My Dirty Little Tale

Almost all of us have something in our past we're ashamed of. Not necessarily something we wish hadn't happened, or even something we wouldn't want to repeat. Somewhere buried deep inside us, prodded by the twin demons What if and If only, squeaks a tiny voice of guilt. Most of us choose to ignore it.

My memory of that night is as sharp as a fresh bee sting, and, in truth, most of the events in that room were as unstoppable and inalterable as spent cum. I savor its memory; for me, it was the hottest of wet dreams come true.

I remember it as though it happened today. I was a freshman in a New England college, home for a week because my brother had been killed in Providence, an innocent bystander in a drive-by shooting. I met Vinnie at the funeral, and once I ditched the family, we hung together just like old times, me and my bud, smoking and reliving our past childhood 'crimes'. Over a couple of his dad's pilfered Coors, he told me about his uncle's motel and the latest hot gossip filtering down through our old high school. He fed me the latest dirt on our old nemesis, Vice Principal Hardon, but mostly he sang the praises of some sweet young thing teaching music at the high school. Voice and chorus, I think. Miss Debra Prissi. Vinnie's younger brother, Tony, has the voice of an angel, and I gathered Miss Prissi had been coming to the house for a little private tutoring. Somehow, Vinnie made it a point to be around whenever she was due for Tony's lesson. According to Vinnie, she was a real looker, and in a ton of trouble.

Vinnie didn't know exactly what she'd done to get in so much trouble with Mr. Hardon, but it must have been pretty serious for her to agree to his demands. Rumor had it she'd been caught getting fucked by the French teacher. Good old Vice Principal Hardon must have caught them, and decided he wanted in. Picturing her in my memories, I would've wanted to get into Miss Prissi too.

It doesn't really matter what she did to warrant Hardon's blackmail, or whether the whole thing was a trumped- up charge just to get into her panties. I don't give a flying fart. The fact is, Vice Principal Hardon set up a rendezvous at this little seedy out of the way motel called Whispering Shadows. Miss Prissi was to meet the vice principal after school for a little "private discipline". The thing is, Vinnie's uncle owned the crappy motel, though he'd pretty much forgotten it existed. Vinnie had a weekly thing going on with the divorced woman manning the motel desk at night, and when he wasn't banging her brains out, he'd gotten Mr. Hardon's room number, and a duplicate key. Miss Prissi was due to arrive first, enter the room, and make herself pretty for her lord and master. Like she wasn't a walking wet dream already. According to Vinnie, she was due at the motel by eight pm. By seven-ten, I was hidden in the room, waiting. Vinnie had hoped to be there too, but I developed some new habits after I moved away, and one of them is-- I don't like to share. So let's just say, Vinnie and I had a falling out. He eventually saw my point. The middle-aged woman in the office--not that bad to look at when she let her hair down--wouldn't be bothering us either. When I left her, she was pretty tied-up, though I imagined things had quieted down and she was just hanging around, waiting on my return. I'd managed to bang her brains out once or twice myself, so I figured she'd be dead tired and quiet.

There were two sagging beds in the room, worn-out old smelly things, no doubt covered with old cum stains, blood, and snot. Probably crawling with bugs. Obviously, Richard Hardon meant to teach his wayward teacher a lesson, and keep it private. I separated the twin insomnia-inducing horrors, positioning the second bed so I'd have a clear view of the room, and anyone coming in would definitely chose the other bed. Just to be certain, I stripped off the moth-eaten bed spread off my choice, got rid of the pillows, and added a little more flavor to the ratty mattress. I've never met a woman liked the stink of fresh piss.

I'd barely wriggled myself into a comfortable position under the offensive bed, readied the video camera Vinnie had been good enough to give me after our change in plans, when I heard a small car pull into the empty parking lot, and grind to a halt just outside the motel room's peeling door.

I heard Miss Prissi before I ever saw her. Debra--I figure I've seen enough of her to call her that. Anyway, I heard her crossing the cracked and gravely parking lot before I saw her. From my hidden lair beneath the bed, I heard the sharp tapping of her high heels on the old asphalt, steadily coming closer until she reached the battered door. No, it wasn't number thirteen. Nine as in sixty-nine, asshole. You gonna listen, or what?

Anyway, she stopped outside the door as though uncertain whether she wanted to enter or not. I half expected her to bolt, and ruin the fun. But finally I heard her fumbling with the keys--she dropped them at least once--and the room's puce green door creaked open. A couple more minutes--I figured she was standing in the partly opened doorway, surveying the motel room in disgust, and deciding whether to run or not. Finally, she seemed to make up her mind, hissed in disgust, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I slithered forward, deciding I wanted a good long look. There she was, Miss Debra Prissi, high school music teacher, literally backed against the grimy wall, looking good enough to eat. I swear, I almost came in my pants.

When I close my eyes I can still see Debra Prissi leaning against that shabby motel room door, the uneasy look of a trapped fawn plastered across her lovely features. If I'd thought about it then, I might've agreed with my friend Vinnie-- she must've done something really bad to have agreed to come to that cesspool. She looked so thrilled to be there, waiting on her "date".

Did I mention she was drop-dead gorgeous--a fucking wet dream come true? Not a big woman--five three, maybe four, with long dark red hair pinned up in back with some fancy jeweled banana clip. Big blue grey eyes, a fine sculptured nose, and full pouting lips begging to be kissed. God, I wanted to. Yeah, a small woman, but curvy, with plenty of tit and ass. A real fucking wet dream.

She must've come direct from school because her hair was still restrained, and the demure clothes she wore had a distinct teacher look. She wore a small pair of rimless eyeglasses perched on the bridge of her narrow nose--it was only later I'd realize how badly she needed those.

"This is really disgusting. How stupid can you be, Debra, agreeing to this," she berated herself. Lifting the large shopping bag she'd been holding like a protective shield against her front, she plopped it on the nearest cheap blond table, and removed a bottle of red wine and two plastic glasses. Pouring herself a glass, she downed the wine in three gulps, and immediately poured herself another. It was pretty obvious if she was meeting Dick Hardon here, and submitting to his whims, she intended on doing it shit-faced.

Debra clip-clopped across the dingy room, and after searching the grimy wall for a moment, clicked on the dull bathroom light. I could see the mound of dead flies clustered in the bottom of the crappy light bowl from where I waited. I thought of my video camera for the first time, and turned it on, praying Debra wouldn't hear me as I adjusted the unfamiliar controls. It wasn't as though Vinnie had told me how to use the damned thing. I had Debra in sharp focus for a second, and then she blurred out, the decrepit bathroom springing forth in crystal clarity. Jeez! No wonder the motel's management kept the room lighting dim. Apparently, Miss Prissi agreed with me, cause she stalked out of there pretty quick, a look of frustrated disgust distorting her face.

"I'm not washing up in there! He can just go fuck himself! Gross--God, it's just so gross!" She stormed into the room, and plopped on the cleaner of the two pitiful beds. "There are old turds floating in the toilet, for Christ sakes! Why was I so stupid to agree to this!"

I heard her crying then--one quick peek at her tear- streaked face proved me right. Part of me wanted to come out from under the bed and comfort her. I was such a sentimental slob back then. Another part of me wanted to--

She downed the second tepid glass of wine, and poured herself a third, draining that in one continuous gulp. I was right-- she planned on being shit-faced.

Debra sat there a moment, finishing her cry, as the empty plastic cup toppled unmissed from her jittery hand, bounced off the pointed tip of one strappy pump, and rolled under the sagging bed to join the dust dinosaurs.

Debra sighed heavily, looked at her tiny gold watch, and visibly sagged. Seeming to recover, she sat up straight, and unbuttoned the first three pearly buttons to her sleeveless dress. Then, lifting her skirt, she began tugging off her silk panties. Laying those on the bed, she got up, quick enough to make the rusty springs whine, and her voluptuous body swayed awkwardly. She pulled her own facecloth, towel, and soap from the shopping bag, and clopped back into the bathroom--I assume to wash up. I waited until she closed the door and I saw the feeble light peeking out under the door, before I slithered out from under the bed and snagged her pale yellow panties. Hey--they'd been next to her sweet body all day long. Don't look at me like that. We all keep mementoes.

She came back into the room minutes later, grabbed a stylish makeup case from her large teacher's handbag, and strode purposely back into the bathroom.

"Well, Debra, my dear--it's show time. Time to play, Save your fucking job."

Popping on the dim-watted light again, she slammed the bathroom door, or would have, if the cheap hollow thing hadn't been so warped.

Me--I checked the video footage I'd already shot--drooled--and proceeded to check over the few other things I'd brought with me. I had plans.

I was trying to decide if I might step things up a little bit, and screw the tardy third party completely out of his bit of perverted fun. In fact, I was actually starting to wriggle out from under the bed when I heard the door open.

Dick Hardon stalked into the small motel room like a pissed- off shark.

I wriggled back into my hideaway just in time, lying there in the dark, trying to quell the racket of my hammering heart, while I waited for Mr. Hardon to announce his presence.

Instead, vice principal Hardon grew instantly silent, looking quickly around the room--noting Miss Prissi was definitely there when he spied her waiting purse and shopping bag. He turned back to the door, closed it as quietly as possible and locked it. Freezing like a statue for a second, he listened for the sound of the woman in the bathroom, and then quickly slithered to the dark closet Vinnie had intended to use. What the hell was Dick up to?

I didn't wonder long. My answer walked out of the bathroom with fresh makeup and subtle changes to her teacher attire. Debra stared at her watch again as she crossed the room, frowned and huffed.

"Damn it, Hardon. You'd better show, asshole. This place reeks."

She moved around the room, turning on the trio of mis-matched lights, and giving me a good glimpse of the lovely woman Dick Hardon was about to enjoy.

Finished turning on every light in the room, Debra walked to the room's one window, yanked back the moth-eaten curtain covered with football team logos, and stared outside, looking for Mr. Hardon's Lexus SUV. Of course, she couldn't see anything as she'd pretty much blinded herself with the blaze of forty watt bulbs. Giving up with a curse, she let the curtain fall back with a shower of accumulated dust, and clopped across the threadbare carpet to plop on the bed in a disgusted huff.

She sat there a moment or two, looking sweet, and bored, and definitely on the verge of tears. In a couple more minutes, she positioned herself to have a good view of the room's door, took a purple iPod from her bag, and started listening to some twangy country music.

I know, because I heard Dickie boy hiss under his breath about her twangy shit-kicking crap.

Anyway, what our little Miss Prissi did next seemed to excite ol' Dickie. Me--I felt like Hoover dam was about to burst.

She started swaying and bopping to her music, really getting into it, even singing along with some of the numbers. No wonder the woman taught singing--shit, everybody sounds like crap when they've got earphones on and try to sing along with what's blasting in their ears. Not Debra Prissi. She sounded like a fucking angel. Damned fucking sexy, I can tell you.

Next thing we knew--Dick turd and me--she started touching herself. She was wearing one of those pretty flowery summer dresses--the low cut, sleeveless wispy kind that button down the front. You've seen them. Lots of the teachers wore them--but Miss Prissi made it look like the sexiest dress I'd ever seen. Anyway, she slowly began to unbutton most of the little pearly buttons, and brushed aside what I could see of some really dainty pale blue lingerie. The matching silk panties, she slid halfway down her shapely legs so she could --you know--masturbate.

Turned me on something fierce, and when I looked at Dick Hardon, peeking out of his closet, he had his huge prick out. My god, was that all him?

Yeah, for a few minutes our unholy trinity each saw to our own pleasures while my vid camera whirred on.

Miss Prissi must have come or something, cause she started jerking her fingers back and forth really quick and making these weird mewling sounds. Damn!

I didn't see the vice principal for a few minutes, but I sure heard him. Turned out, he'd drifted to the back of the closet, stumbled over some motel maid's forgotten uniform, and jerked himself off in the rolled up cotton. I know cause I've got the whole evening on tape, buried around here somewhere, and I've watched it more times than most people have seen Titanic or Avatar.

Anyway, Debra cleaned herself up with a wad of tissues--what didn't this woman have in her over-sized bag--and buttoned herself up. I'd say she made herself pretty again, but she never ceased being gorgeous. Still, like most women, she tried to improve on perfection. Rising off the bed with a creaking protest of rusty springs, she checked herself out in the room's cracked and fly-spattered mirror, making a few quick adjustments to her dress, and freshening her makeup. Another quick glance at her watch, and another irritated stare out into the pitch black night.

"Come on, Hardon--I don't have all night. I want to get this done and over with, you prick. This dump gives me the creeps. Where the hell are you, Richard?"

Now, while Miss Prissi stared blindly into the dark and threw her pouty little tantrum, the object of her toe-tapping anger wasn't exactly idle. Old Dickie boy came sneaking out of his closet lair, quiet as the Navy seal he used to be, and slithered right up behind his unsuspecting teacher.

Dick Hardon waited until Debra finished turning on her iPod again and began singing along with some trash about a jilted truck stop waitress. I've never been one for the weepy angst-filled twangers that seem to croon out forever from Nashville. Give me some Grunch or death metal every time. Anyway, Debra got into her tunes and started singing along.

She never knew what hit her; Dick Hardon was that fast.

Now, I hope I haven't been giving you the impression the vice principal was some chinless, balding, three hundred pound goblin. No way! Richard Hardon was a former Navy seal who'd seen lots of action in the first Iraq war. He must stand some six feet something, with dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and the type of sculptured features you don't see unless you're fond of the drawings of Charles Dana Gibson. Richard Hardon would definitely fit Gibson's hero, to Debra's more famous Gibson Girl. Besides doing quite well on the salary of a vice principal and his ex-military paycheck, Richard Hardon had been our high school's football coach forever. Rumor was, he could still outplay any five of the team's key players, and our high school's team hardly ever lost a game. He could've had any of the female school teachers he wanted. Shit, he probably could've had most of the good-looking women of the town. Apparently however, he hadn't managed to charm our Miss Prissi. I was betting when Hardon finally made his presence known, Debbie was going to turn on him, claws out, like a spitting hellcat.

So if you thought Dickie boy was a troll, you're wrong. Me and Vinnie--we were the trolls. Geeks, Nerds, total freakazoid outcasts--you get the picture. Weak chins, beer guts, stinky pits, zits galore--sexy, drop-dead handsome hunks we're not. Though very few people seem to ever really see us, there's always one of us around somewhere. Unwanted, and alone. So fucking alone.

* * * * *

Dick picked his moment with deliberate care, waiting until both of Debbie's arms dropped down below her chest. He struck! Both his strong hands dove down over her shoulders and fastened on her plump breasts like an eagle's talons.

Debra's melodious voice rose to a blood curdling shriek. She began to squirm like a hooked eel, iPod flying, buds and all, skittering into hiding beneath the sagging bed with the wine glass and dust dinosaurs.

Trying to wriggle free, Debbie wrenched one of Dick's hands off, but the other remained clamped to her breast tight as a barnacle, and all her squirming did was tear open the front of her dress.

"Let me go! Dammit!" As she flailed about, she finally got a look at her attacker. "It is you, asshole! You scared me half to death, Richard! This was never part of our agreement."

"Don't make such a big deal out of this, Deb."

"You scared the shit out of me, and tore my new dress in the bargain, Hardon. You suck!"

"Oh, fucking chill out, sweetheart. New dress, my ass--I've seen you wear this rag a dozen times in school."

"I'm not made of money-- like you. You try living on my teacher's salary. Besides, you specifically told me to wear this dress, Richard."

"So I could tear it off your luscious body, silly. Part of my game. All right, all right. I'll buy you a new fucking dress. But first you've got to do something for me, babe."

"Miss Prissi, to you, jerk."

"You know, you've been a very bad little girl, Debra. It's not often I have to punish one of my teachers."

I perked up at this, and so surprisingly, did Miss Prissi. I figured she'd guessed what she'd have to endure as her punishment, had resigned herself to it, and was damned anxious to get it over with.

Mr. Hardon spent a few minutes reminding Miss Prissi why she was being punished--I couldn't hear exactly what he said, and frankly, I didn't give a shit.

As soon as Mr. Hardon told Miss Prissi what her punishment was, she began to obey--right before my camera. Feeling myself grow painfully erect, I promised myself I wouldn't drool.

I tend to lie a lot.

Sensing I was about to witness the main event--what I'd spent the last hour hiding under a urine-soaked bed to see--I kept silent as an empty grave, and just let the good times roll.

Mr. Hardon was all heart. After an initial gawk and grope, he told Miss Prissi she could do up three buttons on her dress--just to keep the professional teacher's image, I guess. Of course, the three buttons he allowed, hid nothing interesting.

When Dick Hardon laid on the charm, telling Debra how pretty she looked, and how she really was his favorite among his teachers, she tried to kiss him. He shoved her away--grumbling about lipstick smears or something.