A visit from a timid student?

Alison gives no indication of our conversation the night before as she eats her Special K and chats about her classes.

“What about you, Mr. P?” She asks innocently, “you got anything planned for today?” I didn't really, in fact I was still a little worn out from the weekend.

“Nothing much, Angel. Anything you feel like for dinner?” It is a sad statement about my life that I look forward to cooking foods that Alison might like.

“Anything really,” she carries her dish to the sink and washes it carefully, “you know how much I love your cooking.” Twenty minutes later, she checks to make sure she has her mask, slips a small backpack over her shoulder and heads for her 9:00 AM Chem lecture. I watch her leave with a smile on my face and turn my attention to pulling up the dandelions I noticed trying to flower one final time before the fall frosts. As I work my way steadily through the yard looking for even the smallest of the weeds, I decide to try my hand at some Southern cooking. Cornbread, collard greens with mashed potatoes and porkchops.

It is early afternoon when my doorbell rings and I wander out to the front door ready to chase away some Seventh Day-Adventists or overzealous environmental warriors wanting me to sign some petition to save the whales or polar bears. What I am not expecting is Alison. - Well sort of Alison.

Instead of the outfit she was wearing when she left this morning, she is in a white button up blouse, and a slightly frumpy looking skirt in spite of wearing clothes that would fit right in at Bingo night at the local senior citizen center, if anything she looks even younger. Perhaps it is the is the lack of makeup and the glasses that hide her big eyes, but I think it has more to do with the flustered expression on her face.

Sensing my confusion, Alison begins timidly offering me at least a hint at what she is playing at.

“I hope you don't mind, Mr. Patterson,” she smiles nervously only glancing up at my face before dropping her eyes again. “I looked up your address in the phonebook.” I'm finally beginning to catch on, Alison has done her best to look like a shy high school student.

“Miss Miller?” I don't really have to pretend to be surprised and drawing on almost 30 years of dealing with students the words come pretty easily. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Patterson.” The smile slowly fades, “I shouldn't have come.”

“Well, you're here now.” I grumble as I join her out on the porch, “You may as well stick around long enough to tell me what's on your mind.” We settle down on the porch swing, not quite touching but close enough that I could smell the fresh scent of her shampoo. Alison, or rather her younger shyer alter ego rambled on for a while about how impressed she was with the conversation I had with her class about not being afraid to take chances.

All the while she is speaking, her legs clench and unclench and I can just imagine how juicy she must be getting. It is so tempting to invite her into my house and fuck the shit out of this shy schoolgirl, but I keep my responses neutral, refusing to ruin this by going too fast too quickly.

“I'm so glad you took the time to talk to me, Mr. Patterson.” For the first time Alison reaches out to touch my hand. It is a pretty innocent caress, but both of us know it is the first step. “You make me feel like I'm a real person.”

“Of course.” I rest my hand on hers, trapping her small hand between mine. “You're an amazing young woman.”

“No one else seems to think so.” She pulls her hand free and holds it tightly on her lap. “Everyone thinks I'm just an awkward nerd. Boys just laugh at me when they see me, everyone knows it.” Then before I can assure her that she is so much more than that, she jumps to her feet and stumbles down the steps. “I gotta go, Mr. Patterson.”