Jackson Robard - Present for teacher

"I can't," she declined even though she loved to dance. "I'm supposed to be a chaperone here, not join in the fun."

"Aw, sure you can," Joey persisted. "All the teachers do. Look, even old Marble-hea – I mean, Mr. Cartwright – is having a fling."

Miriam turned to glance at the dance-floor, and indeed, the husky youth was right. Harlow Cartwright was holding his wife sedately at arm's length, attempting a jogging fox-trot to the music. She had a hard time stifling a giggle at the ludicrous sight. "Well, maybe later on then," she agreed. "I'll see how busy I am."

"Right on," Watson said. "I'll be looking forward to a dance, too. Come on, gang, I need some of that punch, first."

Mark Trenton didn't say a word, only following the other boys with his head hanging down sheepishly. Miriam watched the three of them disappear into the crowd, feeling a sigh of relief pass by her lips. God, poor young Mark must still be ashamed as she was of their naked coupling on her bed last Sunday morning. He was an innocent, sensitive boy, and it was obvious that he hadn't been able to bury what had happened in his mind and forget it any more than she had. Then, once more, the perverse memory of the lewd intercourse she had committed with him filtered once again through her head, reviving the tingling twitch between her thighs until she was forced to squeeze them tightly together in an effort to end the taunting sensations.

She was still squirming in her standing position at the door when Harlow Cartwright came up to her, his plump face reddened with exertion, and a fine sheen of sweat dotting his forehead.

"My, I see you haven't moved from your position, Mrs. Dodge," he said. "Conscientiousness is the mark of success, I always say."

"Thank you, sir, I thought it best to stay here, since you and your wife were inside," she said, wondering if the fat elder principal ever talked in anything but cliches. "I saw you dancing earlier. You made a distinguished couple, I must say."

"We did?" Cartwright beamed, adjusting his glasses. "Well, all work and no play makes Harlow a dull boy, I always say," and he chuckled at his bit of quaint humor. "Haven't you been dancing yet, a young woman like you?"

"No, I haven't. As I said, I thought I should…"

"Well," he interrupted, taking her arm, "we'll rectify that right now, while Agnes is in the kitchen. After all, everybody who's coming here has come by now. No sense you standing by the door all night."

Before Miriam could protest, the portly principal was pushing her through the students to the polished dance-floor. There she followed him in a simple two-step, grateful that the band had slipped into a slow number as a change of pace. She was surprised to find that despite his girth, the rotund man proved to be an agile and smooth dancer, and they were able to keep together. But unlike he had with his wife, Harlow Cartwright attempted to press his flabby bulk against her tightly, until she was certain that she could actually feel a hardening bulge in the front of his trousers pushing into her abdomen.

"Please," she said, endeavoring to loosen his hold upon her.

"What's the matter? Don't you like my dancing?" he grinned at her, and continued to clutch her to him.

"No, no it's not that," Miriam replied weakly, afraid of offending her employer. "It's just that it's awfully warm in here." She was certain that she could feel his penis begin to throb against her lower stomach, and she struggled to back away from the frighteningly obscene pressure which rubbed sensuously against her thinly covering dress.

"Please, Mr. Cartwright, we have to set an example for the students. They're looking at us…"

"Nonsense," he scoffed, his breathing growing heavy as the pulsating of his now obviously rock-hard shaft beat hotly into the soft flesh of her belly. "What do they know?"

Miriam was about to risk offending him and insist he let her go, when young Joey Gore approached and tapped her obnoxious partner on the shoulder.

"Yes?" the aroused little principal asked him curtly.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Cartwright," the wiry, thin-faced youth said. "Your wife sent me to look for you. She wants you in the kitchen."

"Oh, she does, does she?"

"Yes, sir. She said to come immediately."

Cartwright glowered as he reluctantly removed his arm from around Miriam's waist.

"Don't ever get married, young man, or you'll be bullied for the rest of your life." And with a grunt, he turned and angrily walked away.

Joey Gore stepped in to take his place, holding Miriam in loose but firm confidence. "Figured you needed some help," he said, looking into her face. "So I went and told his wife on him."

"I'm glad you did," she replied, feeling a little confused by this odd turn of events. She could smell the odor of beer on his breath, and added: "But Joey, you shouldn't be drinking, you know."

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said, his face sobering quickly. "I just had a small one before coming here, that's all. Say, speaking of that, you look hot and thirsty. How about a glass of punch?"

"I would like some, at that," Miriam agreed. They stopped dancing as the band changed into a wildly jumping number, and Joey led her to where Don Watson and Mark Trenton were sitting at one of the small tables toward the back. As if he'd expected her to come, Joey handed her an already filled glass.

"Here you are, Mrs. Dodge. Don brought one too many back with him, so you might as well have it."

"Why, thank you," she replied, taking the glass and lifting it to her lips. She was thirsty, and the punch was very delicious. There seemed to be an odd flavor to this glass that hadn't been in her other one, but she dismissed it as being simply part of another batch made after hers.

"How about me having a dance now, Mrs. Dodge?" Don asked.

"Well, the music is awfully fast, and I've never learned how to dance the way you youngsters do."

"Heck, nothing to it. You just go out there and do your thing. That's what we all do. Nobody knows any particular steps. Come on, drink up and we'll give it a try, what do you say?"

"All right," Miriam said, smiling. "Why not?"

So she danced with him, and afterwards she danced with Joey again. Then came a succession of eager young boys, all wanting to have a chance of dancing with their English teacher. She found to her utter enchantment that when she did as Donald suggested and let herself go with the music, her natural instincts seemed to over-ride any hesitation she had from not knowing the proper steps, and soon she could dance with the best of the youths. She was having fun, more fun than she could remember since her own school days, and she jerked and undulated to the beat until her face was flushed and her head swam dizzily. And in-between times, she gulped the refreshing punch that the two lewdly plotting boys had spiked. She drank it in quantity, never occurring to her that the drink had achieved its additional tang because they had added potent liquor.

Eventually it took its toll, however, and Miriam suddenly began to feel dizzy and in need of fresh air. She excused herself from the boy she'd been with at the moment and staggered slightly as she headed for the entrance door. There she stood for a long moment, wiping the perspiration from her forehead and drawing in deep breaths of the cool, pine-scented night air. God, she was acting as if she was drunk! What a fine way to behave! What would Mr. Cartwright say if he saw her the way she was right now?

"There you are," she heard a high-pitched voice behind her, and she turned to stare at Agnes Cartwright, who was framed in the cafeteria's dim light. "I was wondering where you'd wandered off to, after dancing the way you'd been."

Somehow the wife of the principal had made it sound as though she might have wandered away with one of the students. Miriam couldn't help blushing in spontaneous embarrassment. "I… I only thought I should mix with the children, Mrs. Cartwright," she said in an effort to defend herself. "The way you and Mr. Cartwright were doing earlier."