school

I took my daughter to see her new school. We met the headmistress, her namewas Miss. Conley. I’ve always had a problem with authority. I hated school.I disliked teachers. I didn’t like the fact the headmistress was youngerthan me. She wasn’t dressed like the way I thought headmistresses shoulddress. She was trendy. Wearing a long flowing skirt and loose top,fashionable hair. I felt strange; something wasn’t right. But she seemednice and friendly and smiled a lot.Over the coming weeks, I saw her out there in the playground every morningto greet the children and parents before the bell. I took my daughter toschool and did my duty. I still felt strange. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

One morning I was there, still half asleep. I was feeling a bit randy and...WOW! Who is that sexy woman?!! Oh my god; That’s it. I fancy her. There wasthat sudden moment of enlightenment when I realised I’d been subconsciouslydenying it – I fancied my daughter’s headmistress. I had the hots for her.I made sure I was there every morning bright and early, cleanshaven andpresentable. I spoke to her more. I enrolled my daughter in all theafterschool clubs just so I can see the headmistress when I picked up mydaughter. I found excuses to see Miss Conley in her office: Was my daughterdoing ok at school? Can she recommend any out of school extra curriculum forher? Can she guarantee an improved diet for school dinners?I found out her name was Connie and she taught violin. I started violinlessons with her. I found out she taught ballroom dancing. I started ballroom lessons with her. I was obsessed. I told my therapist and she said I should write a letter to my self as if I was writing to her to help me getover it and out of my system. So I did.

I kept it on me unfinished in orderto finish it later that day. It read:"Oh, Connie, I simply love and adore you. You’ve moved parts of me thathaven’t moved in years. I’m sorry for coming to see you on so many occasionsjust to see your face and hear your voice. I’m sorry for coming to yourviolin and ballroom classes. But I love your breasts. I love your legs. Ithink about you all the time and dream of you at night".After picking up my daughter from school, we returned home. Later thatevening, I was going to finish my letter to myself, but could not find itanywhere. I searched high and low for it. But nowhere was it to be found. Imust have dropped it on the bus.Bright and early again the next morning, in the playground. There wasConnie, looking sexy as usual. After the bell had been rung, she called meover and invited me into her office. Wow, she’s never done that before; Iwas on a winning streak. She placed my letter on her desk. She was stern. I was being told off by the headmistress! She wasn’t happy with me. She felt shocked and horrified. She mentioned the police. She called me a stalker. She said it’s gotta stop. No more violin, no more ballroom.My therapist called me a prat.

reply to post by taoistguy


Is this a true story?.

boymonkey74
reply to post by taoistguy

 

Is this a true story?.

haha. that's what everyone asks! :0

reply to post by taoistguy


all i'll say is that there is an element of truth in there.