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When my seventeen-year-old son told my husband and me he was being bullied at school I wanted to go to the school’s principal and confront the problem head-on. My non-confrontational husband had a different approach; ignore it, he told my son, and eventually, the bully will stop. The boy bullying my son was nineteen and also in high school, having failed a grade. The bullying was not very physical; just name calling and threats of violence and at times shoving and cruel practical jokes. After a few months, the bullying did not stop but I respected my husband’s advice and my son’s pleas not to interfere. My son told me it would only make matters worse. That was until the day it became more physical and my son came home with a bloody lip, bruised cheek, and ripped shirt.That was the final straw. I didn’t care what my husband or son told me; I was not going to tolerate my son being physically attacked. It was time to skip the school administration and go straight to the bully and confront him. My son did not want to tell me about how he was bullied and what happened and it took a long time to get it out of him. When I finally got the truth out of him he begged me not to do anything. My son told me it would only make matters worse, but I didn’t listen to him and forced him to tell me where I could find his bully. My son reluctantly told me that Darren, the bully, would most likely be at football practice for the high school they attended.I should take this moment to explain some things about myself. I have an A-type personality. I like to be in control of situations and don’t tolerate being pushed around and don’t like seeing other people pushed around or bullied. I am not afraid of confrontation and when I feel the need to speak my mind I speak it. My husband of twenty-plus years is not an effeminate man or someone people walk all over, but I do wear the pants in the family. He is a marketing manager for a large company and travels often for kocaeli escort bayan his job. I stopped working after our son was born and once our son was off to college I had planned on returning to work.I pulled into the school parking lot near the football field and waited until the practice was over and the team gathered around the coach to listen to him talk to the team. Once he dismissed the players and they headed to the locker room I looked for Darren. I did not know what he looked like but my son had told me what number he wore on his Jersey; number eighty-eight. I saw him just as he took off his jersey and shoulder pads. He looked just as I imagined a bully would look. The boy must have stood six feet and five or six inches tall and he was huge. I got out of my car and walked toward the boy, who was talking to a group of his teammates as others walked to the locker room. When I got closer I started to get a better look at him. As I mentioned, he was a large boy of nineteen and looked just as you would expect a bully to look like from movies, television, and even cartoons. The closer I got to him the larger he looked. He had an unattractive mean-looking face and a slight belly bulge and huge arms that while appearing flabby you could tell there was a great deal of strength to them and string muscles underneath. He must have weighed at least two hundred and ninety pounds or maybe even more. I never met Darren before but I did know he was all-state in football, played defensive line, and was being recruited by several colleges. His name was in the sports pages of the local paper every Saturday after a Friday night game of how he played. Darren was the perfect description of the cliché “built like a tank”. Still, that did not intimidate me. I did not care how large he was or how ugly mean-looking he was; I was not going to let anyone get away with bullying my child!As I walked toward the boy I could feel the other boys looking kocaeli sınırsız escort at me. I was suddenly aware of what I was wearing. I should have changed clothes before I left the house but I was too angry to even think about it. While it was the fall, we lived in the Deep South so the weather was still warm. I was wearing a pair of short, tight athletic shorts, a tank top with no bra underneath, and a pair of athletic shoes. I would have blushed from their stares but I was too mad.I knew that for a forty-five-year-old woman, I was still very attractive. I stood five-foot-four inches tall, worked out, went to the gym daily, and kept my thin athletic body in shape. I had a fantastic butt that was still firm even at forty-five. I was proud of myself for keeping my ass tight and firm as a girl of twenty-five and not a woman of forty-five. My brown hair I highlighted and it came down just past my shoulders and that day I was wearing it in a ponytail. I would not say my body was not showing age. While my thirty-four B cup breasts were still firm they were beginning to sag just slightly, I had the beginnings of crow’s feet in the corners of my eyes and laugh lines around my mouth that without makeup were more noticeable. I was not wearing makeup that day. When I wore makeup or applied it more heavily than normal for parties or certain social occasions I was a very pretty woman of forty-five and men looked at me and flirted with me, even younger men. I got a lot of compliments on my brown eyes.I walked up to him and started yelling. I won’t go into what I said but imagine a five-foot-four-inch woman yelling at a large nineteen-year-old boy who stood over a foot taller than her. I even poked him in his chest, and I had to raise my arms almost over my head to do so. The more I yelled and poked the angrier I got. I got angry because Darren had an amused look on his face. He found it humorous. “Who the izmit anal yapan escort fuck are you?” he interrupted my angry tantrum.I told him my son’s name and the large boy grinned at me.“Damn, I didn’t know he had such a MILF as a mother,” was all he said.That got my dandruff up even more and I started stammering I was so mad and started making no sense. “Tell you what, bitch, you get back in your car and wait for me and when I am done changing I will join you and you can suck my cock,” the boy grinned and looked at his friends who all laughed, “then I will stop bullying your son.” He grinned at me, “I won’t even take a shower so you can enjoy sucking my sweaty, smelly balls.”I am not a violent person but that set me off and I reached up to slap him, but his reflexes were quick for such a large person and Darren took a step back. I swung so hard that when he stepped back I stumbled into him. Darren grabbed me and his hands went to my breasts and he groped them painfully hard. I could smell his musky, sweat.“Firm tits for such an old woman,” he said and laughed at me and then let me go. I could not suffer any more indignation and things were not going my way. I stormed off the field with him and his friends laughing at me. I took the next step and that was going to the principal of the school.I told the principal how Darren was bullying my son, how he beat him up, and even the things he said to me and how he groped me. The principal said he would talk to Darren the next day and get his side of the story. That did not make me happy. I live in the south and I know how football works. He was a great player and I doubted anything would happen to him. I was wrong.The next afternoon the principal called me and told me that Darren did not deny anything and admitted he did what I accused him of. He was suspended for a week and banned from the school during his suspension and suspended from the team for two games. I felt satisfied but my husband and son told me I made a mistake and Darren was going to make it worse on my son when he got back to school. It didn’t make things worse for my son, but that was because of a deal I made with Darren. That deal made me the victim of his bullying and he bullied me in a much different way.
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