Free Moonlighting: A Thanksgiving Story by Vicki Blue Page A

phonics and addition to write stories of dominant men spanking
saucy wenches into line.
    Charlotte tried
not to live vicariously through her characters, but it was hard sometimes.
Falmont was a small community, and the only men she ever saw were fathers of
her students. Falmont Academy forbade students from having Facebook pages and
the ambiguously worded morals clause of her contract made her fearful of being
seen in town with a drink in hand or on the arm of some man who she may later
find had questionable character.
    Not that it
mattered, really. Charlotte doubted she’d ever find a man like the ones she
wrote about - chivalrous, dominant, caring but stern enough to give her the
guidance she craved since she could remember. Charlotte’s desires sometimes
made her feel apart from other women, and she never discussed them beyond
weighing in anonymously on the occasional forum. But she’d even stopped doing
that since she started her job and now she felt more alone than ever.
    “A group of us
are going out for dinner. Wanna come?”
    Charlotte turned
to face the speaker. Sue Ellen Forrester was smiling toothily at her. In her
rush to evade the offer, Charlotte nearly blurted out that she had to go home
and work, but caught herself in time.
    “No, thanks,”
she said, picking up her bag of papers and purse. “I’ve got a bunch of errands
to do.”
    “Shame,” Sue
Ellen said. “You never seem to want to go out with us.”
    That was the
truth, but not one Charlotte could admit. Her fellow teachers, mostly older,
were wretched busybodies who had lived in Falmont almost all their lives. They
went to the same church, attended the same book clubs and seemed intent on
recruiting her.
    “We hardly know
anything about you,” Sue Ellen whined. “Keep turning us down and you’ll make us
suspicious!” The last line was delivered with the same singsong tone Charlotte
sometimes heard Sue Ellen use with her students.
    “I assure you,
your suspicions would be wasted. Excuse me.”  She turned away, irritated.
    “It was just a
joke, dear,” Sue Ellen said, her tone piqued.
    But Charlotte
was too tired to care. Being roped into handling the Thanksgiving play was bad
enough;  to have to answer about how she spent her free time did nothing to
improve her mood.  She turned the corner and started down the hallway, relieved
when she finally came to the door. But as she opened it, the strap on her bag
broke, spilling her papers all over the floor.  “Great,” she said, sighing in
exasperation. She leaned down and then startled when a large pair of hands
began to assist her in the pickup.
    “Mr.
Longbridge,” she said. “I didn’t even see you!”
    “I was in the
janitor’s closet putting up the janitor’s bucket left in my office. Timmy Reid
decided to not just get himself sent to me today, but he also decided to come
down with a case of severe nausea as I was explaining why we don’t call our
fellow students names.”
    Charlotte found
herself smiling. Nigel Longbridge had always struck her as a bit officious and
she realized that this was the first time he’d ever made small talk with her.
She had always thought he was attractive, and attributed part of it to his
speaking voice. He’d been born in England and came to the U.S. twenty years
earlier, according to the other teachers.  He’d not lost a trace of his accent.
    “There now,” he
said, handing her the stack of papers. She opened the bag, which she was
holding from the bottom, and he slid the bundle in. “At least you’ll have an
excuse to go shopping for a proper bag now.”
    “I’ll probably
just sew the strap back on,” Charlotte said, looking at the damage.
    “Hmm.
Thriftiness. That’s a good trait. Quite uncommon in this day in age.”
    Charlotte
laughed. “We do seem to be too busy to preserve things, don’t we? It’s easier
just to replace them, more convenient.”
    “That’s just one
of the things wrong with society today, Ms. Tetter,”