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pages of a book. Sue peeked around the corridor, and seeing that all was quiet, sneaked in and read the letter-and found herself gasping. She later described the note as "obscene" and said she'd never heard a woman describe portions of her body in such a way. She reeled back to her homeroom.
    A letter by Susan Reinert would later surface that was either the one Sue read or a version of same:
    Its eight o'clock. I'd like to go to bed so I could turn off my head and body. I am miserable. I didn't hear from you for so long I actually lost most of my physical desire for you for the only time I can remember. But your visit with certain promises rekindles it, damn it. All day today I kept hearing you say that it's not as bad for you. That you can go for days putting me out of your mind! That you have no chance to call me! Knowing that you don't suffer like this is maddening. By now I'm very short tempered. I yell at Karen and Michael and I hurt like hell.
    This morning I awoke with aching pubic area and erect nipples as usual. My breasts yearned to brush up against your chest. My legs wanted to curve over yours. My arms wanted to be around you with my hand rubbing you, tracing your face, touching your hair. My wetness desires to cover your penis, and rub up and down against you, to pulsate with delight as we move together. Enough writing. Writing it down isn't working. I want you more not less, and I'm more upset at that.
    Sue Myers staked out Susan Reinert's homeroom. When Susan arrived, Sue Myers took her aside and whispered through clenched little teeth, "You bitch! You whore! You leave Bill Bradfield alone or I'll ... Ill make public the contents of your filthy note!"
    Now one might think that a grownup schoolteacher wouldn't get in a tizzy if Upper Merion discovered that she woke up with hard nipples and a yen for a Renaissance man. But Susan Reinert had a terrible fear that her former husband would seize any pretext to take her children away from her. The fear was unreasonable. Their relationship was affable. Ken had remarried and had never offered such a suggestion, but still it was preying on Susan's mind. Perhaps someone had planted the obsessive idea. Someone she trusted.
    At about the same time that Susan Reinert was writing to Bill Bradfield, the prince of darkness was composing a love letter of his own. And Stephanie Smith, the wife of Dr. Jay, was almost as snoopy as Sue Myers. One evening when Jay Smith was not at home Stephanie managed to break into the locked basement apartment again and this time found a swingers' magazine with a certain page clipped. The swinging couple on that page were offering to share themselves with any other congenial couple who might write to their post office box. The man in the picture was wearing briefs and had his back to the camera. When Stephanie saw it, she was convinced the swinger in the picture was her husband.
    She also found a letter and showed it to her best pal at the dry cleaners.
    The friend nodded and clucked sympathetically when Stephanie said, "I work my buns off so he can get a doctorate degree! Where's he wanna work? Sodom and Gomorrah?"
    Love wo man,
    We've been working, loving, fucking, and smoking for over a year now and I thought on your graduation a status report is in order. As we agreed, our relationship is sexual. I love your blowjobs and get red hot seeing my cock in your mouth and my cum-you call it lovejuiceseeping from your lips and you licking up each drop.
    Your lovecock, forever
    P. S. Got some special cocoa butter cream for your asshole so it won't be sore.
    Jay Smith just loved to talk dirty. In another letter he wrote:
    No matter what we've done, I still love your blowjobs the best, and get red hot looking in the mirror watching my cock go in and out of your precious lips. When my juice drips down your chin and you lick it up and in that sweet Southern accent say, "Good to the last drop," I throb about ten extra times.
    Even though I got your ass