hurried down the hall as the principal turned away in the opposite direction. Damn, damn! Why did she have to run into that wretched fat man on this of all mornings? She could feel herself unraveling at the mental seams, what with everything bearing down on her the way they were…
She reached the door of her classroom, and then a deep, shuddering tremble rippled over her body. Mark Trenton was one of her pupils, and would be in there just beyond the door, sitting and waiting for her with the memories of yesterday still fresh in his young, immature mind. God, did she have the strength? Well, if she didn't she'd better turn around right that instant and run, run as fast and far as she could…
Resolutely she took a breath and with chin held high, walked into the room and directly to her desk. She saw the boy almost immediately as she turned to face the class. He sat in the front, alongside Gore and Watson, who were too mischief-making to allow to sit in the back of the room. Mark was staring at her in an oddly serious manner, and in response to his intensely soulful expression, her throat suddenly went dry and tight. She could feel that rather than blushing, her blood was draining from her face, almost leaving her too weak to stand.
Fortunately, the other students were chattering and asking questions, and she was able to occupy her mind with the day's assignment and the establishment of order. It was not an easy thing to do, but she managed to slowly get control of herself by blotting out Mark Trenton's presence and concentrating on the remainder of her two-dozen charges.
Unfortunately, however, she unwittingly looked directly into the eyes of Joey Gore. He was leaning on his elbows, his chin resting in his hands, his eyes lewdly raking up and down over her body. She suddenly felt as if he was undressing her mentally, and she flicked her eyes away in burning shame… only to see the twisted, crude grin on Don Watson's face next to him. Even as she watched them, Watson leaned over and whispered something to Gore, and then they both broke into a meaningful series of suggestive snickers that brought the blood racing back to her cheeks.
Automatically, Miriam rapped her knuckles on the desk for silence, while in her mind loomed the appalling thought the perhaps they knew! Both husky young boys were maturely developed for their ages, and if Mark had bragged to them of what he'd done with her, they wouldn't laugh it off with childish disbelief. They would see the horrid truth behind his exciting, if fantastic, story! Oh God, what was she going to do if that was so? But maybe, she prayed, it was only her over-vivid imagination…
"Joey, please go to the blackboard," she heard herself say. "Diagram the sentence that I'll give you to write."
Gore rose slowly, grinning even more suggestively. "Sure thing, Mizz Dodge. I'm right proud to do anything you like for such a pretty teacher like you."