The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 9

by Maxim Jakubowski

  NATHAN: That’s right. I’m the son of Alice Moffitt, the minister at First Church.

  DEBORAH: Ah, that’s the connection. They mentioned something about the church.

  NATHAN: I brought a care package, but they took it from me for searching. They say they’ll bring it to you later in your cell.

  DEBORAH: Thank you so much. And you’ve brought greetings from everyone at First Church, is that right? That’s lovely too. I hope not everyone is eager to condemn me.

  NATHAN: It’s been a challenging time for all of us.

  DEBORAH: I’m truly sorry to have brought these difficulties on you. Would you please let everyone know I’m attending chapel regularly here in jail?

  NATHAN: Of course. Is there anything we can do for you? Anything at all?

  DEBORAH: There is one thing.

  NATHAN: What’s that?

  DEBORAH: It’s awkward. You can probably guess. By law I’m not allowed to mention his name. But he’s the victim in this crime. My concern for him is very real.

  NATHAN: [to audience] I looked around. We were alone, besides the sleepy lady guard in the corner reading a gossip magazine. I leaned forward.

  [to Deborah] I can tell you that we’re all hoping he’ll make a relatively good recovery.

  DEBORAH: Oh God, if I’ve contributed to making anyone’s life more difficult, I’ll never be able to rest in peace.

  NATHAN: As my mother would say, God’s ways are strange. My mother says there are lessons we’ll all learn from this.

  DEBORAH: I want you to know that I repent every night. I’m struggling to understand what possessed me to do what I did to that poor child.

  NATHAN: I’m told he’s working hard in post-traumatic stress therapy. He won’t emerge unmarked by the experience, but there’s a good chance he’ll be able to lead a decent life and make some contributions to society one day.

  DEBORAH: I’m sincerely glad to hear that.

  NATHAN: If I can be forgiven—

  DEBORAH: Who am I to forgive anyone?

  NATHAN: I just want to understand what it is that possessed you. You, a teacher. Brady Uhls, a student, still a boy. A nine-year age difference. Boundary issues. The sexual thing.

  DEBORAH: Oh, it was all my fault, I admit that. I’ve been carrying the devil around in me . . . Living with him . . .

  NATHAN: But there must have been something? Something that gave the devil license to take a good woman over.

  DEBORAH: Well, there was something that set me off.

  NATHAN: I think I know what it was. Popular culture.

  DEBORAH: You’re so right! It’s everywhere, undermining the foundations of community values and family life.

  NATHAN: Isn’t that the case.

  DEBORAH: Amen.

  NATHAN: Was there one particular item?

  DEBORAH: What do you mean?

  NATHAN: A TV show. A rock video. An issue of Cosmo.

  DEBORAH: Now that you mention it, there was. It was that movie. That damn movie . . .

  NATHAN: Which movie?

  DEBORAH: Well, so far there is no movie. But I read announcements about it. You probably saw them too. They were hard to avoid. Six months ago or so – I read about the film in USA Today but the news was all over the TV as well. The one called Sex Scenes. A young woman director is going to be making an X-rated—

  NATHAN: NC-17-rated, you mean.

  DEBORAH: That’s it! Did you read about it’s premise?

  NATHAN: No I didn’t.

  DEBORAH: The young wife of a rich man wants to do something nice for him. He’s distracted, they have a couple of kids. So she hires a pornographic movie star—

  NATHAN: I did read about that. It’s a horrible example of how porn is trying to make it’s way into ordinary families and tear them apart.

  DEBORAH: It seems it’s based on real life. Can you imagine?

  NATHAN: So that’s what put the idea in your mind?

  DEBORAH: Without all the articles and TV items about that film, I never would have done what I did. That’s exactly right. My mind started to obsess about what it would be like to be with another person, someone other than my husband. I was even thinking of renting porn so I could imagine what it would be like to be with another man. I knew I had to do something to save my marriage. Ted is so distracted, and I’m such a stranger in this community . . . and then you know, we have children, too, just like that woman who hired the porn star. It was that movie – that damn movie – that drove me to victimize an innocent fifteen-year-old boy with my lust. Pardon my language.

  NATHAN: We had no idea how lonely you were. You were a popular teacher at the high school. There’s even a waiting list for the Sunday School class you taught, where you told us about the book of Revelations.

  DEBORAH: I’m still struggling with the whole thing. You have no idea how alone my years in Oklahoma have been. I mean, emotionally speaking.

  NATHAN: I’m sure the judge will take that into account. And I’m sure the community will too.

  DEBORAH: Please Lord, forgive me. Lead me in prayer, would you please . . . um—

  NATHAN: Nathan. Nathan Moffitt.

  DEBORAH: Nathan, let’s pray to save his soul. You know who I mean. My own soul is lost already.

  NATHAN: You know how my mother has us all hold hands in church? Let’s reach out to touch hands through this Plexiglas. [Praying] Lord, we pray for Brady Uhls—

  DEBORAH: No names, please!

  NATHAN: We pray for a certain local high school sophomore that he will come out of this ordeal able to marry a normal woman and lead a full adult life in the ways of the church and the community mall. And we pray for this good-souled woman here, Deborah—

  DEBORAH [correcting pronunciation]: De-bore-ah.

  NATHAN: De-bore-ah Kibbel, that she can see through the error of her ways to the everlasting truth of your light. Amen.

  DEBORAH: Amen.

  NATHAN: Brady. [Pause] That lucky fucker.

  DEBORAH: Excuse me. What did you just say?

  NATHAN: I said, “Brady, that lucky fucker.”

  DEBORAH: You aren’t really here from the church, are you?

  NATHAN: No, ma’am.

  DEBORAH: What this about, then? I think you owe me an explanation.

  NATHAN: I’m here to make you an offer. I’m here to discuss your future. Your business future. Your life future.

  DEBORAH: Then you’re here under false pretenses as far as I’m concerned.

  NATHAN: I had to see you somehow, and you’ll be glad I did.

  DEBORAH: I’m calling a guard.

  NATHAN: You’ll regret it.

  DEBORAH: Why? What can you possibly have to offer? Are you even old enough to have a driver’s license?

  NATHAN: I’m here to talk about rights.

  DEBORAH: Well, you’re much too late for that, young man. I’m already in discussion with the big three for my story: the Globe, the Star, and the New York Times magazine section.

  NATHAN: You’re making a mistake.

  DEBORAH: The cash looks good to me.

  NATHAN: You’re thinking small. You get one check, it goes right into your defense fund, you serve your three years, get out in two on good behavior, and where are you? To be frank, you’re probably living in a small town in British Columbia under a false name.

  DEBORAH: How dare you?

  NATHAN: All due respect, ma’am, you’re caught up in a played-out paradigm of old media at a time of major media realignment—

  DEBORAH: Wait, I do remember you. Those pretentious nerdy words . . . That awestruck tone about the internet’s possibilities . . . That conviction you’ll be a billionaire one day . . .

  NATHAN: I was in your English class three years ago.

  DEBORAH: I remember! I remember! And I remember that I caught you plagiarizing. That paper you supposedly wrote about The Color Purple. The first case in Turpin, Oklahoma of a teenager caught downloading a term paper off the Internet.

  NATHAN: We call it app
ropriation these days. And I did it on purpose.

  DEBORAH: I just bet you did.

  NATHAN: You’d be right. What did I care about sensitive women’s fiction? And what did I care about my English grade? Where’s the bucks in that? I was on my way to biz school at Community College anyway. What I wanted was a seat in the detention you supervised.

  DEBORAH: Why?

  NATHAN: Do you have to ask?

  DEBORAH: I’m afraid I do.

  NATHAN: I was in love with the lacy bras I could see through the ecru silk of those blouses you wore. “Ecru” – you’re surprised I know the word. I’m just some geeky kid who only knows techie talk. But I learned the word “ecru” because of you!

  DEBORAH: I don’t know what to say.

  NATHAN: I was always trying to figure out if you were wearing a thong under those demure black skirts. So ladylike, yet so tight. With that four inch slit up the side. You spoiled everything for me. Everything that high school was supposed to deliver.

  DEBORAH: I have no idea what you’re saying—

  NATHAN: You made it impossible for me to get aroused by the bared midriffs and low riding jeans of the high school girls! You were older. You were twenty-three. And it was hot that you didn’t try to act like a teen. Next to you, their attire seemed obvious and juvenile. You were doing what you were doing with class – with hints, sophistication. Yet I could tell that what was packaged up in that classy bundle was first-rate womanflesh. Even the way you pronounced your name was hot. De-bore-aaah. All those Shannons and Ashleys who were cheerleaders in my class – I was supposed to be turned on by them. But their names seemed silly by comparison. I didn’t want the attention of an Ashley – I wanted to hit it home with De-bore-aaah. That’s why I actually read those crappy novels you were always forcing on us.

  DEBORAH: Oprah endorsed those novels.

  NATHAN: It was only your sex appeal that got me through them.

  DEBORAH: Well, I don’t know what to say. You’re not exactly your mother’s son, that’s for sure.

  NATHAN: What did Brady have that I didn’t?

  DEBORAH: Brady, Brady . . . He loves Oprah’s novels, you know.

  NATHAN: I’ve got news for you. Brady Uhls despises Oprah’s Book Club choices even more than I do. And he wasn’t shy about telling everyone.

  DEBORAH: But he writes poetry!

  NATHAN: It’s called wigger rap, and it’s a lousy, bush-league imitation of Eminem. Until he got caught fucking you, Brady Uhls was going nowhere fast.

  DEBORAH: Brady lifted my heart out of Oklahoma.

  NATHAN: You know he’s getting laid right and left while you sit here in jail, don’t you?

  DEBORAH: That’s not true! I was told he’d been too traumatized to even touch another girl.

  NATHAN: He’s been parlaying your little affair into getting a piece of every older woman in town. All the ladies want him for themselves. He’s worked his way through most of the country club so far. Now I hear he’s begun on the PTA.

  DEBORAH: One of the guards was reading the Star the other day and she told me he’s heartbroken!

  NATHAN: Brady Uhls hangs his head and acts all tragic for the authorities and for the media. But at school he’s the shit and he never lets anyone forget it. A year ago, Brady Uhls was the kind of fifteen-year-old who pisses off the other boys. Where was his acne? Why did he have a muscular chest while we were skinny? Those full lips . . . That baby face of his . . . And saying he wanted to grow up and be an artist? Guys like that deserve to get beat up regularly. But now he’s the envy of everyone. He walks into a locker room and he gets high-fived by the football team that used to kick his ass. All the best-looking girls want to find out what he learned from you.

  DEBORAH: Which means—

  NATHAN: That’s right. He’s getting blown by every girl in high school.

  DEBORAH: Fuck that underage asshole! He said he’d wait for me.

  NATHAN: Looks like that isn’t the case.

  DEBORAH: To think I taught him how to make poetry not just with words, but with his cock!

  NATHAN: I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad tidings.

  DEBORAH: So talk. You’ve got just two minutes.

  NATHAN: I can turn your story and your personality into a lifelong career.

  DEBORAH: You’ve got no capital.

  NATHAN: Capital is old-paradigm. New-paradigm is connectivity. I’ve got technical expertise and I’m social networking with other dynamic up-and-comers from all over the world.

  DEBORAH: Meaning more eighteen-year-olds with no capital. And they probably couldn’t pass English class either.

  NATHAN: I’m talking the scariest, most powerful force on the face of the planet – eighteen-year-olds with servers and broadband. Let me tell you how this scenario can play itself out. First, you give me rights to the videotape.

  DEBORAH: Don’t be absurd.

  NATHAN: You know what? I bet your pussy looks pretty on a computer monitor.

  DEBORAH: Don’t be crass. Besides, there is no videotape. I made that clear to the police.

  NATHAN: De-bore-aaah Kibble, let me make one thing clear: it all hinges the – whole deal, which means your whole future – hinges on the existence of this videotape you deny so strenuously exists. Now, I wouldn’t be here, going to the trouble and bother of visiting you and making my pitch if I didn’t have good reason to think that this non-existent videotape really does, in fact, exist. And my information comes from someone who knows. Someone with first-hand knowledge.

  DEBORAH: He swore he wouldn’t—

  NATHAN: I’ve been buds with his older brother since before I can remember. You know,Tommy told me it was really hot driving you and Brady around in the SUV while you made it in the back seat. He wasn’t wild about getting shot with Brady’s hot white cum in the back of his head. But the rest of the adventure was raunchy bliss.

  DEBORAH: I had no idea that fucker, Tommy, had a video cam with him. I thought he just wanted to help Brady and me out.

  NATHAN: Not to fear,Tommy hasn’t told anybody else. I let him know in no uncertain terms that I’d personally pound the living crap out of him if he did tell.

  DEBORAH: Why that’s so sweet of you.

  NATHAN: That’s the kind of guy I am. Okay, so stage one: We release the sex tape on the web. “Horny honey caught sucking sophomore staff”, something like that. There’s nothing as big these days as amateur sex videos. Nothing, I tell you. But time is passing, and people are already creating fake amateur-celebrity sex videos. Short version: weve got to move if we’re going to hit the market while the appetite for raw footage is still hot. Stage two: The sex tape makes a pile. We use that money to parlay your notoriety into extensive – and exclusive – online coverage of your trial. None of this boring Court TV stuff. You give me exclusive rights to see events from your point of view, and we broadcast online. You’re charming, you’re hot. We build up a mass of sympathy for your side.

  DEBORAH: A lot of good any of that’s going to do me. There’s such a thing as laws, you know, and I violated some pretty serious ones.

  NATHAN: You really have no idea how the worlds changing, do you?

  DEBORAH: What do you mean?

  NATHAN: The old media may be full of people clucking and wondering how a teacher can let this happen with a student. But young guys everywhere are gathered around water coolers and talking openly about how much they envy Brady Uhls.

  DEBORAH: So you’re telling me I’m a joke.

  NATHAN: I’m telling you that you’re not just a star, you’re a heroine. You’re the English teacher every male wishes he had. It’s a tidal wave of public opinion, and it’s all sympathetic, a few whacko fundamentalists aside.

  DEBORAH: Including your mother’s crackpot congregation.

  NATHAN: Could be.

  DEBORAH: It’ll never work. I wouldn’t be able to keep a penny of whatever accrues. Convicts can’t keep anything they make as a consequence of their crimes.

  NATHAN: Life on
line is all about getting around bottlenecks. I’m in touch with a guy in Barbados, an exchange student who’s a fellow biz major at CC. He spends summers doing tech work at a bank in the islands and has installed his own partition sectors on their servers. His bosses don’t even know they’re there. We let him mount our files. We mirror them at a half a dozen hard drives in the Third World. You and I split the proceeds fifty–fifty, and I pay for expenses from my half.

  DEBORAH: I don’t know. This sounds so elaborate. My head’s spinning.

  NATHAN: Get with it! The poor nations of the world are leapfrogging the old-economy infrastructure and cutting straight to the digital era. Cell phones, wireless web connections, routers. They’re going to become repositories for our digitized sexual material. Trust me, they’d rather be that than crapholes for our nuclear waste.

  DEBORAH: You know, I’m starting to like the way you throw around those multi-syllablic words.

  NATHAN: Laws are going to be changing. But already these dynamic forces are sweeping aside old barriers. The files and accounts are where the American authorities can’t get them. We use PayPal, and we channel receipts through DNS-maskers. And the beauty of it is: it all stays anonymous.

  DEBORAH: Once I’m out of jail, I take a couple of trips offshore, just me and my husband visiting the Caribbean for a vacation—

  NATHAN: And Uncle Sam lives in ignorance!

  DEBORAH: It’s the gift that keeps on giving!

  NATHAN: Between you and me, I wouldn’t be too sure about you doing jail time in the first place.

  DEBORAH: What do you mean?

  NATHAN: I probably shouldn’t be telling you this because it’s all in strictest confidence. But I’ve been in touch with the national ACLU on this issue. They tell me they see you as a major test case. The specific legal question is: Who’s been harmed?

  DEBORAH: Not a soul, you can take it from me. Brady Uhls never had it so good as he did with me. You know, sometimes I look at my own tiny children. I think – what would I do if my own son was fifteen and his teacher introduced him into the ways of sex. I know what I would do. I would rip the fucking bitch’s throat out. But that’s different. What I did with Brady was right. And I don’t need your mother’s prayers about it. I am not a bad woman—