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  • Ms. Brown Pt. 02

Ms. Brown Pt. 02

12

*It's only been three and a half years since the first part, so here's the second. Everyone involved is over 18.*

*****

I graduated with reasonable marks, but nothing special. Certainly not enough to get into the prestigious schools my aunt had hoped for. I was bored of education by the end of secondary anyway, and more importantly, just bored of thinking. The summer was strange. A heat wave set in around late June, cicada-strung and so humid you could barely move. My aunt, as she always did, set off for Europe as soon as the semester was over. She invited me with her, but I couldn't bear the thought of hopping from sight to sight and staying in hotels for two months, with no one for company but her. She shrugged in her usual way and told me it was fine, I could do what I wanted, but if I wasn't going to school in September then I must start earning money. And that was it, I was graduated from the bubble of school into the real world.

Of course, it's not like I was thrown out on the street. She set me up with a caretaker position at the school, and I was mowing lawns as I watched my plaid-skirted former classmates file out one by one through the gate, sly smiles and furtive waves as they walked out of my life forever. They were onto bigger and better things, entering the world of higher learning and higher potential. And there I was, in a wife-beater and covered in sweaty axle grease, attempting to look dignified.

A couple weeks after the end of the term the teachers left too. The nuns stuck around, but kept to themselves. And worst of all, she who'd been dodging my conversations and eye contact since that day we were together, Ms. Brown, was staying the whole summer to work in the library on archives. Not only was she the only woman on the grounds, she was an achingly beautiful and intelligent one, who'd not two months previously touched me in a way no other had done before. So I was left with the permanent groundskeeper McCreary for company, an ancient drunk Irishman who said only two things: "Yeah lad, that'll about do." and "No, I don't think so."

I spent the summer working hard, harder than I ever had. I wasn't making much, but being that my room and board were taken care of and I'd nothing else to do, all my money was spent on the pubs. McCreary and I would go down every night after locking up the equipment, without bothering to shower, through the dense woods and down the long gravel road to the village at the center of the local valley. When I first went to that pub, the Stag Lounge as it was called, they asked me for identification every time. At the end of the summer, either through familiarity or the setting in of a drunken disposition, no one in the village asked me for a card.

After a bit, growing tired of McCreary's company and the steep markup at the Lounge, I started in with buying whole bottles of whisky at the shop and just bringing them home. I'd putter about in the afternoon as the sun set, watching the old castle on the hill, imagining Ms. Brown alone up there with her head buried in old books, and I thought about her round cheeks and big breasts and sexy eyes, and as it went dark I'd settle down with my whisky in the easy chair by McCreary's fire, and drink until I fell asleep. Sometimes I'd walk around the village late at night, punching postboxes and streetsigns and whatever I could find. I'd show up at the pub after all the shops were closed, and before serving me the concerned waitress would ask, "What happened to your hands?" and I'd notice they were bleeding. Most days I'd wake with a blinding headache, but, "Lad, that'll do, work to be done." And I'd get up in spite of it, shake and vomit it off, and work all day in the sun.

As September came around, I was resigned to the idea that I'd never be anything more than a Catholic caretaker, and would eventually go as white and stooped as McCreary, and shuffle around the lawns sipping from a small flask and scowling at the schoolgirls. It seemed like a foregone conclusion, and I spent that whole Fall semester embracing the idea, drinking more and more, and ignoring the girls with their books and skirts and all the fantasies I'd had of fucking them, and the teachers up in their high halls.

Christmas rolled in, and with it tremendous banks of snow. Most of the girls went away for a few weeks in December, and about half the teachers as well. Some faculty brought their families in, and for a few strange weeks you'd see toddlers running about in the sleet with bright red faces, and whole families on the hill, instead of the usual lonely and solitary folks about their business and education. And then the day after Christmas, I came to work and McCreary was lying pale on his easy chair, staring up at the ceiling.

I stood watching for a minute. And then I walked over to him, and the air was so cold it hurt to breathe. His fire had gone out some time in the night.

"McCreary?"

No answer. I detached a frozen arm to shake him.

"McCreary, wake up."

But he would not.

***

My aunt was still in Montenegro when we had McCreary's funeral. As per his will he was buried on the campus cemetery, and being as most of the faculty and students were still away, it was a fairly sparse and sombre affair. A few teachers looking confused, as most had never spoken to the man and so didn't exactly know who he was, a few attached children crying in the cold and asking to go home, myself quite drunk and not trying to hide it, and then off on the side, Ms. Brown, the only one who seemed genuinely sad.

As the casket squeaked on metal pulleys into its plot, Ms. Brown held a mittened hand up to her scrunched up face. I did my best not to stare, but it was hard not to. She was so beautiful, standing there in the snow all parka'd up and trying not to cry. And this woman who meant so much to me, who took me in her hand and gave me something no one else had, and then shunned me and forgot about me-

Anger and sadness. And unbelievable tenderness. Of course she never looked at me, throughout the funeral, and right after crept back up the hill with all the other mourners, as the grounds darkened and I was alone, the new McCreary. And would my funeral be as insincere and unpopulated? I went home and got very drunk.

***

It was the last day before the semester, and the day I turned nineteen. Students were trudging back in, forlorn and resigned to another semester and exams. Much of the snow had melted and the weather conditions were improving. And I was pissed.

I was both drunk and incredibly angry. The funeral had stirred up too much within me. The night after I'd moved into McCreary's house and no one stopped me. Here I was, so far from what I had envisioned for my nineteenth birthday, so far from anything I'd ever wanted. So far from the bright and eager boy that had drawn Ms. Brown's attention. I must have, right? I must have meant something, for her to do what she did.

I ran over all the possibilities in my head a thousand times, getting drunker and drunker. Getting so angry at this beautiful woman, so angry at this woman who I knew more and more was my first love. I loved her, and she spurned me. I finished my bottle, and wobbling upright from McCreary's chair, I smashed it against the wall and came to an absolute conclusion. She was going to talk to me, whether she wanted to or not.

It was a struggle to get my coat on over my stiff arms, and then to disentangle my hood from my shirt, and then my laces from inside my boots, until I gave up on the entire process and stomped out into the melting snow with half my clothing falling off. Crossing the lawn the sun off the snow was a bit blinding. I shielded my eyes with an arm, but this caused me to lose my balance and faceplant into the slush. When I rose I looked around, and saw a few groups of girls staring at me. The new ones I didn't recognise, and they were a bit frightened. Those that knew me from when I was still a student here seemed more concerned. Doesn't matter, I thought, and shook it off.

I hadn't been back into the school since I graduated, and for a moment it took my breath away, standing in the lobby steaming and dripping. It was a very old institution, and when I thought about it then, quite elegant. One of the many things I never appreciated at the time. But I was on a mission.

It took a moment to remember where Ms. Brown's English class was, and I flung open a few doors to surprised teachers before getting there. As it turns out she wasn't in her class, and as such it was locked. I banged the wall hard with my fist, and turned and slid down the door. My head was spinning, and for the first time I considered what I was doing, how it would look.

"Are you alright?"

I looked up. It was one of the octogenarian nuns, I couldn't remember her name. I closed one eye to keep her in focus.

"Yeah, just fine."

She nodded and began to turn, but I reached out and grabbed her cold wrist.

"Do you know where Ms. Brown's office is?"

She looked at me for a moment, with something like caution.

"I'm the groundskeeper. Official business," I explained.

She nodded severely. "Yes, follow me."

The nun led me around a corner and up a wide stone flight of stairs, past a group of shy eyed and staring girls, and at the landing she turned and motioned down a half lit hall.

"Her office is at the end there, on the left."

I thanked her and she nodded, before returning down the stairs. The girls were still staring. I decided to ignore them, and began down the hall. It was one of the older wings of the building, all wood and blown plate glass windows. A faint light flickered from an open door where the nun had pointed. I swallowed and felt much more sober.

It felt like an eternity coming to that door, peeking around the edge, and there she was. Ms. Brown, hair tied behind her head, wearing a thick shaggy jumper. I was about to clear my throat when her eyes turned toward me and she nearly jumped out of her chair.

"Sorry," I croaked.

She continued to stare, mortified. Then she closed her eyes and swallowed, sighing deeply.

"It's alright, Ryan. Just don't scare me like that."

I watched her, and after a moment, she watched me. This wasn't going at all like I'd planned. I'd wanted to come up there shouting, telling her off and explaining all the wrong she'd done me. But instead I stood there swallowing like a little boy, just looking at her. Suddenly, I felt a tug on my tongue, and her eyes went wide.

"Oh, god, here..."

She slid out a bin from under her desk, and I bolted to it and threw up half my bottle of whisky.

"God, Ryan. Are you okay?"

I lurched and burped. Eventually, after spitting and wiping my mouth, I sat back against the wall and stared at her again. Even as she stared at me with a mixture of pity and disapproval, all I wanted in the world was to hold her.

"You left me alone," I mumbled.

Her eyes softened, and I think I saw some tears shimmer in the dim light. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and turned away.

"I know. I'm sorry."

The room was very quiet. Her lamp hummed. I could smell my sick. She turned back after a minute, with a serious face.

"Listen, you should go home. Get some rest. I'll come down later tonight."

I shook my head. "No, but,"

"I promise."

Her eyes were bright and wet. I nodded.

***

I woke shivering, with a bitter taste in my mouth. The room was dark, and wind howled outside. A terrible loneliness set up in my heart. I evaluated my options and eventually decided to get up. I dressed as quickly as I could, trying to rub some warmth back into my limbs. In the bathroom I took account of my appearance, and was a little shocked by how pale I was, how dark my eyes were. I brushed my teeth and gargled some mouthwash, then went into the kitchen. The stove clock said it was 23:12. In the fridge there was nothing but pepperoni and mustard. I couldn't stomach the idea, so I shambled into the front room and rekindled the furnace. Groaning I sat on McCreary's old easy chair, watching the warm glow grow and flicker about the room. It was only a minute before I fell asleep again.

A sharp rap on the window jerked me back awake. I turned and saw a pale figure there, framed in the spiralling snow. Then I remembered. I flung off my covers and stamped over to the door, and standing there Ms. Brown bundled up was looking up at me. Her eyes glanced inside, and I shook my head.

"Right, sorry, come in."

She stepped inside and knocked the snow off her boots as I slammed the door shut against the wind and snow. The draught had raised all the hair on my legs, and I realised that I was standing only in briefs and a jumper. I instinctively covered my bulge, but she was already by the fire, rubbing her hands. Crouched there in a parka with her little red hands, I'd never have thought she was twice my age. More like a pretty classmate I was trying to seduce.

I quickly retrieved my covers and sat on the chair shivering, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. She still hadn't turned from the furnace. But then she spoke, in a low and serious voice.

"I know what I did was wrong, Ryan."

I stopped rubbing my body for a moment, and even stopped shivering. Wrong? What was she talking about? Was jerking me off wrong, or was ghosting me wrong? She looked at me, eyes red from the flames.

"I was just scared. When I came to you like that in the toilets, I..."

She looked away again.

"It was for me more than you. And you were eighteen years old."

"Still an adult," I said.

Ms. Brown rose and walked over to me. She was much shorter and smaller than me, but somehow just full of confidence. "I'm thirty-six years old. I've been with a lot of men. Shit, I was married," and she laughed.

I stared up at her. "That's fine. I'm an adult now too. I work. I pay my way. The only difference is a few years."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you even know my first name?"

My breath caught. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn't. She nodded and turned away.

"Look, it never should have happened. That much is clear. But what's even more clear is that I shouldn't have handled it the way I did. I shouldn't have left you alone like that."

My eyes stung a bit, and I resisted the urge to cry. She stared at me a moment, and shook her head. Then she started for the door. But I wasn't going to let that happen. I leapt up, and grabbed her by the hand, twisting her around.

She gasped. "Let me go, Ryan. That hurt. Let me go."

"No. You don't get to treat me the way you did. You don't get to be the first woman-"

I choked for a moment, and she uncreased her brow.

"-the first woman to touch me like that, and then disappear and never speak to me again."

"God, Ryan, I didn't know. I didn't know that was your first time, I just assumed-"

"Well, you assumed wrong."

I let her go, and she gently lowered her wrist.

"Sorry for grabbing you."

She shook her head. "No, it's okay." I noticed her eyes drift down to my exposed briefs, where my cock was shriveled and hard from the cold, making a tiny pyramid.

"You should cover up, you look cold."

I looked at her funny, and she laughed and smacked my chest. "Not that! I meant you've got goosebumps all over!"

Without deciding anything, we both returned to the chairs by the furnace, and I wrapped myself tightly in my wool blanket. We were silent for a minute, and then I turned to her.

"Who was your husband?"

She was staring into the flames, and didn't respond for a moment. Then, startled out of some dream, she shook her head and looked at me. "Oh, um. We met in university. We were married for three years, and then we both decided that we wanted other things."

I nodded. "Any other boyfriends since then?"

She crossed her arms and slouched a bit. "Uh, a few. You know."

"And since we... since we, you know?"

Ms. Brown jerked her head toward me. "Look, let's just, let's just not go down this path. We've had really different lives. Christ, I'm almost twice your age. If you're asking, do I have a boyfriend right now, then the answer is no."

I hung my head and rubbed my legs a bit.

"Oh, and my name is Sarah," she said beaming.

***

Sarah and I spoke for hours, and little by little the logs broke down and went out, and the windows filled with grey signals of dawn. Both of us began to shiver. It was when my teeth started chattering that she suddenly looked at me and shook her head.

"Alright, I really ought to be going back up now. I have a class today at 11:30. Oh, god!" She buried her face in her hands and laughed. After a minute she rose and made for the door.

"Please just stay a bit? You have no idea how lonely I am here."

Sarah stared at me, and then her feet, long brown hair coming down around her face. I thought she was going to leave. And then, without warning, she unzipped her parka and shed it on the floor. I was still in a state of shock as she removed her jumper after that, leaving only a faded blue shirt beneath it, and slinking over to my chair. She looked at me expectantly for a minute, and then laughed. "Well, come on!"

My confusion must have been obvious, because she laughed again and motioned for me to follow as she disappeared into the hall. Still wrapped in my wool blanket I tracked her, and caught a glimpse of auburn hair whipping around the doorframe of my room. My heart thundered in my chest, and as I stumbled around the corner and saw her on my bed, I thought it would beat right out of my chest. I'd need a new heart at this rate.

There Sarah Brown lay, in nothing but her knickers, head resting in her hand as her great big beautiful eyes watched me. Her breasts weren't enormous, but they were pert and peaked by pretty brown nipples that puckered out agonizingly in the cold. I stood with my jaw agape, until she threw her head back giggling.

"Look, you have to come here with those covers right now, or I'm going to get frostbite on my tits."

I shook myself into action, and nearly fell onto her as my covers spread about the two of us like a cape. Suddenly I was very close to her. I could feel her hot breath on my face. Smelled it. Sort of like a cat's.

"Well this is nice," she chortled.

I nodded dumbly, and she smiled and shook her head, and then we were kissing. My first ever kiss. It was wet and confused, filled with starts and stops. She pulled back for a moment and brushed some hair out of her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm brilliant. Just, I don't really know how to kiss."

She chuckled, and pulled me in again. "You just, I don't know, you just kiss!"

I learned a bit, but wasn't entirely successful.

"It's okay, you'll have plenty of time to learn, you baby boy."

The term sent a jolt down my stomach to my cock, which I noticed right then was pressed up against her thigh. Almost as though on cue, she looked down and smiled. I realised I was still wearing my jumper, and sat back to pull it off, as Sarah watched me. She bit her lower lip and ran a hand across my abdomen. I began to shiver.

"Look, I'm going to get frostbite on my tits if we don't go under the covers," I said with a laugh, and she slapped me and pulled me down. We kissed again, and her cold hands roamed over my body, and I moved mine up her navel, daring ever closer to the promised land. She stopped and looked at me. I wasn't sure if I'd crossed a line, so I pulled my hands away. Then she laughed again, that interminable infuriating sexy laugh, and grabbed my right hand to firmly plant it on her tit, and that was all the direction I needed. I caressed around the flesh a while, marvelling in the soft but firm texture, then ventured to her nipple standing at attention, just thumbing and then rolling it between my fingers, and for the first time I heard her gasp, a real sexual provoked gasp that she couldn't control and that I caused. I almost nutted in my underwear.

12
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