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From: Rod OSteele <rod.osteele@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Horrible Case of the Sexual Predator (mF 1st con) {Rod O'Steele}
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Date: Fri, 23 Jun 2006 18:10:02 -0400
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by the author unless explicitly waived.  Non-commercial re-posts
to ASSM or similar venues are allowed provided copyright information
remains on the re-posted story.  As a courtesy to the author please do not
delete the copyright information.  No commercial reprints are authorized.



   The author relishes your comments at rod.osteele (at) yahoo (dot) com.
If you like this story, see my other stories at www.asstr.org/~osteele.



   WARNINGS: This story depicts consensual sexual activity between men and
women, or women and women.  Some of the participants in the story may be
under the age of 18.  If you are too young to read about sex please do not
read this.  The law says you teens should remain in ignorance of the thing
you think about the most.





   The Horrible Case of the Sexual Predator





   I saw the news on the Smoking Gun website.  "The 37-year-old Arkansas
woman is the 3,496th teacher to be arrested this year on charges that she
had sex with an underage student." This was quickly followed by the news
that a Texas teacher, a former Miss Texas contestant, was arrested for
having sex with an 18-year-old student.  Miss Texas?  The lucky fucker! 
For some reason, I was incredulous that that many teachers had been
arrested.  Apart from the obvious reaction that every man has, `Where were
these teachers when I was in school?' which includes the arresting officer,
the prosecutor, the judge, and all the rest of the men involved in the
hypocritical process, I wondered why would a grown woman want to have sex
with a skinny pimple-faced teen?  Then I read that as many as 20% of
students have had some sort of sexual contact with a teacher.  Man, that's
a lot of hanky panky in the schools.  I started researching the saga of one
such teacher who's story didn't make it into the main-stream media.





   Roberta





   Roberta was mentally ill, as a number of prominent mental health
professionals had testified.  Mental illness is always defined by deviance
from societal norms.  Roberta's behavior was outside the norm, at least
outside the acknowledged, admitted norm, even if it was not really outside
the norm of the actual behavior of people.  For example, a brother and
sister desiring to marry would be considered mentally ill, as well as
criminals, today.  But in the Egyptian and Incan civilizations, it was
quite the norm; in fact, it was a religious imperative, ordained by God,
for the ruling families.  There's proof that God is a woman.  Look how
often she changes her mind on what is right or not.  One hundred years ago,
an uncle marrying his niece was normal.  Voltaire set up house with his
niece.  Today, he would be classified as a sexual predator and undergo
court mandated mental counseling until he overcame his illness.  Poor
insane Voltaire, and he didn't even know it.  He thought he was
Enlightened. One hundred years ago, and still in some places today, the age
of consent was as low as twelve.  The first Age of Consent law was enacted
in Britain because girls as young as ten were being forced into
prostitution.  The law made the age of consent 12 so that girls could not
be forced into prostitution until that age.  The Puritanical elements in
America forced various states to follow Britain's lead.  The age limit has
crept up over time as do-gooders tried to stop sex until the age limit
isn't congruent with real world behavior.  Any law violated by 60% of the
population makes no sense.  Today, having consensual sex with a person
under eighteen makes one a molester.  Same behavior is normal yesterday,
but makes you a wacko today.  Or is that the other way round?  Come on Ms.
God, make up your mind.



   *****



   That is why Roberta stood in front of a judge, her lawyer at her side,
the prosecutor looking smug because he had gotten tons of publicity from
this trial and helped his re-election chances immeasurably.  Justice
doesn't matter when re-elections are involved.



   "Miss Edwards," the judge intoned.  "Your conviction carries a sentence
of up to twenty years in State prison.  Normally, you would undergo
counseling during incarceration.  It has been pointed out to me by your
counsel that the women's prisons in this state do not have the necessary
counseling."



   The prosecutor was starting to look a little uneasy at this point.  He
had pushed for a twenty year sentence.  That sort of sentence was good for
the law and order vote.  The six o'clock news would be full of his face
trumpeting the conviction of a child molester.  In this case, the child
stood six-foot-two and weighed in at one-ninety-five, but that was beside
the point.  The Judge was weaseling a little and the prosecutor was
worried. `Necessary counseling, my ass,' he thought.  `Just give her twenty
years, you old windbag.'



   "Taking into account all of the relevant facts, especially the testimony
of both the defense and prosecution expert witnesses..." the judge glanced
at the prosecutor.



   The prosecutor fumed, `Shit!  The judge is going to blame it on me. 
"The prosecution's expert witness," my ass.' He was already composing his
outraged comments to the press.



   The judge continued, "...it is my opinion that the need for counseling
outweighs the necessity of confinement.  The expert testimony of the mental
health professionals that you represent little or no danger to society with
counseling and with the obvious benefits of counseling, compel me to
sentence you to five years probation, the term of the probation to be
shortened if you successfully complete the recommended counseling program.
If you fail to complete the program the sentence will revert to twenty
years in State prison.  In addition, you are to have no contact, and I mean
no contact, with the victim in this case.  Also, you will have no contact
with minors unless supervised during the period of probation.  Do you
understand these terms?"



   "Yes, your Honor," Roberta said quietly.



   "Good.  See that you adhere to them rigorously.  I will most certainly
impose the sentence of imprisonment if you violate the terms of your
probation," the judge said sternly.



   "I understand fully," she said.



   "Make sure you complete that counseling satisfactorily.  Court is
dismissed," he said, rapping his gavel.



   "All rise."



   As the judge disappeared, Roberta was hugged by her lawyer.



   The prosecutor said nothing as he hurried past, hoping this wouldn't
wreck his campaign.  "I'll need a quick high profile case that I can win,"
he mumbled to himself.  Maybe he'd have the vice squad raid a couple of
massage parlors and take the news guys along.  That was always good for
coverage.  The news guys loved filming the scantily clad women, the public
loved the salaciousness of it, and the parlor would be back in business
before the week was out so no one was hurt.  Except for the women with the
arrest record, but the DA didn't care about that.



   *****



   Across town, Jason sat in a quiet office listening to a matronly women
talking.  He had trouble keeping his eyes open.



   "You must learn to deal with being a victim," she droned.



   Jason laughed.  Victim.  Hell, every guy in school was begging him for
details, hoping they could pull off boffing one of the teachers themselves.
Every female teacher had hordes of boys itching for a chance to be the next
Jason.  Victim?  He was a hero in the eyes of the guys.  Jason also noticed
how many of the girls flirted with him now.  After all, if an adult woman
like Miss Edwards had seen something in Jason, there must have been a
reason.  And the salacious details that came out in the trial of how happy
he kept her, made wet panties common among the high schools girls.



   And the admirers included his dad, who had clapped him on the back when
he heard the news and congratulated Jason.  That is, until his Mother
practically took off Dad's head with her screaming about how her poor son
had been abused.  Dad had been publicly contrite after that.  He would
occasionally give him a wink when Mom wasn't looking.  Jason knew his dad's
real feelings.  Jason was also well read enough to realize that his
mother's reaction had more than a tinge of jealousy in it.  It wasn't the
fear that he had been hurt; he obviously wasn't hurt.  He had a smile you
couldn't take off with a blow torch when he was with Roberta.  Jason's
mother nearly had an attack when she found out `that hussy' wasn't going to
prison.  Jason had really stirred the pot, on purpose, by innocently
asking, "Does that mean we can have sex again?" His father had nearly
choked on his Scotch as his mother turned pale and collapsed onto the
couch.



   So Jason sat, leaning back and trying to look attentive, as the doctor
talked.  She wasn't a real doctor to Jason.  She was a PhD in Psychology.
All she could do was talk.  He remembered one of the first sessions he had
with her.  He had asked, "How long do we do this?"



   "Jason, you know each session is fifty minutes."



   "No, I mean how long do I have to keep coming?" he asked.



   "Well, your parents want you to come, to help deal with the trauma," she
said.



   Jason laughed to himself.  `Trauma?  The only trauma was all the beating
off I had to do after they arrested her.  Parents?  Yeah right!  Dad would
never make me do this.'



   "The school district is paying for these sessions, to help your
recovery," she explained.



   Jason thought about a comment his mother had made about not suing the
district if they paid for the sessions.  No one really cared about how this
actually affected him, if it did at all.  They only cared about what they
were getting out of it.  It all became too much and anger crept into his
voice.  "Yeah, and when the money runs out?"



   "Jason, you won't be abandoned," she soothed.



   He laughed, "Abandoned.  I want to be left alone, damn it."



   The doctor sat back.  "Jason, anger at your therapist is quite common.
It means we are moving forward.  It is the anger towards your tormentor
that is being re-directed at me.  Let your anger out," she said.



   "You mean Roberta?" Jason asked incredulously.  The doctor nodded. 
Jason started laughing.  "Oh my God.  Angry at her?" He had to wipe away
the tears.  "Have you ever had sex?"



   The doctor started, "This isn't about me..."



   "I guess that means no.  I'm angry at the police for locking her up. 
I'm angry at my mom for keeping me away from Roberta.  I'm angry at the
laws for being so completely stupid.  I'm angry at you for not getting it.
No wonder you are full of these stupid platitudes.  If you ever had sex
like Roberta and I had you'd know better than to say I was angry at her. 
My God, the stuff we did.  I think I was in Heaven when I was with her."



   "There is more to love than sex," the doctor tried to interrupt and
bring the session back in line.



   "Who said anything about love?  It was sex.  And we both enjoyed it. 
That's what's making you all so mad.  We had sex and enjoyed it.  That is
the crux of the whole thing, isn't it?" Jason stood up.  "Doctor, I have a
confession to make.  I had sex with a beautiful, lovely, intelligent, sexy
woman and I enjoyed it.  How are you going to make me feel guilty about
that?  Now, you can continue to collect your $150 an hour, but let's get
one thing straight.  I don't feel bad about what Roberta and I did.  I wish
we could still be doing it.  And if you had ever experienced sex like that,
you'd understand." Jason sat down.



   For once, the doctor was speechless.  There was a long, long silence as
her mind frantically tried to fit this in with known DSM protocols.  Of
course, it was never going to fit because Jason wasn't a victim and he
hadn't been hurt.  There was nothing to cure.  The dilemma for the doctor,
as there is for so many counselors, was that she needed a victim in order
to make money.  No victim, no money.  Most teens were easy to talk into
being victims.  They were used to being indoctrinated in school: how they
should feel, what they should believe.  Jason was different.  After a long
silence, she finally said, "I think that's all for today."



   Jason smiled as he stood.  "Thanks, Doc.  I feel a million times better
finally getting to tell the truth."



   *****



   They had been caught by chance.  While they weren't in love, they
certainly were infatuated.  They were carefree, blissful, and therefore not
cautious.  Roberta and Jason went to a theatre near her apartment, holding
hands like the lovers they were.  As they walked through the mall, laughing
together just because they were happy, Edna Crankheit, embittered spinster
and math teacher, saw them.  They continued on their way, watched the
movie, and retired to her apartment for an hour of sweaty sex before
Roberta dropped Jason off at home.



   Edna fumed the rest of the weekend.  What rankled the most was how
obviously happy the couple were.  Edna wouldn't admit it, but that was what
bothered her the most.  The little slut.  By Monday morning, Edna had
worked herself into a towering rage at the damage being done to the
teaching profession by that slut.  That Jason had learned more about
English in Roberta's class than he had the entire rest of his school career
didn't matter.



   Before class on Monday, Edna stormed into the principal's office.  After
20 minutes of being harangued, he knew he had a problem on his hands.  He
did what he knew he had to under the law.  He called the police.



   The detectives interviewed Edna Crankheit, the principal, and several of
Jason's teachers.  They called Jason's home and asked to come by.  They got
his Mother's permission to search his computer.  They found the e-mails,
steamy and luridly detailed.  It was enough to get a search warrant to
seize Roberta's home computer.  They found the same e-mails.  The case was
complete.  Even if Jason didn't testify, the physical evidence, the
descriptions of sex they wanted to have, and sex they did have being on
both computers would tie a pretty red bow around the case.  Any jury would
convict on the e-mails alone.



   Roberta was arrested the next day and her life dissolved into a
nightmare.



   *****



   Jason and Roberta lay stretched out on the rug.  Jason's head was lying
on Roberta's chest and her hand swirled in his hair, making little circles
as she played with it.  She had a dreamy smile on her face.  They were
nude. Jason also smiled, a smile of contentment.  The air of the room
reeked of passion, theirs.  They had spent the past hour slowly making
love.



   Roberta was teaching Jason how a woman needs to be loved.  Like most
teen boys, Jason's idea of sex had been twenty seconds of whacking and
spilling his seed in a hankie.  Roberta was teaching him about foreplay:
kissing, touching, caressing.  She was teaching him about control, how to
control his own reactions so that the woman had time to get to her climax,
but also how control allowed his own climax to become so much more
powerful. As he learned, he was rewarded with Roberta's frantic reactions
of pleasure and Roberta's willingness to teach him even more.  In the month
they had been together, Roberta had become the best instructor Jason would
ever have.



   After sex, they would talk about books, Roberta's other passion.  She
introduced him to many of the classics of Western literature.  In turn,
Jason introduced her to speculative fiction.  At first, Roberta held the
genre in disdain.  But as she read some of his favorite books, Fahrenheit
451, Dune, Foundation, The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, Roberta recognized
that these were romances set in some future world.  They explored the world
together, physically, in bed, and spiritually, through books.  Jason became
a man.  Of course, this was her greatest sin, bringing maturity to a teen.
Teens were supposed to remain children until they turned 18.  Then, on that
single day, they were supposed to instantly mature into adults.  No wonder
so many 20-something's were still children.  They had never matured when
they were supposed to, in the years after puberty.



   *****



   They had grown close over the two months of school.  Roberta would give
Jason some reading assignment, just for him.  He would read, thinking of
Roberta.  She was the heroine and he was the hero of the Romances he read.
Then they would talk about what he had read.



   There was never enough time during the school day.  Roberta was taken
with Jason and Jason was in lust for Roberta.  It was Jason who had the
courage to take the plunge, a plunge that turned out to be over a cliff for
Roberta, but that was foreknowledge that she could not have.



   "Miss Edwards," he started out.  "I really would like to talk to you
about the Romance of the Rose, but there just isn't enough time in school.
Would it be possible to get together on a weekend?  I know you are probably
busy, but maybe just some time?"



   Actually, Roberta wasn't busy at all.  She resisted at first, knowing
that she held some improper thoughts about Jason.  But it certainly
couldn't hurt anything for them to get together to talk about one of the
greatest love poems of all time.  It was so wonderful watching Jason's mind
expand.  "All right.  How about Saturday?"



   His throat constricted and he felt butterflies in his belly.  He was
going to be alone with her.  "Sounds great."



   That Saturday, Roberta picked him up and they went to her apartment. 
They sat on her couch talking about Romances, the genre that developed from
the minstrel singers.  She had a book of Chansons in French which she read
and then translated for Jason.  Both of them felt their blood rushing from
the intense sensuality of the poetry.  After one slightly risqu� poem, they
both turned at the same moment.  Their lips were just inches apart.  Their
lips were drawn together as if magnetized.  Neither could resist the
impulse which drove them now.  They kissed.  The erotic is in the mind and
their minds had been primed to it for hours, days, weeks even.



   Jason was a virgin and Roberta had only one brief affair, in college,
with her professor of Old English literature.  Jason's fumbling attempts
could have allowed Roberta time to reconsider, but her mind was caught up
in the erotic atmosphere she and Jason had created.  She wanted to feel...
romance, sex, yes, his body.  Oh God, she wanted to feel his body against
hers just like the Chansons in their glorious language spoke of it.



   When Jason's hand first touched her breast, any resistance vanished. 
She pulled away and Jason thought it was over.  Instead, she took his hand
and led him to her bedroom.  He couldn't believe his good fortune.



   After, they lay in her bed, both sweaty.  Now that the initial desire
had been sated, Roberta began to think.  "Oh, we shouldn't have done this,"
came blurting out.



   Jason looked stricken.  "Was I that bad?"



   Roberta pulled away from her own disjointed thoughts to look at Jason.
She could see the dismay on his face and she laughed.  "No, silly.  You
were wonderful," she said caressing his cheek.  Wonderful was a bit of an
overstatement.  But he had managed to please her after his third orgasm
allowed him to last long enough.  "I meant, if someone finds out, I'll get
fired."



   Jason sat up.  "Miss Edwards..."



   Roberta interrupted with a laugh.  "Don't you think you should call me
Roberta?"



   Jason looked abashed.  "Yeah.  Roberta, I will never tell anyone.  Not
anyone.  They'll never know."



   He was so earnest that Roberta believed him.  He wasn't going to be
bragging in the gym.  Maybe they could be together.  She looked at the
handsome young body before her, so much like the statues of Donatello, so
beautiful in their youthful eroticism.  She had loved the David, which Mary
McCarty called "a transvestite's and fetishist's dream." She had almost
reached out to touch the shiny bronze skin, to run her hand over the penis
of the statue.  The Italians following the Greek example knew that physical
love, Eros, was every bit as valid as Spiritual love, Agape, and they
portrayed the beauty of Eros in their art.  Now, she had her own David. 
This one was ivory and made of warm flesh instead of cold bronze.



   *****



   Jason was taking Junior English and got the new teacher, Miss Edwards.
He filed into class late and got stuck with a chair in the front center,
one of two chairs left.  `Shit,' he thought.  `She'll be able to see
everything I do.' There would be no sleeping for Jason this semester.



   Nervous, Roberta kept her head down, reading.  She wasn't really
reading, she was just too nervous to look at her class as they filed in. 
She wondered if she would ever get used to it, greeting a new class.  This
was third period and the first two had been as difficult.  The bell rang
and the class quieted expectantly.  Roberta looked up.



   "Oh my God," breathed Jason under his breath.  `She's hot.'



   "Welcome to junior English, a study of the literature of America,"
Roberta said as she stood and walked to the chalkboard.



   Roberta had come to teaching early.  She was only 23 when she started,
just having completed her degree in Old English Literature.  She chose that
because there were only eight extant texts in the entire corpus, the most
notable being the epic poem Beowulf and the poem Caedmon's Hymn.



   It wasn't that she was lazy, though it might seem picking this degree
because it had the least reading might indicate that.  No, Roberta loved
reading and literature.  But she loved what she loved.  Orlando by Virginia
Wolfe, a love letter 500 years long.  Le Morte d'Arthur, The Romance of the
Rose, those were what she loved.  She was in love with Romance in all its
manifestations.  She didn't want to be forced to read tawdry tales of real
life by some professor in Modern Literature.



   But it was an English degree and so she became a teacher at Central
High. Roberta wasn't very worldly, having grown up in her little world of
books and Romances.  If she had only known.



   Jason was stunned.  Not only was she beautiful, but her body was to die
for.  And she was wearing a skin tight dress that was cut short.  She was a
Goddess.  She couldn't be a teacher.  Teachers did not look like this.  He
didn't hear any more of the opening lecture as his mind wandered along
fantasy paths.  He was hard the entire class, though he didn't really
notice until the final bell sounded and he couldn't get up from his chair.



   Jason couldn't take his eyes from her.  Because he wanted to somehow
gain her attention, he paid attention in her class as he did no other. 
That night he raided his family's library and started reading books she had
mentioned that day, even though they weren't required.



   Roberta noticed this boy who came to class every day, attentive, who
knew the answers to her questions, and was able to bring into the
discussion comments from some of her favorite works.



   One day, perhaps two weeks into the course, Jason stayed after class. 
"Miss Edwards?"



   "Yes, Jason?" she asked.



   "I'm reading Orlando," he said.  Roberta was stunned that this boy was
reading one of her favorite texts and it wasn't even in the course.  It was
a British book.  Her appreciation for Jason soared.  He continued, "I don't
understand why the sex change of the protagonist.  What did the author want
to do with that?  I mean, what's the point?"



   Roberta was exultant that this boy had spotted the exact critical point
that was at the heart of the text.  Maybe he hadn't worked it out yet, but
he knew this was the critical point of the book.  She felt close to him,
glad he was making the same journey into these books that she had made at
his age.



   What had been only a teacher student relationship, though one of
admiration, was about to change for Roberta.  What had been a simple
fantasy for Jason, the kind of fantasy a million boys shared every year,
was about to change.  It was something so small, so simple it shouldn't
have made any difference at all.



   She held his eye.  He looked up at her.  A spark jumped from being to
being, was reinforced, and jumped back.  They both felt it.  It was that
spark that lit the fuse that led to Jason being victimized by Roberta, the
sexual predator.













   -------------------------------- Yahoo!  Groups gets better.  Check out
the new email design.  Plus there's much more to come.  

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