Page 267 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

Betsy was having a difficult time keeping up with Jane’s change in topics. “I thought you said sex, not baseball.” Jane’s laughter had her friend a bit upset. “There’s no need to laugh at me, Jane Kennedy! I’m not quite the prude you seem to think I am.”

“Sweetie, I’m not laughing at you. Haven’t you heard of the baseball for sex metaphor?” At the negative shake of Betsy’s head, Jane continued and explained the newest slang for sexual exploits. “You told me about how Steve Miller kissed you last weekend so, my dear, you’ve been on first base. And, since I’ve seen that book you keep hidden in your nightstand, I’m wondering if you rounded first and headed for second. You might read the classics in the living room or on the front porch, but when you are all alone in your bed, I know you are dreaming about gardening.” She laughed and Betsy could feel her cheeks heating when her friend waved a finger back and forth in front of her face. “And I’m not talking about corn. I’m talking about a certain gardener and gamekeeper named Oliver Mellors. I’m willing to bet you are playing the role of Constance—oh, excuse my disrespect—I mean Lady Chatterley.”

“I have not!” Squirming a bit in her chair, Betsy added, “I mean, yes, I guess I’ve been on first base a few times, but I most definitely have not even stepped a toe off of it. I’ll have you know that Steve went home with my handprint on his face. His kisses do absolutely nothing for me!”

“And some fictional character does?”

Betsy wasn’t about to confess that it wasn’t the character per se, it was the way the man took charge. His love affair with the female character had kept Betsy’s heart pounding and her fingers turning the pages. Steve’s kiss had been more like that given by a puppy—overly energetic and, well, quite moist. “Fine, I read it. So what? With you stealing all the great guys, what’s left for a girl to do but find solace in a book? You won’t tell, will you? I mean, that book is practically banned! Dad would kill me if he knew I’d read it!”

Jane bent forward and gave her a hug. “Your secret is safe with me.” Picking up the letter she’d dropped, she held it out. “Here, consider this my true patriotic duty.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that since you are so intent on keeping our soldiers happy, you can correspond with this man.”

“Mr. Bossy?” Betsy asked. “Why him?”

“Because, my dearest Betsy, it’s time to close your books and find a warm, red-blooded man. Let Mr. Bossy teach you how a man really thinks. I have a feeling you’ll find it a lot more interesting than some fictional character in the pages of a book… even if it is a naughty novel. In fact, why don’t you ask him if he enjoys reading? Or, better yet, confess your love of a certain book. I bet he’d admire you for having the spunk to read a banned book.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Jane said and then giggled. “Of course, he’d probably not admit that out loud. He’s far more likely to blister your behind!”

“He wouldn’t!”

“It might be fun to find out though, wouldn’t it?” Dropping the letter onto the pile in front of Betsy, Jane gave her a final hug and then left her to ponder her words as she went to prepare for a date. It took several minutes before Betsy dared to reach for the innocent looking envelope and remove the folded sheets to read the latest missive from Jane’s Mr. Bossy.

Chapter Two

Dear naughty girl,

I know you are wondering at my choice of salutation and confess I am undecided how to respond to your latest letter. Your correspondence has brought many a smile to my face and yet I fear I am growing concerned. Hearing of your latest escapade with a certain Mr. Nelson, I find myself facing a conundrum. I have to ask myself if you are attempting to pull my leg or if you are serious. But I do know that my right palm is itching because I feel the need to turn a naughty little lady over my knee and deliver a lesson.

Betsy gasped, her eyes darting from the paper before her toward the door through which Jane had disappeared. She’d known Jane since grade school and knew her friend had a tendency to exaggerate. However, there could be absolutely no doubt that Mr. Bossy had indeed just threatened to spank a woman he had never even met. Squirming again in her chair, Betsy wondered at her visceral reaction to reading about this stranger’s itching palm. Why did it cause her cheeks to heat, the skin on her bottom to crawl, and… well, to be honest, her heart to race with what felt suspiciously like excitement? Feeling like a voyeur, she told herself to drop the letter into the trash bin, and yet what would be the harm in finishing reading it first? It wasn’t as if she intended to actually do as Jane suggested and add Mr. Bossy to her list of pen-pals—right? Dropping her eyes to the white sheet again, she continued reading.

While I can’t speak for all men, I can state that if you were mine and I discovered you out and about kissing another man and feeling the need to swoon when his hands ‘accidentally brushed across your breasts’, you’d not be able to sit comfortably. And the only writing you would be doing were lines given to remind you that proper ladies present themselves to the world as pure, knowing they will share their passion with only their husband behind closed doors.

Wow, though she discovered she had no problem learning that her best friend was obviously far more familiar with “baseball” than she’d imagined, Betsy couldn’t believe she’d written of such an intimate experience to a total stranger. Then again, Jane had said that sex was the key to grabbing a man’s interest. Flushing hotly at where her active imagination was taking her, Betsy fanned her face with the letter for a moment before continuing.

While your letters have been both entertaining and thought provoking, I’m beginning to wonder if perhaps this war is claiming even more casualties. I know that the world is moving on and morals are becoming looser, but as I’ve stated from the beginning of our correspondence, I believe that the man is the head of his household. I fear that unless I receive a response and your admission that you desire to be held accountable for questionable choices in your life’s path, I must say goodbye. I take my responsibilities to heart and am seeking a woman who desires to belong fully to me and only to me… in all ways.

I must get this into the post so it can find its way into your hands. I shall look forward to your response and, if this is goodbye, then I wish you the very best and thank you for your letters. They’ve kept a lonely soldier hopeful for what the future might bring.

With affection,

Jack

Betsy didn’t toss the letter away—she read it several times before finally tucking it into its envelope. Grabbing a letter from her own pile, she read it and realized that while Mark seemed like a nice man, he had never stirred in her anything but the desire to let him know the latest sports news from home. Blushing yet again, she knew she’d never think about baseball in quite the same way.

Opening others, she felt the same lack of connection to Jerry and Frank. Glancing back at Jack’s envelope, she couldn’t help but compare the letters. She’d never given any consideration to a soldier’s rank, but the difference in language used, not to mention the use of proper grammar and punctuation, told of Jack’s high level of education. She’d become rather accustomed to the lack of commas and even periods, the poor spelling, and the smears and smudges across the pages she read. It appeared that Mr. Bossy was not only a man who wasn’t afraid to articulate what he wanted, he did so with smooth lines of words marching with precision across a pristine piece of paper. Shaking her head, realizing it was rather unfair to compare men whom she knew very little about, she opened the next envelope.

The last letter made her smile as she learned that George had finally gotten the courage to ask his high school sweetheart for her hand. Finally, a letter that stirred her, but only because it seemed her advice to George to not wait or hide his love for Sherry had seemed to pay off… well, it had paid off for them. Betsy closed her eyes, remembering her mother’s advice the day she’d shared not only George’s hesitancy about love but others she’d advised over the past years.

“Mom, why can’t I find a man who loves me? Is it because I am fat and boring?”

“You are not fat, sweetie, you are soft and curvy, and you are certainly not boring. You’re a very sweet girl and an excellent teacher.”

“I don’t need ‘mommy reassurance’,” Betsy had said with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter how good a teacher I am… men don’t care about that. I know I’ll never be as svelte and gorgeous as Jane. I’ve tried but no matter how much I diet, I’m still chubby.”

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