Like a log

It's 5:45, a little later than your usual wake, but not more than a few minutes. You've always been a morning person, and your stint in the marines only reinforced those natural tendencies. The dawn is just starting to light the view from your window and you wonder for a second if the old folding stool is still sitting outside Diana's window or if the girls (or whoever) retrieved it late last night. Not that you really need the stool, you could easily pull your chin up to the sill and get a look at the sleeping Headmistress in her -

Banishing the thought before it fully forms you climb out of bed and start your morning routine. It takes the better part of 45 minutes to go through the workout of push-ups pull-ups, crunches and squats, about ten minutes longer than it used to as you have to take time to warm up your knee and do the exercises specifically prescribed by your PT. The VA physical therapist was happy with your progress, but not you. It is clear that any improvement you have will be incremental at best and in no way will you ever be able to pass the physical needed to resume your career, but all the same you work through the routine with stubbornness akin to a Kentucky mule.

Another long shower followed by a careful shave and getting dressed takes 20 more minutes, but you cannot go knocking on Ms. Naylor's door at 7:00 AM on a Sunday morning. You sit at the desk reading and rereading the pertinent sections of the Code of Conduct taking careful notes. An intranet search on the Academy pages confirms that the stapled book in your hand is identical to the electronic version sent to the students as part of their welcome package.

Not for the first time you try to determine if your desire to use the old fashioned paddle dictated by the Code of Conduct is based on your belief that this is truly what the Academy needs, or if it is more a desire to repeat the scene that had taken place in your office yesterday. The polished wood of the paddle feels good in your hand and you stroke its length thoughtfully trying to decide the best approach to take with the fierce Ms. Naylor.

It is still not even eight, and you return to your room to make the bed, sweep the floor and remove the soiled bedding piling it in the closet with the rest of your dirty laundry. After ten more minutes of pacing you decide you've waited as long as you can stand. You stand in the silent hall for a minute going over what you're going to say. Ms. Naylor's suite is the next door down the cherry paneled hall; unlike your door with its plaque marking your office as the Dean of Students, Ms. Naylor's door is completely unmarked, but you now know all to well that these are her rooms. Adjusting your tie carefully you knock on the door sharply three times.

"Who is it?" You smile as you hear the Headmistress' voice.

"It's Kyle Hawkfeather Ma'am. It's important." Less than thirty seconds later her door swings open and you see Diana Naylor standing in the doorway to her private office wearing a light blue silk gown belted tightly around her slender waist. It is impossible not to think about the sexy teddy that she is wearing under the robe, but even without that extra insight, Diana looks pretty damn sexy in that thigh-length dressing gown.