Teaching Carol, Ch.4

(At the time of this posting – late September, 2010 – I’m looking for an online (and possibly RL) sub to train. If you think you would enjoy being treated like Carol, please see my ad:

http://forum.xnxx.com/showthread.php?t=175534)



I didn’t see Carol at lunch the next day, though I waited until nearly closing time. When she didn’t come to dinner, I casually asked a classmate of hers if she’d seen Carol, and she told me Carol hadn’t been at her classes that day. It was pretty obvious that Carol was upset about last night and was too embarrassed to show her face in public. Or, at least, where she might run into me.

This needed to be dealt with. I sat down at one of the dining tables, tore a piece of paper out of my notebook and wrote the following:

Dear Carol,

My guess is that you’re feeling bad about last night. It must have been a shock to learn that you enjoy something that most people wouldn’t…that they might even find repulsive. I’d also guess that you’re more ashamed of the fact that I know this about you than you are of the fact itself.

First of all, I promise you that I will tell no one. Second of all: though there are obvious reasons for being discrete, there is no reason to be ashamed. Really and truly. In fact, I consider you fortunate for discovering something that gives you so much pleasure—most people go their whole lives without experiencing that kind of fulfillment

I think what’s really bothering you is a desire to not be what you are—a desire to be what other people call ‘normal’. And if you want to pretend to be that way then you certainly can; if that’s your choice then I will forget that last night ever happened and leave you alone.

But no matter how well you pretend, you will always remember; you will always know the truth. So the question is this: Will you try to live a lie, or do you have the courage to be who you are?

Please know that I will accept you either way. We are friends, you know. –Jonathan

I quickly gathered some hot food in a take-out container. I folded up the letter and tucked it into a corner of the take-out box, then I took it up to her room. I set it on the floor outside her door. Then I knocked and called out, “Room Service!” and went away.

She came to lunch the next day. I saw her go into the serving area and come out with her tray a few minutes later, looking very cute in a baby-blue cotton knit shirt and a khaki wrap-around skirt. I was sitting by myself in a corner of the room. I watched her stop and slowly look around. I assumed that she was looking for me, but I didn’t know whether it was to join me or avoid me. When she looked my way I raised my hand and waved. I kept my expression neutral—ready to be accepted or rejected.

She looked at me for a long time—perhaps she hadn’t truly made up her mind until that very moment. Her face, too, was neutral. I wondered if she was trying to judge the sincerity of what I’d written to her.

She started walking towards me.

When she arrived at my table her facial expression was unchanged. In fact, close up, she looked a little angry—an impression that was supported by the way she banged her tray down on the table, and the way she seemed to flounce into her chair. She glared at me for several seconds, saying nothing. Then she pulled her gaze down to the purse in her lap and snapped it open. She reached in and brought out a leather glasses case. She pulled out the glasses she had been wearing the other night, unfolded them with sharp, jerky movements as if she were mad at them as well, stuck them on her face and looked up at me, still glaring, as if to say, ‘There, are you satisfied?’

I leaned forward slightly to look more closely at her. Sure enough, there was the tiny dribble of semen on the inside of her glasses, though it was hardly visible now that it had dried to near-transparency. She saw me looking at it, and I saw her eyes flick up to it for an instant before returning to mine, possibly even angrier now because of it, as if saying, ‘See what you made me do?’ But I continued to meet her gaze calmly…until she suddenly blushed and looked down. And, though I couldn’t be sure, I thought she smiled a little.

I had an idea. I was done eating, so I pushed my tray aside. Then I reached across the table with both hands, grabbed the edge of her tray and pulled it over to me. She looked up at me, startled, but I paid her no attention—I was looking at the contents of her tray. It was pretty much Dining Hall Standard: sliced turkey-roll with cranberry jelly, mashed potatoes, green beans, a small salad.