The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I was going to ask about the permission slip during supper, but Jenny brought it up herself.

“Mom? Dad? Could you sign this permission slip for my US History class?”

I’d already read the slip, so I passed it along to Natalie.

She skimmed through it quickly, commenting along the way. “Why would Mr. James need parental permission just for a chapter...mmm. Never mind.” Nat glanced at me as she added, “You read this yet? He’s covering the New Era of Good Feelings,” and we both nodded in understanding.

Now Jenny was really curious. “Why does Mr. James need your permission? And what does he mean by ‘New Era of Good Feelings’?”

“Well, there were two Eras of Good Feeling in US history,” Natalie explained. “History’s not my field, so my memory’s kinda foggy, but the first Era was back in the early 19th century. One political party died out—don’t remember which one—so the usual partisan bickering died out for a while.”

“That used to be really bad when you were in school, wasn’t it?”

Nat grinned. “Well, we weren’t around in the early 19th century—”

Jenny rolled her eyes. ”Mom...“ Teenagers are still teenagers.

“But yeah, there was a lot of bickering back then as well. And this ‘New Era’"—she tapped the slip again—“was when that all died down.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s the weird part—no one really knows. It’s almost like one day, both parties were at each other’s throats, and the next day, both parties had, uh, buried their differences.” Primarily because everyone on both parties were too busy burying...well, you know, but we weren’t going to tell Jenny that. “Do you have your textbook here?”

“Yeah, Mom, why?”

“I’m curious to see what the book says about it.”

Jenny reached behind her for the stack of books on the end table. “Here.” As Nat flipped from the table of contents to the chapters at the back of the book, Jenny added, “Oh, by the way, Mr. James said he was going to try to call you tonight.”

We both turned toward our daughter in full “parent on alert” mode. “Oh?”

“No, I’m not in trouble! I told him that you two met at the White House, and I think he wants you to talk to the class about that.”

Natalie answered as she skimmed through the New Era of Good Feelings chapter. “I don’t know if I’d be much help...I didn’t see too much, and frankly I’m not sure what happened, and we lived through it.” Of course, we saw everything, and we’re the only two people on earth who knew exactly what happened, but hey, one out of three ain’t bad. “Hmm...looks like the textbook’s pretty vague. They don’t know what happened either.”

“But the textbook said something about relationships and unrepressed expression and stuff, and something seemed to change then?”

No, I’m not sure which school-board-friendly textbook committee managed to describe the New Era as “relationships and unrepressed expressions” instead of Porn, American Style. Whoever they were, they deserved either a smackdown or a medal. I’m still not sure which.

But somehow, I managed not to laugh, and Natalie managed to answer Jenny with a straight face. “Mmm-hmm. I saw that in the textbook too. Yeah, I think that changed somewhere around that time”—exactly that time, she meant—“but—”

Just then the phone rang, and Nat answered it. Much to her relief since she wouldn’t have to explain that “relationships and unrepressed expression” thing. “Hello?”

“Dr. Doans? This is Mr. James from school.” No, I wasn’t trying to listen in on the phone call, but with Mr. James, you didn’t really have to try. His voice really carried.

“Hi Mr. James, Jenny was just telling me you’d be calling.”

“Yeah, I have a favor to ask of you. Don’t know if you’ve seen the permission slip, but we’re about to cover the New Era of Good Feelings chapter in class.”

While they were talking, Jenny looked at me and pointed at her empty plate. I told her she was excused, and she headed for her room.

“Yeah, I just read it. I was a bit surprised—not much, but...”

“Oh, I’ve got some video that I’d like to run, but I figured I’d better cover my ass parent-wise.” Mr. James usually wasn’t that blunt with class parents about teacher-related CYA topics, but since Nat’s a professor, Jenny’s teachers were more likely to “talk shop” with her.

“Which ones?”

“Some of the network and cable news broadcasts, some of the Senator Jones footage—”

We both laughed, and Natalie blurted out, “Wait, you mean the Senate floor footage? You got the school board to sign off on that?”

“Just the part where he and his wife were still clothed, uh, before they got on Daniel Webster’s desk.”

“Oh, right. I actually saw that live—C-SPAN, I mean, not in person—but not until after they’d made it to the desk, and....” Nat glanced around to make sure Jenny was gone, but lowered her voice anyway. “I’m still not sure how the hell they did half of those positions!” She added in her normal voice, “Anyway, Jenny will bring back the permission slip tomorrow.”

“Great, thanks. That wasn’t quite the reason I called, though. Jenny mentioned that you’d worked during the White House during that time, right?”

“Yeah, Rich and I were both interns—that’s how we met.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d be interested to talking to our class about working at the White House during that time.”

Natalie caught my eye and gave me an “oh hell no” look before smiling and returning to the phone. “Well, I’d love to, but I’m not sure I’d have much to share. It was just a temporary assignment so I didn’t really see anything, at least not about the inner workings of the White House.” She lowered her voice again. “Besides, Rich and I try to be open with Jenny, but neither of us have really talked about that particular time yet, and some of the things we saw around us, and uh, some of the things we did, well...” Technically she was telling the truth, but if Mr. James happened to interpret “some of the things we did” as “wild sex on the desk every time the news or politics came up in discussion, just like the rest of the country” as opposed to “secretly saving the country—oh yeah, and sex in the Lincoln Bedroom,” well, hey, she couldn’t help it if he jumped to that conclusion, right?

Mr. James sighed. “Yeah, I hear that a lot from parents. No one wants to talk about it, especially not with their kids. And it was before....um, and I’m not able to give any first-hand accounts myself.” I knew Mr. James was somewhat younger than us—not much, but not quite old enough to experience the sex-a-thon that was the New Era of Good Feelings—so I mentally congratulated him for stopping himself from saying “it was before my time” to Nat.

Later that night, we were engaged in our usual bedtime ritual. We were both in bed, Nat was reading research papers, and I was reading a book while discreetly staring at my wife. Call me biased, but Natalie is even more beautiful now than the day we first fell in love. (She’s also more beautiful than the day we first met, but she doesn’t like to be reminded of that day’s “Benevolent Dictator in sweats running on caffeine and zero sleep” look.) And some things hadn’t changed—she still had a pot of coffee near the bed, but at least it was decaf. And she stopped drinking out of the pot decades ago.

Nat looked up from her paper and grinned. “So, you think high school history books will ever be able to talk about our generation without ‘unrepressed expression’ or whatever weasel words they have to invent for all the non-stop sex I accidentally triggered?”

“Hey, it happened for the 1960s—except for you triggering the sex, unless there’s something you haven’t told me yet—so it’ll happen for us, too. Probably about the time our grandchildren are in school so we can blur the details a bit!”

“Yeah, I’m just glad I’m not a high school history teacher. I’d hate to explain Senator Jones and the Webster Desk incident to a bunch of high school kids.”

I snorted. “I’d hate to explain Senator Jones and the Webster Desk incident to anyone! Including Senator Jones....”

“Yeah, but even after I fixed the filters and everything went back to semi-normal, Senator Jones came ahead—ugh, I mean, he benefitted. Remember the next election where his opponent tried to claim he was too old?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what was better—the Jones campaign ad with nothing but family-safe Webster Desk footage, followed by ‘I’m Senator Jones, and I approve this message’...”

“Or following that disclaimer with, ‘And I’m Mrs. Jones, and I approve it even more’—what are you looking at?”

Busted—she caught me staring again. “You.” I gave her my most lecherous grin, but even after 22...almost 23 years, the most lecherous grin I can manage is still more dopey than lecherous.

“Whatever,” she snorted as she went back to her reading and coffee drinking.

I thought that was the end of it until a few minutes later when she pulled me to her for a kiss.

I nodded at her research papers. “Hot and heavy psychology research turning you on again?”

“No, silly, I just haven’t thanked you lately for saving my life.” She turned dead serious for a minute. “For a while, I didn’t think I’d live to read about—that—in the history books. Or that it would turn out so well. I’m so lucky...if you hadn’t stumbled into the Oval Office....”

“Hey, thank the semi that hit me!”

She laughed, and the seriousness passed. “Yeah, but”—she kissed me again before reaching for her coffee mug—“who wants to share coffee with a semi?”

Oh, that’s another thing. She’s not the only lucky person in this marriage. Not only has Natalie grown more beautiful over the years, she’s also grown more creative with coffee sharing.