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Chapter One - Chance Encounter
It was a hot summer afternoon on the road that paralleled the Agua Fria River in central Arizona. It was 1873, not quite long enough to have forgotten the terrors and hatreds of the Civil War, and though Arizona was quite distant from the bloody battlefields, emotions still fostered sudden and violent outbursts that seemed quite unpredictable. Not that such outbursts would bother the cowboy on that road today, slowly meandering his way to the town of Gillette.

Even when he stopped in a town for more than a week, those who got to know the cowboy never really knew him; most were afraid of the man who exuded a palpable energy that was immediately noticed by livestock, horses and dogs. When he was around, animals were suddenly skittish and other humans would attribute that activity to the likely presence of a coyote or bobcat. But the animals knew something that people eventually got around to deciding on their own: stay clear of this cowboy.

Truth to tell, no one could ever claim that the man started a fight or any trouble at all. He was soft spoken, but his words hit like an iron fist beneath a soft leather glove: they were neat and polite, but the punch would break your jaw. One immediately sensed his confidence, though the cowboy never advertised it.

Oh, he got into his fair share of scrapes, and as his presence on the road this day would attest, he was always the one who walked away unharmed. Though he strove to avoid confrontation, conflict seemed to find him. He never backed away; that was for the other guy, and the man that was foolish enough not to turn around and leave more often than not ended up face down and dead in the dirt.

The cowboy knew the Agua Fria River was close by the road ... just off to his left as indicated by the sycamore trees that hugged the river bank. Sycamores could not live very far from water, and in this part of the west, water was sometimes hard to come by. It was an axiom of survival in Arizona: know where the water is or you'll likely end up dead.

The breeze shifted slightly and his horse sensed the sweet smell of the river and turned his head to the left. "OK, partner," the cowboy said to his horse. "Let's get a drink and take a break." With a touch of his knee, his horse responded and headed off the road towards the river. At the edge of the bank, the cowboy dismounted and took the saddle off his horse then led it down to the river. For a few long minutes his horse drank, and the cowboy knelt at the edge of the river to wash his face then dip his head down to slurp up some cool draughts of water for himself. He also took the time to refill his canteen.

Jodie Browning felt every bit the crisp professional as she crossed the office to greet the headmaster of the Dunbar Reformatory. Although only 25, she was already a rising star at her University, and in her stylish worsted wool blue suit, dressed the part.

"I'd like to thank you for taking the time to meet with me today, Sir," she said, shaking the headmaster's hand. "I've been having a bit of trouble with my Doctorial dissertation, and my department chair seems to think that you might be of some assistance."

"Yes, I spoke with him this morning," the headmaster said, sinking back comfortably into his large leather chair. "Have a seat, Miss Browning."

Jodie sat down on the chair opposite the headmaster. Unlike the headmaster's comfortable perch Jodie's chair was hard and wooden and Jodie fidgeted a bit to find a comfortable position.

"Your chairman told me that you were one of his most promising Doctorial candidates," the headmaster said, looking Jodie up and down. "But he didn't mention what an attractive young woman you are. And so sharply dressed! I am impressed."

"Thank you, Sir," Jodie said, squirming slightly under the headmaster's appraising gaze. "In fact, my doctorial degree is why I'm here. My graduate dissertation is on corporal punishment, but as you know, there aren't many schools that still practice it, and so I was hoping..."

"Yes, your advisor faxed me a copy of your outline draft today. A rather weak start, if you don't mind my saying so. Your conclusions totally lack empirical data and seem to be largely based on your opinions."

"Well, yes, but it's just a rough draft. My advisor thought that if I spent the summer semester here, gathering data, that I would write a paper that would do the subject proud."

"I'm sure you could. Have you ever experienced the strap or the cane?"

Jodie bit her lip and squirmed in her chair, stunned by the casual bluntness of the headmaster's query. "No, Sir, I haven't. I was always... a good girl. I never got into trouble."

"I see. And yet judging from your paper you're obviously curious about the subject."

"Yes, I think my lack of experience is why I'm so fascinated by it. We always want what we can't have. I always wondered what it would be like, but my school didn't believe in it, and it's too late now. Of course, even though I'm too old for a proper school punishment, I still enjoy reading about it."

"No wonder your paper is so thin. Reading a book is a poor substitute for first-hand experience."

Jodie watched nervously as the headmaster opened a large cabinet behind his desk to reveal a daunting arsenal of canes, tawses, and straps. Jodie watched bug-eyed, mouth agape, as the headmaster removed a wicked looking cane from its hook and swished it through the air.

When Kathy Anderton discovered dating as a young teenager she also discovered just how eager teenage boys were to have sex. As she was the daughter of a young single mother, that scared her and she began to wonder why a girl had to be so willing to get her knickers off just to keep a boyfriend.

One day Ellis, her boyfriend said, "Well I really like you Kathy but if you're not prepared to...."

She felt resentful. "Well I really like you Ellis but if that's how you feel..."

Ellis had a brief moment of randy hope before Kathy walked off waving goodbye. Unsure what to do about dating any other boy, she moaned about it to Kelly, a nice girl she often sat next to in class.

"Why do I have to have sex just to go out with him? I just don't want to. I don't feel ready."

Her friend replied quietly, "I'm not allowed to date boys on their own. My parents don't think I'm old enough and my church discourages it. Why don't you come to my church? There are loads of kids our age and we all have a good time."

The church was a friendly charismatic Anglican church with a great many families and a policy about dating - don't date, go out in groups. Kathy happily fell in with this enjoying the company of boys in a mixed group and feeling happier and unpressured. She wasn't really a believer but she was accepted just as she was. Her mum was happy about it and Kathy enjoyed the various youth activities.

Kathy's mum wasn't in fact unmarried. She had gone touring North America during a gap year and at just eighteen had met, married and fallen pregnant to a young American man. Kathy was six months old when the responsibility of being a husband and father had sent him scurrying for the hills never to be seen again. Kathy's mum had fled back to England to a family that promptly disowned her. Their view was she had married a foreigner in a foreign country without their permission; she had made her bed and must now lie on it. Knocked down but not destroyed she set to and worked hard to build a life for herself and her daughter. In spite of having no qualifications beyond A-level she managed to work her way up to quite a well-paid job, bought a flat and although she had to be careful with money, managed a reasonable life for the two of them.

Was Kathy a perfect daughter? She was, as all daughters are, a mixture of adorable and a pain. Sometimes they had screaming rows. Sometimes Kathy was grounded. Sometimes they laughed and talked together without any barriers. A normal relationship. Kathy's mum, Annie, was relieved that Kathy was wary of a sexual relationship with boys.

Chapter 1: Mrs. Robinson
November 8, 1998.

Nearing the end of a long Friday at the Wychwood Academy, my secretary Janice pops her head in my office door. "Mrs. Robinson is here to see you, Sir."

Damn! Normally, I wouldn't forget an appointment with a parent. But I've been preoccupied putting the finishing touches on this evening's speech to the Eastern Counties Headmaster's Association. As the youngest private-school Head in the region, I was honoured to be asked to give the after-dinner speech to our Association's annual meeting. I've been working hard on it for weeks. Now, as I polish the final draft, I've completely forgotten about the appointment I had arranged with Mrs. Robinson after suspending her son for a week. "Tell her I'll be with her shortly, Janice. Then bring me Tim Robinson's file."

My efficient secretary has it on my desk in a minute. I leaf through the thick folder littered with Misconduct Reports, familiarizing myself once again with the wretched details. Anticipating yet another parent whining about the school's unjust treatment of her poor misunderstood child, I note that there is plenty of misbehaviour here that would have warranted the boy's suspension a month ago.

Tim Robinson, frankly, is a pain in the ass. I've no idea what's going on at home, but the boy strikes me as a good kid, spoiled rotten by wealthy parents. I would speculate that they compensate for their failure to give him enough attention by buying him all the latest high-tech gadgetry. When Madame Poli, his French teacher, caught him chatting with his girlfriend on his cell phone, she made him come to the front of the class and converse aloud with her in French. Timothy didn't appreciate being embarrassed in that way, so he turned on his heel and stomped out.

From the classroom to the office, it's the same story. The boy refuses to obey the school's rules or accept our discipline for flaunting them. He exudes a sullen arrogance that makes him toxic in a school where students normally evince a cheerful attitude and a modicum of respect for authority. When he was sent down to see me on Wednesday, I told him to sit on the bench outside my office to give him time to reflect on his behaviour. After a couple of minutes, Tim had the gall to open my door and say, "Can you see me now, Sir? You don't look real busy, and I've been cooling my heels out here for ages." That's when I invited him into my office while calling home to set up an appointment with his mother.

---oOo---
"Alright Janice. Show Mrs. Robinson in now."

A moment later, she appears in my office doorway. "Doctor Hill, I presume?"

"Yes," I smile, looking up from my desk.

"Margaret Anne Robinson reporting to the Headmaster's office. Am I in big trouble, Sir?" she laughs, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

Chapter 1: Blue Collar Fantasies
I was working out at the gym with my best friend Marcie. We were checking out the guys lifting weights, when I asked her about the new man in her life.

She told me her boyfriend, Daryl, was studying yoga with a Zen master. "He's got me doing breathing exercises and chakra merging. It's an incredible high," she gushed, describing the elevated state of consciousness they achieve when making love. Apparently, once he's in her, he barely moves and they can go on like that for hours! I believe the correct name for this is coitus reservatus. Marcie called it "Tantric bliss".

"Different strokes for different folks," I shrugged, unable to share her enthusiasm. "Call me a Western vulgarian, but all that Eastern stuff about spirituality and elevated states of consciousness doesn't really light my fire."

"No?"

"Nah."

"What does?"

"I like my sex down and dirty, shameful and salacious. Or should I say 'liked'," I groaned. "Seems like such a long time ago."

"Don't worry, Andrea. You're gonna meet a guy soon who does that down-and-dirty stuff you crave."

"Me? No way."

"Mark my words!"

"What am I doing to find him? I don't even have a search strategy for Gawd's sake. Nope, I'm afraid I've grown cynical about true love in my old age."

"That's a natural reaction to your divorce. How old are you?"

"Thirty."

"Lots of time. You'll get over it."

I shrugged, unconvinced.

"Now tell me - I'm dying to know - what do you mean by shameful and salacious? What's that all about?"

"My lips are sealed."

"Why?"

"Too embarrassing - way too embarrassing."

But it's where this story begins, dear reader, so I'll have to tell you. Thank goodness I don't need to do so in person - I'd never stop blushing!

---oOo---
I've always had a 'thing' for blue-collar roughnecks. Go figure. An upper class Jewish-American Princess, Harvard graduate, gets all hot and bothered imagining herself being ravished by a denim-clad dude with a high-school education and a crucifix on his chest! I used to have the hots for a Polish guy who was my auto mechanic. He had washboard abs, a barrel chest, huge hands, and an accent so thick you could cut it with a knife. Every time he fixed my Porsche, I'd imagine him lifting me up by the waist with his greasy paws, plunking me down on the hood and having his way with me.

Can you guess what happened when I hired Rosie - the Italian Stallion - to renovate my house? I prowled his workplace - my kitchen - like a tigress in heat, purring my appreciation for his carpentry skills while ogling his sleekly muscled body. When I tell you the lengths I went to entice him, you're gonna think I'm a tramp!