Miss Oliver had taken over the first grade class from Mrs. Sampson, the retiring teacher had told Miss Oliver not to forget the tradition of giving birthday spankings in front of the class. But Miss Oliver could not bring herself to ever implement the tradition herself, because her own feelings about spanking were so strong. She longed to communicate about her fixation to someone who might understand and sympathize, and wondered if Mr. Johanson might be a good choice.
Mr. Johanson was the cleverest teacher on the faculty and always taught the sixth grade honors class. He was witty and well read, informed on all current events and full of amusing anecdotal knowledge of the past. Of the men she knew, Peter Johanson seemed the most open-minded and flexible. But there was also a quaint, old-fashioned quality about him, from the sprinkling of grey in his temples to the throbbing pulse of Tin Pan Alley that sprung from his nimble fingers when he sat down at the upright in the back of his class. There were 14 years between them, but when he smiled and his blue eyes crinkled, she saw the boy was still alive in the man. However, she greatly disapproved of his moustache and did not scruple to tell him so after three or four innocent dates.
Peter had invited Jessie to dinner at his cottage on Lilac Cove. He himself had prepared their meal, which was a good deal more savory than if she had done so. In fact, Jessie blushed when she regarded the perfect serving of Chicken Kiev and pilaf on her plate, remembering the macaroni and cheese casserole she’d presented him the previous week in her apartment in the village.
It was very romantic, here on the cove, with the pounding surf so close. They dined by candlelight and Peter opened a good bottle of wine. Jessie was thrilled by these cultivated attentions. The wine went quickly to her head and sex, rendering her reckless and aroused.
“You know, Peter, you’d look ever so much more youthful without that horrid old moustache,” she blurted out, shocking even herself with these words.
Peter was taken aback. And to think that tonight of all nights he was going to try to kiss her for the first time!
“So you don’t like my moustache, eh?” Peter pretended that he wasn’t hurt.
“It makes you look like William Powell.”
“I thought it looked rather distinguished,” he returned, clearing the table.
“That’s just the problem. You’re too young to look distinguished.”
“I’m afraid I’m not very young at all,” he smiled, going out of the room with the dishes. She scooped up several plates and followed him into the kitchen.
“I want to help.”
“Very well,” he told her, opening up his perfectly organized linen closet and getting out a chef’s apron. “Let’s see how you look in this,” he slipped it over her head and turned her around to tie the bow in back. When he was done he gave her one light pat on the bottom. “Okay, get to work!”
Jessie quickly busied herself at the deep, old-fashioned sink to hide her fierce blush. The little smack stayed with her for many minutes, causing her to flush again and again, while her tummy contracted with pleasure.
No more was said about the moustache and no kiss was attempted. Jessie sat quietly by the window looking at the cove while Peter played for several hours, a troubled frown creasing his brow every now and then.
The next date they had was for Halloween, which fell on a Friday. Peter had made reservations for dinner in Woodbridge at an inn and later they were going to the revival movie house to see a double feature of Frontier Gal and The Wax Museum.
The movies had been Jessie’s idea, after she chanced to see the lobby cards for Frontier Gal the previous week while shopping in the neighboring coastal town. One of the cards pictured the spanking of beautiful Yvonne de Carlo across the knee of handsome Rod Cameron, and all Jessie had been thinking of the whole week was how delightful it would be to watch just that kind of movie with dear Peter.
Jessie arrived at school that morning thinking that she had never felt so happy in her young life as on that splendid, golden autumn day. She was wearing a dove grey fitted wool dress and matching cropped jacket with a white linen collar. Her brand new light grey gloves, pumps and purse were all of suede and bore the label of Saks Fifth Avenue. Underneath all of this elegance were a charming little corselet and silk panties. For tonight of all nights, she cherished hopes of being unwrapped by her gentlemanly escort.
The moment she entered the schoolyard to assemble her class she looked for Peter, just as she had done so every morning for several weeks. She saw him right away across the yard and waved, then turned back to her class with the impression that something was different about him today.
It wasn’t until the morning recess break that she got a closer look at Peter and realized that he had shaved his moustache and now seemed to look a lot more like Dick than William Powell. All at once she could see his face for the charming face that it was, not the prematurely middle aged one he had made it. Jessie noticed he had also gotten a sharp haircut, had his shoes shined and even seemed to have brushed his jacket that morning.
Jessie wasn’t able to talk to Peter until lunchtime, when she found him sitting under a tree with his paper bag lunch spread out on the bench beside him. She had brought her own brown bag and added its contents to his.
“Peter, I’m overwhelmed that you took my criticism so seriously and shaved your moustache. How long did you have it?”
“Too long, Jessie. I was in a rut and you were right to point it out,” he patted her hand fondly.
“You look ever so much more attractive now, Peter,” she said, abandoning her plain cheese sandwich for one of the delicate tuna salad sandwich quarters he had prepared. “Mmmmm! You really know how to prepare food!” she murmured appreciatively, causing Peter to glow.
“The capers make all the difference,” he explained.
Jessie gazed at him and smiled, more than pleased at the change, which the shaving had wrought. Was it possible she had really been seeing this handsome man for weeks without the exchange of one single kiss or squeeze? Jessie hoped that his admirable housekeeping and culinary acquirements were not symptoms of latent homosexuality.
“Now you get to change something about me,” Jessie suggested.
“I wouldn’t change an atom.”
“How gallant, Peter. Some people don’t share that feeling,” Jessie said meaningfully.
“People like who?”
“Oh, horrid Mr. Albrecht. I inadvertently flicked him in the face with my ponytail while I was straightening up from the water fountain today.”
“Oh dear, and what did he say?”
“He said I was too old to be wearing a ponytail and that it wasn’t appropriate for a teacher anyway.”
“Hateful man. I love your ponytail.
“I’m going to have to pin my hair up from now on.”
“No!”
“Just during school hours,” Jessie smiled.
It was at this pleasant juncture Mr. Albrecht strode past the two teachers on his way back to the school building. He nodded briskly to them both
