Jordan's
Lesbian Metamorphosis
by babylez
©
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
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,
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 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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