Into her driveway, Anna Lovelace pulled. Her eyes still leaking. Her face run amok with jagged, half-shallow lines of black and blue mascara. She was beside herself in that car. Her chest heaving in and out as she fought to get enough air.
She had been….
What kind of school….?
She asked herself in broken, semi-coherent thoughts. She had been violated, she felt. Picked on. Humiliated by not only a fellow student, but her teacher.
Why? How? She had to tell her mother. She had to let her last remaining parent know that the school her deceased father wanted her to go to was some kind of … of…. She didn’t even know, and yet it was a truth she needed to tell.
Chasing that exigency, Anna got out of her car and ran into her house. The black-haired freshman calling out for her mother, whose car the disheveled and distraught daughter assumed to be in the still-closed garage.
“Mom?!” She called as she moved through the living room and then into the hall.
“Mom! We really need to talk!” She shouted, and then muttered, her voice tapering off. “Please mom…. Be here.”
Shout though Anna did. Search though Anna did. The 19-year-old’s mom was not home. And finally, when that fear became a fact known, the young Lovelace disappeared into her room.
Doing so by slamming her door shut, and then falling back against it in a lean. There, she tried to compose herself. Tried to calm herself. And though effort she gave, she still found herself bound to the encounter she had just escaped.
What did that girl — that Maisie want…? What was she doing….? Why did the teacher…? Again her questions trailed off as she fought to understand.
But then she saw it. A letter. Sitting on her perfectly-made bed. A making Anna had nothing to do with.
It must have been her mother, who made so neatly a bed that was almost always in a state of complete disrepair and disorder. And with such a suspect in one whodunit, Anna surmised the same woman was the culprit for the other.
The letter was from Mrs. Lovelace, the disheveled daughter knew as she picked it up. An assumption confirmed by sight and fragrance — penmanship and signature.
Writer known and mysteries solved, Anna began to read.
My sweet girl, I know.
I know how much you wish I was home. How much you want to hug me. How scared you are. And how everything in the world seems confused and out of focus.
I know, because I felt the same way after my first day at Penngrove.
Unlike you, I was very shy and painfully timid. And the only thing I wanted to do in class was listen, learn, and then study. I was a good student, who had great grades. But my parents wanted me to be something else. Someone else. Day after day, telling me that I needed to break out of my shell.
So Penngrove it was.
In my first class (all female for that period, just like today) my teacher called me to the front and asked that I stand facing the class. She then asked for volunteers. A few girls raised their hands and she picked one.
The girl’s name was Janice. She was blonde, thin, and pretty, but she looked at me cruelly as she stood up from her chair and walked to the head of the class.
As Janice approached, my teacher began to speak. Telling me about how she needed to help me with my temperament. How I needed, as my parents always told me, to break out of my shell.
I listened to her and nodded, my eyes angled down and to the floor. But as my eyes kept their a downward tilt, suddenly Janice, right in front of me, dropped to her knees.
I tried not to notice, or to even look at her as she stared up at me with narrowed, enmity-filled eyes. But then, even as I tried to ignore everything that was going on around me. The teacher suddenly made her intentions and Janice and I’s instructions clear.
“Janice,” my teacher said, “lick Amanda’s pussy until she cums.”
My beautiful red-headed instructor commanded, striking fear into my heart, before she continued. “Amanda, if you cum before the end of class, I will make you do this exercise every day until you make it. It’s amazing how easy it is to handle the idea of talking to a person when they have seen you orgasm.”
“Now, where were we…. Right, the American revolution….” My leggy instructor asked and then answered as she carried on, without a hint of concern for me, my acceptance of her terms, or the humiliation she had just condemned me to.
Even worse, before I had even digested what had been said, Janice was already on me. Pulling up my plaid skirt, ripping down my pink panties, and then leaning in deep between my thighs.
In panic I looked to my other classmates. Expecting them to be as embarrassed as I was. But those 30 girls, minus Janice and I, looked entirely unphased. As if they had seen it and been subjected to it or something like it themselves before, time and time again.
Some of them even letting their eyes move back to my teacher, as I began to moan softly for Janice. For a stranger. For someone who clearly hated me.
I didn’t make it to the end of that class without cuming. Or the next one. In fact, for the first 3 weeks of first period, I was at the head of the class. With a different girl from my class, each day, making me cum. All as the teacher taught her lessons and as her students watched on.
After my that initial day, I too ran home and looked for my mother. And though now I wish I hadn’t, I found her. I tried to hug her and she refused, pushing me away and to the ground.
“You need to learn to be a woman!” She shouted at me as I began to cry.
“No one will ever want to marry you, if you’re like this. Grow up!” She screamed as I ran back to my room.
She was wicked and hateful, as you very well know. And though she sent me to Penngrove for the wrong reasons, and though I stayed for the same, I say to you now and without a doubt.
My education at Penngrove changed my life for the better. It’s where I met your father. Where I learned how to be ass-kicking and assertive. Powerful and passionate. Sexy and strong.
I can’t teach you the lessons that I learned there. I can’t put into words how certain I am that it’s right for you, just like it was right for your father and I.
I won’t make you go to Penngrove, if after today you feel it is too much or wrong for you.
But if you stay, try to keep your mind open and heart light.
This is your adventure, Anna. Live it to remember. Because these days you will never forget.
At the sign-off, Anna looked up from the letter and to her still-shut door.
Her tears had dried.
Her worries and fears had faded, even as her pulse still raced.
And though she didn’t understand how her mother’s letter had so quickly affected her, for the first time since she left the campus that day, she felt both ready and certain.
At Penngrove she would stay.