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Message-ID: <39196asstr$1036707004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Shalon Wood <dstar@pele.cx>
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Subject: {ASSM} Prudence, Texas Population 1276 (Mf, rom, teen)
Date: Thu,  7 Nov 2002 17:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is a bit different from the Noriko stories; it's the result of a
collaboration between my wife and I. Right now, we've got a raw
180,000 words in the logfiles, and there seems to be roughly a .85
ratio when converting them to fiction.

Standard disclaimers apply. Don't read this if you are underage.

The story will be archived at http://prudence.pele.cx when I get
around to it.

Comments _greatly_ appreciated.

===========================================================================

	Mark Hasseran was new to teaching; he had two degrees, physics
and chemistry, but aside from his student teaching, he hadn't _taught_
before. On top of that, the town he'd been employed in was tiny; there
had possibly been more people in his dorm than lived in the town
proper. 

	On the other hand, the money was decent enough, the living
expenses low, and if he stayed there for five years, his student loans
would be forgiven -- which made the money effectively _much_ better.

	His first impression, upon driving into the town, was that it
was a backwater. His second impression was that it would have to grow
a bit to be a backwater. His third impression was that his second
impression might be a bit generous.

	It didn't take long to find a place to rent. A two-bedroom
house, with over an acre of land, with trees. For less than he'd have
paid for a small apartment in Dallas. Part of that was offset by the
fact that he had to resort to a sattelite connection to get internet
access, but it was relatively speedy, so he couldn't really complain.

	When he went in to get set up for the start of classes, he was
pleasantly surprised by the state of the school; though old, it was
obviously kept in good repair, and the science lab was unexpectedly
modern and well-stocked.

	The townspeople seemed very reserved around him; friendly
enough, but he got the definite impression that people were regarded
as new-comers for several generations before being fully
accepted. Still, it was quiet -- the county sheriff was in the area
every so often for hunting violations, but that was about it. 

	The first night there, he was struck by how _dark_ it was;
there were no street lights around his house, since it was out in the
middle of nowhere. His nearest neighbor was well over a mile away, and
he could see more stars than he'd believed possible. He ordered a
large telescope the next day. It ate into his money, but the first
night he used it he decided it was well worth it.
	
	By the time the start of school rolled around, he was used to
the solitude, so it was quite surprising to see the flash of
headlights down the field road. It appeared some of the teenagers were
having a 'back to school' party on the night before school started.

	Mark grabbed up a duffel-bag, and filled it with a few
supplies -- things he'd planned to use for demonstrations at school,
but which might be more useful now. He walked quietly down towards the
party, keeping an eye out for any signs of alcohol or drugs.

	The teens had set up on one side of the pond; the sounds of
splashing and giggling indicated that swimming was involved in the
party. From what he could see, it seemed to be fairly evenly split
between girls and boys. Loud music filled the air from a radio off to
one side, and a pair of kegs on one of the tailgates seemed to be
getting a fair amount of attention, though no one appeared to be
drinking with the intent to get drunk.

	Mark edged around so that he was coming from a direction where
his view of the kegs would be blocked by the sides of the truck bed,
and kept walking, quietly.

	His eye was drawn to one of the girls dancing fairly close to
the fire; she looked to be about fifteen, and he couldn't help but
think she was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Curly
red-gold hair caught the firelight, looking like flame itself, and her
smooth skin glowed in the flickering light, her face a work of
art. Her movements were as graceful as a cat's, eyes closed, dancing
slightly apart from the others, swaying to the beat of the music in a
world of her own.

	Mark swallowed convulsively, unable to tear his eyes away
from the vision that entranced him. A wave of jealousy swept over him
as one of the boys approached her, tapping her on the
shoulder. Perfect emerald eyes opened, but she simply shook her head
to whatever the boy said, and he moved away, disappointment visible on
his face even at this distance. She looked towards where Mark stood in
the bushes, hidden, and somehow he just _knew_ she could see him; but
she didn't react, just closed her eyes and danced until the end of the
song, then joined some of the girls talking near the fire.

	He shook his head as she turned her back on him, coming
suddenly to his senses, and moved closer to the fire, calling out,
"Howdy."

	The party stilled suddenly as they noticed him, the music
being turned down almost all the way. Nervous looks were cast in his
direction, and one of the boys finally gathered the nerve to speak.

	"Uh, hi."

	"Ah, before I come on in and say hi, I'll just mention that
if I was to _see_ anything like underage drinking I'd be required by
law to report it. I hope that nothing like that is visible."

	A pair of what, in a larger town possessing a football team,
would have been linebackers, sat hastily on the tailgate of the truck,
totally blocking the bed from view.

	"We didn't mean to bother nobody, Mister."

	Mark smothered a smile, and walked on into sight. "Don't worry
about it. I primarily wanted to make sure I wouldn't find a whole
bunch of beer cans down here -- like I said, if I saw something that
would indicate something illegal, well...Y'all will make sure I don't
see anything like that, right?"

	"Huh?  Oh, yeah. Course not."

	"Good, good. Having one last party before school starts?"

	"Yep.  Condemned man's last meal, sorta thing. You musta moved
into the ol' Barnes place.  We didn't know.  We'll keep it down."

	Mark nodded. "I don't blame you. I'm Mark Hasseran; I'll be
the new science teacher. Don't worry about the noise, it's not that
bad." He grinned. "Y'all like fireworks?"

	"Uh.  Yeah, I guess."

	Mark nodded. "I'll be right back." He turned and jogged back
to his house, giving them a few minutes to...cover anything that
needed it, and returned with the duffel bag. "What part of the
pond are y'all swimming in? I don't want this to get too close."

	Looking around, he realized that everyone seemed to have
gotten out of the pond; many of the teens standing near the fire had
wet hair. He noticed a number of worried looks being passed from teen
to teen.

	Mark walked over toward the pond. "Watch this." He put on a
pair of heavy, oiled gloves, and pulled out a jar full of sugar-cube
sized chunks of metal. "Sodium. It _really_ likes water." He tossed
one of the cubes into the water, with a satisfying explosion.

	"Fuck!"  There was a general scramble to get behind the truck.

	"Awesome!"  

	"Crazy, dude!"

	Mark grinned. "Yup." He closed that jar tightly, then pulled
out another, full of shavings. He scooped out a small amount, and
tossed it in the water, resulting in a dance of explosions and light
over the water.

	"Cool!"  

	"Awesome."  

	"Hey, there's fish in that pond..."

	Mark nodded to the last speaker, a girl with curly brown hair
and thick glasses. "That's why I'm only using a little. Not enough to
hurt the fish." He closed that jar, and pulled out what looked like a
foot-thick bundle of long, thin sticks. "Now, you want to see
something _really_ cool?"

	"Dunno, man.  Is it legal?"

	Mark said, "Weeeeell...it probably wouldn't be for y'all,
except on the Fourth, but I happen to have a demolitions license. I
worked one summer helping blow up buildings. So I can get away with
it."

	"Blow up buildings...awesome!"  

	"Hey, if y'all are going to just play with fire, can we have
our dancing music back?"  The last was from a girl.

	Mark nodded. "Sure, turn it up." He looked around for a nice
bare spot of ground, with nothing overhead.

	The girls turned up the music and most of them went back to
dancing, though a couple of them seemed just as happy to watch
explosions as most of the boys.

	Mark bent the wires on the mass of sparklers to form a base,
and then made sure everyone was well back. "This will be _really_
bright. Try not to stare at it -- any of y'all done any welding?"

	"Yeah, some."  A few other murmurs of agreement, one from the
girl with the glasses.

	Mark nodded. "This won't be _quite_ that bright, but pretty
close." He lit the sparkler that was sticking up as a fuse, then
sprinted to the circle of teens.

	*WHOOSH!!!* Bright towering white flame shot up from the
bundle.

	"Awesome!"  

	"Fuck yeah!"  

	"Someone's gonna call the sheriff..."

	Mark grinned and pulled out a cell phone, dialing the sheriff's
office as the sparks and flame died down. When the answering machine
picked up, he said, "This is Mark Hasseran; I just wanted to let you
know I'm doing some demonstrations out by my place, so if someone
calls in about bright lights or something, it's just me."

	Most of the teens were watching, though a couple just looked
and then went back to what they were doing.  The big hulking muscle
types threw a blanket over the kegs and came to watch the flames.

	Mark's eyes were drawn to the girls dancing by the fire.  The
red-head swayed to something deep and rhythmic, making him lose his
train of thought and for a moment he didn't have a clue as to what he
was going to say. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but couldn't
bring himself to look away from the mesmerizing sight. He blinked,
torn between knowing he should look away, and the desire to watch
her. 

	"Yo, dude, that was cool.  You sure you're really a teacher?"

	Mark nodded, managing to look away, but physically aching to
turn back and watch her. "Yup. I'm lucky, though; I get to teach
science. Try doing something like that with, say, your history book!"
He frowned, just a little. "On second thought, don't. I don't want to
get yelled at for a bunch of burned history books."

	"Oh, I dunno.  Mr. Gerholt let us reenact the battle of
Gettysburg last year, with fake blood and paint-guns and everything."

	Mark raised an eyebrow. "Ok, that would be fun." He nodded at
the melted glassy area underneath the sparklers. "Would you believe
that those were just ordinary sparklers, like you buy at a fireworks
stand?"

	"Nifty.  Have to remember that next Fourth."

	"Just be careful -- that's _hot_. Goes up a good thirty or
forty feet."

	Someone turned up the music, the heavy beat of Madonna's
'Erotica' pulsing in the air.  A couple of the guys let out a whooping
yell.  "Alright!  Turn it up!  Dance, Kristen, dance!"

	The redhead laughed, a musical sound, the first time she'd
responded to anything out loud.  She pulled a ribbon from her hair and
shook her head, letting the curls go wild.  A circle cleared around
her.

	Mark glanced over as she opened her eyes and smiled briefly,
seeming to look right at him, then closed them again and began to
dance.

	It was as if she was feeding on the audience, absorbing their
attention and turning it back on them to attract it.  There was no way
he *couldn't* watch, and all but one of the guys seemed as caught.  A
couple of the girls were, as well, though he noticed this with just a
tiny corner of his mind, the rest occupied with the vision writhing in
the circle.

	He swallowed, the bit of his mind that wasn't buried in
overwhelming arousal confused as to how this sort of reaction could be
provoked by an obviously underage female, no matter how pretty she
was.  The rest of his mind was absorbed with visions of taking those
tight jeans and that black t-shirt off of her.

	He stared, not having the will to fight it, and the longer he
watched, the less will he had to look away.  She was pure, undiluted
lust in a human package. He'd seen porn movies less explicit than the
movement of her fully clothed body, and vaguely wondered, in the back
of his head, if this was going to end in an orgy when the other teens
lost control. 

	The music rose to a crescendo, and then, on the final note,
she tossed her hair back and bent backward, arms stretched to the
heavens as if in supplication, red-gold curls brushing the backs of
her calves, small breasts straining against the tight t-shirt, nipples
clearly visible.  She held the pose for a moment, then straightened as
the audience started clapping, whistling and shouting.

		When the music stopped, the boys crowded around her, all of
them wanting her attention.  His line of sight was broken and he
swallowed, again, trying to get the willpower to fade back, and return
home, away from her, away from the lust he felt.

	He quietly packed up his bag, getting ready to leave, and the
girl with the glasses noticed him. 

	Her hair was down around her face, framing her elfin features
as she moved unobtrusively over to him. "Leaving, Mr. Hasseran?" she
asked, quietly.

	Mark nodded, nervously. "Ah, yeah. I think I'd better get some
sleep."

	The girl grinned knowingly.  "Don't worry about Kristen, sir,
she does that to men.  She doesn't mean any harm."

	Mark managed a smile. "Perhaps she does, but it wouldn't be
wise of me to allow her to do it to me."

	She snickered.  "Good luck.  At least you didn't pretend you
don't know what I meant.  Most of the teachers try.  Nice to see
honesty.  And explosions, of course."

	Mark hesitated, then set his bag back down, making sure he was
facing away from the fire. "You think so?"

	"Well, duh.  I mean, you all act like we don't have brains
just because we're younger than you.  For instance, you'd have to be
freakin' *blind* not to notice what Kristen does to men...some girls,
too...and so they all pretend they're not affected.  But the principal
won't even call her to his office when she's in trouble...he always
meets with her in the hall because he doesn't trust himself to be
alone with her."

	Mark chuckled. "I can understand why not." He sighed. "Frankly,
the...reaction doesn't bother me so much as the..." he hesitated,
looking for the right words, finally settling on "temptation."

	"But why be bothered at all?  I mean, it's just a natural
physical reaction.  Adults tell us all the time that temptation is
resistible.  Don't do drugs...no matter how tempting.  Don't drink.
Don't have sex.  Well, fine and dandy, we'll resist, and it's not that
hard.  But it seems to *me* that denying the temptation is there is a
more dangerous thing." She raised an eyebrow behind the glasses, as if
challenging him to deny it.

	Mark raised an eyebrow in return. "You know, you are quite
mature for your age. For what it's worth, I agree with you. She's not
the first person to attract me who wouldn't be good for me. What
bothers me is that I felt, just for a moment, that...it might be worth
it."

	"So?  You're human.  And like I said, honesty is refreshing.
Besides, I really don't see what the big deal is, it's not like she's
a virgin or anything.  You'd probably be a lot better for her than the
idiots she usually dates."

	"Aside from the fact that I'm a teacher, and she's
underage...no, thank you, I'd prefer _not_ to become intimately
acquainted with someone named 'Bubba'."

	"So don't get caught?  Anyway, yeah, breaking the law might be
stupid, but the fact that the law exists is pretty stupid, too."

	"I'm not going to get into _that_ argument." Mark grinned. "I
suspect that saying anything bad about that law would be just as bad
as breaking it, at least for a new teacher who'll be teaching underage
girls in his class."

	"Heh.  Yeah.  See you in class, Mr. H.  I'm gonna go swim
while the pond is mostly empty."

	Mark nodded, glancing back towards the fire one last time
before starting the walk back up to his house. His dreams
were...predictable.  Only more so than he would have expected, even
given his reactions.  Images of her body, dancing, naked, around a
fire.... He woke up sweaty -- and damp.

				 ***

	His first class, Honors Advanced Biology, went fairly
well. His second class was Freshman Chemistry. It contained both the
girl he'd talked with last night (Kayla James, according to the roll) and
the object of his lustful dreams.

	By spending a lot of time writing at the blackboard, he
managed to  keep his eyes off of her, but it was hard.  It wasn't the
only thing that was hard, either.  He just hoped it wasn't visible to
the students, but the amused look on Kayla's face made him suspect
that his hope was in vain. 

The class was a fairly standard mix of a couple of really bright
students, a couple of really dumb ones, one who could be brilliant if
he bothered, and mostly mediocre, bored students who were just trying
to pass.  He spent part of the class explaining why sodium exploded
when tossed in water, and from the student's reactions, he knew that
word of the previous night's demonstrations had gotten around.

	At the end of class, he asked Kayla to stay behind for a few
minutes.

	"Yeah, Dr. H?"  Kayla was about 5' 2", her dark hair pulled
back tight except for chin-length bangs which dangled over her face.
She tended to look at the ground rather than people's faces, wore baggy
clothes and tended to slouch.

	She was also, according to the other teachers, the smartest
kid the school had ever seen.

	Mark said, "Ah, Kayla, I've got a bit of a problem, and I'd
like your help."

	She raised an eyebrow.

	Mark sighed. "Does she know what she does?"

	Kayla grinned.  "Y'know, I'm not entirely sure.  I honestly
don't think so.  Oh, she knows she's pretty, but..." She
shrugged. "She doesn't try to *use* it or anything.  She's really
rather sweet.  Most of the girls can't stand her, of course, poor
little thing."

	Mark muttered, "Wonderful. So you couldn't, say, ask her not
to do it during class?"

	She laughed out loud.  "Ask her not to do *what*?  Breathe?"

	Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I don't know."

	She shook her head.  "You'll just have to get used to it like
all the other guys.  Sorry."

	Mark looked at her, soberly. "I'm not sure I _can_."

	"As far as I know...and you wouldn't *believe* how fast gossip
spreads in this place...no teacher yet has yielded to the temptation,
however much they might want to.  I'm sure you'll be fine."

	Mark sighed, burying his head in his hands. "Do me a favor
then?"

	"Hmm?"

	Mark said, "If it looks like I'm starting to weaken..."

	"Mmhm?"

	"Stop me?"

	"Leaving behind for a moment the fact that I am *also* your
student and not the guardian of your morals, how would you suggest I
do that?" She stood there, hands on her hips, one eyebrow cocked at
him. 

	Mark raised his head, looking at her, and grinned. "Well, I
hear you are the smartest person the school's ever seen. I figure you
can think of something." He sobered. "Seriously, Kayla, there's not
anyone else I _can_ ask, and I don't trust myself. Not yet, anyway."

	She sighed.  "Mr. H., this is a little hick town.  Forest Gump
would be smarter than most of them.  And while she'll pretty much go
out...and put out...for anyone who asks her, she doesn't ever *try* to
get anyone to ask her.  She just waits for it to happen.  Just don't
ask.  She's gorgeous, yeah, but it's not magic, it's just biology.
You should be good at that."

	Mark looked at her, pleading. "Maybe it's just biology but..."
He closed his eyes for a moment. "I can't afford to screw up."

	"Then *don't*.  You're supposed to be a responsible adult.
You're probably just tempted cause you're single.  Get a girlfriend.
A couple of the elementary teachers are new this year, too, and
single."

	He said, "I don't _intend_ to screw up. Just tell me if you
think I'm being stupid?"

	"Uh....now?  Come on, it's really not that big of deal."

	Mark sighed. "Maybe not. Maybe I'm just overly nervous."

	"Quite possibly.  Just avoid situations where you'd be
tempted.  Don't, say, offer to have her come over to your house for
tutoring or anything."

	Mark nodded. "I'm not _stupid_.  Just worried what happens next
time there's a party."

	"Not likely to be one there again.  The guys really do try to
have their parties *away* from people's houses.  It's safest,
anyway. Gotta get to class.  See you in algebra."

	"See you." He'd ended up tapped for math, as well, since he
was most qualified for it.

	The rest of the morning went fairly well.  He did see Kristen in
the hall several times, and every time he saw her, she was with a
different boy, most of them juniors or seniors.

	He was sitting in the teachers lounge, eating his lunch, when
there was a knock on the door.

	He opened it, and Kristen jumped back, startled.  "Oh!  Sorry,
Mr. Hasseran, I was looking for Ms. Stephen, is she in there?"

	Mark shook his head, suddenly incredibly aware that the lounge
was empty aside from him. "I'm afraid not. Is there something I can
help you with?"

	"Oh.  I thought this was her break hour.  I needed to talk to
her about supplies."  She looked extremely disappointed.  Extremely.

	Mark said, "Anything I can help with?" He was struck by a
sudden urge to do whatever it took to wipe the sad look off of her
face.

	"Um.  N...no.  I don't think so.  She probably can't either,
really.  I should just drop art."  She blushed brightly.

	Mark pursed his lips slightly. "Why don't you tell me what the
problem is, Kristen?"

	She looked at the floor and scuffed the carpet with her toe.
"It's no big deal.  I'm sorry for interrupting your break."

	Mark shook his head. "Please, Kristen. Tell me what the
problem is."

	She sighed.  "It's just...well, her class is optional, but I
really wanted to take it, but...you've got to have all the extra
supplies, and they're *expensive*.  I just wanted to see if, like, the
school had any extras.  Y'know, to help out students who are..." her
voice trailed off and she wouldn't look at him.  She seemed totally
mortified.

	Mark thought for a moment, no longer. "Kristen, I haven't
looked at anything related to the art classes. What exactly do you
have to have, and how much do they cost?"

	"You've got to have a sketch book, and a newsprint pad, and
inks, and charcoals, and brushes, and some things that I don't even
*know* what they are, but the store orders them and has them in a
bundle for sale and it's $83, and I just don't have it." Her eyes
flickered up from the floor, meeting his for a bare second before
dropping again. "And I *really* wanted to take the class.  Art is the
only thing I'm really any good at."

	 Mark nodded. "Would you wait right here for a little bit?
I'll be right back."

	"Um, okay."

	Mark headed down to the school store, which was little more
than a small room off of the main office where students could buy
certain supplies as well as things with the school logo on them.

	The secretary smiled at him.  "Hi, Mark, is there a problem?"

	Mark glanced around, making sure no students could hear, then
said, "Well, I've got a student who's got a bit of a problem. She
wants to take art but can't afford the supplies."

	"Mmm.  That is a problem.  I assume you mean Ms. Stephen's
advanced art class?  That's the only one which requires extra
supplies.  They are a bit high."

	Mark nodded. "She said it was $83?"

	"I'm afraid so.  We have to have them shipped down here from
the city.  Anita says they're all absolutely necessary for what she
teaches, but sometimes I just don't think she understands what it's
really *like* in a small town like this." The secretary sighed,
shaking her head a little.

	Mark pulled out his checkbook. "Well, in this case...I've got
a little spare money." He wrote out a check. "How much of that $83 is
shipping costs?"

	"Oh, only about ten dollars worth.  The supplies themselves
really *are* pricey. Are you sure you want to do that, though?  Being
teased for being the teacher's pet is no fun, and as you said 'she',
some nasty rumors could get started real easy."

	Mark nodded. "That's why I made sure that nobody else was in
here. I'm going to make sure nobody knows that I purchased them for
her -- I'm actually going to go back and give _her_ the check to bring
in here. I just wanted you to see me writing it out, so that you knew
it was legit."

	She shrugged. "It's up to you, of course, just warning you.
Okay, I'll take the check."

	Mark said, "And, frankly, from what I've seen...well. I'd
suspect that simply talking to her could start some nasty rumors."

	"Oh?  Ah.  It must be Kristen.   Poor girl."

	Mark nodded. "Indeed."

	"Alright.  I won't say a thing to anyone.  I know how much the
poor little thing wanted to take that class, and there's no way that
father of hers would bother to give her the money." The secretary sighed again.

	"Thanks. I...well, she said that art was the only thing she's
good at. I don't know about that, but she should have the chance."

	She nodded.  "She is good at art, though she's not a bad
student, really, in anything."

	"She's in my Chemistry class, and she seemed to follow as well
as most of them."

	"Oh, she does.  She's just not real interested in things.
Probably her life is all mapped out."

	Mark raised an eyebrow. "Mapped out?"

	The secretary's voice was somewhat bitter.  "Her father's a
controlling bastard, but you didn't hear me say that, right?  Probably
has her husband all picked out for her."

	Mark winced. "Damn. I hate that."

	"Yeah.  Nothing you can do about it though.  Courts don't
consider it 'abuse'.  Being a total jerk isn't illegal,
unfortunately."

	"Does she have the backbone to stand up to him?"

	"Not likely.  She's a timid little thing, really." She
grimaced, as if to say, 'what can you do?'

	Mark sighs. "Shame."

	"Yeah, it sure is."

	Kristen was still waiting for him back at the lounge, looking
embarrassed. He handed her the check, folded so that it was not
obvious what it was. "Here's a check for the supplies. You should be
good to go."

	"Huh?  What do you mean?"

	Mark smiled. "I mean I'm paying for your supplies."

	"You are?  But...why?"

	Mark shrugged. "So that you have a chance. I can't do it for
everyone, but I do try to help people out when I can."

	"Oh!"  Spontaneously, she threw her arms around him, hugging
him.  "Thank you!"

	Her soft, warm, curvy teenage body pressed up against him.  He
could smell her hair where it brushed against his cheek...a spicy
scent, intriguing and unidentifiable.  Her skin was soft, soft, soft.
His body was responding without thought, and it seemed a good idea to
steer her into the empty lounge.

	He froze, unable to move away from the door, but not moving
towards it either.  Involuntarily, his arms crept around her and he
returned his hug.

	She looked up at him and smiled, then kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, you're such a sweetheart!"

	He swallowed, unable to speak, as she let go of him and
started to move away, happy and bouncing. "Wait!" he blurted.

	She hesitated, turning back to him.  "Yes, Mr. Hasseran?"

	Mark frantically racked his brain for an excuse to keep
talking. "You know, you don't have to live your life according to
anyone else's plan."

	"Huh?  Sorry?"

	"I'm just saying that you don't have to do things just because
someone expects you to. You should make your own decisions."

	She smiled, looking slightly confused.  "Okay, I guess.
Where'd *that* come from?"

	"Come on into the lounge..it's half an hour til next
period...and I'll explain." Mark couldn't believe what he'd just said.

	"Uh...okay."  She followed him into the lounge and he closed
the door behind her, sitting on the couch and looking at him
expectantly.

	Mark tried to figure out just what the hell he was doing
there. "I'm just...look. Just because your father, or someone else,
plans out your life for you...you don't have to follow that
plan. There are scholarships. If you are actually good at art, you
should try for one." He realized suddenly that, without any conscious
thought, he'd sat down on the couch next to her. He frantically tried
to get control of his actions.

	"Oh, is that what you thought?  That old gossip?
Mr. Hasseran, my dad really doesn't care *what* I do, as long as I
don't bother him with it.  I plan on going to college, really I do,
and I have thought about an art scholarship.  You're sweet for
worrying, but it's really not necessary."  She smiled and leaned
forward, laying her hand over his, squeezing.

	Mark swallowed, hard.

	"Is that all you were worried about?  My dad?"

	Mark nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

	She smiled again, melting his resistance further.  "Don't be.
Yeah, he's not around a lot, but he's not bad either.  He doesn't beat me or
anything.  He's a bit uh, distracted, but he's not abusive or
anything.  And he *doesn't* run my life. You do believe me, don't
you?"  She looked earnestly into his face, and he was struck by just
how incredibly green her eyes were.

	He had the most intense urge to kiss her that he'd ever
experienced in his life, but from somewhere deep inside him he managed
to drag up enough self control to do no more than nod.

	She frowned, concerned.  "Mr. Hasseran, are you okay?  You
look flushed."  She reached up and touched his cheek with one soft
little hand.  "You're burning up!" The touch felt caressing, as if it
weren't quite innocent, to his fevered perceptions.

	"You should lie down."

	Mark closed his eyes, fighting for control.

	"You really don't look so good."  She stood up and put her
hands on his shoulders, pushing him down onto the couch.  "You look
like you're going to pass out or something."

	Mark was frozen. He had just enough willpower to stop himself
from moving, but he couldn't bring himself to tell her to leave; all
he could think about was the feeling of both of her hands on his
shoulders, pressing him down on the couch. He fought himself for
control, trying to think of anything else -- chemical formulae,
reaction rates...

	She smoothed the hair back from his damp forehead.  "Just lie
here for a while, I'm sure you'll feel better."  She continued petting
his forehead.  He opened his eyes and saw that she was kneeling by the
couch, her face the very picture of concern.

	He regained control over his vocal chords, somehow, though he
was painfully aware that what he *wanted* to say would get him
arrested. Swallowing, he said, "I'll be --- I'll be fine. You should
go get your supplies. I just need to -- to rest a bit before my next
class."

	"If you're sure...is there anything I could do for you before
I go?"

	His mind rewrote those words with non innocent innuendo in his
head, bringing images of her touching him, kissing him. He tore his
eyes away from hers.

	"N-no. I'll be --- fine."

	As she stood up, she inadvertently leaned forward, brushing
her breasts briefly against his face.  She didn't seem to
notice. "Okay, if you're sure.  And thanks again."  With one final
smile, she ducked out the door.

	Mark lay there, on the couch, shuddering. No one came in,
fortunately, because he was in no condition for company.

	The rest of the day was uneventful.  Tiring, but
uneventful. When he got home, he found things to do, tiring,
physical things, trying to exhaust himself. By the time the
sun set, the yard was raked and mowed, the shed housing the
well-pump cleaned, and the flower bed weeded. 

	It didn't stop the dreams. They were more vivid than the night
before. More detailed. More explicit. He woke up hard...with evidence
of at least one orgasm on his stomach. He tried not to think about
them in the shower, a cold shower, fighting the urge to masturbate to
the memory of the dreams.

	He went to work very uncomfortable.

				 ***

	The whole week went pretty much the same, except the dreams
became more and more intense, and when he finally did give in and
stopped resisting the urge, he was dismayed to find that it made it
*worse*, not better. He was beginning to think perhaps he needed
psychological help.

	Meanwhile, he began to settle in to the community.  It still
seemed odd to him.  People were so quiet.  Except for that one party
he'd witnessed, he would almost swear that no one even left their
house after dark.  There used to be a bar in town, but it closed over
a year ago.  The only social activity that seemed to exist was church
on Sunday's and Wednesdays.

	There was only one church, too.  A big, foreboding looking
building.

	People looked at him oddly on Thursday, after he didn't go to
church the night before.  There was some whispering and a couple of
his students actually seemed nervous to be around him.

	Mark ignored it.

	He also noticed a distinct gender line in the community.  He
was one of only three male teachers...the other two teaching shop and
p.e. .  The girls took home economics, the boys took shop.  Any kid going
against this typing was an outcast.  While the faculty was very
impressed with Kayla's intelligence, there was a distinct undertone of
distrust about it, too, and disapproval, as if they'd have felt better
if she were good at *art* instead of physics.  And they wouldn't allow
her to take shop.  She wasn't forbidden officially, of
course... officially the class conflicted with something she wanted to
take more.

	He'd expected this, sort of, in a small town, but not to this
extent. Most of the girls even wore *dresses* on most days rather than
jeans.  It was odd.

	Mid week a boy joined his class.  He was taking typing, but
dropped it for unexplained reasons.  Rumor had that the black eye he
was sporting came from a bunch of the more aggressive types 'teaching
the little faggot a lesson'.  Chemistry was safer than typing,
apparently.

	As far as Mark could tell, the rumors were true. No proof,
just a girl who said her boyfriend's best friend bragged about it,
bits and pieces here and there.

				 ***

	Friday night, Mark was eating dinner and grading papers when
he heard what sounded like a woman crying upstairs. He frowned,
wondering how someone could have gotten in the house, and rushed
upstairs to check on them. When he got there, the noise sounded like
it was coming from _downstairs_.

	He walked, _slowly_, back downstairs, listening to see when
the sound changed location. Midway down the stairs, it seemed to be
coming from both locations at once. He couldn't see anything
downstairs, but a faint greenish light shone under his bedroom door.

	He hesitated, then walked cautiously to the door. When he
swung it open, there was a shape on his bed, like a woman, for a split
second, before it vanished, leaving only a lingering glow.

	"Wait! Come back!"

	The glow intensified slightly, and he thought he *might* be
able to make out a humanoid form in it.

	Mark said, "What's wrong?"

	The form didn't come clearer, but her eyes did.  Deep blue,
glowing, and sad. She still didn't speak.

	"Can I help?"

	She shook her head.

	"Is there anything I can do?"

	It sounded like she sighed deeply, then that barely
perceptible head shake came again.

	"Please, let me help. Tell me what I can do..."

	She started to fade, and he could hear the faintest of
whispers, "You can't. Only he can."  Then she was totally gone.

	Mark said, "Who?"

	No answer.

	He looked around for some clue. Nothing.  Just a bedroom.  It
came furnished, most of the furniture looked like antiques, though not
perfectly preserved...more like things that were lovingly used every
day of their lives and had good care taken of them, but were not put
away and fussed over.

	Big, carved oak four poster bed, king sized.  Dresser with
mirror.  Wardrobe.  Cushion topped cedar chest under the window.
Matching bookshelves. Pretty, well-tended, hardwood floors.

	He looked in the cedar chest first, finding two things; a
white silk dress wrapped in tissue paper, and a tiny white gown
covered in seed pearls, sized for a newborn.

	He looked for pictures, things like that. Checked behind the
mirror, under the bed, in the bookshelves...and found nothing.

	He remembered that there were some old clothes in the closet
when he moved in.  Men and women's clothes from about twenty years
ago.  Old, musty, and moth-nibbled.

	He went and retrieved the clothes from the box he'd stored
them in, looking through the pockets for pictures. In one of the
dresses, he found a locket. It held a picture of a woman in a wedding
dress, and a man in a suit. He wasn't sure, but the woman could have
been the one on his bed.

	He frowned, but finally shrugged and went back to work,
mentally preparing to ask better questions if he saw her again.

				 ***

	The next week was greatly similar to the first. Every so
often he would catch a glimpse of the ghostly woman, but never for
more than a split-second. Once, he was awakened from his dreams by an
ear-piercing scream, but when he looked he couldn't find anything.

	He tried everything thing to deal with the dreams...working to
exhaustion, sleeping pills, meditation, masturbating until he was
physically unable to get hard before bed...none of it worked. In
desperation, he tried actively participating in the dreams, in hopes
that it would get it out of his system.

	It made it worse. By the time Saturday morning arrived, he was
exhausted.

	He was in the kitchen, cleaning, when he heard a knock on the
door. Opening it, he was surprised to see Kristen standing on his porch.

	She smiles at him.  "Hi.  Can I come in?"

	Last night's last dream was still fresh in his mind.  The
picture of her with her head back and eyes closed, begging him to fuck
her was etched on his brain. He swallowed.

	"Um, Kristen, I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Rumors get
started very easily."

	She looked around.  The road was empty.  There were no houses
visible from his.  The only witnesses were the cows in the pasture.
"By who?"

	Mark closed his eyes and swallowed, hard, trying to ignore the
images.

	Mark said, "Kristen, if you come in here, I could lose my job
and go to jail."

	"Just for letting me come *in*?  That's silly."

	"Yes, but if somehow word got around, and someone thought..."

	"There's no one here but us.  Besides, almost everyone is at
the Revival down at the church. And my feet really hurt.  It's a long
walk out here."

	He swallowed again. "Ok. But you stay on the other side of
the room from me, just to be safe."

	She laughed.  "You're so funny!  You act like you're going to
turn into some mad psychopathic rapist or something."

	Mark said, exasperated, "I'm not so sure I won't!" He slapped
his hand over his mouth. "Oh my god. What did I just say?"

	She looked at him wide-eyed.

	Mark sighed. "I'm sorry, Kristen, I didn't mean that. I'm
just...I haven't been sleeping well the past few weeks. Disturbing
dreams. I'm not at my best."

	"Um.  Yeah.  Okay.  Did you see the ghost or something?"

	Mark stared at her. "How did you guess?"

	"Really?  Wow!  I never believed it really *was* haunted. You
know how stupid people can be."

	 "Well, either there's a ghost, or I'm going insane. At this
point, I think it's a toss up." Mark rubbed his temples.

	"Wow.  A real ghost.  The lady or the baby?" Kristen seemed
fascinated.

	"A woman. She wouldn't tell me what was wrong, just
that 'he' was the only one who could make it better. But I don't know
who 'he' is."

	"Oh wow.  Poor thing.  I bet it was Emma Barnes.  The story
goes that her husband went crazy and murdered her and their baby
around twenty years ago.  They never caught him."

	Mark winced. "Ouch. No wonder she was crying."

	"That's why we were so surprised that someone had rented this
house...everyone thought it was haunted.  But you stayed, so..."  She
shrugged. "Oh, yeah!  That's why I came."

	Mark said, "Oh?"

	"See, it's Kevin's birthday and we wanted to have a party, but
Mr. Johnson just moved a new herd into the field we've been using, and
he's, like, all paranoid about them cause they're real expensive or
something and some of em are pregnant, so he said we can't have our
parties there anymore.  And the only place that's really private and
out of the way is down by the pond, but we don't want to disturb you
or anything so the guys wanted me to ask you if maybe you wouldn't
mind, just this once."  She said all of this in a rush, not pausing
for breath until she stopped and smiled at him hopefully.

	Mark grinned. "Sure. Heck, just for giving me a reason to
think I'm maybe not going insane I'd agree even if I minded, but I
don't anyway. Just -- no alcohol or pot or anything. If I _saw_
anything like that, well, you know the law."

	"Um.  Okay.  No one here smokes pot anyway, you know. You
really don't mind?"

	Mark shrugged. "No, not really." He nods his head towards a
shed out back. "I've got a good telescope out back, by the way. Let me
know if anyone wants to take a look through it. The moon should be
good viewing."

        "Thanks!  They'll be so glad.  It's a great spot.  Flat
ground, not too many cows, the pond for warm weather..." She shifted
nervously and blushed.  "Um."

	Mark raised an eyebrow.

	She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a sheet of thick
paper.  "I..um...well, since you bought me the supplies, I thought
it'd be nice to do something...anyway, I drew this for you.  It's not
great, but I thought you might like it."  She handed him the sheet.

	It was him.  Sort of.  It was *extremely* good, done in
charcoal.  He was standing on the deck of a ship, wearing the standard
romantic pirate outfit of tight trousers, boots, and a curvy sword.
His hair was blowing in the wind and the look on his face could only
be described as 'smoldering'.

	Mark said, "You are good. Very good. This is amazing." He
stared at the picture.

	She blushed and ducked her head, peeking at him through her
eyelashes.  "You really like it?"

	Mark nods. "I do." He hesitated, trying to make up his
mind. "Kristen, could I talk to you about something for a minute?
Something that could get me in a lot of trouble if you were offended,
or someone else found out and got the wrong impression?"

	"Well, sure, if you want to."

	Mark settled back, looking at her curiously. "Kristen, do you
have any idea of the effect you have on people?"

	"Huh?  What do you mean, Mr. Hasseran?"

	Mark chuckled. "You really don't, do you?"

	She looked at him, confused.

	Mark said, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you are
probably the single most sexually appealing woman I've ever seen. And
I am _not_ normally attracted to underage girls. I've watched, and you
have the same effect on most of the guys -- both students and teachers
-- at school. And some of the women. And you really aren't doing it on
purpose?"

	Her mouth dropped open and her blush deepened to blood-red.

	"Apparently not."

	"I'm not d..doing anything!"  She buried her face in her
hands.  "Oh, god, you think I'm a slut."

	"No! I _DON'T_! I just wanted you to realize the effect you
have. That's part of the reason I was so nervous about letting you
in."

	She shook her head, still not looking up.  "It's okay.  I
should have known that's what was worrying you.  I *am* a slut.  I
just didn't think you...knew.  Or that you'd think I'd try and attack
you or something.  I won't, you know.  I'm not *that* bad."

	Mark raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You're a slut? What makes you a
slut?"

	"I just can't help it.  I know it's wrong, and stupid.
But...I 
just stopped caring, y'know?"

	"Why don't you care?" Mark asked.

	"And once you've done it *once*, everyone thinks you do it
every time anyway, so why the hell not?  Why bother to say no when you
don't really want to anyway?"

	"So you don't _want_ to say no?"

	"Not exactly.  Well, I mean...shit, I can't believe I'm
talking about this."

	"That's ok. I can't believe I'm sitting in my kitchen talking
about this to one of my students, either." Mark grinned reassuringly.

	"Okay, look, it's like...the first time, I didn't want to say
'no'.  I knew I should, but...I really didn't want to.  And it
was...good.  Pretty good.  And I felt so special, like we were really,
really in love, y'know?  Then, of course, he told his friends and
everyone knew.  And there was no going back.  So I didn't bother to
try, and when another guy asked me out, I knew what he wanted, and I
sorta wanted it too, so..." She shrugged.  "And I didn't make the
mistake of thinking any of them loved me ever again.  It's just sex.
And the really sad thing is, it's not even good sex.  I just can't
make myself say no because it's better than no sex."

	Mark sighed. "So you have sex when you don't really want
to. Who controls when you have sex, Kristen? You, or the boys you are
sleeping with?"

	"Controls?  I don't know what you mean.  Guys ask me out all
the time because they know I'll put out.  I don't chase them or
anything."

	"In other words, you have sex anytime they want, whether you
are in the mood or not?"

	She sighed.  "It's not like that.  Look...I don't know how to
say this, but...well, I'm *always* in the mood.  Always."

	"You're always horny?" he asked.

	She flinched, eyes locked on the floor, and nodded.

	"And you...can't take care of it yourself?"

	"I do.  A lot."  Her voice was tiny, strangled.  "It doesn't
help."

	"Have you considered picking out, say, the two or three guys
who are best, and telling the others no?"

	"I...tried.  But, when they ask me, I just say yes.  I can't
stop myself."

	"Do you have trouble telling people no about other things?"

	She shook her head.  "No, not really."

	"When you say the sex isn't good...do you actually get turned
on? Do you, um, have an orgasm?"

	"Oh, *god*!  She buried her face in her hands again, hiding
totally behind her hair.  "This is so embarrassing.  Yes, I get turned
on, but I don't usually have an orgasm."

	Mark nodded, slowly. "I had a friend in college who had a
similar problem. She'd get turned on, but never actually reach orgasm
with someone else, no matter how much time they spent with her. Until
the night she and her roommate got drunk together."

	"Not *never*, just not usually.  I can do it to myself, and
once or twice someone has...but just not usually."

	"True. But...gods. I can't believe I'm saying this. You might
want to consider that option." His face was as red as hers.

	"What option?  Getting drunk?"

	Mark said, "Um. No. Her roommate was also female..."

	"Oh.  I have.  It's just that girls don't ask me that often."

	Mark sighed. "I'm sorry, then, Kristen. I'd like to help, but
I don't know how."

	She mumbled something he couldn't quite catch.

	"I'm sorry?"

	"Never mind.  I didn't say anything."

	Mark said, "Yes, you did."

	She bit her lip and shook her head slowly.

	"Tell me, please."

	"I'm sorry.  I just..." She took a deep breath.  "I said, 'you
could have sex with me.'  But it's okay.  You don't have to.  I
just...like I said, I think about it all the time, and sometimes it
just gets so *strong*...I'm sorry."

	Mark closed his eyes. "Oh, gods. Kristen, I...no. I'll be
honest with you. You've been honest with me. I'd love to make love to
you. The disturbing dreams I mentioned...were about you. There's
nothing I'd like better. But I don't dare. The danger..."

	"I wouldn't tell anyone.  I wouldn't.  I swear." She sounded
like she was crying.

	Mark said, "I trust you. But if someone found out,
somehow...gods. I want you so bad, Kristen. But...I don't think it
would help. You'd get a little, temporary relief, but tomorrow things
wouldn't be any different, would they?"

	"Please...you have more experience than the guys I go out
with.  Maybe it would be different.  Please, if you want me...I won't
tell anyone, there's no one to see." Her eyes were huge, pleading,
tear-filled.

	"Kristen...Monday morning, at school, do you really think
people wouldn't be able to figure it out from the way we reacted to
each other?"

	"I'm a good actor, I'll be careful.  Oh, god, please!  I can't
stop thinking about it.  I *need* it.  I'll do anything you want."
She reached down and before he realized what she was doing, she pulled
her shirt over her head and leaned forward, placing her hand on his
knee.  "Please..."

	"Kristen...please..." Mark took a deep breath. "Ok. Will you
do something for me?"

	"I'll do anything if you'll say yes. _Anything._" She looked
at him desperately.

	"Close your eyes. Take a deep breath, hold it for a count of
four, exhale _slowly_, and repeat ten times."

	She did as he asked.  Inhaling deeply made  her breasts
threaten to pop out of the little lacy half-cup black push-up bra she
was wearing. Mark closed his eyes, not trusting his self-control in
the face of the vision before him.

	"Now, tense and relax each muscle. Start with your toes, and
work your way up." He didn't open his eyes.

	*sniff*  "Okay."  Just a tiny whisper.

	"Are you ok?"

	*sniff, sniff* "Yeah.  It's okay.  I thought about it, I'm
sorry."

	"Thought about what?"

	"Of course you don't want to sleep with someone who's been had
by half the school.  You're not some horny teenager.  I was so stupid.
I'm sorry I embarrassed you.  Can I go now?"

	Mark opened his eyes, stunned, "Kristen, I _do_ want to sleep
with you. I just _can't_. Look at me; I'm hard as a rock. I can't
believe I actually had the willpower to tell you no. You can go, if
you really want to, but I _think_ that what I was having you do might
help you. Do you want to stay and find out?"

	"I can't.  I just can't.  When I relax at all, it swallows
me. And your body might want me, but *you* don't, and for you, they're
not the same thing. And I've never, ever been so ashamed in my entire
life and I wish the earth would just open up and swallow me whole."
Tears were trickling down her face.

	Mark reached out, and took her hand. "Kristen, I _do_ want
you. If I thought I could sleep with you once, and leave it at that,
I'd take you up on your offer right now -- but there's no way I could
do that. If just having you near me makes it this hard to control
myself, how much harder would it be if I _had_ slept with you? And if
we have an ongoing affair, we _will_ get caught." He sighed. "Telling
you no is the hardest thing I've ever done, and I wish I didn't have
to do it. And I wish you'd give what I was having you do a chance."

	She was truly crying now, and clinging to his hand.  "I can't.
I can't *think*.  It just gets worse and worse.  Why not just once?  I
promise I'll leave you alone after today.  I promise!"  She slipped
off the couch and sideways in one quick, unpredictable motion and was
kneeling between his knees before he realized she was even going to
move.  She leaned forward against him, still holding his hand,
pressing it tightly to her chest between her breasts.  "Just once, oh
please..." she whispered, ducking her head to brush her lips across
the top of his hand.

	Mark tried, desperately, to retain control. "You might leave
me alone, but I'm not sure I could leave you alone. I don't think once
would be enough for me." His hand, despite his words, was caressing
her cheek.

	She turned her head to rub her silky soft cheek against his
hand.  "Please.  I need you."

	Mark swallowed. "I should say no."

	She kissed his wrist, little tongue flicking over the pulse.
"Say yes."

	Mark leaned forward, pulling her face to his, kissing
her. "Yes."


-- 

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