by Tia Siren
On her third Monday morning as their new mother, she woke to the usual morning scent of coffee. Andrew never woke her before he left and he was not talkative when he came home. He had not told her about any of his days or the creations he was working on in his business though it was something she would have been interested in hearing.
Andrew never discouraged Ella from reading her books. In fact, Myrtle had even bought her a new one when she finished Sherlock Holmes A Study in Scarlet. It was a fantastic book and had become one of Ella’s all-time favorites. She was looking forward to reading more about the British detective at 221B Baker Street. So far, she had only had a chance to read to Carl. The other boys refused to sit long enough to listen.
This morning, she heard a crash downstairs and immediately jumped up from her bed. She pulled on her robe and slid her small feet into a pair of slippers Myrtle had also purchased for her. She hurried down the hallways to the den and pushed the door open.
“Raymie? Peter? Fred? Carl?” She said each of their names, even though there was no one in the room. She glanced around for hiding places and scanned the curtains and furniture for little feet or tufts of hair so she could see where they were. In the corner of the room, a large vase had fallen to the floor, shattering it into a million pieces. She was instantly afraid, thinking of what her father would have done if something like that had happened in his house.
But she wasn’t caring for her father’s house anymore. She was caring for her husband’s, a man she barely knew, even two and a half weeks in.
“Oh dear,” she said loudly so that small listening ears would hear. “Oh, my! Andrew will be so unhappy about this. I can’t imagine who could have done it!” She silently picked up a small hard ball that was still rocking in place under a table near the smashed vase. She slipped the ball into her pocket. “Oh dear.” She shook her head. “Could this have been a ghost? Oh, how will I tell Andrew there is a ghost in this house!”
She heard the sound of a small gasp from the other side of the open door into the foyer. It was followed by several muffled sounds of “shhh”.
“What will I do? A ghost!” She said again, directing her words toward the doorway.
“Oh! Oh, oh, is there really a ghost? Is there, Miss Ella?” Carl came running into the room and threw himself into Ella’s skirt, balling it up and pressing his face into it. She put one hand on his back and patted him.
“Shut your bazoo, Carl!” Raymie said in an irritating voice, also coming into the room. “You know it wasn’t a ghost! She’s just trying to scare you.”
Ella shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to scare him, Raymie. I was just trying to draw you, four boys, out. You did this, didn’t you? With this?” She pulled the ball out of her pocket and held it out for them to see. The other two boys were poking their heads around to see what she was doing. They came in the room, looking distraught and threw themselves on the couch. Peter hung his head, his small cheeks red. Freddie pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. Raymie was the one who appeared most upset, crossing his arms over his chest and plopping down on a big high-backed chair sitting next to the couch.
“I get bored around here!” He said angrily.
“I’m sure you do. You should be in school.”
“We don’t need to go to school!” He said abruptly. “We won’t need that when we’re working here on this farm.”
“Surely your papa will let you go to the schoolhouse if you want to.”
“I don’t want to!” Raymie exclaimed, giving her a furious look.
“You don’t?”
“He does, too!” Peter said, quietly. Raymie glared at him. “Well, you do, Raymie. I heard you telling Freddie even just a couple of days ago. You said you wanted to learn to read, and you were mad because you don’t know how.”
“I do know how to read!”
“No, you don’t.” Peter shook his head.
“You don’t know how to read, Raymie?” Ella was surprised and disappointed. She would have thought that at least the oldest one would have learned that by now. “It’s very important that you know how to read. Especially since you want to work on the farm.”
“I don’t want to work on the farm!” Suddenly Raymie stood up; his small fists clenched and his eyes filled with tears. Ella’s heart broke looking up at him. She took a step closer and reached out to him, but he pulled away. “I want to work in a bank! It’s not fair!” He bolted out of the room and up the stairs. A few moments later, the door to his room was slammed shut.
Ella was left in shock. He was so embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to embarrass him. Freddie gave her a smile and walked out without a word. Shortly afterward, Peter followed, never taking his eyes off the floor. Both boys went up the steps.
Ella looked down at Carl, who was staring up at her. “He’s mad,” Carl said.
Ella nodded and looked at the stairs. “Yes, I think he is mad.”
She leaned down and picked the little boy up, resting him on her hip. He was too big to carry like a baby, but he held on to her as if he was one. She carried him up the stairs and opened Raymie’s door without knocking. She set Carl down and surveyed the scene. Peter and Freddie were simply sitting on Raymie’s bed while the young boy pressed his face into his pillow. Carl immediately went to the bed, climbed up on it and covered his oldest brother with a hug, resting his cheek on Raymie’s back and wrapping his small arms around his brother as much as he could.
Raymie didn’t move, accepting his little brother’s love without a word. Again, Ella felt her heart melt for the boys and their obvious love for each other. She went to the bed and sat in an open area, placing one hand on Raymie’s shoulder.
“I am so sorry I embarrassed you, Raymie. Please don’t be upset anymore. I tell you, you can be happy about one thing.”
“What’s that?” Raymie’s voice was muffled but sounded hopeful.
“You can learn to read any time in your life. I have three younger brothers at home, and I taught them all to read. My papa thought that reading and having an education was very important, even for a girl! So he taught me and I taught them. I can teach you, too, if you want.”
Raymie sat up but didn’t look at her. Carl transferred himself to Ella, draping himself over her back and wrapping his arms around her neck. She lifted one hand and patted his arms instinctively, feeling a great deal of affection for the little tyke.
“I can learn to read?”
“Of course, you have just as much…” Something behind Raymie on the wall caught her attention, and she focused on it. All four boys looked up at her face when she suddenly stopped talking. “What is this?” She mumbled to herself. She stood up, taking Carl with her as he wrapped his legs around her waist so she could piggy-back him. She carried him to the wall and bent down. There was a bit of wallpaper torn away. She lifted her fingers, grabbed it and pulled it so that it ripped some more. She heard a gasp behind her and Freddie spoke up.
“That’s wallpaper Papa put up just for Raymie. It’s his favorite color. He’s gonna be mad.”
Ella continued to rip the wallpaper off, feeling a bit of nervous excitement flow through her. She lowered Carl to the floor and ripped even more down. Behind the green wallpaper, there were pages and pages of newspaper. The section that had caught her eye read in big bold letters Jim Smiley and his Jumping Frog. Someone had covered the wall with an old New York Saturday Press from 1865. She was shocked that it was still readable after all the years that had passed.
“We can start now if you like.” She looked back to smile at the four boys. Their eyes had widened, and they looked at the wall curiously. “I can read this story to you. It’s a very interesting story about a man and his jumping frog. Would you like for me to read it to you?”
“Yes, yes, Miss Ella!” Freddie was the first one to respond, and his brothers followed suit quickly. Even Raymie had regained his composure and came over to look at the words on the wall.
An hour later, Andrew came through
the front door and stood still for a moment. The house was quiet. It was never quiet. He looked around suspiciously, noticing the broken vase that had been partially cleaned up. He glanced down the hallway and then up the stairs nervously.
“Boys?” he called out and took the stairs up two at a time. The first door to the right was Raymie’s so he swung it open.
He didn’t expect to see his four sons sitting on the floor surrounding Ella. Carl was once again on her back. She appeared to be reading from papers they had ripped down from the wall.
“What is going on?”
Freddie was the first one on his feet to run toward his father.
“Papa!” he called out excitedly. “Mama Ella is teaching us to read! She says we don’t have to go to the schoolhouse if we don’t want to and that she’ll teach us right here. But I want to go to the schoolhouse, papa, that’s where other kids are! And Raymie wants to be a banker, papa! He does!”
With that, the other three boys approached their father and started talking all at once.
“Whoa, my sons!” Andrew laughed. He gestured for Ella to come to him, as well. She got to her feet and approached slowly. He noticed she looked nervous and shook his head, reaching out to touch her cheek and brush a loose strand of hair away from her face, gently pushing it behind her ear.
“Is this true? You would like to teach my sons? You don’t mind being here with them all the time?”
She shook her head. “Not at all, Andrew. I would be proud to teach them. They are lovely boys, you know.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You are the first to say that, my dear. I am glad. I am very glad.” He pulled her into a hug that she didn’t expect. She put her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest with a sigh. Tingles covered her when he whispered in her ear. “Do you think you can take a grouchy old man and fall in love with him, too?”
She looked up at his deep green eyes and had to admit it. “Yes,” she said. “I think I already have.”
“I have been distant,” he said in a low voice.
“I have been watching. You are a good father and a good man with plenty to be concerned about. You work hard for these boys. They know it and so do I. I am proud to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m so happy to hear that, Ella. I really am.”
He lowered his head and gave her a kiss, which she returned. It was the warmest, best kiss she had ever had. And it was only the beginning.
*****
THE END
Big Bad Professor: An Older Man and a Virgin Romance
CHAPTER ONE: Audrey Ross
I chewed on my thumbnail and hit the browser’s refresh button again. Dammit! The page showing my midterm grades still hadn’t updated. I was a nervous wreck, sitting on my bed with my legs and fingers crossed. I kept hitting the refresh button on my laptop every ten seconds, waiting for the midterm grade to be posted so I could finally exhale.
My iPhone buzzed and I took my eyes off the computer long enough to glance at the screen. It was my BFF Rachel calling again. She knew I was on pins and needles about my grades and had been trying to get me to come to Lenny’s, the off-campus dive bar where the Trent State football team hung out. The night would involve lots of beer, loud partying, drunken dancing, and, if you were Rachel, sex with her boyfriend, Duke, the captain of the football team, most likely in the backseat of his car.
“Come blow off some steam with us,” Rachel pleaded the first two times she’d called. “Stop worrying so much about your grades and come have some fucking fun!”
That sort of thing worked for Rachel, but I wasn’t Rachel, not even close. I cared about my grades. I never drank or partied. I had two left feet, so I never danced. And I wouldn’t be having sex with anyone any time soon. In fact, I’d never had sex. I had never even come that close. I was probably the only twenty-two-year-old virgin on the Trent State campus.
It wasn’t that I was averse to having sex or that I was saving myself for marriage or anything so noble as that. No, the truth was, I had the desire. I’d just never had the chance.
I’d been dating the same boy since the tenth grade and he didn’t believe in sex before marriage. Danny Dickie was the son of a Baptist preacher back home in Orlando. He was a senior at Laughton College all the way on the other side of the state now, getting a degree in history (yawn). His goal in life was to teach middle school history. I’ll say it again: he wanted to teach middle school history. How incredibly boring was that?
I had no idea why I’d stayed with Danny so long. I mean, he barely believed in making out. I probably hadn’t had his tongue in my mouth more than a dozen times in six years. And I’d never had his hands on my tits or his finger in my pussy.
God forbid that happen! Fire and brimstone, oh my!
The few times I got Danny alone and tried to throw myself at him, he acted like the devil himself was trying to grab hold of his cock.
“Come on, Danny, you know you want it,” I whispered as we sat in the back of his dad’s Buick the night of our senior prom. I was rubbing his thigh and pressing my boob against his arm. “Just let me touch it. If you let me touch yours, I’ll let you touch mine.”
“Gee, I dunno, Audrey.”
“Just let me touch your cock and you can put a finger in my—”
I grabbed his cock and he shot out of the car like a race horse bolting out of a racing chute. I remember squeezing my knees together as he silently drove me home and then asked me to please get out of his father’s car.
He didn’t even walk me to the door.
I think it was because he had a big stain on the front of his pants that I’d caused. Oops! Sorry...
I think that was the night I learned to masturbate.
My fingers and I had since been best friends.
I hadn’t had much luck with guys in college, either. Of course, I still considered myself spoken for with Danny, but I was starting to think that I’d wasted six years of not getting laid for nothing.
I’d see Danny at home during spring break. If he didn’t have the balls to break up with me, I guess I’d have to take his balls in hand and do it myself.
I did have one hot and heavy make-out session with a boy named Victor something-or-other at the Trent State homecoming dance last year.
Rachel introduced me to Victor. He was a friend of whichever football player she was dating, i.e. fucking, at the time.
Victor wasn’t that good looking, but he was nice and courteous and I could feel his cock pressing against me as we slow danced to an old Madonna song.
I liked the way his cock felt, semi-hard, rubbing against my belly. The more we danced, the more it rubbed and the harder it got.
Rather than pulling away, I pulled Victor closer so his cock would press into me even more. I remembered him sighing into my ear. I remembered how wet my panties were, how stiff my nipples were, how determined I was to lose my virginity.
There was a longing deep inside me that Victor was bringing to the surface. I think I kissed him first, and then he kissed me back, and then I dragged him off the dance floor and into a janitor’s closet down the hall from the gym where the dance was being held.
We were making out like crazy. I was groping him. He was trying to grope me, but his hands kept missing their mark. Rachel told me later that Victor had never had sex either. It was a case of the blind leading the blind. Or the blind trying to fuck the blind.
It made sense now. Because just about the time his hand found my tit under my shirt and my hand found his cock bulging in his jeans, he shot his load right then and there against my hand.
I heard him grunt and suck air in through his teeth, and then I felt his cock pulse as it emptied its load of jizz all down his right leg.
Victor looked at me with horrified eyes and said, “Oh shit.”
He ran away, leaving me there with my mouth hanging open and my tits hanging out of my bra.
It was a sad attempt at losing my virginity.
I thi
nk it pretty much scarred me for life, because I haven’t even tried to get laid since.
My fingers and I are now closer than ever.
* * *
I knew Rachel wasn’t worried about her English Lit. grade. She never worried about grades because she didn’t have to. Rachel was not only more sexually active than me and most girls at Trent. She was also probably smarter than most of us as well. Heck, she was the smartest person I knew. And she had way more sex than most girls. I thought only the dumb girls fucked around a lot. Evidently not, because Rachel regularly made the dean’s list and had had sex with most of the football team and a few professors.
I loved her like a sister, but I must admit, I was jealous of Rachel in more ways than one.
The only grade I was really nervous about was English Lit. 105. It was a required class my senior year as a business major, and if I failed the class I would have to take it over again in the summer and pass it, or else I would not graduate in the fall.
Rachel sat next to me in Mr. Hollander’s English Lit. class, and even she said the class was the hardest one she’d ever had to take. She also said that Mr. Hollander was the hottest teacher at Trent, but he also had the reputation of being the biggest asshole when it came to giving students any leeway on grades.
He didn’t give makeup work and he didn’t grade on a curve. “You get the grade you earn,” he had said at the beginning of the semester. “Period. End of story. Don’t bother whining to me because I hate whiners.”
Well, if I didn’t get at least a B on this midterm, I would earn a D in the class. Maybe even an F. I’d never gotten an F in anything and had no desire to start now.
The problem was that I hated English Lit. I know, crazy. It was literature, not rocket science, but the topic bored me to tears. I thought it was because of my attention deficit disorder. I had a hard time focusing on some things, and English Lit. was one of those things.
