Jordan’s Lesbian Metamorphosis

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You know the drill – all the actors in this script are of legal age. This is the first of a five part series. Although it’s not critical that you read them in the order they were written, I think you will enjoy the series much more if you do. In any case, I hope you enjoy the story!

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A personal thanks to Bernard Lyons, a dear friend in Dublin, Ireland who provided me with his generous and timely editorial insight and is also very available to meet any straight women out there who can appreciate good looks, incredible intelligence, unparalleled sensitivity and a wonderful person. As always, thanks B!

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I guess even if I’d given the matter much thought, I don’t know how I would have really felt about returning to my former high school as a member of its faculty. In many ways going from student to teacher seems to be one of life’s great role reversals, perhaps second only to becoming a parent. I hadn’t been away long enough to forget how it felt to be a student and now I was returning as a teacher.

The transition would have been even more shocking if I knew about the many changes that would occur as a result of my new position. I had no way of knowing that my life was about to change in a way I could have never imagined, even if I’d lived for a thousand years. But I suppose I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you how everything in my life turned upside down and why I’ll never be the same person.

My name is Jordan Elizabeth Peters and I’m twenty-three years old. Well actually, I’ll be twenty-three on my next birthday. Last March, several months before I finally finished graduate school at the University of Texas at Austin — as in Hook ’em Horns, I started my job search with the usual high level of anxiety. You all know the drill and I’m sure each of you has had to endure it at some time in your life. You’re finally forced to leave the protected environment of academia for the dreaded ‘real world.’

In truth, our professors have been threatening us with this evolution all year long and I too was sort of dreading it, but I knew I couldn’t remain in the womb forever. Well, I guess I could have, but someone had to start paying pay back those damn student loans.

Incidentally, has it ever occurred to anyone that the only entities that benefit from us knocking ourselves out in college are the state and federal governments? Since a college grad is supposed to earn more than a million dollars over a non-grad in their working lifetime, just imagine what that means in taxable revenues. Okay, here’s my point: why then do those governments not absorb the expense for at least an undergraduate degree? Yup, graduate school teaches us to ask these kind of probing questions.

Anyway, even though I had always wanted to be a teacher, I actually had a much loftier goal in mind for myself. I intended to stay on course and eventually earn my Ph.D. in Education and try to eventually move into school district administration. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to teach, god knows that is probably my true calling. But I did have ambition and I knew about the obscene salaries that many of the School District Superintendents in Texas were making. Anyway, everyone has to have some sort of plan and that was mine.

I focused my job search in my hometown of Houston, Texas where I applied for eight high school teaching positions with several of the prominent School Districts in the area. I even applied with the same ISD where I actually grew up and went to school nearly six years earlier. Outside the Houston School District, my former ISD was one of the largest in the state and I knew they would probably have the greatest number of open teaching positions and their pay scale was also attractive.

I know what you’re probably thinking, this poor girl has no adventurous or independent spirit whatsoever and in a way you’re absolutely right. But my parents were just working class people who couldn’t afford to help me pay my college expenses and after graduation I had those pesky student loans looming over my head. My dad was kind enough to offer me free room and board for as long as I needed it in order to pay off my loans, but to take advantage of such an offer I obviously had to accept a position in the Houston area. Well, I did have two degrees so I weighed the pros and the cons: let’s see, I was flat broke and I knew I wasn’t going to receive a better offer. It didn’t sound like rocket science to me.

There was a time in the not-too-distant past that I would have never considered living at home after college. But it didn’t take long for me to do the math and I knew that if I lived frugally, then I could buy a new Honda Accord and put a little money aside for post-graduate school tuition at the University of Houston. After I played with the numbers for a while I realized that I could be totally out of debt in about five years. Well, at least a girl can dream.

After casino oyna the interview with several officials from my former ISD I was surprised that I was offered a position on the spot to teach Biology and Chemistry. What I wasn’t exactly prepared for was that the position was to be at my old high school, which I’ll refer to as Memorial High for the purpose of my little tale.

It wasn’t that I dreaded going back to Memorial High. The truth was, I never even imagined that such an option might ever present itself. To make matters worse, I knew that in my mind I hadn’t mentally moved on yet from that time and place and I was a bit intimidated at the prospect of returning to a venue that didn’t hold a lot of warm and fuzzy memories for me. I considered the offer for a brief moment and then bit my lower lip and accepted the position with a big smile, knowing full well that I’d have to deal with all the ghosts eventually.

For better or worse, I grew up as an only child. My dad, Bobby Peters, worked at the post office ever since he graduated from Memorial High the year I was born. My mom, Elaine, seemed to bounce from one minimum wage job to another during my entire adolescent life, lacking any apparent goals or ambition. Just when I would remember her work telephone number, it would invariably change.

I never thought about why that was at the time, but when I was in college it struck me as very peculiar and I had made a mental note that I wanted to ask her about it one day during one of our rare mother-daughter discussions. As I recall, we had four of those moments in my life and I thought that we were about due for another one real soon. I really loved my mom, but there were many times that between the two of us I felt more like the parent.

We all lived in a modest three bedroom, two bath single story house in Harris County. It only had about sixteen hundred square feet, but it was big enough for the three of us. I was friends with several of the girls in the neighborhood and life seemed fairly normal and routine to me. I knew we didn’t have a lot of money, but that was never something I obsessed about. Like all females, what I did obsess about was my appearance and that, along with schoolwork and my pet cat, virtually consumed all of my time.

It was during the summer after fifth grade when I finally realized that I was probably never going to be beautiful. I can still remember feeling the knot in my stomach when I arrived at that sole-searching realization about myself like it was only yesterday. Swallowing that pill was unknowingly made even more bitter by my daddy, who always called me “Beautiful” since I was old enough to walk. Now it was clear to me that he was just being my dad.

After my little epiphany things just continued to go down hill from there. As a result, I was way short in the self esteem department as a child and I would probably have been a textbook candidate for some adolescent counselor’s couch.

Okay, so you’ve probably realized by now that I was what most people would describe as ‘average.’ At five feet-four inches tall, I was neither heavy nor thin, but at least I didn’t have the dreaded weight monkey on my back, like several of my anorexic friends. My face was not at all unpleasant and when I started using make-up in ninth grade I was actually pretty surprised at the result. My boobs seemed to stop growing before I turned sixteen and sadly the development that my buxom mother always told me to expect from her genes never materialized. From an upbeat perspective, at least I never had to wear a bra. I guess I’m always trying to make lemonade out of life’s lemons.

Most everyone used to tell me that I had two incredible assets, which were both passed onto me from my dear mom. Although my hair was a non-descript light brown color, it was thick and I always wore it very long and straight, with it usually falling somewhere between ten to twelve inches past my shoulders. I never had split ends and I never suffered through a bad hair day in my life. You probably wouldn’t be surprised to learn that I’ve kept the same style to this day.

Although I really love my hair, I always knew that my greatest asset was my eyes. They were a really beautiful and very unique emerald green color and I had people complimenting me on them ever since I was in first grade. It was also one of the few things in life that I never got tired of hearing.

So, as I matured I remained relatively conservative in most of my views and I knew just as the sun rose in the east that I would never become part of the glitzy social scene that would make or break my collection of high school memories.

But facing that reality early on certainly didn’t make high school any easier for me once I finally got there. I knew I was destined to sit on the sidelines as a spectator, while a select group of popular students would dominate the social landscape and I accepted that fact as if it was a Darwinistic principle of evolution. I knew that I would never be a cheerleader, go to the prom, canlı casino or ever get to wear a boy’s letter jacket. I knew that I’d never be popular.

Even with the foresight that seemed well beyond my years, it eventually turned out to be far worse than I had initially feared. By the time I was finally a senior I had still never been on a date or had sex with a boy, although truth be known, I’m not sure which of those really occupied a greater sense of urgency in my mind. I had experimented a couple times during sleepovers with my best friend Allie, and although those encounters were extremely pleasurable, they seemed to raise far more questions for me than they answered.

So with a lot of effort I had finally come out of my shell in college. I still wasn’t beautiful and I knew I probably never would be, but at least I was no longer a virgin, although that too turned out to be a rather grand disappointment, but I’ll share more on that in a moment.

I also started running five to seven miles every day – come rain or shine, and I worked up to doing two hundred sit-ups daily, so after nearly six years I had a very lean body that looked pretty damn good in a tight dress or skin-tight jeans or even naked, for that matter. I also became much better at using makeup and at 22 years old I was finally at the magical point in my life where I actually thought that – as a total package – one day someone might even consider me attractive.

Although I dated about a dozen guys while I was at UT, it surprised me that I always preferred to keep those relationships casual. I think it was because I was never blown away by any of my paramours. Even more depressing were the sexual encounters. After all that anticipation, I thought that the sex with them was grossly overrated and highly unfulfilling.

Sadly, during my time in Austin I never experienced a single sexual encounter where I didn’t have to finish myself off afterwards. Finally, after several years, I realized that I even preferred it that way. As a result, I seemed to lose any sort of desire to find a boyfriend, but like all things I genuinely thought it would probably happen sooner or later, though I had no desire to hasten it along.

I dutifully showed up for the mandatory teachers’ conference as a paid faculty member ten days before school officially started. The new role actually surprised and amazed me so much that I absent mindedly parked my new little car in the student parking lot without giving the matter too much thought. Then without any fanfare I entered the school for the first time in six years and at that instant it felt as if I’d never left.

As I walked the halls for the first several minutes the memories came flooding back to me. I soon realized that I had subconsciously slowed my gait to a near crawl and then I became teary-eyed and I was not sure whether it was because I enjoyed being there or rather because I simply dreaded it.

About twenty minutes later I finally worked my way over to the auditorium which served as the main venue for all the major indoor events at the school, including today’s faculty meeting that I was about to attend.

As I stood off to the side watching people shuffle about greeting each other after the summer hiatus, I began to see many faces that were very familiar to me. Those faces belonged to the teachers that I had known years earlier, sometime between the ninth and twelfth grades. To me that time period suddenly seemed like another lifetime ago.

As they saw me standing quietly off by myself, some of them smiled and waved at me. I wasn’t sure whether they recognized me or whether they were just trying to be friendly. All was not totally rosy, however, as a smaller number seemed to look at me with near disdain. I guess to some of the more tenured faculty members, I was just an outsider who had no right whatsoever to participate in their reindeer games.

As I was standing there observing the procession of teachers and administrators heading into the auditorium my attention was suddenly drawn to one incredibly gorgeous woman wearing tight fitting jeans and a short-sleeved white top with a scoop neckline. This beauty was walking towards me at a rather hurried pace, with a huge smile on her face that I immediately returned in kind.

When she finally reached me she warmly extended her arms to embrace me. As she did I stood motionless waiting for the impact, still not exactly comfortable in my new role. She kissed me on the cheek and then pushed back and her eyes raked over me from head to toe, as she continued to smile warmly at me. The tingling that surged through my body at that moment did not escape my attention, as I continued returning her smile.

“Jordan, I was so excited to hear that you were coming back here to join the faculty. Welcome sweetie, you look absolutely terrific.”

“Thanks Ms. Masters, I’m really glad to be here,” I lied. “As usual, you look . . . really, really incredible,” and I meant every word.

She held her position with her kaçak casino arms partially around me for several seconds, while she continued smiling at me in a way I could not easily interpret. “My goodness Jordan, we’re colleagues now, you simply must call me Debbie.”

Hmmm, I knew teaching at my former high school was going to take some major mental readjustments on my part, but I hadn’t even contemplated a scenario such as this. I smiled back at her and gave her my most convincing acquiescent nod.

Years ago I used to think that Debbie Masters was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Now, as she stood there before me, I saw nothing to cause me to rethink that earlier opinion. She had been my ninth grade chemistry teacher, my tenth grade physics teacher and my anatomy teacher when I was finally a senior. All three classes were honors classes and over those four years I had eventually gotten to know and like her very well.

Debbie Masters had always been my favorite teacher and when I was a senior I loved to help her grade papers or help her prepare for her classes. More often than not I would patiently sit in her class after school and listen to her ramble on and on about her husband and how happy they were together. Although I was genuinely happy for her, I realized those discussions always caused me to feel a hint of jealousy. I just loved being around her, but deep down inside I always suspected there was another explanation for my feelings that was simply not yet clear to a teenager still struggling with her own identity.

Debbie Masters was nearly four inches taller than I was and every bit as lean. She had dark auburn hair that she used to wear very long down her back, but now she was wearing it in a shorter page boy sort of style. Debbie also had the softest brown eyes I had ever seen. She had high cheek bones and her face was perfectly sculpted. She was simply beautiful and her make-up always model-perfect.

While I was a student here I never thought much about her age because she seemed so young to me at the time, but as I stood there and chatted with her I found myself actually wondering how old she might be. As I studied her gorgeous face I was now guessing that she was probably about thirty one or maybe even thirty two, but I was certainly no expert guessing someone’s age.

Staring at her now I could see that after six years Debbie Masters was even more stunning than I remembered, but what seemed to surprise me the most was her outfit. I always remembered her as a real fashion diva, always dressed to the nines. She would wear the most incredible clothes that were both tasteful and sexy, along with the most stylish heels and the proper accessories that proved to be the perfect touch for even the most discriminating fashion critic. In a funny kind of way seeing her in jeans today was just a little disappointing.

As the crowd began to thin out, Debbie and I finally entered the auditorium. We sat together somewhere towards the back and during the initial dry presentations we whispered to each other like former best friends. I got her all caught up on my not so terribly exciting life in Austin over the past six years and she did the same about her marriage.

She told me that she suffered through a very unpleasant divorce from a guy who actually used the “it’s not you babe, it’s me,” line on her. I knew I would despise anyone who could ever treat her badly, but as I listened to her recount that tearful tale of woe, I couldn’t help but wonder why any woman would ever want to get married in the first place.

Once the Principal finally took center stage we redirected our attention to her and listened attentively to the presentations that consumed the remainder of the day. When we finally walked out together at four o’clock, we stood in the hallway and talked for another forty minutes before she finally had to run off and that’s when I knew that things would not be as bad as I had originally feared.

I walked to my new Honda that was parked all by itself in the student lot and as I sat in my new car I realized that I was actually excited. What I wasn’t sure about was whether the excitement was due to classes starting in less than two weeks or seeing Debbie Masters again.

On the big day I was excited about starting my very first job. It seemed that things would not be nearly as difficult as I’d first imagined and I was grateful that I now had at least one solid ally on the school faculty. I also knew that my classroom would be next to Debbie’s and this too helped put me at ease.

I had no desire to compete with a high school full of beautiful teenage girls all vying for any sort of attention, so I decided to dress down. I elected to wear a simple black skirt that fell several inches above my knee, a pale yellow top with half sleeves, nude pantyhose with a built in crotch and a pair of black three inch heels which were not only comfortable, but I thought kept me from looking too much like some of the older female teachers in the school who preferred to wear flatter, sensible shoes. I knew I’d get there soon enough, but the heels made my legs look really good and unlike the quiet student of six years ago, I actually thought I looked pretty damn good in skirts.

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