Gyre and Gimble in the Wabe

Written 4-12-13

I think at times, she did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
(or maybe, occasionally, she was all mimsy with the borogoves.)

There are always incidents from our past, that when examined based on what we know now, just puzzle us more than before.
Case in point, the friendship that I had with my High School English teacher.
(Hmmm…that seems rather possessive? Maybe I should have said, ‘a HSE teacher’? but I digress.)
I was sixteen, which all of you know is a time when teenagers (boys and girls) are suffering from hormone – clouded thought processes.
Taking that into account, she was still a hot little number. Red hair, freckles (which I have always been drawn to for some unfathomable reason), pretty face, delicious rack, curvy hips, a wonderful smile and a nice laugh.
Now I know what you’re going to say, ‘GW, any woman who would pay the slightest attention to you is a hottie’. Well, yes; but she was quite the looker.
Anyway, she was just a summer school teacher, up from a small town in the San Joaquin valley. Perhaps she was just looking for a pal, but she invited me to her apartment one afternoon. It turned out that she lived about six blocks from my house.
Gosh, but she was fun to talk to! We’d sit for hours, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze.
Did I think about getting her in the sack? Of course! But she was a mid-twenties teacher. Despite my testosterone infused brain, I knew enough not to try anything. If I had, I knew that the friendship would have been over in a heartbeat. After all, what would a hottie like her want with a sixteen year old nerd? Absolutely nothing.

And I was learning lots of things from an older woman. First off, she was being a little more honest with me that girls my age would have been. She did not have agendas like my peers.

She talked about a trip to Las Vegas with one of her gay friends. The thing she likes was that they could have fun, go shopping, and the sex things didn’t hover over them. I found that interesting.

She talked about growing up in a small town in the valley, where there wasn’t a lot to do. What I found most interesting was one statement she made about ‘being one of the few girls that did not graduate pregnant from high school.’ What I immediately took that to mean was, ‘I had sex like everyone else, but I was careful, or lucky.’
Okay, she’s not a prude.

You know, it’s just not a good idea for a woman to talk about sex with a teenage boy. He already has confused ideas and that just makes him think about it more.

I remember another time, when we were discussing sex in literature (she was an English teacher!). She made a comment about it being pervasive. I disagreed and pointed out things like ‘Jabberwocky’ didn’t have sex.
She looked at me, laughed and said; “Oh GW, what do you think he meant when he said, ‘And he took his vorpal blade and went snicker-snack’?”

No one had ever talked to me like that, so up front.

Obviously, she liked who I was; probably more than what I looked like. But maybe not. I like to think that she had as much self control as I did. I knew better than to make a move on her, and she knew much better than I, the consequences of making a move on me. At the time, it just seemed to me that she simply enjoyed my company. That could be the only explanation. (right?)

There was another incident that puzzled me.
Once, when I arrived for an afternoon visit, she had a couple of girl friends over. We all sat around a chatted, like usual; but I had the strange feeling that I was being evaluated.

Looking back on that summer, I still think that it would have been glorious to be invited into her bed. But I also recognize that it would have altered the course of my life, possibly significantly. For I might not have paid attention to this little cutie in my Civics class, might not have been receptive to her attentions. That would have been a shame, for that young lady and I are still friends and always will be.
And if certain links in the chain of events had been broken, I might never have met Wonder-Girl, and that would be a shame.

I don’t talk about that summer much. Recent news reports indicate that it’s not that unusual for an older woman to have a liaison with a teenage boy. (I won’t say ‘seduce’, for we all know a woman of just moderate looks does not have to seduce, just be available.)
So rather than try to explain that we had a friendship and nothing more; and spend days trying to deny what everyone thinks happened, I just stay quiet.

Of course, I would love to sit down with her and ask her about our relationship, what was her motivation. But that would entail (creepy) web searches and maybe strange questions from her husband (assuming that she is still married).

But I will leave you with a few facts to ponder.
Within a year, I received an invitation to, and attended her wedding to a guy she had never mentioned.
I discovered recently that she was a mid twenties hottie because I was able to verify that she was only seven years older than me. (Yes, the web is interesting place to search.)