The Tutor

Chapter 1

How many times have you seen similar headlines: ‘Teacher arrested for illicit affair with pupil’? It happens a lot these days, primarily because of social media. The pupil feels the need to boast, and someone who shouldn’t know gets involved, either through the post or the fact the idiot took pictures. That, I reckon, is 95% of the reason. The other 5% is sheer bad luck and somebody stumbling on you in a compromising situation.

It was easier in the past; no one needed to tell the world and their dog. Providing you were bloody damned careful; it was possible to enjoy the forbidden fruit of older teen pupils without the media mob or parents hauling you out with waving torches and pitchforks to tar and feather you (if you were lucky).

My name is Howard; it’s not my real name, of course; none of the names in this account are real, but there’s still a chance that one of my conquests might take it into her head to cause a stir. After all, look at the current witch-hunt in UK society over celebrity molesters.

Not that I’m a celebrity, no. I’m just an ordinary school teacher or school-master-cum-tutor as they were then known. I taught at St Winifred’s private Boarding School for girls and boys, and the period I’m referring to you was the 1960s, a time of significant social change.

I taught Mathematics up to sixth-form levels and beyond. I say taught because I’m retired, and about the most I can do now is move from a bed in a rest home to a chair in the lounge of the said rest home. Still, the body may be worn out, but the mind remains as sharp as a tack.

It wasn’t my first job, but the pay and perks were far superior to the public sector teaching roles my colleagues mostly aimed for. I had free room and board, a comparable wage, and the joy of working with some of the brightest and best in the academic system. Not that it was easy. The pupils were pushed hard, and the staff were expected to produce results, though the grapevine amongst teachers said there were problems along that line.

The school, for all it was a mixed gender intake, was also strictly segregated. The pupils were only allowed to mix during properly organised and supervised social events, save for the mandatory dance classes that taught them the basics for the social events. Other than that, the two sexes did not mix and rarely saw one another, even the break time quads being on opposite sides of the linked wings. Everything that could be done was done to prevent any scandal. In this day and age, it might look a little over the top, but that’s how it was in certain schools back then.

***

On Friday, I arrived driving my pride and joy, a nearly new Triumph Herald convertible parked in a vacant slot not too close to the linking wing where the school offices, assembly hall, gym, and a joint cafeteria were. I later saw that the two were separated by a barrier right through the middle, blocking the view across of either sex.

They say first impressions are important. If so, the impression I made on the receptionist must have been dire, as her contempt for the young (25-year-old) man standing politely in front of her was almost palpable.

“And what may I do for you... sir?” she eventually asked.

“I have an appointment with Mrs Goodfried, the headmistress, at ten sharp,” I replied politely, handing over the letter of my appointment as Maths teacher and for a preliminary induction.

“I have nothing here,” she almost sneered, tapping an appointment book with a single digit.

“Then may I suggest you check with Mrs Goodfried?” I replied.

“It’s Miss Goodfried! And I’m not to disturb her unless it’s urgent,” she huffed.

I checked my letter, and it definitely said Mrs, but I decided not to push the matter.

“Then I’ll wait until she’s free,” I replied, moving to one of the vacant seats near reception but in plain view of the office area.

I could tell the receptionist was not happy, but short of calling the police, she could not have me immediately removed from the premises. I merely sat for ten minutes until a woman of indeterminate middle age stuck her head out of one of the offices and looked me over.

“Are you Mr Howard?” she asked in precise tones.

“I am indeed,” I replied, inclining my head. I did not wish to get off on the wrong foot by correcting her on my name.

“Well, come on in. You’re late,” she replied, beckoning me into the office, the sign telling me that it was the office of Mrs Goodfried, Headmistress.

“I’m afraid your receptionist decided that as I wasn’t in the book, I was persona non grata,” I apologised.

Mrs Goodfried frowned, looked toward the receptionist and decided that that issue was something for later.

“Well, Mr Howard. You come highly recommended by the appointments committee, though I’m afraid I missed that interview due to ill health. Hence, I decided in lieu of that to see for myself what they had foisted upon me,” she started, looking very closely at me.

“I can assure you that my qualifications and references are all in order,” I replied.

“Yes, my issue is that you are rather young to be working here, not your somewhat admirable qualifications,” she stated.

“You’ll forgive me if I fail to see how this would affect my teaching methods and standards,” I replied, frowning slightly.

“The problem is the girls. I would by far prefer an older teacher to prevent them from being attracted by your youth and distracted from their studies,” she finally added with a frown.

“I believe I can cope and would be willing to accept a provisional appointment subject to review, say, after the first term. At that point, it should be obvious to scrutiny if I am succeeding,” I replied, my heart sinking slightly.

“I believe I can find that acceptable,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Finding a replacement at this late stage would be difficult anyway.”

At this point, I realised I would have to come across as God’s gift to maths to get my appointment approved beyond the first term. However, I still felt grateful to at least have a roof over my head, rather than have to move back in with my parents and the inevitable questions and squabbles over my ex-fiancée.

Mrs Goodfried pressed a button on her desk, and a second door to the office opened, and a young(ish) woman stuck her head into the office.

“Jennifer, could you assist Mr Howard in moving into the vacant rooms in the Lumley wing and provide him with the information necessary to find his way to his classrooms, offices, and the staffroom?” the headmistress requested.

“Of course, Mrs Goodfried,” Jennifer replied pleasantly. “Please follow me, Mr Howard. Do you have a car?”

“Yes... er,” I began.

“Please, you can call me Jennifer; everyone else on the staff does,” she replied with a smile.

“It’s Howard, Howard Smith, not Mr Howard,” I chuckled. “But I wasn’t going to correct Mrs Goodfried on that, not when she was looking for an excuse to dismiss me before I’d even started.”

“It’ll remain our secret. I’m afraid you’re Mr Howard whether you like it or not now,” she replied with a smile.

We reached the car, and I picked up my two cases before locking it again.

“All right to remain parked there?” I asked.

“Oh yes, just don’t park in front of the main doors to the offices, and you should be fine,” she replied as I followed her shapely rear, which was encased in an almost ankle-length skirt, into a secondary door and up a flight of stairs, cautiously noting that she wore a wedding band.

“This is the Lumley block. Only staff are allowed on these stairs; the girls use the central stairwell,” she informed me.

“Girls?” I queried.

“Yes, Lumley Block is the girls’ wing,” she added. I suspect that’s why Old Prune Face wasn’t too happy with you.”

“Ye Gods, I’m never going to be retained at the end of term,” I sighed.

“I shouldn’t worry. Just avoid a scandal, and I suspect she’ll forget all about you within a few days,” Jennifer replied with a sunny grin.

“Really?”

“Yes. She ties herself up in knots in a stupid boundary dispute between the school governors and the farm next door, which takes all her time. Neither side wants to go to court, but neither side will concede in the dispute, so there’s constant letter writing to each other, the local MP, and the local paper,” Jennifer explained.

“Oh, right,” I nodded.

“This is your room. It’s got a nice view, but it’s a bit small. A cleaner will change the bed linen once a week and dust, but any mess you make over and beyond what she considers normal will be reported... so don’t. You have a kettle, but if you bring food here, ensure it’s cleared away. Meals are served for breakfast, lunch and dinner in the canteen,” she explained.

“Right,” I acknowledged as I dropped my cases; she then led me to what she indicated would be one of my classrooms.

Fortunately, it was only one level down and had an office attached, where presumably I could store stationery and mark papers. The classroom was typical of its type, with rows of desks with attached chairs and an inkwell on each desk, though Jennifer commented that the pupils used fountain pens now.

“This is the girls’ math room,” she explained. “The boys’ one is in the Raby wing in the same position.”

“I take it I have to go to the ground floor and climb the opposite stairwell?” I asked.

“Yes, it’s the only connection,” she replied with a knowing smile. “If you need supplies, you can ring me on extension 02,” she added, pointing to the phone in the corner of the room. “It’s 9 to get the operator, but don’t; the harpy on the front desk will report you unless it’s a medical emergency.”

“Right,” I chuckled.

Jennifer took me to the other wing and showed me the classroom and office there. She also handed me a schedule for the classes I would take, which, other than Friday, meant I was in one wing or the other. Fridays, she explained, were set aside for individual tuition. I had to make my schedule for that, ensuring that if it was with one of the girls, I had another as a chaperone.

After that, we went back to the central section, where she pointed out the way to the cafeteria and to the staff common room on the ground floor, where I was introduced to the rest of the staff.

The room was packed, and I was obviously the youngest. Jennifer, whom I put at ten years my senior, being the next youngest by quite a margin. I had a knack for faces and names, which helped, but most were eminently forgettable, and the entire room, with one notable exception other than Jennifer, felt like God’s waiting room. The exception was Rupert, whom Jennifer introduced as her husband and the English Literature teacher. He was a tall, dapper man in his mid-forties, balding with a ludicrous comb-over and a thin pencil moustache; he was also, as a colloquial saying goes, ‘so camp you could set up tents on him’.

He greeted me with a ‘hello’ in a pronounced lisp and a very limp-wristed handshake, completely blanking his wife. He did invite me for tea in his cottage on the grounds, but I politely declined as I was fairly sure that Jennifer would not be in attendance. I may have been wrong, but I believed at the time, and later had it confirmed, that Jennifer was his ‘beard’ as a later description put it.

I decided then and there that unless I had a genuine need to be in the common room, I would avoid it like the plague, not because of Rupert, but because it simply sucked the life out of anyone who spent any time there.

After that, Jennifer bid me a cheery farewell and returned to her duties while I returned to my room to unpack before heading down to the cafeteria for lunch.

Here, I found I’d been designated a table with other tutors and teachers on the girls’ side, presumably to ensure that the correct decorum was maintained. Not knowing the etiquette, I followed the lead of one of the other teachers, Susan Hatchett, who clearly didn’t like my presence anywhere near her yet looked at a few of the older girls with longing eyes. I went to my seat at the head of my assigned table and stood there as a whistle blew and the girls (and boys presumably) were marched in, form room by form room, to the tables set aside for them, or rather some of them, I’d gathered from Jennifer that not all the pupils had arrived as yet, there were several day-stay as well as week-day-stay pupils. Term would begin on Monday, so I had Saturday and Sunday to entertain myself and prepare an initial lesson plan.

The girls, aged about eleven or twelve, stood at my table and were joined by an older girl wearing a prefect’s badge. Frank Parsons said grace to the muted hubbub of grace from the other side of the partition. Once done, there was a soft chime from near a serving hatch, and all sat save the prefects, who went off to the hatch to begin serving the food. Despite the clear regimentation, the food was reasonably good (for its time) and was served up quickly as the girls on my table all looked surreptitiously at me.

“You can call me Mr Howard,” I introduced myself. “And I don’t bite,” I finished with a chuckle as a low buzz of conversation began.

“Teresa,” the prefect introduced herself. “Um, what are you here to teach?”

“Oh, sorry, should have said. I’m the maths tutor,” I replied.

“Oh...” came a buzz of conversation from the table as the girls cautiously introduced themselves, and I memorised their names.

“Are you sixth form, Teresa?” I asked, looking her over and seeing a pretty blonde, blue-eyed young lady.

“Yes, rank has its responsibilities,” she replied with a slight smile.

“Like serving lunch,” I chuckled.

“Yes,” she said with a broader smile. “But only lunch; Trinny and Angela do breakfast and dinner, respectively.”

“And the reward?” I asked.

“We get to stay up late and can play music in our form room,” she replied.

“A generous deal indeed,” I said with a smile.

“It can get boring. There are no boys to dance with,” she giggled, then blushed as she glanced at me as the other girls all twittered and giggled as well.

“Oh, I’m sure the practice will come in handy later,” I replied as we steadily ate the light lunch before us.

I had to admit it was a pleasant time. The girls were obviously shy but nice to talk to. They soon extricated the fact that the Triumph Herald was mine and asked what it was like to ride in with the top down. I told them that if the weather was fine, riding in with the top down was one of the nicest things you could do, and I could tell a few at least wanted a go, particularly Teresa if her body language was to be believed.

Afterwards, it was plain that I was the topic of conversation amongst the sixth-form girls, at least judging by the number of glances I was getting and the crowd around Teresa.

As it was Friday, I decided to nip into the nearest town to a Lloyds bank, a quick five-minute journey and arrange for the transfer of my current account from my existing branch in Gateshead to be available at the local one, something I was told would take a couple of weeks. Once done, I wandered through the small town centre, identifying a tea shop, pub and the local park. I then popped into a small department store to purchase a record player before calling at the music store next door to get some records of what I knew were popular artists. I returned to the school with my purchases to drop them off in my room. It was apparent I was being observed from the windows on both sides. I did have the top down on the Herald to enjoy the early September sunshine and suspected I was making quite an impression.

Still, I had work to do and a lesson plan to make, so I headed down to my office in the girls’ wing to look at the books they were using. With a sigh, I realised they were still using the original Loney and Grenville’s ‘Arithmetic’ book and not anything that might assist them in algebra or calculus, which was almost sure to crop up in their exam papers, particularly at A-level standards. Indeed, a lot of the coursework for the girls (as opposed to the boys) reflected an expectation that women would have to become familiar with arithmetical requirements associated with cooking, not earning a wage, but with computing electricity and gas bills, also planning a budget and with the functions of the Post Office, not something the higher Universities wanted. Fortunately, there was enough leeway to bring together the girls' and boys' standards and hopefully garner a fresh approach that would lead to much higher standards and pass rates.

As my tale mostly concerns my activities with some of the girls, I’ll concentrate on them. However, my methodology, which included a lot of what were then new-fangled ideas but are now tried and trusted ways of teaching, produced some very astounding results, which brought the school to the attention of a much broader (and richer) vein of parents.

Still, it took several hours to devise a plan, and once the warning bell went off, I was ready for dinner.

It was precisely the same routine as lunch-time, exactly the same place and people, save for the prefect now being Angela, a shy ginger-haired lass with a mass of freckles over her face, though as I found out later, a figure that would, have been the envy of a Miss World. Not that the school uniform flattered any of the young ladies: an ankle-length baggy skirt, white blouse and thick cardigan, which was optional in the summer, hair was worn long or in a ponytail, no braids and definitely no make-up. It changed to a knee-length skirt after a few years, but it was the first change in over fifty years. The boys’ uniform didn’t change at all. The materials became lighter and the styles more modern, but white shirts and dark trousers were white shirts and dark trousers.

“So, what are you hoping to do once you take your exams?” I asked Angela, hoping to draw her out as I had now achieved with the eleven-year-olds who were quite happy chattering away.

“I’d like to become a doctor, but I’m not sure if my grades will be high enough,” she replied quietly, eyes downcast.

“Which grades need to be higher?” I asked, as I had a couple of other arrows in my quiver that I could teach at a certain level.

“Biology, and any one other,” she almost whispered.

“I’m setting up a study group to assist those who need help. I can certainly assist you in biology and maths if you’re willing to work hard,” I replied with a tentative offer.

“You could?”

“I can, yes, but you’d need a study partner,” I added.

“Trinny and Teresa would do it I’m sure,” she replied, her whole countenance brightening. “They both need maths and one of the sciences to make their grades good enough for a university place.”

“Well, I’ll be willing to help if that’s what you want. Think of it as payment for your charming company during dinner,” I jokingly chuckled.

Dinner ended shortly after that and the girls were marched off to their dorms and study rooms and I noticed Angela and Teresa in conversation with a dark haired young lady I presumed to be Trinny as they left to be locked up for the night.

Unlike the students, staff weren’t confined to quarters, so I decided to pop into town and have a drink at the local and see if I could get more info on the area. I rather doubted I’d find a woman, but you never know what life might bring.

I parked at the pub and was pulling over the cover for the convertible when a Morris Minor pulled in behind me and Jennifer stepped out.

“I thought it was you,” she greeted me.

“And you were right,” I chuckled.

“Just dropped Rupert off. He’s visiting his friends in London, won’t be back until tomorrow,” she explained.

“Not go with him?” I asked, though I suspected I knew the answer.

“We ... er, don’t see eye to eye ... on his friends, that is,” she prevaricated, slightly in my eyes.

“Well, would you care to join me in a drink?” I asked.

“Oh ... I never ... oh, thank you, yes,” she replied with a lovely smile.

“This won’t hurt your reputation, will it?” I asked.

“It would if anyone knew me,” she replied with a slight giggle. “Any staff here ... would probably understand.”

We went into the snug, not the bar where a woman’s presence was frowned upon, and I got her a port and lemon and myself a pint.

I asked, “Is there Anything I really ought to be aware of at the school on a personal level?”

“Well, despite running on an annuity, it's going slowly broke unless we can increase the intake somehow to make up the funding deficit,” she confessed.

“Yes, I can see why, judging from the maths textbooks for the girls,” I nodded. The rest of the staff are just marking their days until retirement and don’t care about the future.”

“Yes, that pretty much sums it up,” she sighed and sipped her drink.

“Well, I’m forming a study group and believe I can turn things around ... on the girls’ side, at least. That’s where a lot of the problems lie,” I explained.

“Well, if you can get our exam pass rate higher than 30% with the girls, I can use that when I send out the mailing shot to interested parents,” Jennifer replied, looking interested. “Other schools have a much higher pass rate.”

“I believe I can help there. Though I might need to ensure I’m not interfered with in the methodology,” I replied cautiously.

“To be honest, I doubt the rest of the tutors will bother; they certainly haven’t in the past. Plus, I’m sure I can keep you under the radar with those in charge,” she giggled, and I realised she was tentatively flirting with me.

“Yes, the last thing you want is for someone to interfere when you try something new. They often don’t approve,” I replied carefully, permitting her to further the flirtation.

“Story of my life,” she sighed, though I felt it wasn’t me she was talking to.

“Oh, I’m sure you can manage to get your way if you choose to,” I chuckled.

“Yes... I’m sure I could,” she said pensively, glancing at me sideways.

“Or keep it under the radar of those who don’t need to know,” I replied, looking directly at her.

“That would depend. I may need a co-conspirator to assist,” she stated, looking at me and running her tongue slowly over her upper lip.

“I’d be prepared to assist in any way possible,” I replied.

“Would you now?” she answered with a sly smile. “Oh, look at the time. I need to get home. Would you care to accompany me for a bedtime drink?” she finished with an offer I wasn’t going to refuse.

“I’d be delighted,” I replied with a smile.

It was a short drive just past the entrance to the school and into a driveway that led up to what I can only describe as a cosy country cottage, classic roses around the door, spic and span and utterly secluded type, usually only seen in movies. A single light burning above the door enabled Jennifer to unlock the door and let us into a beautifully decorated living room.

“Lovely,” I murmured.

“Yes, Rupert’s work,” she replied in wry tones.

Other than that, she looked slightly lost, so I stepped up to hold her in my arms and kiss her softly.

“Is this what you want, Jennifer?” I asked when our lips parted.

“Oh yes, only I’ve never done this with anyone else,” she whispered as my lips descended to kiss her neck and shoulders.

“Then let me lead the way,” I answered as I kissed her again and allowed my hands to wander over her body.

Jennifer’s arms were soon wrapped around me as she held me tight. Our lips locked together, our tongues gently boxing with each other.

“Follow me,” she finally said with a gasp and led me by the hand to what I was later told was her room.

We fell arm in arm on the bed, she giggling a little as my hands now slipped under her clothing to caress warm, soft skin, pausing briefly to kiss any exposed to me. It was becoming evident that Jennifer had a lot of pent-up passion and frustration as I started to disrobe her, one article at a time. First her blouse, then her skirt, all the time kissing and murmuring compliments and words of desire. I took time to feast upon her small, perfectly formed breasts, raising the nub of each nipple to a solid mass that made her moan in desire at my ministrations. The biggest surprise was sliding her panties off over her stocking-clad legs to find she was fully shaven. I was dumbstruck as I’d neither seen nor heard of the like.

“Rupert insists,” she said in silence. It’s the only thing that attracts him at times, plus me on my knees and looking like a boy with my hair covered.” She finished in an almost sob, as I suspected there was a little more to his depredations than she was admitting.

“Unusual but lovely,” I replied and kissed her down there, sliding my tongue into the wet softness and making her twitch and quiver at the swirling of my tongue over her centre of pleasure.

“Oh, oh, Howard!” she moaned in evident delight as I brought her pleasure to a crescendo.

Her back arched, and her hands gripped my hair to force my lips and tongue down on her pussy whilst she gave out a heartfelt moan of pleasure.

“Good?” I asked when the trembling and moans stopped, and the grip on my hair lessened.

“Oh yes!” she sighed as I moved up her body to kiss her and place myself at the entrance to delight.

“Ready?” I asked, seeing an eager nod.

I slid into her, feeling her gasp in delight as her stocking-clad legs swung over mine to claim me.

“Please don’t spend in me. I couldn’t explain a baby,” she moaned as I began long, languorous strokes into her.

“I’m sterile,” I admitted with a slight blush. “Glandular fever when I became a man. Caused my fiancée to break off our relationship when I had to admit the test results as she wanted babies.”

“Then do as you will, my lovely Howard,” she gasped and locked lips with me.

I picked up the pace as I pounded her hard and long, causing her to squeal deafeningly at times when an orgasm overwhelmed her. Finally, my release came in a devastatingly powerful orgasm as I blasted my essence deep within her, pushing myself as deep as I could go.

We fell apart, our chests heaving and our bodies covered in sweat from our pleasure.

“Oh my, that was so good!” she gasped between deep breaths.

“That it was,” I replied and kissed her, noticing a tiny smear of blood leaking from her pussy. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, Howard. You just were the first man ever in there,” she sighed as tears began to flow.

“But how did you?... oh,” I tailed off as I finally realised the depths of Rupert’s abuse.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she begged.

“I won’t, but I would enjoy doing this again,” I replied.

“You would?”

“Only if you want me to,” I replied, kissing her again.

“Oh yes, please!”

“A pleasure, truly a pleasure,” I replied as we kissed again.

“Howard?”

“Yes, Jennifer?”

“Um, who taught you to... um, you know, kiss me down there?”

“Promise not to tell?” I asked with a wry smile.

“Of course not,” she giggled.

“One of my Aunts,” I replied.

“No!” she exclaimed with a wide smile.

“Yes, you’ve discovered my dirty little secret,” I chuckled, seeing she wasn’t horrified.

“Well, good for her and damned good for me,” she replied and flowed into my arms as my erection was now almost fully restored.

“She taught me a lot,” I admitted.

“Then teach me!” Jennifer demanded as I pulled her on top of me and positioned myself to allow her to lower herself onto my throbbing erection.

 

 

Chapter 2

I awoke in my room feeling good. There’s nothing like getting laid to make the world seem better. Jennifer and I had enjoyed an evening of passion, and I knew we had an ongoing agreement for the Friday nights and other days when Rupert would be visiting his ‘friends’, which I now suspected was a euphemism for trawling Soho for like-minded individuals.

I’d learned a little of her story, a naïve orphan, who’d run away from home after being seduced by a worldly older man. Only to find herself locked into a relationship she barely understood yet loving the job that he’d persuaded the headmistress (apparently an Aunt of his) to give her. Sex was an occasional thing when Rupert felt able to use her, yet only in the dark, her on her knees and her hair under a tight scarf. Even then he’d used her in a way that she knew was unnatural, even if it occasionally pleasured her. She’d swiftly learned to keep her mouth shut as, although Rupert generally wasn’t violent, he was accomplished in verbal domination and the threat to cast her out into a cold cruel world was enough to keep her quiet.

I had come as a bit of an eye opener and she’d thoroughly enjoyed my attention, even to losing her virginity, something which had come as welcome relief to her as at last she understood what it was she’d been missing all these years.

No, I didn’t understand her fully. She wasn’t planning on ever leaving Rupert for one, but she did want me for sex. So I wasn’t going to rock the boat there, simply enjoy the ride with a willing bed partner on a weekly basis.

Still, I knew Rupert would be back today and Jennifer was unavailable because, no matter how much she’d enjoyed herself with me, getting caught was not something she was going to risk.

I swiftly dressed and washed and took time for a shave, I’d had a bath last night after I’d got in, in a communal bathroom down the hall from me, and discovered that someone on the same floor snored like a buzz saw, though the sound didn’t penetrate my room.

Breakfast was a repeat of the previous meals though I was able to meet Trinny, who told me her name was short for Trinity. She also informed me that yes; Teresa and Angela would like to form a study group with an eye to improving their grades and potential for examinations.

“Very well. I’m unsure what the restrictions are for movement within the school at weekends, but I suspect there are some,” I mused.

“We’d need a pass from you to allow us entry to the maths room out of hours,” she replied with a smile.

“Just a written note?” I asked.

“Yes, though if you could...”

“You’re about to pull a fast one, right?” I chuckled, getting back an answering grin.

“Well, Teresa, Angela and myself are full-board students, but we need an extra pass to go into the town on a non-scheduled day,” she explained.

“And why would you want to go into town?” I asked.

“Because anywhere’s better than this place at the weekend,” she giggled.

“I can’t fault you on that,” I nodded with a smile. Hmm, if I mention that you need to order an advanced maths textbook, do you think that might swing it when you run into the secretary?”

“It might, though I’ve never seen her in town.”

“Right, here’s a note permitting you to come to the classroom at ten o’clock. I’ll assess you all there. Then, if I think you warrant it, I’ll write out a pass for town. I’ll cover the cost of any textbooks, but I will want them back at the end of the school year,” I finally replied, giving her notes for each of them.

“Right, I’ll let them know,” she agreed, pulling her tall frame up, dressed in her ‘civvies’ for the weekend.

Trust me, at this point, there was no sexual intent on my part with these three girls, simply a desire to move their grades and ability to study up to new levels by some pretty intensive study periods. Getting involved with students was a sure-fire way to get yourself arrested and/or sacked. Whilst I’m sure some teachers got away with it, nothing could have been further from my mind as I now had a lover in Jennifer. That’s not to say I found the girls unattractive, for I didn’t. They just weren’t sexually attractive in the sense that I would notice such a thing.

***

Teresa was the shortest at 5’ 2”, carried a few extra pounds, some of it puppy fat, an average figure, 38” D-cup, 28” waist, 38” hips, blonde, as I’d mentioned, blue eyes and prone to giggles.

Angela was tall at 5’6” and was shaped to make men drool, though she, at this time, couldn’t see it: 36” C-cup, 24” waist, 36” hips. A carrot-topped redhead with lots of freckles, green eyes and pale skin, which burnt easily. Painfully shy when meeting a man for the first time, though a wonderful sense of the ridiculous when you got to know her.

Trinny was taller and gangly, too. At 5’ 8’, she didn’t seem to have a trace of body fat, with 34” A-cup, 22” waist, and 34” hips. She had long, dark brown hair that went to the small of her back, brown eyes, and a sharp nose. Possibly the most worldly of the three, she was certainly more gregarious and the one most likely to go after something she wanted from the opposite sex, not that I knew this at the time.

***

I heard them long before I saw them, chattering away at the tops of their voices as I wrote a few equations on the blackboard.

“Hello. Take a seat, and let’s see where you’re up to,” I greeted them when they entered, only to be interrupted a few seconds later by the entry of Susan Hatchett, who, I suspected, thought the girls were up to no good.

“Oh,” was all she had to say before withdrawing, an angry look upon her face.

“Told you she was following us,” giggled Teresa.

“Oh, you did not,” Angela hit back.

“Girls!” I warned, bringing their attention back to me.

“Sir,” they chorused.

“Recognise any of the following types of equations?” I asked.

They looked at them blankly, and my heart sank slightly. Clearly, my predecessor hadn’t thought the girls needed any grounding in algebra.

“Algebra, isn’t it?” Teresa asked.

“Yes. It’s a way of finding an answer from insufficient or missing inputs,” I replied. It usually involves transposition of the elements of a formula.”

“Right...” she replied uncertainly.

“We’ll go back to basics, but you’ll need to know these for your exams. You’ll have barely got through an O-level without knowing some of it,” I stated.

“We all just barely passed,” Trinny admitted.

“Well, I expect you to do much better next time,” I said confidently. “Now, back to basics.”

We spent the next hour going over how to transpose formulae, and I gave the girls a few notes on the various ways the same formula could be written out. I then gave them some homework, so to speak, on a few easy equations and a tricky one to see how well the lesson had taken. We then went over the various science lessons they were taking with me, handing over a couple of books for them to share, which were of the correct academic standard, as opposed to what they were being taught.

I’d also resolved to speak with Jennifer to see if I could get samples of some used exam papers to raise the girls to the higher standards they would need, including getting them registered for the January re-sits. I had a sneaking feeling, though, that getting them on there would require a lot of effort, the school having a reputation for being very close to a penny, according to Jennifer.

Finally, though, the lunch bell went, and I handed them each a get-out-of-jail pass for a town visit as we headed down for lunch. I chose to walk with them, as I felt they were in for some sort of ‘third degree’ from Hatchett. I was correct when she met them on the stairs, her face falling when she saw I was escorting them. I nodded to her in passing and got them to the dining hall, where Teresa took her place at the table, and the mealtime routine started again.

This time, though, Veronica, one of the eleven-year-olds, shyly approached me.

“We were wondering if you could let us form a maths group to get a little ahead of the normal teaching?” she asked.

“I’m more than willing to set aside a couple of hours on Friday to assist, yes,” I replied. You can do your homework then, too.”

“Straight after breakfast?” she asked. “Only we have gym at eleven.”

“Yes, eight-thirty to ten-thirty sounds good,” I agreed. “How many of you?”

“Eight of us here, plus the Hatchett’s table, will be sixteen of us,” she replied.

“A full class,” I nodded. “Will you need hall passes?”

“Not on Friday, no,” she replied. Then, she had to relay the information to the other girls at the table, most of whom I suspected had been listening to.

“Filling up my days,” I chuckled to Teresa.

“They just want to sit and gaze at you from afar,” she giggled.

“That too,” I chuckled. But hopefully, some work will stick, and I didn’t notice any of you gazing.”

“We hide it better,” she replied before blushing.

I replied with a grin, making her blush even more before I relented, and we returned to eating.

Afterwards, having time on my hands, I decided to go into town myself, if only for a walk in the park, as I rather suspected hanging about the school would drive me to boredom. Even their library was, to say the least, inadequate. None of the books were anything less than twenty years old. I did recognise a few classics, but it was mostly authors I’d never heard of. Nor, it being a Saturday afternoon, would the town library be open.

The first thing I noticed after leaving the grounds was Teresa, Angela, and Trinny waiting at the bus stop. Naturally, I pulled in and offered them a lift, which they eagerly accepted.

They were thrilled. The weather was fine, the top was down, and they were in their ‘civvies’ and looked lovely. Although it wasn’t a particularly fast road, it was enough to allow their hair to stream behind them a little and put a glow on their cheeks.

“So what’s the story with ‘the Hatchett?” I asked Trinny who was after a little squabble in the front with me.

“She’s creepy, always hanging around the gym changing rooms or the dorms at lights out. We warn the younger ones never to accept an offer of a massage from her,” she replied.

“Ah, prefers the company of girls,” I nodded.

“Yes, she despises boys, but as the gym mistress, she never really has to deal with them; she loves handing out the spankings for discipline, the only one who makes us pull up our skirts, come to that,” she explained. She also insisted on being the dorm mistress for the lower floor as she gets to catch anyone sneaking down the stairs.”

“Bet she loved the passes I gave you,” I chuckled.

“Wasn’t best pleased, no,” she giggled.

“You’d better make sure you order those books then. The last thing I need is her complaining to the headmistress,” I warned.

“Yes, Mr Howard,” they all chorused as I pulled up in front of the stationer/bookshop.

“I’ll be heading back about four-ish; until then, I’ll either be in the park or the tea rooms,” I advised.

“Thank you,” they chorused and headed into the shop. I pulled the top up onto the car and then headed into the park to relax, taking the travel rug from the car with me.

Mostly, I just lazed for nearly an hour, enjoying the sunshine and watching the people passing by. Finally, though, I was interrupted by a trio of loud “hellos” and a few giggles.

“Ladies,” I greeted them.

“Can we join you?” Angela asked shyly after a bit of nudging from the others.

“Of course you can, but I was just going for afternoon tea,” I replied, seeing their faces drop. “Would you care to join me?” I added, seeing them lift.

Four cream teas later, I was getting to know them personally. I found they were all from the southeast of England, but they had never met until they’d started at the school.

“Wasn’t my parents’ first choice either, but the other place I was down for fell through,” Teresa informed me.

“Well, hopefully, we can raise your grades sufficiently to justify your parents' sending you here,” I nodded.

“Do ... do you have a girlfriend?” Trinny asked with a significant blush.

“No, not now,” I chuckled. “why do you want a boyfriend?”

The other two burst out in scandalised giggles as Trinny’s blush went from bright pink to crimson.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t tease,” I apologised.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to date the pupils,” she said with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m definitely not, no matter how lovely they are,” I replied, smiling back.

“Aw,” giggled Teresa. “Still, no one would know if we all came around with you.”

“Oh, I’m sure someone would guess,” I laughed.

“Only if they caught you kissing,” Trinny added, laughing with them.

“Just have to make sure they don’t catch us,” I chuckled, before realising how that sounded and moving to stop it. “Anyway, rules are rules, and you don’t want to be expelled, and I don’t want to be sacked.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Trinny said, looking thoughtful. “We wouldn’t want that at all.”

I admit I gave the situation no further thought. It never crossed my mind that the girls took it seriously enough to start plotting my downfall.

Not that they were thinking sexually, they were all pretty naïve after all, though hormonally? Well, let’s just say they were three ticking time bombs determined to spend a little time with me, not knowing where it would eventually lead. Had I known, yes, at that stage I could have stopped it, by the time I realised, well, the temptation was just too great.

We finished up and I offered them a lift back, but only as far as the bus stop. There is a thing about looking for trouble and driving them onto the grounds was definitely heading there, to which they totally agreed.

Once on the grounds though I was pulled up by Susan Hatchett, who clearly had an axe to grind ... if you’ll pardon the pun.

“I don’t approve of your giving town passes to the sixth form gel’s,” she started in jolly-hockey-sticks middle-class English.

“They needed to order some advanced maths texts to assist them in improving their grades. Your disapproval is noted, but their education comes first,” I replied.

“What’s wrong with the ones they use?” she prevaricated, knowing that she’d given me an opportunity to defend my actions.

“A 30% pass rate, all at grade C, rather than at least 70% at grade A,” I replied. “God alone knows what the previous tutor was playing at, but it certainly wasn’t educating the girls,” I retorted.

“Miss Marriot was a good teacher, you’ve no right to criticise her so!”

“Results speak for themselves,” I replied. “There’s no excuse for failure at this level and believe me she failed.”

“How dare you!”

“I dare because it’s the truth and when the results from the re-sits come in, I’ll be fully justified in my methodology by them,” I hit back. “I’ll stand or fall by my success rate. The headmistress understands this.” (A lie, but, it made her back off as she thought I had the support of Mrs Goodfried.)

At this point, she walked off in a huff, and although I doubted I’d heard the last of this, I rather suspected that she’d try to be on much firmer ground when she did.

Besides dropping off a few purchases in my room, I had little to do until dinner at six other than to prepare lesson plans for each year.

At dinner, though, despite her shyness, Angela couldn’t wait to see if the rumours were true that I’d faced down ‘the Hatchett’.

“I can’t discuss matters concerning staff with you; you know that, Angela,” I replied with a deliberate wink.

That was a preview of The Tutor. To read the rest purchase the book.

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