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She flushed even deeper and looked to the side.
“So where are you from, Dora?”
“Boseman.”
“Ah, near where Dr. Weston used to live. I think very highly of him, and of Bobbi, even if she has given you an unfavorable impression of me.”
“I was his patient,” Dora said softly. “He’s the one who told me about the Ranch.”
“Well, I’m glad he did. I’m also glad he recommended you for this position.”
She looked at him again, her pretty eyes searching, as if suspicious of his kindness, as if looking for a motive behind it. A hurt young woman, a vulnerable young woman afraid to trust, afraid to believe anyone would be kind to her for no reason.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
She looked up at the ceiling, thinking. It was clear that she was unprepared for anything other than taking orders. Finally, she spoke. “Um... your accent. It’s pretty.” She glanced at him with shy curiosity. “You’re from England?”
“Yes. Brighton born and bred. Have you heard of it?”
“I read a book set there, I think.”
“Oh really? What kind of book?”
Her flush returned. “Um… not one that you’ve heard of I don’t think,” she stammered. A pause. “Do you like teaching?”
“I do. Some of the most influential people in my life have been teachers. Their understanding and guidance helped me become the man I am today.” He did not elaborate as he remembered Mrs. Parsons, the kindly art instructor he’d first confided in about feeling out of place as Alice, or Mr. Ruger, who’d sternly warned the other students not to laugh when Alice had showed up one morning with her long black hair shorn in an androgynous cut.
“That must be nice, to know what you want like that and make it happen.”
“What about you, Dora. What do you want to be when you grow up?”
She just stared at him, her expression unreadable. At that moment an alarm went off. He’d forgotten.
“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. “Monthly fire drill. We have to go out on the lawn, and I won’t have you getting lost.” Her hand was soft in his and she was silent as they moved into the hall where other Littles were filing along with their teachers. Alastair was glad this was between classes so that he could guide Dora past the others. As everyone went out and reached the lawn, he turned to her and explained how when the class was in session, it would be her job to take a head count and make sure all the students were out.
He regretted having the interruption in the planning period; once the fire drill was over his students filed back to class and Dora had been sent to the library with a list of research books he planned the class to use for a special project. As Alastair opened his planner, he saw the words “Talk with M. Derek” circled in red pen.
He still hadn’t done it, even though he’d assured Cord he would. What was he waiting for? Everything Cord had said was true; Rawhide Ranch was an inclusive place. It was a place of understanding. What was continuing to hold him back from telling the man who’d hired him about his past?
“Jeremiah, please put your toy car in your backpack. You can play with it after class.” He nodded toward a Little in the front row who scurried to comply.
It impressed Alastair how submissives who came to Rawhide Ranch fell so seamlessly into their Little identities. It was like the person they truly were spontaneously manifested once free of those painful, self-imposed boundaries. He’d come here to express his dominance, his Daddy side and yet this morning Dora had reminded him of how he was perceived: strict, humorless, stern to a fault.
He knew this dominance intrigued the Littles, but was that really the man he was, or was he still locked in by boundaries of what he thought he should be as a man?
They said you were mean.
Alastair had never intended for anyone to see him that way. Dora had seemed surprised by his gentleness, and it occurred to him that she was right; he had been different with her, less guarded.
Dora only worked half a day; she left soon after coming back with the library books. Alastair walked her to the classroom door, taking time to tell her how pleased he was. The happiness in her eyes was gratifying. She liked praise. He liked praising her.
The new service sub stayed on his mind the rest of the day. He was writing a list of duties for Dora when the final bell rang. He bid the students a good day without looking up.
“So, are you coming to Singles Day?” Maribel alone remained at her desk, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed across the front of her crisp white blouse.
“The bell has rung, Maribel.” His cool reply hid the annoyance he felt. “You should be leaving.”
“On the first day of class, you told us the hallmark of intelligence was curiosity, remember? And that curiosity is best fueled with questions. So, I’m asking a question.”
