| |
Tim got along with all of the kids, or at least most of them. They looked up to him literally. Six-foot-three, slim, Tim was in the habit of wearing jeans, loafers, and untucked checkered or plaid shirts that gave him the look of a gentleman farmer who had wandered into a classroom.
Soft-spoken, never pushy, Tim was a gentleman’s gentleman. The girls loved him. The boys in college prep wanted to grow up to be like him.
The boys in shop class wanted to grow up to beat him up. Not everyone loved Mr. Sheldon.
“Look up ‘phony’ in the dictionary and you’ll see Tim Sheldon’s photo,” said one kid destined to wear a blue collar and make things for the rest of his life; doomed — or blessed — to lead a life of creativity with a welding torch and a wrench. Tim would take one view, many people in St. Isidore, the other.
Still, Tim was a lifer. He couldn’t help himself. Tim returned to St. Isidore after college and stayed, even though he never liked it. He didn’t get along well in St. Isidore. The kids in shop class weren’t the only ones who considered him to be a phony.
Several fathers of teenage girls suspected he had done their daughters like he did Heather. They’d heard the rumors. Some had the passwords to their daughters’ laptops and tablets. Those were the fathers who knew.
It’s not like the fathers felt a need to wait for evidence. They never clouded the issue with facts. Still, none of them wanted to spend the rest of their lives worrying about picking up soap in the shower.
Call it wisdom. They waited.
Tim didn’t wait. He went after more of their daughters. He logged on to Bree’s Facebook page after he discovered her walking to class one spring morning in some incredibly short, denim shorts that left her bottom cheeks peeking out, and a tank top that left no need to wonder if she had full breasts and perky nipples.
She wasn’t hard to find on Facebook and myriad other social media venues. A morning of surfing was time well spent for Tim.
Bree’s photos were worth the effort. They left just enough to the imagination to allow a middle-age man to imagine the possibilities.
“The answer would be ‘yes’ if anyone asked about perky, and no one has to,” Tim laughed as he finished another Bud. “I just about spilled my coffee all over the dashboard of my car when I saw her in those shorts and tank top.”
Tim could have saved the gas and the coffee. Bree showed it all on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, and some YouTube videos.
Still, it wasn’t enough for Tim. He had to have more. This was heaven on the internet.
But let’s face it, as great as heaven is, if you are there for eternity, wouldn’t you get numb to it all after a while, Tim thought.
Tim had spent enough afternoons in his underwear with Bree’s Facebook page and every page it linked to, one hand on the keyboard, the other in his briefs.
He wanted the real thing. He wanted real life. He wanted Bree. So Tim started following her.
At first he just idled in his car, tenting his jeans, staying a few blocks behind her as Bree walked home from school. Some of the other kids would spot him and wave, until he switched his car for an older pickup truck and grew a beard.
Following Bree was like going on a journey back to Tim’s teenage years.
Rather than going right home, Bree usually wound up on the banks of the Red Run River, St. Isidore’s connection to the Great Lakes since time began.
The banks of the Red Run were also the St. Isidore teenagers’ connection to the wonderful world of marijuana, coke, crank, smack and hot love in the summer sun.
At night they were at the Stop ’N Go. During the day, Bree and her friends searched for happiness on the Red Run.
This is where the teens hung out every afternoon while the middle-aged men watched. Small wonder that St. Isidore Hardware did such a great business in binoculars. Tim wasn’t the only one.
Tim had never been asked to join the club of the former. He was stuck in the latter. But he knew how to get into that exclusive club of teenagers. He would do it the same way middle-aged guys did it when Tim was a student at St. Isidore High. They bought booze. Tim would buy booze.
The kids just laughed at him. They drank his booze. But they laughed. Worse, they snickered. Tim was beyond crushed. He was humiliated. The worst part was some of the kids recognized him, even with the beard.
“Mr. Sheldon, what’s up?” One voice called out.
“Hey, this is a lech-free zone,” another voice yelled.
Luckily, Bree had not been there. She was the one he really wanted. She was the only one who mattered. She was the one he had fallen in lust with.
If she had laughed, or heard the snickers, it would have been too much.
True, they had never spoken. Tim wasn’t going to let that get in his way. He didn’t let it bother him on the Jennifer.com website and he wouldn’t in real life, either.
Tim never went back to the banks of the Red Run River. However, he never lost sight of Bree, either. He followed her on Facebook, on Twitter, anywhere she was, anywhere he could fabricate an identity.
“This is just the way it is done in the twenty-first century,” Tim explained to Paul.
“It just seems wrong to me,” said Paul.
“Hello, knock-knock,” Tim said as he rapped his knuckles on Paul’s forehead. “Open the door to the future.”
Eventually, Bree and Tim chatted online. They exchanged photos. They were in heaven. Well, at least one of them was.
Oh, the plans they shared. Bree told Tim, or William, or Bradford, or whoever he was that day on that social media venue, how much she hated her parents, how she wanted them both dead.
Tim, in one of his many online disguises, told her how much he wanted to see her tied up and spanked, how much he wanted to live a BDSM lifestyle, not role play but real life with her, only her, for the rest of their natural lives.
Bree told him it sounded great. Better than great. It was just what she wanted, too. She wanted to suck his cock, to have him fuck every orifice humanly possible and then do it again.
Down, dirty and nasty. That’s the lifestyle she said she wanted.
Bree was just what Tim had been waiting for since his last real girl friend.
Bree wrote wonderful fantasies for the man she still thought of as “Mr. Sheldon.” She figured out early on who he was. It wasn’t that difficult since he seemed to be everywhere she was in St. Isidore, always a few hundred feet behind her, or parked in that ugly truck.
It isn’t hard, she wrote to a Facebook friend. No pun intended. I will bet that it is LOL.
He is so long and so lean, wrote her friend.
The guy really is pretty hot, for someone his age, Bree wrote.
But he is so old, LMAO.
Don’t be so quick to judge. The old ones really perform for me.
They buy you booze and dope.They give you money. And never ask for anything in return?
LMAO they always want something in return. They are still waiting.
Bree wrote Facebook fantasies about being in school back in the 1950s with Tim as her teacher — I knew he would love that LMAO — maybe paddling her if she was bad. Then she would get down on her knees and do what he really wanted.
All of these fantasies were coming to life in her mind, and his, too. Tim was loving it, living it, agreeing with everything Bree wrote, promising her more than she asked, if only she would do another video just for him.
Once Bree told Tim she knew who he was, and he got over the shock of being busted, Tim learned Bree had a crush on him since Day-One.
What was an incredible ego rush for Tim was a wide open door of opportunity for Bree. And she used the webcam on her MacBook Air to really control Tim.
So easy to get one more promise and more money from Mr. Sheldon for just a little flash.
Down, dirty and nasty. If that is what he wanted for a fantasy, Bree could make that come true.
Bree never hesitated to tell Tim about how much she hated her parents, especially her mother.
God I hate that Bitch, Bree wrote. #cunt Can’t you help me take care of her?
I could absolutely do that, Tim thought. I know how to take care of someone like that. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.
Tim wrote about an artery that everyone had in his neck that if pressed would stop the flow of blood to the brain.
“Hold it long enough and the person blacks out. Hold it a little longer and the person dies out,” he said during an online chat.
You are perfect. You are the one I have been waiting for, Bree wrote.
More than you could know, she thought.
Our Mr. Sheldon will be even better than the others, this guy will do absolutely whatever I want, she wrote to Beth on Facebook.