I wake alone in Alison's bed

I think I slept better that night than any since Fran's accident. I usually wake early, after almost thirty years of teaching I am used to waking as the sun comes up, but it must be closer to eight judging by the sunlight streaming in through the bedroom window. It takes me a second to realize why the curtains look wrong, and suddenly everything about last night comes rushing back and I realize that I am alone in Alison's bed.

The memories of Alison moaning and squirming under me elicit both shame and excitement. Like most men my age I've had more than a few fantasies about sex with a smoking hot teenager, in particular an innocent young woman like this one who I could share my experience with. On the other hand, this shy beauty knew so little of men that I couldn't help feeling that I had taken advantage of her youthful naivety. From what I've heard about Dick, Alison's interaction with men before me was actually almost worse than having no experience at all. What I did last night comes crashing down like a Jenga tower and although it is exactly what I set about to do, I am filled with doubt and alarm. What if I drove my young tenant away. Even though the sex was fantastic for both of us, I can remember her concern about letting me sleep with her. She is probably already at the Student Affairs office right now filing a complaint about me. I pull on my khakis and tee-shirt and pick up rest of my clothes and shoes before leaving Alison's room. On last look at the rumpled bedding brings a smile to my face as I remember last night. It may have been the worst mistake I've made in years, but Damn! It was worth it.

I find Alison in the kitchen with a bright smile on her face.

“There you are sleepyhead.” If she's upset about what happened last night she's hiding it pretty well. “Do you want some juice? I made breakfast.”

“Uh, yes please.” I see two frying pans on the range top, an empty bowl in the sink and the table set with plates and coffee cups. A butter dish and a small pitcher with what looks like maple syrup in it is my first hint of what's on the menu, but now that I'm over my initial surprise I can smell sausage and coffee too.

“I hope you like pancakes, Mr. P.” She pulls a stack of eight or nine from the oven, “I made the same recipe I did at home ... so we have a lot. Oh, and sausage too.” She reaches back into the oven and pulls out a (thankfully) smaller covered casserole with a bunch of neatly browned sausages.

“Well, you've been busy.” It is an inane thing to say, but I'm having a little trouble adjusting to this side of Alison.

“I hope you don't mind Mr. P.” A hint of worry furrows her brow, “I couldn't sleep this morning, you know after last night ... I'll clean everything up, I promise.”

“Maybe we should talk about last night?”