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From: Shalon Wood <dstar@pele.cx>
Subject: {ASSM} Prudence, TX Population 1276 8 (NEW!) ((nosex))
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[NOTE: This is a repost; new parts will follow once everything has
been reposted.]

This is a continuation of "Prudence, Texas Population 1276", a
collaboration between my husband, Shalon (dstar@pele.cx), and I.  The
raw material and dialog was produced by both of us, but the final
editting on the previous postings was done by him, and on this one was
done by me, thus explaining any difference in style.  

Standard disclaimers apply; if you're underage, it's illegal for you
to read this, or you're disturbed by the content, please don't read
this.

Eventually to be archived at http://prudence.pele.cx.  Comments
*greatly* appreciated.

Enjoy,

Velvet
---------------------------------------------------------------------------


*BEEP* *BEEP*

Mark yawned, stretching, and reached over to silence the strident
demand of the alarm.  "Time to get up, love," he said, looking to see
if she still glowed.  He wasn't terribly surprised to see that she
was, though faintly.

Kristen snuggled closer to him, burrowing beneath the covers.
"Mmmm...do we _have_ to?"  She blinked at him sleepily, her hair
draped over half her face.

He nodded, cursing himself for his work ethic and trying to figure out
if her glow would be visible in the light.  As she sighed and
reluctantly pushed back the covers, he was forced to conclude that it
would.

"I don't think you'll be able to go to school today, love. Almost. If
we had another three or four hours...probably. But not as is."

"Oh.  But...what if it wears out during the day?" she asked worriedly.

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think it will, love. Even
immediately after having sex with one of the other boys, you never
glowed, and they would have lasted you till I got home."

She hopped up happily. "Oh! You really think so?"

He grinned at her exuberance.  "I do.  Want to shower with me?"

Kristen giggled.  "THat'll make _you_ late to school, too."

He looked at the clock and sighed regretfully.  "You're right.  Damn."

With an impish smile, she leaned against the foot of the bed, laying
back on her elbows and shaking her hair down behind her.  She
stretched, arching her back.

Mark stuck his tongue out at her and then stood up quickly before he
gave in to her temptation.  "Mean."  He retreated hastily to the
bathroom.

Not five minutes into his shower, the bathroom door opened and slammed
and Kristen practically jumped into the shower with him.

"Love?" he asked, alarmed, as she wrapped her trembling arms around
him.

"Mark . . . I heard a baby crying in your closet!"

He held her, stroking her hair soothingly.  "Oh, that's the ghost."

She shuddered.  "It's horrible."

He squeezed her tight, in complete agreement.  "Come on, get washed,"
he coaxed, trying to distract her, "And I'll drop you off at your
house before I go to school."

Kristen sniffed, tears trickling down her cheeks.  "Poor little
thing."

He nodded sadly, taking the washcloth and gently soaping her
still-shaking body.

She sniffed again.  "Wh . . . why do you think it was in the closet?" 
she asked, sounding as if she were terrified of actually hearing the
answer.

He looked at her.  "You know what happened here, love," he reminded
gently.

Swallowing hard, she buried her face in his chest.  "Oh, God," she
whispered.  "How can you _live_ here?  It's so sad . . . "

He hugged her tightly.  "I know, love.  I wish I could do something
about it but . . . she says I can't."

"Who says?"

"The woman. I've seen her a couple of times. She says only 'he' can
release her."

"Oh.  It must be her husband, then.  "

"I think so," Mark nodded, "But I don't know what he would have to do,
though. I don't even know if he's still alive."

"What about the baby?  Does he have to release it, too?"

"I'd assume so. She says he didn't believe it was his baby."

"What a bastard," she muttered heatedly.

"I have to agree." He finished washing her, letting his hands and the
warm water soothe away her fears.

Still, she stayed close to him as they got ready to leave.

---

The drive to Kristen's house was uneventful, though, to avoid being
seen, she spent the ride crouching in the back seat.  Mark didn't like
it, but was unable to think of a better solution.

They pulled into the drive with a few minutes to spare.  Mark reached
for her hand as she slipped out the door, tugging her to his window.
"Ok, love, I've got to go. I'll call you if I can. You be careful,
ok?"

"I will.  You'll come after school?"

"I will. If I haven't after a while, call my house, ok? In case
something comes up? I can't imagine anything, but just in case . . . "

"Okay."

He looked at her for a few more seconds, hating the fact that he had
to leave her. "I love you."

"Love you, too."  Biting her lip to keep from begging him to stay,
Kristen turned and ran up the walk way.  She ducked into the house and
Mark heard the beep as she armed the security system.

He sighed and headed to work.

---

The day dragged on and on and on.  Mark watchd Kayla sureptitiously
during class that morning, worried that she might be upset or
embarrassed about what happened the night before.  She seemed
perfectly fine, however.  He should have known that the unshakable
little brunette would have no regrets once she made a decision.

When the bell rang for lunch, Kayla lingered in his class room, laying
her open textbook on his desk and bending over it as if asking a
question about the day's lesson.  "She okay?" she asked quietly.

"She's fine. I talked to her last night. She was worried that you'd be
uncomfortable." He paused. "Talked to her about the polyamoury thing,
too. She surprised me. Her take is that she's been in a _bad_ 237-way
relationship for three and a half years. I _do_ think I got it through
her head that it won't bother me if she falls in love with someone
else."

"Ah . . . o-kay," Kayla said, bemused.  "I guess that _is_ one way to 
look at it.  So she's still not toned down enough to come to school is
all?"

Mark shook his head. "We . . . ah . . . one more time. Mind-blowing. 
Unbelievable.  And she was a night-light when we went to bed. If 
she'd had another two or three hours . . . probably. But not as was."

"Hmm.  That could be a problem.  I mean, if the glow means she's not
hungry, then she can only come out in public when she's starving?
That's not fair at all."

"I think, maybe, it only shows up when she's, well, stuffed.
Metaphorically speaking. And _not_ that metaphor, Kayla, get your mind
out of the gutter." He grinned. "It's blocking my periscope."

Kayla snickered.  "Still . . . best solution is to find some way to tone
it down and keep her well-fed all the damned time.  I dunno...have to
think about it.  Maybe industrial strength makeup or something."

Mark nodded.  "Maybe so. You'll figure out something, I'm sure."

"Me?!"

Mark nodded again, totally straight-faced. "I've got faith in you."

"Ooooooh . . . maybe I _AM_ a lesbian!"

Mark glanced around to make sure nobody could hear. The classroom was
empty, everyone gone to lunch, but he still lowered his voice, "I
dunno, Kayla. You sure liked my tongue on your clit last night, if you
are a lesbian."

Kayla replied just as quietly, "Oh, I don't know...using a vibrator
doesn't make one mechanically inclined."

He grinned. "Touche. Still . . . honestly, Kayla . . . you _are_ the 
best bet to figure it out. I don't know makeup. And you are probably
smarter than Kristen." He paused again. "She told me something last
night that made me rethink some things. Apparently, that's the first
time in four years that she's been able to _think_ without being
extremely distracted. And she's _still_ been an average student."

She looked at him oddly.  "Mark, what makes you think she's an
'average' student?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Ok, no worse than average? Oh, I don't know
about test scores, but she doesn't seem to be any _worse_ than average
on picking up on things. Why?"

"She's not good at _math_, which makes most science difficult for her.
She's never made less than an A in any non-math-related class."  Kayla
grinned.  "People would pay good money to have her write their english
papers if she'd do it."

He stared at her, shocked. "My god. She was able to do that well while
being that distracted?"

"Yup.  Promiscuous does not equal stupid, despite common assumptions."
She glared at him defensively.  "I bet _you_ couldn't do that well if
you were starving to death in the middle of a gourmet restaurant!"
She thought a moment about the quality of highschool boys.  "Okay, a
MacDonald's, anyway."

Mark nodded emphatically.  "Damn straight. Good lord, just how smart
_is_ she?" he asked, voice full of wonder.  "Bet she starts to get A's
in math, too. How well could _you_ do math if you were starving?"

"Depends on the math.  If it's '25 term papers, multiplied by $10 each
equals $175 cheeseburgers at Wanda's', pretty good."  Her eyes
sparkled.  "Doubt she'll get A's in math, though.  That she really
does suck at.  Always has."

"Are you going to be jealous?" he asked curiously.

Kayla wrinkled her brow in confusion.  "Of what?"

"If she was doing that well, starving, she might well be smarter than
you are. You've always been the smartest around here."

"Oh, that.  So?  Besides, I _am_ good at math.  Wish she'd relax about
those English papers, though, talk about booooooring."

She grinned slightly, and Mark chuckled, not entirely sure she was
joking.  "Just checking. Are you coming over tonight?"

"Can't," Kayla answered with a disgusted snort.  "Mom's got a hair up
her ass.  'You're never home anymore, we never have dinner anymore,
let's watch a movie, you never _talk_ to me!'  Blech.  So I've got to
be familial tonight.  There will probably be . . . "  She shuddered,
"Smores."

Mark surpressed a laugh.  "Too bad. Maybe tomorrow or Sunday?"

"I fucking hope so.  I hate family togetherness.  Not that I don't
love em, don't get me wrong, but inevitably, she and Aunt Ellen will
want to Do Something With Kayla's Hair.  And then they'll bring out
the Makeup Kit of Doom.  Life sucks." The capital letters dropped into
place like lead weights.

He smirked. "But I bet you'd _love_ to have Kristen Doing Something
with your hair -- not like that, either! I _heard_ that!"

"Heh.  Well, not if it involves an iron or hair spray, thanks.  Gotta
run, food is one of those necessary things."

"Bye."  Mark followed her out, heading to his car to call Kristen on
his cellphone.

---

As Mark pulled up to Kristen's house after school, he was surprised to
see another car pulling into the long drive.  Black.  Expensive.

He uttered a soft, but heartily felt, "Fuck," as he cut the engine and
opened the door.  Thinking quickly, he strides up the stairs and rings
the doorbell as if he hadn't seen the other car.  When it was close
enough to the house that the engine noise was impossible to miss, he
turned, a carefully neutral expression on his face.

A tall, handsome man with reddish brown hair emerged from the car.
"Hello?" he called.  "Can I help you?"  He took the stairs
energetically, almost bouncing.

Mark smiled inquisitively.  "Ah, would you be Mr. Davis?"

"Yes, I'm Steven Davis, and you are?"  He held out his hand.

Mark took the proferred hand and shook it firmly.  "Mark Hasseran. I'm
one of your daughter's teachers at school. I was actually hoping to
talk to you."

Steven tapped out a code on the panel by the door.  "Ah, okay.  C'mon
in.  I'm just getting home from a long business trip.  School called
and said Kristen had called in sick again, so I wrapped things up
early.  She must be asleep or she'd have answered the door."

Steven led him into the living room.  "Have a seat Mr. Hasseran.
Something to drink?"

Mark nodded. "Please." He sat on the sofa, trying not to appear too
nervous.

"Beer, soda, this nasty oversweetened fruit juice stuff my daughter
likes?"  Steven asked, "Or is it a straight vodka on the rocks kinda
problem?"

"Probably," Mark answered ruefully.  "I've . . . well, to be honest,
Mr. Davis, I'd prefer not to be having this talk with you, but
Dr. Ward has seniority, so he gets to dump it off on me."

Kristen's father frowned at that, pouring two generous drinks.  He
handed one to Mark and took a seat across from him.  "Call me Steven.
Go ahead and spit it out, I won't shoot the messenger."

Mark studied the drink in his hand reflectively. "Mr. Davis -- Steven,
I'm not trying to be offensive here, but I'm not going to beat around
the bush, either. I'm a blunt kind of man. It's about your daughter's
sex life. You know she was promiscuous, yes?"

Steven's eyes narrowed slightly.  "I'm her father, not her jailer,
Mr. Hasseran.  She's a smart girl and knows how to be safe."

"Ah.  Yes, she is, and I'm sure she does.  But . . . well, starting
Monday, something changed. She started telling the boys no. All of
them." He paused, watching for a reaction.

Steven paled and set his drink on the table abruptly.  "Excuse me for
a moment, I'd like to check on my daughter," he said, a bit too fast.
He hopped from the couch and hurried up the stairs.  "Kristen!  Kris,
honey?  Are you up there?"

Mark nodded to himself at the frightened tinge to Steven's voice.
"Thought so," he murmured quietly.

"Daddy?  You're home early. I was asleep."  Kristen appeared at the
top of the stairs, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and rubbing her
eyes sleepily.  Mark noted, with some relief, that she was no longer
glowing.
  
"That's okay, sweetheart."  Steven smiled lovingly at his daughter,
visibly relaxing.  "I came home because the school said you were sick.
You go on back to bed."

"I think I will.  Did you win?"

"Sure did, hon.  Don't I always?  You feeling okay?  Vanessa said you
looked all right when she left you tuesday . . . "

Behind Steven's back, Mark frowned.  Kristen had looked like _shit_
when he saw her Tuesday.  There was no way in hell that anyone would
honestly think she looked "all right".

"Yeah, just a little stomach bug," Kristen assured her father.  "I
guess I just wasn't quite over it.  Oh, hi Mr. H . . . did you bring 
my homework?"
  
Mark shook his head. "No, Kristen, I stopped by to talk to your
father. About that note you got."

"Oh.  Um.  Okay.  I'm going back to bed, then.  Maybe I'll call Kayla
and see if I can come over and study with her tomorrow.  Night."  She
yawned and retreated.

Steven returned calmly and sat down.  "Sorry, just suddenly was
worried that she hadn't heard us come in.  She's usually very alert.
You were saying?"

"Well, Monday she apparently decided to become completely
celibate. And, no offense, Steven, but if your secretary thought she
looked okay when she dropped her off on Tuesday, she needs her eyes
checked. I saw her at school, and dropped off some homework for her
that night, and she looked like death warmed over."

Steven frowned, puzzled. "The doctor I spoke with said that everything
was fine, she was just exhausted and probably had a minor virus.
And . . . to be blunt, Mark, I seriously doubt my daughter is ever likely
to become completely celibate, though she might have simply decided to
be more discreet about things.  However, if she did, I really can't
see that that's any business of anyone but her," he added defensively.

"It wouldn't be, and I wouldn't be having this conversation with you
-- which I'm sure you realize would be my preference -- if it wasn't
for the problems it was causing. And the threats."

Steven's green eyes narrowed dangerously.  "Threats."  He scowled.
"What threats?"

"She received a note in her locker. It was . . . quite vulgar and
insulting, so I won't repeat it verbatim, but in effect it told her
that she'd stop being celibate. By choice or, by implication, by
force. We're doing what we can to keep her safe at school. We _can't_,
however, do anything about her outside of school."

"Those obnoxious little _shits_!" Steven exploded, leaping to his
feet.  "Goddamned fucking testosterone-soaked teenage bastards!" He
started pacing the length of the couch, snarling with rage.

Mark smiled tightly.  "Obviously, Steven, I can't agree, being a
school teacher. Hypothetically speaking, however, I could make
suggestions involving baseball bats." He paused. "For what it's worth,
she and her friend Kayla have been studying at my house the past
couple of nights. Kayla's turning into something of an astronomer, and
Kristen seems fascinated by the pictures the Hubble telescope has
taken. But there are limits to the refuge I can provide without
causing rumors."

Steven stopped pacing, a thoughtful look on his face. "Kayla, huh?
Same Kayla she said she might go study with?"

Mark nodded "Yes, but if you are jumping to the same conclusions that
seem to be going around the school, I can tell you that I haven't seen
any signs of such while they are studying."

"Well, they'd hardly jump on each other in front of one of their
teachers, now would they?" Steven asked with a noticably relieved
sigh.

"No. But I'm fairly perceptive, and I didn't see any of the signs I
would expect." He decided to take a gamble. "Not that I'd object,
Steven. I hope that doesn't offend you, but quite frankly, Kayla would
be better than just about any of the boys. But I don't think she's
gone and fallen in love with her."

Steven sighed.  "Mr. Hasseran, I'll tell you true, I _hate_ teenage
boys.  I used to be one.  They are a waste of air."

Mark chuckled. "I don't blame you. Some of them are ok. Others
are . . . well."

The older man sat down again, running a hand through his hair and
frowning.  "I can make sure someone picks her up from school every day
until this blows over.  And I can refuse any court appearances for a
while. But my daughter should not have to live like a prisoner because
she decided to reduce her . . . activities.  And if I find who is making
threats against her, I _will_ take all possible legal action."

"I've set up a couple of cameras to cover her locker," Mark offered.
"Hopefully we will find out."  He sighed.  "I'd like to offer my house
as a safehouse, say she can come over any time she wants, for whatever
reason. But if I do that, people will see, and rumors will get
started. Frankly, I don't _need_ a teenage girl's father coming after
me for a gun just because he thinks . . . well. I'm sure you understand."

Steven looked at Mark for a moment, a speculative gleam in his eyes.

The young teacher sighed again, looking glum. "I hate this, Steven, I
really do. She should have the right to decide what she wants to do,
without threats. There was a girl in the school I grew up in...she
tried to change. She ended up gang-raped. Killed herself. I always
thought . . . well. She was my friend, and I felt like I should have been
able to do something."

"How old are you, Mark, out of curiosity?"  Steven asked quietly,
still with that same look on his face.

"26, why?" Mark answered cautiously.

"Curious.  You're new this year, right?  The new science teacher?"

"Yes, I am."

"Went to school in Dallas?  Houston?"

"Dallas," Mark said, shifting uneasily on the couch.

"Grow up there?  This your first time in a small town?"

"Pretty much, yes. It's . . . an experience."

Steven grinned. "I imagine.  Well, one thing you oughta know; when a
new, young, good-looking male teacher moves into the house less than
two miles from the most notorious girl in the school, there are
_going_ to be rumors.  That's just the way folks out here are.  You
could be _gay_ and there would still be rumors.  I've never felt the
need to take a shotgun to rumors.  And if _I_ don't make an issue of
things, nobody else is likely to.  Now . . . "

Steven hesitated a moment.  "I know my little girl is a bit wild.  She
doesn't always let me know exactly where she'll be, but she always
comes home and she _is_ a smart girl.  And if she says 'I was nowhere
near person X on night Y, Daddy, but they say I was,' then I'm going
to be prepared to go along with her and say, 'of course you weren't
sweetie, we were home watching a movie together that night.'"

Mark stared at his drink, contemplatively.  He was not at all sure
that he was really hearing what he thought he was hearing.  Surely
Steven wasn't implying that . . . of course he wasn't!  Was he?  _Aw, fuck
it!_ Mark gave in; he just had to ask.

"Steven, to be really blunt, it sounds like you are trying to
insinuate something here. Something that . . . well, I've heard about 
the Wilsons. Something that could maybe get me killed if people thought 
it was happening, and whether it was or not wouldn't make a difference."
He looks up. "That makes me nervous. I won't deny . . . well, yes, your
daughter is attractive. But she's underage, and that could cost me my
life, or at a minimum my career. Even if there was no truth to
it. You're a lawyer, you should know better than anyone that a school
teacher, a male one, _can't_ fight such accusations."

"It is a _small_ town, son.  Some things are more acceptable to people
than others.  I'm not implying anything, but if she feels safe at your
house, then that's fine with me.  And if there's trouble about her
being there, then she never was."

Mark furrowed his brow. "Uhm. Steven, you seem to be saying that if I
_was_ sleeping with her, people would accept that? I have a very hard
time believing that. I mean . . . this place makes Attila the Hun look
liberal. No offense."

"Yes, it does."  Steven smiled bitterly.  "Unfortunately, it also has
the attitude that a woman has a certain place.  Why educate them?
They can figure out how to change a diaper, cain't they?  Oh, they'd
expect me to make you marry her if she got pregnant, of course, but
I'd have to prove it was yours before they'd condemn you for trying to
get out of it."

Mark's jaw dropped, and he just sat there, staring. "You are _kidding_
me, right?"

"Welcome to the country, kid." Steven said with an ironic smile.
"Just good ol' boys, y'know?  Awful, isn't it?"

Still stunned, Mark just shook his head.  He couldn't get over the
implication that there might actually be a possibility that he could
date Kristen openly.

Steven looked at him, his eyes half-closed.  Mark was a bit
uncomfortable to realize that Steven had the exact same eyes as his
daughter.

Too casually, Steven went on, "Oh, they'd still cause some trouble if
someone were dating an underage girl openly . . . that'd be 'rubbing it 
in our faces' and they'd give her hell and him the cold shoulder.  But as
long as they think you're sneaking around . . . "  He shrugged.  "Likely
if anyone believed those rumors, the most trouble you'd have would be
too many rednecks wanting to buy you beers."

Mark looked at him in disbelief, wishing he could tell the other man
the truth, wanting desperately to trust him, but he just couldn't
bring himself to make the first move, just couldn't risk it.

"Salt of the earth, eh?" Steven asked bitterly.  "Good, solid,
God-fearing Christians.  And they raise their boys so that they think
they can rape my daughter if she tells them no.  Fuck them."  Angrily,
he tossed back the rest of his drink and slammed the empty glass down
on the coffee table.


Mark shook his head, slowly. "Damn." He took a big swallow of his
drink. "You realize, anywhere else, the _hint_ of a teacher sleeping
with one of the students would get him lynched?" He took another
swallow, still bemused.

"Hah.  Prudence isn't _that_ different from any other little country
town.  Just more hypocritical."  Steven poured himself another glass
of vodka.

"You're telling me that if I was sleeping with her, and you approved,
nobody else would mind, as long as we weren't blatant. Paid lip
service to the law."

"Pretty much."

Tense down to his bones, Mark tried to look relaxed as he looked at
Steven curiously. "And, forgive me, but you don't sound like you'd
_mind_ if I _was_? I don't get it."  He held his breath, terrified
he'd gone too far, but totally unable to stop himself, to stand not
knowing any longer.

Steven's face went blank.  "I didn't say that.  I wouldn't encourage
anyone to break the law."  He took a long swallow from his glass, then
grinned evilly.  "Why, are you?"

Somehow managing to maintain his composure, Mark finished his vodka
with carefully faked calm, then looked at Steven wistfully.  "Well, if
I _was_, it'd be nice to be able to tell you, that's for sure."  His
own grin was a mirror of the one Steven had just given him.  "I mean,
if I'd asked her to marry me, it'd be nice to be able to tell her
father."

Caught just as he took a drink, Steven spewed vodka all over the
coffee table.  He looked at Mark with naked horror.  "She can't get
married, it would kill her!"  His face went pale as he realized what
he'd just said, and he closed his eyes.  "Crap.  You little bastard."

Mentally exulting, Mark sat quietly, waiting.

Steven sighed, opening his eyes.  He wiped the vodka off his face and
the table with what looked to be about a hundred dollar silk tie, then
tossed it at the fireplace.

Mark made a decision.  "Fuck it. I'm going to take a gamble here, and
if I end up in jail . . . fuck it. You know what she is, don't you? That's
why you never objected." He tried to take a sip of his vodka,
forgetting it was empty. "But I think we've found something you don't
know."

Steven passed him the bottle.  "I know better than you do what she is,
son."

"I'm assuming her mother was the same?" Mark asked, sipping the fresh
glass.  "At least, you don't look like the male equivalent.  What
we've discovered, though . . . shit. Can you let me talk to her for a
second? I think maybe she'd better be involved in this conversation,
unless you are too uncomfortable to have it with her present."

"I'm uncomfortable with it, period, so she might as well be here.  Go
on and get her, son."

Mark nodded, and headed up the stairs, sipping his vodka.  He shook
his head wonderingly and called, "Love?  You asleep?"

Kristen cracked her bedroom door.  "What are you _doing_?" she hissed.

He grinned.  "You were right.  He figured it out.  He doesn't mind."
He smiled at her look of disbelief, and took another, deliberate, sip
of his vodka.  "And he spit vodka all over the table when I indirectly
mentioned I'd proposed."
 
She moaned, stepping away from the door.  He walked into the room, and
she sat down, putting her face in her hands.  "Oh, god, I'm gonna
_die_."  She looked back up at him.  "So what _didn't_ you tell him?"

Mark shook his head. "Come on. We're going to talk about this. Well,
he thinks you'll die if you get married, so we need to reassure him. I
_don't_ think we want mention _who_ we discovered things with last
night, but . . . shit. He'll figure it out. I _really_ don't want to
out her like that, though." He sighed.

"I _am_ going to die," Kristen moaned, "Really, truly, die.  I cannot
believe this is happening."  She grabbed a battered flannel pillow off
the bed and followed him out the door and back downstairs.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you like this, you might want to take a look at Strange Love, an
e-zine of sf/fantasy/paranormal erotica. The first issue is on sale
now for $2 at:

http://strangelove.pele.cx

Take a look!
.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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