Tampa (9 page)

Monday morning the sky was pouring rain to opacity.
Students
arrived with wet hair and soaked textbooks that had served as impromptu umbrellas. By third period muddy footprints leading from the door to the desks and back had formed the circular pattern of a complex dance diagram.

“There should be a tunnel or something, from the school to the outdoor classrooms,” Marissa protested. Her shirt was soaked through, clinging to her breasts and the side rolls of her stomach. Jack came in a few moments later, a tracing of rain around his
shoulders
; he’d used a folder to shield his head and his hair had managed to stay nearly dry, but the calves of his legs had been showered. I watched each one of the drops snaking down his legs, some of them traveling all the way from above his knee in a manner that recalled urine. The innocence of that thought—a frightened Jack in the middle of the classroom, wetting himself; me undressing him from his soiled clothes, his damp tender skin cold to the touch—briefly clutched me in a fantasy of erotic mothering and made me long, oddly and briefly, for a more developed personal relationship with Jack. There was a turn-on to the suggestion that I might one day see him troubled, perhaps crying; that I might soothe and reassure him with a sympathy that could lead to a feeling of gratitude on his behalf. One that he would repay sexually, his eyes smiling up at me
during cunnilingus. I gave the students a quick character-study quiz about Dimmesdale and his physical response to the guilt of his
actions
and then stared at the clock: I simply had to make it to the end of the class, mere minutes, and then my wait might possibly be over.

“So what can we learn about the poor, sad character of Arthur Dimmesdale?” I asked. Frank Pachenko raised his hand. Today he wore an actual raincoat, an oversized, red and shining version of the type a kindergartner might wear. It was a hideous color, like the erection of a dog.

“Secrets will fester inside you and make you sick,” Frank
reported
. At all times, he had the cheerful air of being completely pleased with both himself and the world around him. I pictured him standing in that jacket with that same grin amidst several
hundred
buckets of fish entrails at the back dock of a busy seafood
market
. The kid simply wasn’t one to let reality spoil a good time.

“Guilt will eat you alive!” Heath called from the back of the room with a dramatic flair, extending his upturned palms to the sky. I felt a pang of worry in my stomach at the effect the content of today’s class might have on Jack—would it taint his view of the proposal he was about to receive? When I looked over at him he was watching the rain outside the classroom window, the glass pane alive with a metropolitan energy of moving water.

“Do you think he’d feel as tortured if Hester hadn’t gotten pregnant and then been caught and punished?” I asked. “What if no one had ever found out—if they’d stayed two consenting
individuals
who simply got together outside the view of the uptight townspeople? Couldn’t it have been kind of fun for them—an
invigorating
secret instead of a poisonous one?”

“Like when you’re dating a girl on the down-low,” Danny said.

“Right … sometimes the whole crux of the excitement is
actually
based on the fact that it’s a secret,” I added enthusiastically, hoping some of the conversation was filtering through Jack’s daydream. “Unfortunately, pregnancy revealed Hester’s half of the
secret
. Now Dimmesdale is suffering with a sort of survivor’s guilt for not being taken down in the scandal as well.”

A discussion ensued (“This one time, I was dating this girl but I also kind of technically had a girlfriend …”), though I was careful to stay in the vicinity of Jack’s desk at the back of the room; I had to be next to him when the final bell rang. When it sounded, I stopped right next to the entry side of his desk so it wasn’t even possible for him to get up. “Jack,” I said, standing utterly still amidst the bustle of the students around us rallying to exit. “Stay behind for a
moment
so we can talk.”

He nodded, imperceptibly at first, but then he looked up and gave me a slightly worried smile.

“Thank you, Jack.” I took a seat in the desk directly behind him, staring at the blond trail of hair on the base of his neck that swirled discreetly to the right. When the room had emptied, part of me wondered if I should skip the pretense of words entirely—simply stand and disrobe, then ask him to follow suit.

I cleared my throat. “What I need to say to you is a little
embarrassing
, Jack. I think it’s best, at least at the beginning, if you keep looking forward and I talk directly to your back, just like we’re doing now. Is that all right with you?”

His head nodded. I eyed the waistband of his baggy shorts; my hand could easily slip down their back and touch the base of his
tailbone
. It was hard to continue talking. But I needed to establish for Jack that our actions wouldn’t be wrong; I also needed to see if Jack
would put out any verbal warnings. I kept reminding myself that if he didn’t respond to my advance, if he told, I could simply deny it—I was only speaking words; they couldn’t be proven. “Good. I need to ask one favor from you before I even begin. No matter what I say, no matter what it makes you feel or think, I need you to
promise
me that you’ll stay in your seat.”

He nodded again, the muscles of his back tensing rigidly
upright
. Outside, the rain gave a long, windy gust. I wanted him to feel like he wasn’t simply keeping my secret—that I was keeping one of his as well.

“I was driving by your house on Saturday night,” I admitted. “When we first got our rosters, I recognized your address. A friend of mine lived on your street once. So when I was over by your neighborhood, I just decided to drive past your house and see if the
subdivision
had changed much. I didn’t actually expect to see you, but I did. I slowed down to look at the houses and I saw you in your room.” I took in a deep breath, hoping what I said next wouldn’t make him run. “You didn’t have your clothes on. You were touching yourself.”

His hands slid up to his face and over the back of his head. “God,” he said. His breathing broke into an unusual pattern; for a moment I thought he might cry. “You can see into my bedroom from the street? But it’s so far back on the side …” In a perfect world, I could’ve assured him that without binoculars one probably couldn’t see inside very well at all, but discretion warranted I keep this detail to myself. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

“Of course not, Jack. You weren’t doing anything wrong.” Now I leaned inward toward him, wishing I could fast-forward past my words to his reaction. “But since I saw you there, doing that without your clothes on, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” I
paused for emphasis but there was only silence; Jack was frozen. No part of his body moved. “All I can think about is touching you. I want to touch you so badly that I’ve decided to just ask you if you’ll let me touch you.” The tardy bell sounded, a sharp quick cut into the static of the rain. I let the shock of its noise dissolve, then
continued
. “What I’m saying is that you turned me on.”

It wasn’t possible to read an answer into his unchanged posture. “You can look at me now,” I finally said. He turned, expressionless, and I decided to play at a lack of confidence. My eyes drew toward the floor. “You probably think I’m old and gross.”

“N-no,” he finally stuttered. “I don’t at all. You’re beautiful, I mean.” He looked directly at me, studying my face as if to make a medical diagnosis. “You could be on television.”

I gave him a pleased smile. “You really think that?”

He nodded with an unfiltered, strictly adolescent sincerity. “Yeah. All the guys talk about you. Everyone was, like, blown away when you showed up on the first day.”

I reached one hand toward him and began moving a finger lightly across his arm. “I’m not interested in all the guys. I’m
interested
in you, Jack.” I’d said enough about me; it was time to shift the blame of desire back onto him. “Have you ever thought about me? The way you were thinking at your window Saturday night?” When he didn’t answer I paused so as to seem embarrassed and decided there wasn’t harm in leading him even further; he didn’t look frightened or outraged. “I’ve thought about you,” I said quietly. “Since Saturday I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“Yes,” he finally answered. His voice was shaking. “You’re really pretty.”

“Can I please kiss you, Jack?” I closed my eyes and found his
silent
mouth with my own. His lips were perfectly sized, almost exactly the length of mine, his mouth not so large, like Ford’s, as to make my own tongue seem insubstantial inside of it. I pushed my lips hard against his teeth, gripped a section of soft hair on the back of his head. Minutes later when I opened my eyes to pull away, I saw that his were already drawn wide—they’d been open and staring the entire time. I moved my hand up his leg and he squirmed a little, ashamed.

“I got kind of …,” he started.

“I know.” I smiled. “I want to feel it. I love that you’re hard.” He nodded and I traced my hand along the firm length in his cargo shorts. I noticed he was peeking down the dip in my blouse at my breasts. “Do you want to see them?” I whispered. I squeezed his erection; despite the dense canvas of his shorts, I could make out the circumcised shape of his tip beneath my fingers.

His wet lips fell slightly open as he nodded. “Let me go lock the door.” I walked to the desk and grabbed my purse; to avoid faculty accidentally getting locked out of their classroom, the knob could only be locked with a key. The sound of the clanking metal as the bolt shut into place felt like a small, perfect kick in the center of my loins—here we were, locked up and perfectly free.

I unbuttoned my shirt as I walked back to him, removed it and placed it carefully on one of the desks. Standing for a moment in my bra and my skirt, I let him take a long look at me before I unhooked it and placed it on the desk as well. “Come touch me,” I said.

He stood and walked over very carefully, as though the offer was some spell he might break with loud footsteps. He stopped a few inches away from me and stood, paralyzed and transfixed, until I grabbed his neck and pulled his mouth back to mine. Soon I felt his tentative hands sliding up the sides of my stomach.

His tongue grew still inside my mouth as his hand cupped my breast and found my nipple. Rubbed arbitrarily by the uncertain strokes of his lost fingers, it hardened to the point of aching, and gripping his head in my hands I forced his lips from my mouth to my chest. He latched on and my eyes closed; for a moment the sound of the rain was so loud that it sounded like the roof had opened; I gave a short scream as a quick orgasm bit down through the center of me. It hardly lasted a second after I perceived it, ending with the abrupt halt of an unplugged current the second Jack’s lips fell away. “Are you okay?” he asked.

My appetite was roaring; the incomplete contractions had
awakened
every sensory cell in my body. In seconds I could’ve hoisted my skirt and slid my panties just a centimeter over, unzipped his pants and felt exactly what I needed, his anatomy’s tentative push delivering a wave of release that in that moment might’ve truly felt endless. Yet I knew our first time couldn’t be right there—I had to give him a little space, even if that meant only a few hours, for things to sink in and the next step to become his idea. I couldn’t smother him in unexpected sex, then send him off to chemistry having feelings so strong and confusing that he had to do
something
horrible like go and talk about them.

“I’m fine,” I answered. “It was a good scream.” I glanced up at the clock. “Look, I’ve gone and made you miss nearly all your lunch. I’m sorry.”

His face was the most earnest thing I’d ever seen; it held a
near-alien
amount of honesty. “I don’t mind,” he said.

I pushed my breasts against his chest, feeling the hardened tiny buds of his own nipples through his shirt. “I hope you realize how amazing you are,” I whispered, kissing his bottom lip. “We’re only
able to do this because I know I can trust you not to tell anyone.”

“I won’t tell,” he said, his arms holding my waist with an
amateur
stiffness. I smiled, thinking about the lover he’d become and all the things he’d try with me for the very first time. I’d be the sexual yardstick for his whole life: Jack would spend the rest of his days
trying
but failing to relive the experience of being given everything at a time when he knew nothing. Like a tollbooth in his memory, every partner he’d have afterward would have to pass through the gate of my comparison, and it would be a losing equation. The numbers could never be as favorable as they were right now, when his naïveté would be subtracted from my expertise to produce the largest sum of astonishment possible.

“Of course you won’t. Not even to your very best friend. That would mean that all the fun would be over.” Topless, I walked to my desk and sat down to write him a note, giving him a new daydream image for the boring minutes of our class together. Now any time I sat at my desk he could vividly imagine me naked. I handed him the note, then began to put on my bra. “Don’t worry”—I winked—“you’ll see them again soon. If anyone asks where you were, remind them you were absent Friday and say you were getting notes. We can’t do this too much at school; we don’t want to push our luck. Is there a time after school you can meet me somewhere else?”

“Yeah,” he said. His brow knotted with a worrying thought; for a moment he tried to shake it but eventually asked, “Aren’t you married?”

“Adult relationships are complicated, Jack. All you need to know is that we can do anything we want if no one finds out about it.”

“My parents are divorced,” he offered, picking up his backpack.

“Then you have some insight about the great range of human
behavior.” I gave him another kiss; I meant it to be quick but his cushioned lips pulled me in and soon I was rubbing my leg across his erection. The bell signaling the end of lunch sounded and I let out an audible groan. “Just go straight to your next class,” I said, heavy breaths slowing my words. “No one will know you missed lunch except your friends.”