Chelsea's Story - My Diary, Chapter 2

by Tekoleslita

"What have I done? What have I done?"

Tracy Hannigan sat rigid behind the steering wheel of her new blue Ford Focus. She held the steering wheel in an ice-cold grip, staring out over the parking lot at the front of Hawthorn Middle School. The last city bus waited for the few remaining students to take them back to the bus stop nearest to their homes or to other bus transfers.

Her mouth was dry and she was frightened. She was watching everything and nothing, wrapped in her own fear and resulting confusion. "What is happening? Am I some kinda pervert or something?"

Hawthorn was her first teaching job. She had graduated from Missouri State Teachers College back in June. Over the summer, she won her certification. The sixth grade was turning out to be tough but exciting. And, really, her students were good kids. Yeah, there was a fair amount of attitude and their language was, well, startlingly bold and ... yes, dirty. But, she had laid down the rule that her classroom was a Zero Tolerance Zone when it came to bad language. She had earned the respect of most of her kids. They usually did their work and returned their homework. She thought that maybe if she were to wear something like the uniform she had worn when she was in school, it might be a clue to not wear pants down below their butts or strapless and belly-revealing tank tops to school. Yes, this was their uniform of sorts, even in elementary and middle school.

The school doors opened and the last few students trailed out in twos and threes and boarded the bus. The big windows were smoked so you really couldn't see inside the bus. Chelsea walked out, alone, wearing black hoodies, clutching her knapsack to her chest. She climbed the two or three steps, disappearing into the bus.

Tracy almost missed her; she was so into her own internal turmoil. She began to wonder if she was sitting alone. A window seat. Looking out at her. Or, maybe she was sitting with some other girl. Maybe a girl who liked her or who she liked.

"Jealousy? Tracy Hannigan, you are getting just a wee bit crazy! She is one of your students". She was not some anonymous kid she might see at the mall or at the pool. She liked girls. Especially really young ones. But, they were in her fantasies. This little 10-year-old girl was one of her students. "She is just too close, Trace. GIVE IT UP!" she scolded herself. It was almost too much to bear. She lowered her forehead onto her clenched fists.

Tracy had always liked girls. Even as a kid. But, she didn't realize that what she felt was different from what other girls her age felt. That really didn't become clear until she turned 11.

She had been in a residential private school since she was 7 when her social climbing mom gave her up to do her own thing, whatever that was. It certainly wasn't Tracy. The Wellington School for Young Men and Women came highly recommended by friends. It was after her dad had been killed in a horrible auto accident. Lilly Hannigan "took the money and ran."

It was hard for the 7 year old to all of a sudden lose not only her dad, whom she adored, but now lose her mom, too.

Tracy was very intelligent, precocious and plastic; she was quick to adapt not only to her new surroundings but also, her new life. Like everyone else, she wore the school uniform. For boys a blue blazer, white button down oxford shirt, the school tie, grey slacks, black socks and black leather penny loafers. For girls, a blue button-up sweater, white button-down oxford shirt, the school tie, a short, pleated, plaid wrap-around skirt with a big pin to fasten the skirt together, white crew socks and brown leather penny loafers. Their underwear was up to the family. Since it was one of the only ways to exhibit some personal independence and creativity, girls' underwear ran the gamut as they grew older and especially when they matriculated to the upper classes.

Tracy had a few good friends, girls of course. Who needed boys any way? They were just so stupid; they made fun of the girls and sometimes bullied them. As with her girl friends, she just couldn't see what girls saw in boys when they got older. That is until she turned eleven.

All of a sudden, it seemed, all her girl friends started seeing something in boys; small clusters of girls, giggling behind open hands, broad looks at boys across the dining hall. In the evenings, the talk often turned to how cute this boy was and how sexy that boy was. Tracy joined in these get-togethers. Only, she couldn't understand all the fuss. Tracy still didn't see anything special in boys. They weren't cute and certainly not sexy!

Over time, Tracy found herself a bit isolated from her friends. And, more important, it was girls who she still found cute, even beautiful and definitely sexy. Hard as it was to understand, she realized she was different, really different from her friends. It was clear she couldn't share her interests with anyone. This made her feel sad, depressed and lonely.

It wasn't until she was twelve that things began to turn around. One day Ms. Pendleton, her PE teacher, found her sitting alone on the bleachers in the gym. With her feet up on the bench in front of her, Tracy rested her head on her folded arms, just thinking.

"Tracy? Is everything alright?"

Ms. Pendleton, in her sweats, rounded the edge of the bleachers and peered down at the little plaid-clad girl.

Looking up, startled, Tracy responded saying "Uh, oh. Yeah. I'm OK Ms. Pendleton. I'm just thinking about stuff."

Ms. Pendleton was one of those women whom Tracy thought was really pretty. When she was in her swimsuit at the pool, Tracy thought she was also kind of sexy. She was a little mannish, dark hair, cut in a pageboy. Thin, almost like some of the guys. No girly shape and her boobies were small but she wasn't scrawny. Her legs were very well shaped. She always looked good and smooth. Tracy thought she was cute and sexy. She always made her smile.

It was almost like she could read Tracy's mind. "Is there anything you might want to talk about, Tracy? I mean, sometimes, if you keep things inside and don't get them out in the air, they can lead to problems."

She waited then gently put her left hand on Tracy's right shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze... She didn't withdraw her hand. Tracy realized that the lightweight on her shoulder felt good. It was warm and reminded her of her electric blanket. She lifted her head and looked at Ms. Pendleton; she had a little smile on her face, a wistful smile, almost like she knew what Tracy was thinking, what she was feeling. Their eyes met and it was like a bolt of lightening between them. Ms. Pendleton was massaging her shoulder, now, gently, and reassuringly.

Something touched Tracy... deep inside her ... tears filled her eyes and spilled over her cheeks. They were hot and without warning she was crying from her soul. So much of the pain she had endured but pushed down in her began to erupt.

Ms. Pendleton took Tracy into her arms and hugged her. It was a firm steady embrace. It pulled Tracy's cheek into the hollow between Ms. Pendleton's neck and shoulder. She held the little girl close.

Then she looked up, closed her eyes and took a slow deep breath.

It was happening again. It always did, at least once a year. She would fall in love with one of her girl students. It was all she could do to keep those feelings under control and not take advantage of one of her youngsters. It drove her into the arms of women she found at the local gay bar. For a while, at least, her lust and passion were spent with these women. She actually had a few lovers in relationships that lasted months, even a year one time.

But, they weren't little girls. That is where she most wanted to spend her time, lavishing love and giving gratification. And yes, she wanted a little lover to share that passion, to give her back love, affection and lust.

Tracy could sense that something was on hold with Ms. Pendleton. Like, stopping and holding your breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Tracy cuddled up closer to Ms. Pendleton and felt just how warm she was, how firm and strong. It made her feel small, like a little kitten. She just wanted Ms. Pendleton to pick her up, take her away somewhere, curl up with her and purr.

Ms. Pendleton stood there, her legs apart, holding and rocking Tracy. With the tip of her finger, she took up a few of Tracy's tears from her cheek ... then placed them on her tongue. Salty, sad, and, oh God, so sexy! Her small nipples became hard and erect, brushing lightly against the rough knobblies on the inside of her sweatshirt. It was all that separated her from this beautiful little girl. She put her hand up on the back of Tracy's head, stroked her and held her even closer.

It was rare that Ms. Pendleton ever let herself get this close to one of her students. As much as she wanted to, it was something that she promised herself she would never do. Not that it would have been injurious. When she was first seduced as a young girl, she found herself in heaven. Her angel, a 17-year-old high school senior cheerleader, made it very clear from their first moments that what they had was special. She had been 10 years old, then. They became real girl friends, spending as much time as they could, doing all sorts of things together. From wandering around the mall and going to the movies, to sleeping over and with each other. She hoped that it would never end. And, really, it didn't. Today, they were still girl friends. They kept up with each other with Email, Face Book and long distance phone calls. It had been such a wonderful experience for each of them to know one another. What was more powerful was the discovery that each of them loved little girls. They even talked about teaming up and writing some stories for Lesbian Lolitas, an erotic story site.

A muffled tapping brought Tracy back to the here and now. The bus had gone. There were only a few widely spaced cars left in the parking lot. The tapping happened again. Tracy lifted and shook her head a little, as if to get her brain back in gear. More tapping, to her right. She turned to the passenger seat window and there, looking in at her, with a big grin on her face, was Chelsea.

"Come on. Open the door. It's cold out here!"

Tracy flipped the rocker switch and unlocked the doors. In a flash the door flew open and Chelsea, backpack in hand, jumped in. She slammed the door and without a word put her backpack behind her bucket seat and fastened her seat belt. Then, tucking her left leg under her right, she turned to face her new friend.

"Chelsea, what's going on? I thought you got on the bus..."

"Yeah, I did and when I looked out the window I saw you in your new car. It looked to me that something might be wrong. And, I couldn't very well just let my new friend just sit there. Like I said, something seemed wrong."

Feeling some consternation, Tracy looked at Chelsea without saying a word. Then, "Chelsea, everything is OK, it really is. But, thank you for being concerned." She paused, and then continued, "I mean that. It is a really special thing for you to do." She reached over and lightly brushed Tracy's cheek.

"Uh, Ms. Hannig ... er ... Tracy ..." She grinned at self-correction. "Do you think you could take me home? I obviously missed my bus."

"Yeah, sure, of course. Its getting dark and I am certainly not going to let you wander around alone in the cold at night."

She started the car and pulled out and exited the parking lot.

"Where do you live, Chelsea? Hpw do we get there?"

She giggled, "I'll show you".

The long way! Chelsea was not about to let the opportunity to be with her new girl friend slip away. Not a chance.