Why Of Course You Can 1

It was a small town, so small that my new job there became something of a topic of conversation at

Nan's Café

, the

Federated Bank

, and the

Quick Trip,

which was pretty much the extent of downtown Fair Oaks.

I wasn't altogether comfortable with that kind of attention, but from what one of my new colleagues was about to tell me, the reviews were overwhelmingly positive. Still, that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

Jeff Hackbarth was a topic of conversation himself. He went out his way to attract attention, mostly by saying provocative, obnoxious, and downright silly things to anyone and everyone who would listen. And when you're the varsity football

and

basketball coach in small town Michigan, anyone and everyone

wants

to listen.

I don't know why Jeff picked me out to befriend. I wasn't exactly the typical jock. But despite his burly frame and prodigious athletic talents, Jeff was not a typical jock either.

Like me, he was a teacher -- Physical Education, if that actually counts -- but at

Fair Oaks Middle School

, which was only a hundred yards from the front entrance to

Fair Oaks High School

, where I had just been hired to teach English. As I would soon come to learn, Jeff had his own eccentricities, as well as his own ulterior motives in seeking me out.

I found out later that he was looking for an assistant basketball coach for the upcoming season, and Keith Joyce, my principal at the high school, had told him that I had coached the year before at a small high school in Minnesota. That was true, but not because I had sought the position or even desired it. I basically didn't have a choice.

When I was hired at Madison High School, I was told that if I wanted the English position, I had to coach basketball and serve as the drama director. My former principal reasoned that since I had played basketball in high school and had also acted in plays -- one play, that is -- I was more than qualified to do both. The standards weren't real high at Madison.

I would probably have been better off telling the guy to get fucked. It was an awful school, and I hated every minute I was there. I told them I wasn't returning a month before the end of the school year when we had to turn in our contract offers for next year. I hadn't even secured another teaching job, but I was not going back to Madison, no matter what.

On the other hand, that one year of experience had earned me the position at

FOHS

(Our motto:

Everyone's Friends at FOHS!

). Mr. Joyce had essentially hired me over the phone. I drove east to Fair Oaks for an interview, but it became clear to me that I had the job after the first five minutes in his office.

I wish I had known -- I might have saved myself a six hour drive. But going to Fair Oaks was an excuse to go back home and visit my family anyway, so I wasn't complaining. My mother and most of my siblings still lived near Rochester, where I had grown up. That was another four hours east, but now I was back in my home state and a whole lot closer to family and friends.

And now Jeff Hackbarth was looking for me, and sure enough, one day he found me. It was a late afternoon about a month into the new school year. I was walking out the front doors of the high school when a young guy a year or two older than myself stopped me on the steps.

It was about 5:30 in the afternoon, and no one else was around. "You must be the new English teacher," he said smiling and sticking a meaty paw out toward me. "I'm Jeff Hackbarth. I coach here at the high school."

He had a pair of those idiotic looking coaching shorts sticking to his ass. You know the ones with about a two inch elastic band around the waist that bottomed out about two feet above his knees, the same kind that every numb-from-the-neck-up asshole who ever dangled a fucking whistle around his neck also wore. Jeff had a whistle dangling around his neck, so he had clearly just come from practice. It was one of the first days of October, so my initial impression was even worse -- he had just come from, god forbid,

football

practice.

As I would have suspected, he carried a clipboard under his arm, but then I noticed that on top of that clipboard, he had two books --

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

and

The Light Around the Body

by Robert Bly. Either this guy had just found somebody else's books laying near the football field, which didn't seem likely because no one else in Fair Oaks was likely to read such works, or I was talking to the most unusual football coach I had ever heard of, much less met.

I reached out to shake his hand, and his thick fist swallowed mine. "Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Jeff, too -- Jeff Miller."

"Yeah, I've heard all about you," Jeff said. "You're the talk of the town!"

I was a little taken aback. "I am, huh? How's that?"

"Well, you're a new teacher, and you're not old and crusty, at least, not yet. So, of course,

they're

talking."

"Well, what are

they

saying?" I asked, not sure that I wanted to know.

"Well, whose opinion do you want first?" Jeff asked with a smile.

"I don't know who's offering their opinions, so I guess it doesn't matter. So... what

have

you heard?" I asked. I was interested in how I was being received, no matter whether I wanted to admit it or not.

"Well, I was having breakfast at

Nan's

last week, and there were three or four parents in there that spoke really highly of you and were quite impressed with your teaching. Their kids were all boys, and they seemed to think that you not only knew your shit, but that you were keeping the boys, in particular, engaged. They said their kids had told them that you'd actually taught them a lot of really valuable things, and that you went out of your way to make class fun and interesting. Something about 'good discussions.'"

"That's nice to hear, I guess," I said with a smile.

"Then, I talked to a bunch of the guys on my team. They have the impression that you're a pretty cool, dude. That's not too hard to be here in Fair Oaks, considering how backwards it is, but it's still a ringing endorsement. High school boys usually eat English teachers for breakfast."

"I don't really know what constitutes high school cool anymore, but I guess I'd rather be cool than the alternative," I said. "Especially if the alternative means being served up to linebackers and offensive tackles. Who else is talking besides the football players?"

"Well, then there are the girls. I think you'll be happier to hear their opinions."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, they think you're cute," Jeff said with a huge grin. I felt like I had walked into some alternative universe -- a football coach had just used the word "cute" to describe a fellow male, and he didn't mean "smartass" and didn't appear to be gay.

"And that's the PG version," he continued. "I heard that in the bank from some of the girls' mothers, and the mothers seemed to concur with their daughters' opinions on that score. Looks like you've got two generations after you!"

"And what about the other version?" I asked with embarrassment.

"Well, there's Sandi Mortensen's -- I'd look out for

her

if I were you," Jeff said, completely entertained by spreading the gossip. "I was in the

Quick Trip

buying milk, when I overheard her talking to Lori Clark. She didn't know I was there."

"So what did Sandi Mortensen have to say about me?" I asked, thinking of the short, slender redheaded junior in my

Novels

class, who was also on my debate team. She wore really short skirts and tight, flimsy blouses through which the world could see her black and purple bras.

"She wants to get into your pants," Jeff said laughing out loud. "The thing is," he said becoming somber instantaneously, "if Sandi Mortensen wants to get into your pants, look out! That girl is 16 going on 26."

I was shocked that I was having this conversation with someone that I had met just five minutes earlier. "I'm not interested in jailbait. Besides, I've got a girlfriend," I said, half in anger.

"Hey man, I'm sorry. I was just teasing you. But I

am

serious about Sandi. Steer clear of her if you know what's good for you."

I didn't say anything. I was mad. For one thing, I

had

taken notice of Sandi Mortensen. It was hard not to. She was very in-your-face with her sexuality. Besides dressing as provocatively as she could, Sandi brought up something inappropriate every time she opened her mouth in class. I had tried to ignore her, thinking that if I said something, I would only draw attention to her and make matters worse. Now I was being challenged to change that strategy.

In addition, a few days ago, I had heard her whisper something to one of the other girls as they walked past me on their way out of class. I could tell that I was the subject of that whisper. Great! Now I had a 16 year old

Lolita

plotting something that would undoubtedly pose great risk to my job security.

But it was more than knowing that Sandi was talking dirty about me in public. I didn't like the idea that a person that I had just met was giving

me

advice about how to handle young female students. Hell, he wasn't much older than I was.

But what really got me was that my girlfriend Sharon had just moved in with me about three weeks before that, and I knew that those living arrangement could potentially get me in trouble with Mr. Joyce and the School Board if the word got out. I needed to have at least established myself as a competent teacher at

FOHS,

before anyone found out I was living in sin.

Prior to that moment, I had not mentioned anything about Sharon to anyone in Fair Oaks. We didn't live in town, so I figured no one would find out about her, at least not right away. So I was mad because I hadn't intended to bring up Sharon's identity to someone that I didn't know from Adam. And though we would soon become best of friends, at this moment, I didn't know Jeff Hackbarth in the least.

He could tell I wasn't pleased and decided to change the subject. "Hey, listen. Why don't you come over for dinner on Saturday night? Nothing fancy; we'll just grill up some burgers and brats. You can meet my wife Jacky. And bring your girlfriend. I'm sure those two will hit it off," Jeff said.

"Hey, you a baseball fan?" he continued. "The

World Series

begins on Saturday. I think the game starts about 7:30. Why don't you come over about seven? What do you say?"

He was the first person to invite me to do anything since I had arrived in Fair Oaks. Besides, I sensed that we really did have something in common. My anger quickly disappeared, and I looked at him and smiled. "Yeah, I'd almost forgotten about the

Series

, and I am a big fan -- Go

Tigers!

So, sure!" I said, "We'll be happy to join you. Can I call you later for directions to your place? Can I bring anything?"

"Just your sexy ass! And, more importantly, your girlfriend's sexy ass!" He laughed maniacally for a few seconds. I stood there shaking my head at him, smiling bleakly.

Jeff gave his me his number, we shook hands goodbye, and I went home to tell Sharon about my new acquaintance and our conversation about the local gossip. She was a little ambivalent about us get involved with Jeff. She wasn't sure that he could be trusted with the secret, and she didn't want to get me in trouble.

On the other hand, this town was now our home, and she thought that we needed to start thinking that way. Neither one of us knew anybody here except our landlords, so she thought it would be a good idea to start making some new friends.

My

problem was that I was nervous about dragging Sharon into anything she wasn't fully into. I didn't want her to have to be friends with someone just because I was. That wasn't fair to her. Besides, I had already dragged her to Michigan, and that had seemed to change our relationship just a little. The change was subtle, but I suspected little things had affected it. Like the house we'd been sharing for the past three weeks.

Before Sharon had joined me in Fair Oaks, I had found a place to live in what I considered to be a spectacular setting -- a beach home on Shore Drive, fast to the southeast shores of Lake Michigan and only eight miles west of Fair Oaks. It was just a little one and half story bungalow, a little run down, and heated with fuel oil, which cost a fortune. But who could argue with the view, and considering the rent was a meager $375 a month, I was ecstatic at having found such a place.

The setting was incredibly scenic, and the back windows and patio of the house overlooked both the vast waters of Lake Michigan, as well as the sand dunes that hugged the coast to the south. And it was remote enough and in a different school district, so I figured that once Sharon came east, no one would find out we were living together.

Sharon! After the first day in Fair Oaks, I already missed her terribly. She was several years younger than I was, but she brought an energy to my life that I think I had always been missing.

We met when I went back to school to finish my final year. I answered a classified for someone looking for a roommate. Sharon answered the door, but I was ten minutes too late in arriving. Seated on the sofa of her new apartment was Layne, a girl I had known for several years who was dating an acquaintance of mine, Sal Tillman, a drummer who played in a band that I used to book when I was managing a club. Layne had answered the ad before me.

I had to find another place to live, but that chance meeting was fortuitous. Pretty soon Sharon and I were an item. We liked the same kind of music, and we enjoyed visiting a lot of clubs together. She thought I was someone special, because I had a huge record collection and knew the names of bands and musicians she'd never heard of.

She was an enthusiastic, little punk rocker, and I had fallen for her the moment she opened the door to that apartment. She never seemed to stop smiling the whole time I was there, and I knew that some sparks had been ignited.

Let me be more straightforward, Sharon was impossibly cute. Her short, straight brown hair was cut into a stylish, asymmetrical 'do, and she had these unbelievably high cheekbones that gave an angular quality to her otherwise plump, baby face. She was tiny, just over five feet tall, but her short, compact body was shapely. She had nice tits and a cute little butt, and making love to her was absolute heaven.

On a Saturday, a week after the school year had started, she arrived from Minnesota. She pulled up in her little, brown

Chevy Citation

stuffed with clothes, books, and records, and I came out to greet her. We hugged and kissed for five minutes before I helped her move her things inside the bungalow. She

said

she liked the place, but I couldn't tell for sure if she was being honest.

I had already bought a number of pieces of second-hand furniture from my landlords who lived next door in a massive, three-story house. John and his wife Terri were very nice people and offered me a great Queen-sized bed with a brand new mattress and box spring, two dressers, the longest sofa I had ever seen, and an assortment of chairs, end tables, night stands and coffee tables for next to nothing. I also bought a small dining room table and chairs at a consignment shop, and some new linens and comforters, and

voilà

, I had the place decorated quite handsomely. I thought that was a good thing. I wanted it to be ready for Sharon when she arrived.

I had brought a few paintings and pieces of artwork that I owned with me when I moved, but I didn't hang them up. I thought I would let Sharon pick out most of the décor, so she would feel like this place was hers too, since I had already picked out all the furniture.

After she got settled in, we walked next door, and I introduced her to John and Terri. They insisted on taking us out to eat at a very nice steak place just up the shore. We changed our clothes, and then we walked down to their boat slip. They drove us over to the restaurant in their vintage, woodgrain runabout.

Having lived on the lake for over 30 years, the two were veritable encyclopedias of local history, trivia, and information of all kinds. Even though they were 35 years older than we were, we had a really enjoyable evening with them, drinking bottle after bottle of wine and talking and laughing.

That night after dinner, we returned to the bungalow, high on wine, and happy and satisfied. Since Sharon had seemed a little ambivalent about moving in with me, I wanted to make this first night in our new place special. I found out later that she hadn't told her parents -- who I'd never met -- that she was moving to Michigan to live with her boyfriend. Now I felt the need to convince her that she'd made the right decision.

We climbed the stairs to our bedroom, and I lay Sharon down on the new comforter and sheets that adorned our new mattress. Crawling behind her, I began peeling her clothes off her while I kissed, licked and nibbled at the nape of her neck, her ears, and her shoulders.

I was really horny, and by the sound of it, Sharon was as well, but I wanted to go really slowly to show her how much I had missed her. Once I got everything off her except for her panties, I began working my way around her world: kissing her elbows and wrists, her lower back, the backs of her knees, and her feet, adding massages to my foreplay in addition to my oral worship.

I traveled back north and moving in front of her reclining body, I kissed and gently bit her upper lip; then worked my way down her neck to her sensitive tits. I touched her nipples ever so gently, while I kissed and licked around the sides and bottoms of her round breasts, and then I became more aggressive, pinching her nipples between my thumbs and index fingers, before I started taking them in my mouth. Sharon was aroused now. Her nipples were erect, and she was moaning, and grinding her hips against my leg positioned between the two of hers.

Now I moved that leg, and while I continued shifting my mouth back and forth from one pale breast to the other, sucking her areolas into my mouth and nibbling at her nipples, I moved my hand to the outside of her panties.

To my surprise, they were soaking wet, so I took that as a signal that Sharon's pussy required some attention. I slipped my hand inside her panties, down her mound and through her lightly covered bush to her wet pussy. Using my middle finger, I began stroking the length of her opening between her slippery lips. After my fingering had elicited more slick fluids from her hole, I entered her with my finger, producing an audible groan from deep in her throat.

After some gentle probing, I added my index finger to her slot, and after she adjusted to it being inside her, I spread my fingers apart to open her up wider. Now, I added the circular movement of my thumb on the outside to caress around her sensitive clitoris.

Sharon moved her hand to my jeans, and she could feel that I was hard now, so while I was working her magical pussy with my hand, and kissing, licking and biting her breasts with my mouth, she began unbuckling my belt, and then pulled my underwear and jeans down my legs.

Now she had my erect pole in one hand, while she massaged my balls with the other, and she was breathing really fast and groaning loudly when my thumb touched the shy pink knob that was emerging from behind her demure little curtain. "I want you in me," Sharon whispered into my ear.

I pushed my shorts and jeans off my legs, pulled my shirt off, and reached astride Sharon's shapely hips to drag her drenched panties down her short, but slender legs. Then, I crawled between those legs, and as she guided my stiff member to her wetness, I leaned forward to rest my elbows on the mattress as I entered her.