The Handbook_A Contemporary Teacher Romance

by H. P. Mallory

  “The Femme Fatale Handbook,” Dani read the title aloud before she faced me, her eyebrows furrowing. “What in the hell is this?”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  “From your top drawer,” she answered with a shrug. “I figured you had a magazine or something to keep me entertained.” Then she eyed me narrowly. “The question is: where did you get it?”

  “I, um, found it,” I softly replied as embarrassment suddenly overcame me. “And if you wouldn’t mind,” I continued as I reached for it, but she held it out of my grasp.

  “Did you write it?” she asked, clearly confused.

  “No, I didn’t write it!” I responded, almost sounding offended at the thought. Why, I wasn’t sure.

  “You found it?” she asked, eyeing me skeptically. “Where?”

  “At the library. It was sitting on the top of one of the stalls, and I thought it looked interesting so I started reading it.”

  “And it’s about turning yourself into a femme fatale?” she asked as she glanced down at the notebook and started scanning it again. Recognizing my opportunity, I grabbed it from her and returned it to my backpack, making an obvious motion of rezipping it.

  “Yes,” I answered and tried to laugh it off. “It’s really kind of comical.”

  “That’s taking things a little to the extreme, don’t you think?” she asked as she shook her head. “You don’t need a random notebook to tell you how you should act, Nikki,” she continued as I inhaled deeply. This had been the reason I hadn’t wanted her to find the notebook. I didn’t need a lecture.

  “I know, I know,” I started.

  “Just go back to being how you used to be. Go back to being you.”

  I didn’t respond but watched her as she turned her back to me and started sorting through the bag of clothes she’d just bought. Reaching for the scissors on top of my desk, she began cutting off the tags.

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” I started as I pulled on my sweats. “But I have to start reading this stupid book so I can write my stupid paper for stupid Derek Anderson.”

  Dani laughed, and for the time being, the notebook was forgotten. I breathed a sigh of relief as I opened the door and started down the hallway toward the bathroom. Once inside, I leaned in closer to the mirror to examine my reflection. A little makeup and curling the ends of my hair had certainly gone a long way. I looked like I did prior to Brandon dumping me, and it was a look that served me well. I was an attractive girl and I did want to show it off. Jane Doe was right—it was important to play up one’s attributes, if for no other reason than to feel good about oneself.

  Screw Derek and his over-inflated sense of self-importance. Screw his egotism and the way he thinks he can talk to anyone like they’re two years old! Screw him for tasking me with a project that sucks and for driving me home! And screw him for the way he’s constantly staring at me like I’m a piece of meat!

  I wasn’t sure why, but that last thought didn’t bother me like it should have. Of course, I was well aware that Derek checked me out. It was sort of impossible not to notice it, and if I were being honest with myself, I could admit it that I actually kind of liked it. But then I remembered his assholish remarks and I was thrown right back into the swamp of self-doubt.

  Maybe Derek had a point? Maybe I had dressed too sexy for school? I definitely didn’t want to look like a street tramp, like he’d alluded to. That’s right! He’d totally told me I was dressed like a prostitute! I reminded myself as I gritted my teeth and an angry fire consumed me all over again.

  I took off my clothes and turned the faucet to the bathtub on as I tested the water. Maybe this was just obstacle number one that I needed to get past—other people’s opinions. I mean, it made sense—in order to have supreme confidence, you had to believe in yourself above all others, right?

  Do you think Venus would have given two shits about what other people thought about her? I asked myself as I instinctively shook my head. No, of course she wouldn’t have! And neither will you. In order to become a femme fatale, you have to act like one!

  I tested the water again, and finding it warm enough, turned the shower on and stepped underneath the flow of water.

  So, is that what I’m doing? Am I really teaching myself to become a femme fatale? I asked myself. You’re not, Jane is, came my reply. So I’ve bought into it? I’m actually doing this? I didn’t need to answer my own question because the answer was obvious.

  When I got out of the shower, I felt better. Not only physically because I was now clean, but there was a clarity in my mind that hadn’t been there before. Maybe it was all due to the fact that I’d just admitted to myself that I was going to follow Jane’s advice and I was going to transform myself into a woman who wouldn’t put up with bullshit, especially Derek’s bullshit. There was definitely something liberating about that thought.

  THIRTEEN

  NIKKI

  I was in the library again. And this time I was having one hell of a time trying to concentrate on the book that I was reading, because … it was boring. Instead, I couldn’t stop replaying the last day’s events with Derek Anderson. More specifically, I couldn’t stop thinking about some of the shitty comments he’d made when I’d been late to class.

  Don’t think you’ve got amnesty just because I tasked you with a special project and gave you a ride home the other night, I replayed his words through my head. I don’t appreciate you coming to class dressed like you’re planning on making money on the corner later.

  Talk about the biggest jerk at Hamilton State … Scratch that, Derek was the biggest jerk in New York! He was moody, cocky and he had nerve like no other man I’d ever met!

  I glared down at the book, Women in Literature, A Study of the Female Character, which was opened to page twenty. The words glared back up at me as if they knew I was reading them but not digesting any part of what they meant. I felt like telling the stupid book to screw off but didn’t want the other patrons in the library to think I was nuts, so I slammed it shut instead.

  And then I reached into my backpack and felt for the spiral binding of the one thing I actually did want to read. That one thing happened to be The Femme Fatale Handbook.I opened the notebook and immediately turned to the chapter in which I’d left off, figuring if this was the only way I could get my mind off Derek Anderson, I’d gladly take it.

  ***

  The Femme Fatale Handbook

  Chapter Two: The Innocent, Marilyn Monroe

  “I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil.

  I am just a small girl in a big world, trying to find someone to love.”

  –Marilyn Monroe

  Marilyn Monroe, the most iconic sex symbol in the recent past. What was it about this blond bombshell that caused men to fall for her, left and right? I believe it was her intense innocence matched with her overpowering sexual presence. That sounds like a contradiction, right? I’m sure you’re asking me, how can someone be a sexual vixen and yet be innocent at the same time? That, my friend, is not only a possibility, but it was also the key to Marilyn’s enormous success.

  Marilyn was able to use her voluptuous and simmering sexuality to ensnare a man’s attention, but she was also able to keep his interest with her natural innocence. Why, you ask? Because she appealed to a man’s need to provide protection, something all men possess but few women understand.

  So how can you adapt Marilyn’s seductress ways?

  Blend the naïve and innocent with the highly sexual. Your voice, your clothing, your walk, your scent—everything about you is spectacularly feminine and sexy, but there is also an air of innocence about you, as if you don’t know you’re so damn hot!

  Tap into the child who still lives inside of you. Imagine looking at the world through her eyes. If you actually lived this way, you’d do so according to your whims, and you would do so fearlessly because you wouldn’t be concerned with consequences. You’d be spontaneous a
nd fun, both great traits to have! Your job is to allow your inner child to rise to the surface. Be brazen, be naughty, be impulsive and be impetuous. Be fun!

  Don’t care about consequences. Just as children don’t worry about offending people, neither should you. Act with a coquettish innocence in everything that you do and you will find you will begin to look at your life with a new glint in your eye and a sense of adventure that will be contagious.

  FOURTEEN

  DEREK

  She was beneath me. And all I could think about was how much I wanted this—how I’d been wanting it from the moment I met her. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her, watched her beautiful blue eyes widen as I pushed inside of her for the first time, watched her gasp as she stretched to accommodate all of me. And there was a lot of me.

  She gripped my back, sinking her nails into me as she moaned loudly. And the sounds she made were like music to my ears. I closed my eyes so I could fully focus on the way she sounded, the way she felt. It was almost as if my sight was doing me a disservice because looking at her was taking center stage, not allowing me to focus the rest of my senses.

  She felt exactly how I knew she would—like heaven. She was heaven. And I told her as much, something I usually never would have done. But she was different. She’d been different from all the others and would continue to be. I opened my mouth and expressed how amazing she felt, how I’d wanted her for so long and how, now that I had her, I wouldn’t be able to stop having her. And she smiled back up at me, her expression warm, but there was something else in her eyes. Was it relief, I couldn’t be sure.

  I had to wonder if she’d been worrying silently to herself that this was going to be a one-time thing—that she’d finally given into her sexual attraction for me but as soon as our tryst culminated in orgasm, I’d be done with her. I hated the thought, because the truth couldn’t be further away.

  I pushed inside of her again with long, determined strokes, thrusting so deeply that I could feel myself hitting the end of her. And she moaned in that deep, soft way of hers that was making it increasingly difficult for me not to give in to my urges and release myself. But somehow I managed to continue fighting my urges, somehow I managed to focus on something else because that something else was important.

  I heard myself telling her that she was different, that I would never treat her the way I’d treated some of the others. I heard the words spilling out of my mouth then as if someone else were speaking them. I told her that I wanted to continue having her, but not just her body. I wanted to have her laughter, her teasing, her wit, her sadness and even her anger. I wanted to continue having her. She responded by looking up at me in surprise, as if she’d never expected to hear this from me, as if she were completely floored by it. But she also didn’t say anything. She remained silent.

  And I didn’t understand why. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to hear the words I’d just said to her repeated back to me, but they weren’t coming. Instead, she was quiet, pensive and seemed lost in her thoughts. I asked why, but she couldn’t answer right away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and pushed her pelvis upward, trying to bury me farther inside of her, trying to pull my attention away from what it was I needed to hear. But her attempt to encourage the sexual, animalistic side of me was for naught. Instead, I pulled myself out of her and then held her head between my hands, forcing her to look me in the eyes.

  I asked her why she wouldn’t speak, why she was avoiding it. I couldn’t control the flow of the words that emptied from my mouth like spaghetti falling onto a plate. I told her that I not only wanted her but I needed her, that she was meant to be mine. But she never said anything, just continued to stare up at me with those empty eyes.

  When finally she spoke, I couldn’t say I really heard her words. It almost sounded as if she were suddenly speaking underwater, the sounds jumbled and strange. My brain didn’t need to hear them, though, because my body was already translating. My stomach flip-flopped and then dropped all the way down to my toes as feelings of nausea began to bubble up from within me, the taste in my mouth suddenly turning sour.

  I heard myself telling her this wasn’t supposed to be like this, that we weren’t supposed to be like this. I heard myself say we were supposed to be together, but she just continued to look up at me blankly, an almost pitying expression in her beautiful blue eyes. I didn’t understand, and I said as much. I pulled away from her and stood up, suddenly needing my space. I didn’t understand how her feelings for me were purely sexual, how she had never wanted anything more than just sex. Impersonal, meaningless and crude sex.

  Her words suddenly began to echo inside me, repeating themselves and growing louder with each repetition, leaving more and more shock in their wake. Whereas before it had been near impossible to get her to open up and speak to me, suddenly she began speaking as if she couldn’t stop herself, as if she were unable to hold herself back. The things that came out of her mouth beat against me, slicing me with their acidic blades. She’d never felt this way about me and she didn’t understand why or how I could feel this way about her. Why didn’t I recognize this for what it was, no-strings-attached sex? We were never meant to be together, and I was foolish for thinking otherwise. I was foolish for dropping my card and caring. I was just plain foolish.

  I clasped my hands over my ears and shook my head, begging her to stop, begging her to have mercy on me, but she wouldn’t stop, her voice only growing louder as her words continued to thrash me, taunting me, ridiculing me.

  “Nikki!” I yelled at the same time that I sat bolt upright.

  I found myself in my bed, inside my bedroom, and it was pitch black except for the green illumination from the alarm clock which sat on my dresser across the room. Even though I could recognize that I’d just awoken from a bad dream, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

  I stood up and trudged into the kitchen to get a glass of water as I rubbed the back of my head and wondered what the hell had gotten into me that my subconscious was plaguing me with dreams about Nikki. I also couldn’t get the sour aftertaste out of my mouth as I thought about the things the dream version of her had said to me.

  I shook my head, suddenly angry with myself. It had only been a dream and I needed to recognize it as such. Furthermore, there was no way I was going to have sex with Nikki, no matter how badly I wanted to. And I was more than sure that if I ever did, the last thing I would do would be to beg her for a relationship afterward. That would never happen, not in a million years. I just wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. I took what I wanted from women, which was usually just sex, and then I moved on. I wasn’t about to get locked down by anyone. Especially not a silly undergraduate student, no matter how hot she was.

  So keep telling yourself that, I thought.

  But reminding myself of my true nature wasn’t enough, I suddenly decided. If I had to face facts, I had to admit to myself that Nikki had gotten under my skin. I wanted her and I wanted her in a way that I couldn’t remember having wanted another woman in a very long time. But that didn’t mean I wanted her for anything more than a good romp. And I was also convinced that if I ever did have sex with her, afterwards I’d be over it. Of that, I had no doubt.

  But it’s never going to get to that level, I reminded myself. So stop even considering it.

  Yes, there was no way my relationship with Nikki would ever become sexual, because I didn’t want it to. The last thing I wanted was to be thrust underneath the watchful eye of the dean again. So, yes, I needed to do myself a favor and snap the hell out of it.

  FIFTEEN

  NIKKI

  Two Weeks Later

  Having just returned from a more than boring chemistry lecture, I was shocked to find Dani curled up in the fetal position on her bed with her face turned toward the wall and a pillow covering her head.

  “Dani?” I asked as I tossed my bag aside and, closing the door behind me, sat on the edge of the bed and started rubbing her ankle as she sobbed in
to her pillow. “What’s going on?”

  “I, ugh!” she wailed as her shoulders bobbed up and down, keeping time with her cries.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, although I had a pretty good idea of what the problem was already.

  The shaking of the pillow back and forth indicated a negative response, but then she said: “It’s over.”

  And, just like that, I was taken back, months earlier, to a table in the Student Union Building where I’d been sitting with Brandon and he’d announced we needed to break up. All the feelings of desperation and heartache flooded back into me as if I’d just experienced them all only yesterday.

  “Dani,” I crooned into her ear as I leaned down and gathered her into my arms. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He met someone else,” she continued as she shook her head and the expression of shock took up residency in her eyes.

  I felt my stomach drop. I wanted to say, “Craig is just another guy like all the rest. He’s a jerk, he’s selfish, he’s only interested in sex, and once he gets his fill, he’ll move on to the next unfortunate idiot who crosses his path just like all the others.” But what I managed to say instead was, “I’m sorry. How can I help? What do you need?”

  “I don’t need anything,” Dani curtly replied before another bout of tears claimed her. “I just want to be left alone so I can wither up and die.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that she sounded just like I had. “Okay, so clearly I’m not going to let that happen.”

  “I just don’t get it,” she mumbled as she shook her head, that expression of puzzlement still there in her eyes. “He told me he loved me!” She took a deep breath as she pulled her gaze from the floor and faced me. “But how could he love me and then want to be with someone else?”