Bobby Blanchard, Lesbian Gym Teacher

Bobby Blanchard Lesbian Gym Teacher



The young coed slipped her hand into Bobby’s and the quick, simple gesture unleashed an avalanche of desire inside Bobby, nearly rocking the older girl off her feet. “Follow me,” her new friend whispered, leading Bobby off the hockey field and into the woods. Her hair, the pale blonde of buttermilk, gleamed in the dappled light. Bobby could hear the cries of her teammates, as they drove the ball towards the goal. She looked down at her gym tunic. Should she go back and finish the game? But her desire was stronger than her sportsmanship, and she followed the younger student deeper into the dark forest.

What was her name? It bothered Bobby that she couldn’t remember. The girl stopped suddenly, and pulled Bobby to her. Bobby’s senses were swamped with her softness, her sweet perfume. Even as she kissed her hungrily, she noticed that the girl wasn’t blonde really--her hair was auburn. Has she always been a redhead? Bobby wondered, and I just never noticed? Her uneasiness grew. “What position do you play?” She asked, but the girl stepped back saying only, “This way.”

It was too dark now to see clearly, and Bobby moved forward carefully. The girl was far ahead, disappearing behind a tree. Bobby took a step, and suddenly the ground gave way beneath her feet. In a split-second of sickened shock, she knew she’d lost her footing and had gone off the edge, and now she was plummeting into the void, falling, falling to her certain death.

“Adena!” called a voice. Bobby Blanchard woke with a start, still dizzy from her vivid dream. The afternoon sun slanted through the train window next to her, as the Muskrat River Local glided slowly to a stop in front of a tiny brick station.

“All out for Adena,” the conductor called again.

Bobby wiped her clammy palms on her tweed skirt and gathered her purse, jacket, and the issue of Field Hockey Today she’d fallen asleep over. Darn those nightmares! Would she ever be able to doze off without that dream rising from her subconscious to pounce on her? The doctor at the hospital had told her such recurring nightmares weren’t uncommon after an accident like hers. Of course, she had only told him about the falling part, not the way they always started, with a pretty girl whose face she couldn’t see. What on earth did that mean?

“Let me get that, ma’am,” the conductor hastened down the aisle as he saw Bobby reach up to the luggage rack, but she swung her big plaid suitcase down easily. “Never mind,” she smiled. Her shoulder hardly twinged now--at least her body had recovered, if her subconscious hadn’t.

“This too?” the conductor took down a long skinny package, wrapped in layers of brown paper and string, and looked at it quizzically. “Some kind of musical instrument?”

“No, it’s a hockey stick,” Bobby snatched it from him. “For field hockey.”

Copyright © 2010 by Monica Nolan. All rights reserved. Kensington Publishing Corp.