twonines
LIMERICUS
He usually applies a sharp dozen with his trusty cane!
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
Southern Discomfort
- Thread starter Barbaria1
- Start date
6.
It was well past eleven that evening when Barb and Harriet rang Alpha Delta Phi’s front door bell. At first there was no response. But judging from the sounds coming from within, there could be little doubt that it was the right place. The partying was quite obviously well underway.
“Maybe we should have come earlier?” wondered Harriet, eyebrows raised as they cooled their heels on the doorstep.
“No, trust me,” reassured Barb. “There’s nothing worse than being early at one of these things. I know that from personal experiences gathered back in my college undergrad years. Early arrivers just stand around and feel awkward until things really get underway.
Moments later, the door was finally opened by a tall frat boy, wearing nothing more than a skimpy loincloth of sorts, who quickly stepped aside to allow them to enter while eying them closely.
“Carolyn! You’re prof friend and … uh … guest have arrived,” he eventually called out over his shoulder, adding with emphasis, “Get over here quick!”
“Alright … alright … keep your pants on Biff,” she called as she sauntered over to and into the house’s wood-paneled vestibule, carrying in one hand a plastic cup half-filled with an amber-colored liquid. She was wearing a revealingly abbreviated, crimson red bikini-like excuse for a toga. The unmistakable smell of beer wafted in along with her.
“Professor Moore … you’re here! Thanks for coming!” she purred. “And you’ve brought a … er … uh …. Um … friend.”
“Yes, I did. This is Harriet Jackson, a member of this year’s freshman class. Harriet, this is Carolyn.”
“Pleased to meet you, Carolyn … and you too, Biff,” said Harriet, jumping in quickly and extending her hand to both hosts. But getting no response.
“Um … uh … do come in,” stammered Carolyn, with a suddenly pasted on smile, and breaking an awkward silence.
Biff simply turned on his heel and stomped off without a word.
“The partying is well underway as you can tell,” continued Carolyn, putting on a bright face and attempting to cover for Biff’s rudeness. “And oh! I just love your togas!”
“Harriet designed them,” supplied Barb. “And, as you advised, we left our undies at home.”
Carolyn glanced from one to the other and back again, this time giving each a closer look.
Barb’s toga was fashioned from a bedsheet dyed black. Harriet’s was bright white. The symbolic message in that was purposely done, and could hardly be missed. Both costumes were quite abbreviated, completely baring one shoulder, scooped revealing low in back, less so in front. In overall length they reached down only far enough to reach the very tops of their wearer’s thighs.
“Perfect,” Carolyn allowed; her eyes lingering on Barb’s upper thighs. Then, shifting quickly to her hostess role, she clapped her hands together and chirped to all partygoers. “Hey everyone, listen up! Our special guest has arrived, please extend a hearty Greek welcome to Professor Barbara Moore!”
She made no attempt to introduce Harriet.
A burst of polite applause spread across the room, which was quite large and had the look of a medieval manor’s grand hall, with heavy timber supports under the ceiling, deer antlers mounted on the walls, and a grand fireplace at the far end. A beer keg and a makeshift open bar stood off to one side.
A number of Chesterfield couches were scattered about here and there, provided seating for some but not all of those present. Barb thought the partygoers probably numbered somewhere close to or even more than a hundred. A small band, consisting of a drummer, singer and two guitarists were loudly playing a spirited rendition of “Wooly Bully.”
Those seated on the Chesterfields appeared to be mostly couples, and not a few of them were openly engaged in sexual foreplay of one sort or another, without the slightest show of embarrassment. Barb got the definite impression that the whole affair might be well on its way to descending into some kind of mass orgy.
“Now, everyone drink up and get ready as it’s nearly game time!” continued Carolyn. An announcement that garnered a far more enthusiastic response than Barb’s introduction.
“Uh, what kind of games?” asked Barb of Carolyn while helping herself to a plastic cup of white wine handed to her by the frat boy tending the bar near where they were standing. Adding, “so glad you have something other than beer available … I don’t really care for the stuff.”
Carolyn laughed. “Alpha Delta Phi thinks of everything when it throws a bash! And the answer to your question about games, Professor Moore, is anything titillating, downright raunchy even. As you may recall I advised you to wear something risqué … and you certainly did … so it’s logical to expect the goings on here to match the costuming. You’re not shocked or offended, are you?”
“No, I attended a few Greek parties back in my undergrad college days. I’m not easily shocked.”
“Good! Oh, where now did Harriet disappear to?”
“Over there by the keg.”
“Oh yes, I see her now. Since she’s out of earshot, Professor Moore, please tell me why on earth you brought someone … uh … how should I put this? Like … HER … with you tonight!”
“Call me Barb, and the answer is, as you certainly must have surmised, to make a point.”
“Well, it was a bad idea, Prof … uh … I mean Barb. She’ll definitely pay for it, and so might you. They won’t ignore the effrontery of it and will seek their moment. You can count on it.”
“Is that the way you feel too, Carolyn? You’ve used the word ‘they’, not ‘we’.”
“I’m one of them, Barb.”
“I see.”
Turning abruptly away from the conversation to face the center of the room, Carolyn raised her hands overhead to clap for attention before loudly declaring, “Heads up, everyone, it’s past midnight and time for the games to begin!”
An announcement that was immediately met with loud applause and cheers.
“The first event is called “honor our host”, which means that one of you lucky girls, depending on who draws the short straw, shall have the pleasure and honor of getting up on the big table, in front of everyone, to demonstrate our gratitude to our evening’s host: Biff Sutton! President of Alpha Delta Phi!”
Raucous applause and cheering ensued as a large red beer cup filled with straws quickly appeared and was held high and passed around so that each girl present could reach in and draw a straw. And it hadn’t gone very far before a pretty, red-headed coed wearing a toga fashioned out of a flimsy red nightie cried out, “Oh shit! I drew the short one!”
“And we have an early lucky winner,” declared Carolyn. “In fact, she’s one of Gamma Delta’s very own: Ellen Sue Boyd! Come on everybody, let’s give Ellen Sue a big round of applause!”
And as though on cue, Biff appeared seemingly out of nowhere, strutting to the center of the room to clamber onto the top of a large and heavy oaken round table, upon which he proceeded to strut about, hamming it up by flexing his biceps, and thrusting his hips about suggestively.
The band broke into a rendition of “I can’t get no satisfaction”. And a couple of guys hoisted an all too happily willingly Ellen Sue up onto the table top.
Then to seemingly everyone’s amusement, she pivoted to face Biff, allowing herself to be pulled tightly to him, where she wholeheartedly submitted to a lengthy and totally unrestrained groping … a groping that ended with Biff spinning her about, pulling her toga off over her head, and lifting her high off her feet to nakedly face the wildly cheering partygoers as he slowly pivoted around in circles. There was a series of flashes as someone out there with a camera took snapshots.
Eventually the band stoped playing and he set her down. Someone in the room tossed her toga up to her. Clutching it to her chest and happily mugging and gesturing crudely, she slid down off the table to a round of applause and wolf whistles.
“Not bad, who’s next?” crowed Biff, ripping off his loincloth to a fresh burst of applause, catcalls and whistles.
Someone called for another drawing of straws.
“No, wait!” called another. “I’ve a better idea, let’s get Professor Moore up there!”
Enthusiastic applause and shouts of encouragement.
“No, no …” laughed Barb. “Can’t do! Absolutely not! Faculty are exempt.”
“Says who?” Someone cried.
Then everyone in the room, it seemed, began rhythmically chanting. “Moore … Moore … Moore … we want Moore!”
She shook her head and waved them off with her hand. But suddenly found herself swept off her feet from behind, her nearly empty plastic wine cup clattering across the floor.
Hoisted on high by a couple of big guys, she was swept past the stomping and cheering revelers to the table top on which the President of Alpha Delta Phi stood waiting, an amused grin animating his face.
“Moore … Moore … Moore, we want Moore!” they continued to chant as she was deposited on the tabletop and propelled with a hearty shove straight into Biff’s waiting grasp. And as he swallowed her up into his arms the band broke into a rousing rendition of “Louie, Louie … the song’s driving ten-note riff choreographing the exploratory groping that went with his embrace … one hand pressing against her back to hold her tight to him, the other roaming freely about, both over and under her toga.
Though she tied to squirm free, she found it difficult to break loose, and ended up just going along with it all in the hope that it might be over soon enough.
No such luck, as the cheering morphed into cries of “take it off, take it off”.
Biff, as it turned out, was all to happy to comply, effortlessly spinning her about and stripping her off with one swift motion that swept her toga up and over her head and sailing out into the cheering mob.
He closed in on her, and as he’d done with Ellen Sue, raised her arms on high to present her to all fully exposed.
“Nice beaver!” someone shouted.
Laughter and whistles. Then a camera flash, and then another and another as he rotated her around full circle twice before letting her go.
Alarmed and totally embarrassed she dropped to a crouch, attempting to cover up her nakedness with hands and arms while Biff loomed over her, his unrestrained erection bobbing about just over her head.
This had happened so quickly and had all gone so terribly wrong. And she was at a loss as to what to do next when something extraordinary happened.
Totally ignored by the partygoers .. shunned would be a better word … Harriet had been standing alone over by the beer keg through all of this, sipping from a beer cup and regretting having ever agreed to coming along.
As she watched Barb being manhandled and humiliated, she decided she’d had enough of these people. Tossing her cup aside, the remainder of its contents sloshing across the polished parquet floor, she charged forward, bursting through the circle of cheering onlookers, vaulting athletically up onto the table to confront Biff, who was sill standing over a crouching, teary-eyed Barb and affecting a conquering hero pose as the band began playing, “0h, Pretty Woman”.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed in consternation as Harriet promptly kneed him in the groin, bringing him to his knees.
“Come on, we’re out of here!” Harriet shouted at Barb, taking her dazed friend by the arm, helping her to her feet and down off the table before propelling her through a parting gap in the gaggle of onlookers. Someone along the way tossed Barb’s toga to Harriet, which she deftly snatched with her free hand.
Palms held high and outstretched, Carolyn attempted to stop them, shouting, “I’m so sorry, Professor Moore. Please understand! It was all in fun … really it was!”
But she stepped back quickly to let them pass when Harriet scowled menacingly at her.
She and Barb were soon out the door, out on the quad, and headed away. After a distance Harriet called a halt. Handing a still visibly shaken Barb her toga, she asked her whether she was alright.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I guess,” Barb replied, slipping the toga on over her head. “Thanks Harriet … I simply can’t thank you enough for doing what you did in there. I definitely was in need of a rescue!”
“No need to thank me. But I suppose what I did means big trouble going forward for both you and me?”
“Yeah, I’m sure word will get around campus … photos and all. But will they bring any kind of formal complaint to the administration, like claiming that you assaulted Biff Sutton? I highly doubt it. That son of a bitch will be hurting for a while and I’m glad about that. I suspect the damage’s not permanent … though I certainly wouldn’t shed a tear if it was.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Raising anything in an official sense would open them up to questions about what goes on inside their frat house. What they did to me could quite likely be seen as a form of assault. Unlike … what was her name … Ellen Sue … I was not exactly a willing participant. So, as I said, I wouldn’t expect any kind of formal complaint. But we can definitely expect harassment. From now on, we both have a target on our backs.”
“I think I already had one of those for being so uppity as to enroll and show up for the fall semester! But Barb, I’m sorry to drag you in. It’s your job here that’s on the line.”
“Don’t fret about it. They’ll learn soon enough that we can’t be cowed … neither of us! Come on now, let’s get back to the dorm.”
TBC
It was well past eleven that evening when Barb and Harriet rang Alpha Delta Phi’s front door bell. At first there was no response. But judging from the sounds coming from within, there could be little doubt that it was the right place. The partying was quite obviously well underway.
“Maybe we should have come earlier?” wondered Harriet, eyebrows raised as they cooled their heels on the doorstep.
“No, trust me,” reassured Barb. “There’s nothing worse than being early at one of these things. I know that from personal experiences gathered back in my college undergrad years. Early arrivers just stand around and feel awkward until things really get underway.
Moments later, the door was finally opened by a tall frat boy, wearing nothing more than a skimpy loincloth of sorts, who quickly stepped aside to allow them to enter while eying them closely.
“Carolyn! You’re prof friend and … uh … guest have arrived,” he eventually called out over his shoulder, adding with emphasis, “Get over here quick!”
“Alright … alright … keep your pants on Biff,” she called as she sauntered over to and into the house’s wood-paneled vestibule, carrying in one hand a plastic cup half-filled with an amber-colored liquid. She was wearing a revealingly abbreviated, crimson red bikini-like excuse for a toga. The unmistakable smell of beer wafted in along with her.
“Professor Moore … you’re here! Thanks for coming!” she purred. “And you’ve brought a … er … uh …. Um … friend.”
“Yes, I did. This is Harriet Jackson, a member of this year’s freshman class. Harriet, this is Carolyn.”
“Pleased to meet you, Carolyn … and you too, Biff,” said Harriet, jumping in quickly and extending her hand to both hosts. But getting no response.
“Um … uh … do come in,” stammered Carolyn, with a suddenly pasted on smile, and breaking an awkward silence.
Biff simply turned on his heel and stomped off without a word.
“The partying is well underway as you can tell,” continued Carolyn, putting on a bright face and attempting to cover for Biff’s rudeness. “And oh! I just love your togas!”
“Harriet designed them,” supplied Barb. “And, as you advised, we left our undies at home.”
Carolyn glanced from one to the other and back again, this time giving each a closer look.
Barb’s toga was fashioned from a bedsheet dyed black. Harriet’s was bright white. The symbolic message in that was purposely done, and could hardly be missed. Both costumes were quite abbreviated, completely baring one shoulder, scooped revealing low in back, less so in front. In overall length they reached down only far enough to reach the very tops of their wearer’s thighs.
“Perfect,” Carolyn allowed; her eyes lingering on Barb’s upper thighs. Then, shifting quickly to her hostess role, she clapped her hands together and chirped to all partygoers. “Hey everyone, listen up! Our special guest has arrived, please extend a hearty Greek welcome to Professor Barbara Moore!”
She made no attempt to introduce Harriet.
A burst of polite applause spread across the room, which was quite large and had the look of a medieval manor’s grand hall, with heavy timber supports under the ceiling, deer antlers mounted on the walls, and a grand fireplace at the far end. A beer keg and a makeshift open bar stood off to one side.
A number of Chesterfield couches were scattered about here and there, provided seating for some but not all of those present. Barb thought the partygoers probably numbered somewhere close to or even more than a hundred. A small band, consisting of a drummer, singer and two guitarists were loudly playing a spirited rendition of “Wooly Bully.”
Those seated on the Chesterfields appeared to be mostly couples, and not a few of them were openly engaged in sexual foreplay of one sort or another, without the slightest show of embarrassment. Barb got the definite impression that the whole affair might be well on its way to descending into some kind of mass orgy.
“Now, everyone drink up and get ready as it’s nearly game time!” continued Carolyn. An announcement that garnered a far more enthusiastic response than Barb’s introduction.
“Uh, what kind of games?” asked Barb of Carolyn while helping herself to a plastic cup of white wine handed to her by the frat boy tending the bar near where they were standing. Adding, “so glad you have something other than beer available … I don’t really care for the stuff.”
Carolyn laughed. “Alpha Delta Phi thinks of everything when it throws a bash! And the answer to your question about games, Professor Moore, is anything titillating, downright raunchy even. As you may recall I advised you to wear something risqué … and you certainly did … so it’s logical to expect the goings on here to match the costuming. You’re not shocked or offended, are you?”
“No, I attended a few Greek parties back in my undergrad college days. I’m not easily shocked.”
“Good! Oh, where now did Harriet disappear to?”
“Over there by the keg.”
“Oh yes, I see her now. Since she’s out of earshot, Professor Moore, please tell me why on earth you brought someone … uh … how should I put this? Like … HER … with you tonight!”
“Call me Barb, and the answer is, as you certainly must have surmised, to make a point.”
“Well, it was a bad idea, Prof … uh … I mean Barb. She’ll definitely pay for it, and so might you. They won’t ignore the effrontery of it and will seek their moment. You can count on it.”
“Is that the way you feel too, Carolyn? You’ve used the word ‘they’, not ‘we’.”
“I’m one of them, Barb.”
“I see.”
Turning abruptly away from the conversation to face the center of the room, Carolyn raised her hands overhead to clap for attention before loudly declaring, “Heads up, everyone, it’s past midnight and time for the games to begin!”
An announcement that was immediately met with loud applause and cheers.
“The first event is called “honor our host”, which means that one of you lucky girls, depending on who draws the short straw, shall have the pleasure and honor of getting up on the big table, in front of everyone, to demonstrate our gratitude to our evening’s host: Biff Sutton! President of Alpha Delta Phi!”
Raucous applause and cheering ensued as a large red beer cup filled with straws quickly appeared and was held high and passed around so that each girl present could reach in and draw a straw. And it hadn’t gone very far before a pretty, red-headed coed wearing a toga fashioned out of a flimsy red nightie cried out, “Oh shit! I drew the short one!”
“And we have an early lucky winner,” declared Carolyn. “In fact, she’s one of Gamma Delta’s very own: Ellen Sue Boyd! Come on everybody, let’s give Ellen Sue a big round of applause!”
And as though on cue, Biff appeared seemingly out of nowhere, strutting to the center of the room to clamber onto the top of a large and heavy oaken round table, upon which he proceeded to strut about, hamming it up by flexing his biceps, and thrusting his hips about suggestively.
The band broke into a rendition of “I can’t get no satisfaction”. And a couple of guys hoisted an all too happily willingly Ellen Sue up onto the table top.
Then to seemingly everyone’s amusement, she pivoted to face Biff, allowing herself to be pulled tightly to him, where she wholeheartedly submitted to a lengthy and totally unrestrained groping … a groping that ended with Biff spinning her about, pulling her toga off over her head, and lifting her high off her feet to nakedly face the wildly cheering partygoers as he slowly pivoted around in circles. There was a series of flashes as someone out there with a camera took snapshots.
Eventually the band stoped playing and he set her down. Someone in the room tossed her toga up to her. Clutching it to her chest and happily mugging and gesturing crudely, she slid down off the table to a round of applause and wolf whistles.
“Not bad, who’s next?” crowed Biff, ripping off his loincloth to a fresh burst of applause, catcalls and whistles.
Someone called for another drawing of straws.
“No, wait!” called another. “I’ve a better idea, let’s get Professor Moore up there!”
Enthusiastic applause and shouts of encouragement.
“No, no …” laughed Barb. “Can’t do! Absolutely not! Faculty are exempt.”
“Says who?” Someone cried.
Then everyone in the room, it seemed, began rhythmically chanting. “Moore … Moore … Moore … we want Moore!”
She shook her head and waved them off with her hand. But suddenly found herself swept off her feet from behind, her nearly empty plastic wine cup clattering across the floor.
Hoisted on high by a couple of big guys, she was swept past the stomping and cheering revelers to the table top on which the President of Alpha Delta Phi stood waiting, an amused grin animating his face.
“Moore … Moore … Moore, we want Moore!” they continued to chant as she was deposited on the tabletop and propelled with a hearty shove straight into Biff’s waiting grasp. And as he swallowed her up into his arms the band broke into a rousing rendition of “Louie, Louie … the song’s driving ten-note riff choreographing the exploratory groping that went with his embrace … one hand pressing against her back to hold her tight to him, the other roaming freely about, both over and under her toga.
Though she tied to squirm free, she found it difficult to break loose, and ended up just going along with it all in the hope that it might be over soon enough.
No such luck, as the cheering morphed into cries of “take it off, take it off”.
Biff, as it turned out, was all to happy to comply, effortlessly spinning her about and stripping her off with one swift motion that swept her toga up and over her head and sailing out into the cheering mob.
He closed in on her, and as he’d done with Ellen Sue, raised her arms on high to present her to all fully exposed.
“Nice beaver!” someone shouted.
Laughter and whistles. Then a camera flash, and then another and another as he rotated her around full circle twice before letting her go.
Alarmed and totally embarrassed she dropped to a crouch, attempting to cover up her nakedness with hands and arms while Biff loomed over her, his unrestrained erection bobbing about just over her head.
This had happened so quickly and had all gone so terribly wrong. And she was at a loss as to what to do next when something extraordinary happened.
Totally ignored by the partygoers .. shunned would be a better word … Harriet had been standing alone over by the beer keg through all of this, sipping from a beer cup and regretting having ever agreed to coming along.
As she watched Barb being manhandled and humiliated, she decided she’d had enough of these people. Tossing her cup aside, the remainder of its contents sloshing across the polished parquet floor, she charged forward, bursting through the circle of cheering onlookers, vaulting athletically up onto the table to confront Biff, who was sill standing over a crouching, teary-eyed Barb and affecting a conquering hero pose as the band began playing, “0h, Pretty Woman”.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed in consternation as Harriet promptly kneed him in the groin, bringing him to his knees.
“Come on, we’re out of here!” Harriet shouted at Barb, taking her dazed friend by the arm, helping her to her feet and down off the table before propelling her through a parting gap in the gaggle of onlookers. Someone along the way tossed Barb’s toga to Harriet, which she deftly snatched with her free hand.
Palms held high and outstretched, Carolyn attempted to stop them, shouting, “I’m so sorry, Professor Moore. Please understand! It was all in fun … really it was!”
But she stepped back quickly to let them pass when Harriet scowled menacingly at her.
She and Barb were soon out the door, out on the quad, and headed away. After a distance Harriet called a halt. Handing a still visibly shaken Barb her toga, she asked her whether she was alright.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I guess,” Barb replied, slipping the toga on over her head. “Thanks Harriet … I simply can’t thank you enough for doing what you did in there. I definitely was in need of a rescue!”
“No need to thank me. But I suppose what I did means big trouble going forward for both you and me?”
“Yeah, I’m sure word will get around campus … photos and all. But will they bring any kind of formal complaint to the administration, like claiming that you assaulted Biff Sutton? I highly doubt it. That son of a bitch will be hurting for a while and I’m glad about that. I suspect the damage’s not permanent … though I certainly wouldn’t shed a tear if it was.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Raising anything in an official sense would open them up to questions about what goes on inside their frat house. What they did to me could quite likely be seen as a form of assault. Unlike … what was her name … Ellen Sue … I was not exactly a willing participant. So, as I said, I wouldn’t expect any kind of formal complaint. But we can definitely expect harassment. From now on, we both have a target on our backs.”
“I think I already had one of those for being so uppity as to enroll and show up for the fall semester! But Barb, I’m sorry to drag you in. It’s your job here that’s on the line.”
“Don’t fret about it. They’ll learn soon enough that we can’t be cowed … neither of us! Come on now, let’s get back to the dorm.”
TBC
SirMGBZ
Executioner
Many Southerners have neither forgiven nor forgotten what they call “The War of Northern Aggression.” Just being friends with a Negro was practically a hanging offense. But being a Negro, who kicked a white man in the dick, this story could turn very dark, very quickly.
So well done!
So well done!
toastywarm
Spectator
How colorful! Can’t wait for more.
windar
Teller of Tales
Trouble, danger, in one of our stories? Never!
Dean Windar will apply his diplomatic skills and have everyone singing Kumbaya around the campfire in no time at all!
Ramon71
Magistrate
Great story! Though this was before my time growing up and being a frat boy in the South, it all seems familiar. There was much less (public) nakedness at parties when I was around, and unfortunately it would be more likely to be one of my drunken brothers!
Loved the music the band was cranking out! Will have to listen to my 60s playlist later today.
Loved the music the band was cranking out! Will have to listen to my 60s playlist later today.
Thanks for that. Windar and I always take care to research the times and places in which our stories are set. It’s part of the fun of imagining and writing.
twonines
LIMERICUS
Possibly, but while everyone else will be sitting, what are the odds Barb will be standing?
windar
Teller of Tales
7.
“Professor Moore,” the Dean began in his sternest possible voice.
“You can call me Barbara.”
He stared at her. Did he want to reciprocate and allow her to call him James? Perhaps that wasn’t a very good idea given the message he wished to deliver.
“Very well, Barbara,” he replied.
“Or Barb,” she chirped. “Lots of people call me Barb.”
That seemed a bridge too far for the Dean. “The reason I called you here Prof, I mean, Barbara, is that I heard rumors that you attended a Greek party this past weekend. Is that true?”
She nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“Do you think that was wise?” he asked, making clear that he did not think it was.
“I was invited,” she replied.
“There is this word one can use when one thinks an invitation is inappropriate. Um, let me think. I believe it’s, ‘No’. You could have thanked that girl, Carolyn, is that her name?” Barbara nodded. “You could have thanked her and said you had to grade papers.”
“It’s the first week of classes. I haven’t assigned any papers yet.”
“I’m sure you could have come up with some excuse, Barbara,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed.
“Well, I thought it would be good for student-faculty relations, Dean Windar.”
“I suppose dancing naked on a table would fit that bill.”
“That wasn’t my doing!” she protested. “That Biff grabbed me and forced me. I’ve seriously thought about pressing charges against him.”
Dean Windar looked at her nervously. “I really would ask you not to. I think we should keep this an on-campus matter if we can. I’ve suspended Biff for five days. I hope that’s sufficient for you.”
She considered this. “OK, I can live with that. But, if he gives me any more trouble, I will reconsider.”
“He won’t. I promise,” the Dean reassured her, though he wondered if that was a promise he would be able to keep. “And I want you to promise me that you won’t attend any more student parties. I’m planning a small faculty get-together, some sherry and crackers, this coming weekend and I hope you will attend. There won’t be any nude table dancing I’m afraid.” He seemed a tad regretful about that.
“Thank you, Dean Windar. I look forward to that. No more student parties for me. One was quite enough.” She started to rise.
“One more thing, Barbara. I understand you took Harriet to that party.”
“Carolyn invited me to bring a guest. Harriet’s my roommate, so it seemed an obvious choice. The poor girl is all alone. No one talks to her. She eats her meals by herself at a corner table in the back of the dining hall. It’s shameful.”
“It is,” the Dean replied.
“So, I thought I’d help her to maybe make a few friends among her fellow students.”
“I don’t think they’re particularly interested in being her friend.”
“Obviously not. I think we need to admit some more Negro students. One is just not feasible. She’s a very bright and capable student, but I doubt she’ll last the semester.”
“Yes, that’s sadly true. I’ve discussed this with the President and some members of the Board of Trustees. It’s under consideration.”
Barbara looked as though she were, like Mick Jagger, not satisfied.
The Dean leaned back in his chair, trying to look as much the sage, older advisor as he could. “I’m sure you remember our first meeting a few days ago, Barbara. I advised you to take things slow, not to go too far out on a limb. Let me repeat that advice again.”
Barbara nodded. “Understood, Dean Windar. Is that all? I have a class to teach at ten.”
“Yes, Barbara. Remember, I’m on your side. Slow and steady wins the race.” He stared at her ass in her tight pencil skirt as she stood and left his office.
The rustic wood cabin lay in a clearing in the woods a few miles west of the town of Kilmartin. It was not connected to the electric grid, so the light inside came from several battery-powered lanterns resting on the unvarnished wooden floor at intervals along the walls.
Near the center of the small interior were two rows of portable lawn chairs. The chairs were occupied by a group of approximately a dozen white men, varying in age from recent high school graduates to retirees.
They were dressed in street clothes, T shirts, polo shirts, collared shirts, jeans and chinos and work boots. They had left their robes in their vehicles outside as this was more of a bull session than a mission, though the latter was always an option.
Littering the floor under the chairs was a collection of empty bottles that had held bourbon whisky, beer and soda for those who preferred their alcohol mixed. The air was heavy with smoke from cigarettes and cigars and the smell of sweaty men who were agitated by a world that was changing a bit more rapidly than they could handle.
At the front stood a young man who was addressing the assembly. “I knowed as soon as I saw that Moore woman getting’ off a that bus that she was trouble,” he said.
“You was sure right, Billy-Bob,” one of the men called out.
“Damn Yankee bitch!” another one shouted.
“But I never imagined she would do what she did the other night,” Billy-Bob continued. “Bringin’ that nigger girl to that party. I mean, even a Yankee should know better than that!”
“They should never have let that girl, what’s her name, into the Academy in the first place,” a man began.
“Harriet. Harriet Jackson, is her name” Billy-Bob said. “One of those uppity types from down in Atlanta.”
“Why didn’t she stay there?” someone asked. “They got special colleges for them in Atlanta, don’t they?”
“That’s right,” several of the men said in chorus.
“The Academy went and recruited her,” Billy-Bob said.
“Why did they go and do a damn fool thing like that?” someone asked.
“Well, my uncle Fred is on the Board of Trustees,” Billy-Bob replied. “He told me that that Dean Windar convinced them that if they let one Negro in they could claim they were integrated and that would keep the Feds off their backs. But she was supposed to keep quiet, go to her classes and behave herself, not go to parties with a bunch of white kids.”
“So, what happened?”
“It’s that Moore woman,” Billy-Bob said. “She just wants to stir up trouble. If half of what I hear she teaches in her classes is true, she’s nothin’ but a rabble-rousin’ outside agitator.”
“Maybe we ought to teach her a lesson and that Harriet girl, too.” There were shouts of approval. A couple of the men rose, ready to put on their robes and go into action.
Billy-Bob gestured to sit down. “Look, you-all know that the Feds are watchin’ us. Some folks say that every Klavern’s got a FBI informant. I don’t know about that, but we got to be a bit careful here. I work at the Academy. I know that Moore woman, I even gave her a ride in my truck when she arrived. Let me talk to her and explain the situation. I think she’ll listen to reason.”
“OK, Billy-Bob. That sounds smart. I guess that why we voted you Grand Wizard,” one man in the audience said.
“Thanks, Rusty. I’ll let y’all know how it goes.”
“But if she don’t listen to you, we will have to do something. We ain’t gonna stand for her stirrin’ up a hornet’s nest,” another man said.
“Sure thing, Hank,” Billy-Bob said. “Listen, boys, there’s another situation we need to keep a eye on. Y’ all know that nigger couple has that farm out on Route 22.”
“The Washington’s?” one of the men said.
“Yep, John and Elizabeth,” Billy-Bob said. “They don’t cause no trouble, but they got a grandson by the name of Alvin lives up in New York City and goes to that fancy-pants Columbia up there.” There were scattered boos and curses from the assembled men.
“Well, it seems he’s come down here with a college buddy of his from up there by the name of Jerry Goldman.”
“Goldman? Sounds Jewish, don’t it?” Hank asked.
“Yep, it sure does,” Billy-Bob replied. “I hear tell they’re here to register the Negroes to vote.”
“Damn that Lyndon Johnson!” one man cried.
“You’d think a Texan would have more loyalty to the South than to sign a damn fool law like the Voting Rights Act,” Rusty added.
“Well, anyway, I just wanted to let everyone know about this. We gonna keep a close watch on those two boys and scare ‘em back to New York City. But for now, I’m thirsty. Would one of you fine gentlemen pass me a beer?”
“Professor Moore,” the Dean began in his sternest possible voice.
“You can call me Barbara.”
He stared at her. Did he want to reciprocate and allow her to call him James? Perhaps that wasn’t a very good idea given the message he wished to deliver.
“Very well, Barbara,” he replied.
“Or Barb,” she chirped. “Lots of people call me Barb.”
That seemed a bridge too far for the Dean. “The reason I called you here Prof, I mean, Barbara, is that I heard rumors that you attended a Greek party this past weekend. Is that true?”
She nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“Do you think that was wise?” he asked, making clear that he did not think it was.
“I was invited,” she replied.
“There is this word one can use when one thinks an invitation is inappropriate. Um, let me think. I believe it’s, ‘No’. You could have thanked that girl, Carolyn, is that her name?” Barbara nodded. “You could have thanked her and said you had to grade papers.”
“It’s the first week of classes. I haven’t assigned any papers yet.”
“I’m sure you could have come up with some excuse, Barbara,” he replied, sounding a bit annoyed.
“Well, I thought it would be good for student-faculty relations, Dean Windar.”
“I suppose dancing naked on a table would fit that bill.”
“That wasn’t my doing!” she protested. “That Biff grabbed me and forced me. I’ve seriously thought about pressing charges against him.”
Dean Windar looked at her nervously. “I really would ask you not to. I think we should keep this an on-campus matter if we can. I’ve suspended Biff for five days. I hope that’s sufficient for you.”
She considered this. “OK, I can live with that. But, if he gives me any more trouble, I will reconsider.”
“He won’t. I promise,” the Dean reassured her, though he wondered if that was a promise he would be able to keep. “And I want you to promise me that you won’t attend any more student parties. I’m planning a small faculty get-together, some sherry and crackers, this coming weekend and I hope you will attend. There won’t be any nude table dancing I’m afraid.” He seemed a tad regretful about that.
“Thank you, Dean Windar. I look forward to that. No more student parties for me. One was quite enough.” She started to rise.
“One more thing, Barbara. I understand you took Harriet to that party.”
“Carolyn invited me to bring a guest. Harriet’s my roommate, so it seemed an obvious choice. The poor girl is all alone. No one talks to her. She eats her meals by herself at a corner table in the back of the dining hall. It’s shameful.”
“It is,” the Dean replied.
“So, I thought I’d help her to maybe make a few friends among her fellow students.”
“I don’t think they’re particularly interested in being her friend.”
“Obviously not. I think we need to admit some more Negro students. One is just not feasible. She’s a very bright and capable student, but I doubt she’ll last the semester.”
“Yes, that’s sadly true. I’ve discussed this with the President and some members of the Board of Trustees. It’s under consideration.”
Barbara looked as though she were, like Mick Jagger, not satisfied.
The Dean leaned back in his chair, trying to look as much the sage, older advisor as he could. “I’m sure you remember our first meeting a few days ago, Barbara. I advised you to take things slow, not to go too far out on a limb. Let me repeat that advice again.”
Barbara nodded. “Understood, Dean Windar. Is that all? I have a class to teach at ten.”
“Yes, Barbara. Remember, I’m on your side. Slow and steady wins the race.” He stared at her ass in her tight pencil skirt as she stood and left his office.
***
The rustic wood cabin lay in a clearing in the woods a few miles west of the town of Kilmartin. It was not connected to the electric grid, so the light inside came from several battery-powered lanterns resting on the unvarnished wooden floor at intervals along the walls.
Near the center of the small interior were two rows of portable lawn chairs. The chairs were occupied by a group of approximately a dozen white men, varying in age from recent high school graduates to retirees.
They were dressed in street clothes, T shirts, polo shirts, collared shirts, jeans and chinos and work boots. They had left their robes in their vehicles outside as this was more of a bull session than a mission, though the latter was always an option.
Littering the floor under the chairs was a collection of empty bottles that had held bourbon whisky, beer and soda for those who preferred their alcohol mixed. The air was heavy with smoke from cigarettes and cigars and the smell of sweaty men who were agitated by a world that was changing a bit more rapidly than they could handle.
At the front stood a young man who was addressing the assembly. “I knowed as soon as I saw that Moore woman getting’ off a that bus that she was trouble,” he said.
“You was sure right, Billy-Bob,” one of the men called out.
“Damn Yankee bitch!” another one shouted.
“But I never imagined she would do what she did the other night,” Billy-Bob continued. “Bringin’ that nigger girl to that party. I mean, even a Yankee should know better than that!”
“They should never have let that girl, what’s her name, into the Academy in the first place,” a man began.
“Harriet. Harriet Jackson, is her name” Billy-Bob said. “One of those uppity types from down in Atlanta.”
“Why didn’t she stay there?” someone asked. “They got special colleges for them in Atlanta, don’t they?”
“That’s right,” several of the men said in chorus.
“The Academy went and recruited her,” Billy-Bob said.
“Why did they go and do a damn fool thing like that?” someone asked.
“Well, my uncle Fred is on the Board of Trustees,” Billy-Bob replied. “He told me that that Dean Windar convinced them that if they let one Negro in they could claim they were integrated and that would keep the Feds off their backs. But she was supposed to keep quiet, go to her classes and behave herself, not go to parties with a bunch of white kids.”
“So, what happened?”
“It’s that Moore woman,” Billy-Bob said. “She just wants to stir up trouble. If half of what I hear she teaches in her classes is true, she’s nothin’ but a rabble-rousin’ outside agitator.”
“Maybe we ought to teach her a lesson and that Harriet girl, too.” There were shouts of approval. A couple of the men rose, ready to put on their robes and go into action.
Billy-Bob gestured to sit down. “Look, you-all know that the Feds are watchin’ us. Some folks say that every Klavern’s got a FBI informant. I don’t know about that, but we got to be a bit careful here. I work at the Academy. I know that Moore woman, I even gave her a ride in my truck when she arrived. Let me talk to her and explain the situation. I think she’ll listen to reason.”
“OK, Billy-Bob. That sounds smart. I guess that why we voted you Grand Wizard,” one man in the audience said.
“Thanks, Rusty. I’ll let y’all know how it goes.”
“But if she don’t listen to you, we will have to do something. We ain’t gonna stand for her stirrin’ up a hornet’s nest,” another man said.
“Sure thing, Hank,” Billy-Bob said. “Listen, boys, there’s another situation we need to keep a eye on. Y’ all know that nigger couple has that farm out on Route 22.”
“The Washington’s?” one of the men said.
“Yep, John and Elizabeth,” Billy-Bob said. “They don’t cause no trouble, but they got a grandson by the name of Alvin lives up in New York City and goes to that fancy-pants Columbia up there.” There were scattered boos and curses from the assembled men.
“Well, it seems he’s come down here with a college buddy of his from up there by the name of Jerry Goldman.”
“Goldman? Sounds Jewish, don’t it?” Hank asked.
“Yep, it sure does,” Billy-Bob replied. “I hear tell they’re here to register the Negroes to vote.”
“Damn that Lyndon Johnson!” one man cried.
“You’d think a Texan would have more loyalty to the South than to sign a damn fool law like the Voting Rights Act,” Rusty added.
“Well, anyway, I just wanted to let everyone know about this. We gonna keep a close watch on those two boys and scare ‘em back to New York City. But for now, I’m thirsty. Would one of you fine gentlemen pass me a beer?”
twonines
LIMERICUS
The Klan are different, I fear,
Their methods, crude and severe.
So, watch your mouth,
In case things go South,
And they take the skin off your rear.