by Gigi Thorne
And when that happens, she won’t let me live it down. I mouth the word later to her, hoping to buy us some time, but she furrows her brows as though she didn’t understand. Hiding my phone behind my textbook to avoid being caught, I scramble to key in a reply.
Me: Hey. I said later. Let’s talk about this after class, okay?
I glance back and wait for the message to show up on her phone. She looks up at me, eyes as wide as saucers after reading the text.
Her fingers are flying over her screen. She’s not even discreet about texting during class. We’re not allowed to use our phones during class time unless it’s for an activity the teacher approves. Some teachers are hard-asses about it, and other’s don’t give a crap. Mr. Kent is new around here. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up having to read everything she’s typed in for everyone in the class to hear. Or worse still, her phone and mine, along with all our messages, can end up in the principal’s office.
Pattie’s flurry of messages all come in at once.
Pattie: You know him! Admit it. Either that or he knows you from somewhere.
Pattie: Come on. Fess up.
Pattie: Just make sure you put in a good word for me. I can use an easy A this semester.
Pattie: Kar, why the hell are you acting all shady? Talk to me.
Pattie: Whoa. Hold on. Green eyes. Big and broad like a linebacker. Dark hair. Kar?
Pattie: Did you and Mr. Kent… You fucked him, didn’t you? Omagad Kar!
Fuck.
I lock my phone screen and put it away. I don’t dare look back at Pattie, but I can feel her eyes bore through the back of my head. I can hear her restlessness as she impatiently waits for some kind of confirmation from me. She shifts around in her seat, crossing her legs and smoothing down the front of her plaid skirt of our mandatory school uniform. But I’m not talking. She knows too much already. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but secrets like these, even when said privately, have a way of bubbling up. She won’t tell anyone, but I’m afraid she’ll behave differently around me, and while in Mr. Kent’s classroom. All it’d take is one knowing look, or a few words said under her breath while the wrong person is looking.
The bell rings for next period, and it’s the most welcome sound I’ve heard all day. I can’t leave that classroom fast enough. The first one in the hallway, I hurry to the ladies’ room to splash some water on my face. Maybe it’ll wash away some of the guilt too.
“Kar?”
I hear the voice behind me and wipe my eyes with a paper towel. Glancing into the mirror, I see Pattie staring back at me. “Not here,” I tell her and neaten the white collar on the blouse of my uniform. “Just… don’t.”
She walks over to the four bathroom stalls and pushes each door open, checking to see if anyone’s with us. “We’re alone,” she stresses, folding her arms at her waist. “Jesus, Kar. Talk to me.”
“No. I shouldn’t have said anything to you.” I turn to face her, my blood boiling. “The whole room noticed you in there, you know? Ever one. Probably Mr. Kent too.”
She shakes her head dismissively. “The whole room had their eyes on Mr. Kent, not me. I’m telling you. Aliens could’ve landed at the front of the room, and no one would’ve noticed. He’s so frigging sexy. It’s a wonder every girl in class isn’t in here dousing themselves with water like you are… but my guess is they’re all at the front of the room still, asking him dumb questions so they can keep staring at his bulging biceps and hang on his every word.”
“Just do me a favor and pretend that we never talked about that thing from two weeks ago.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” she demands.
Ignoring her question entirely, I throw my bag over my shoulder and head to the door. “Do you have a class now, or a spare?”
“I was right!” she shrieks, following me out of the ladies’ room. “And no, I’ve got Comparative Government and Politics now. My spare is last period.”
“You’d better get cracking,” I tell her, a blank stare on my face as I walk the hallways. “You don’t want to be late.”
“Kara Elizabeth Richards!” she shouts firmly, and everyone in the hallway within earshot stops what they’re doing. “I’ll let you off the hook for now, but you’re going to tell me everything!”
I roll my eyes and turn to face her, dragging her off by the elbow to an open spot beside some unclaimed lockers. This is exactly what I meant. If she keeps this up, everyone will know before the end of the day.
“I’ll tell you, okay? Just not here, and not now. And I swear to God, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will never speak to you again. And I mean it this time.”
She grins and nods excitedly, visibly happy to be the first to know that something so scandalous has taken place at our school, involving her best friend and a teacher, no less. The girl thrives on knowing. That alone can be dangerous.
“I can’t wait!” she hisses out in a whisper and looks at her phone screen. “Shit. Gotta go! But I’ll catch you after school. Wait for me, okay?”
I nod and head to the school exit closest to the parking lot. My car. That’s where I’ll lay low. Whatever it takes to avoid bumping into Mr. Kent again.
6
Jackson
Right woman.
Wrong time.
Wrong place.
After seeing Kara in my classroom, I know it’s a matter of time before the shitstorm hits. My teaching career? It has a shelf life now. My job at this school? Forget it. I might have found a woman I can take my time getting to know, but it won’t be in this lifetime.
I fucked the right girl at the wrong time.
It’s one of those random events that seem harmless at the time, but it’s only after it takes place that you can see it for what it is. A life-altering moment that shifts the course of your life forever.
And not by choice.
Like a hurricane. You’re minding your own business, keeping your head down and hoping you’ve taken every precaution to avoid it. But it sweeps you up anyway. It moves you way off course, then spits you out somewhere you didn’t expect to land. And after it passes, after you look around and assess the impact, that’s when you know. The damage is permanent and irreversible. No one will get out unscathed.
Kara and I are both innocent, consenting adults. We met, we had a connection, I fucked her, and was open to having her again when the rug got pulled out from under me. I never thought she was a student, let alone one who attends the school that just hired me. What was I supposed to do? Ask every person who talks to me if they’re a senior in this new school where I teach, and happen to also be enrolled in World History?
I don’t feel wrong about what we did, but that won’t matter. Facts and truths can be corrupted by context and interpretation.
It won’t boil down to the actual timeline of meeting her, fucking her, then discovering she’s a student. If this comes out, the school administration will only see what’s wrong.
An illicit student-teacher relationship.
An abuse of power.
A breach of ethics.
They won’t see us as people, but an issue to resolve, a mess to clean up, something broken that needs to be fixed or swept under a rug.
I met Kara. We kissed. She willingly came into my motel room. I touched her, tasted her, pounded into her, took her pussy. Then we did it again. Then morning came, and weeks later, I walk into her school, and she walks into my classroom.
But that’s not how it’ll look to the higher-ups.
I spend the entire first week of my new teaching job walking on eggshells. Every day, I act like nothing happened. My new daytime routine is much like the one I had at my previous school. It includes an intense weight conditioning workout first thing in the morning and a healthy breakfast before school. After that, it’s walking the school halls, teaching my assigned history courses, mingling with other teachers, and meeting with students who have questions or need help. But this routine is somewhat different.
I’m also going through the motions and avoiding any contact with Kara.
After school, I give Sam a hand with Nathan and Sofia, helping with dinner, Sofia’s homework, and both their bedtimes a few nights during the week. When I’m back home at night, I plan my teaching units, have a decent dinner, and after that, it’s where my old routine goes to shit.
When the lights go out, I have Kara all over again. It’s all in my head, getting myself off from both reliving that one crazy night, as well as this new set of images that started to play on repeat since Kara walked into my classroom. It’s cliché and crazy. I’m at the front of the classroom, but it’s empty. No other students are there. Just me. Until I turn around and Kara walks in. She’s wearing her uniform, except the plaid skirt is super-short, so short it exposes the tops of her thighs and the fact that she’s not wearing any panties. The hem of her white blouse is tied up around her ribcage, showing off her flat stomach and giving me a peep show of her big tits. And her shoes? They’re sky-high fuck-me heels. She calls me Mr. Kent as she walks in, and right away, she sashays up to the front of the class. She’s sassy and playful, turning my chair around so I’m at eye level with her cleavage. Once she has my undivided attention, she stands with her legs apart, inches up her little skirt, and starts to play with her bare pussy. She lifts her mound with her index and middle fingers, showing me her pink clit as she spreads her folds for me to see.
“You’re my teacher,” I picture her whispering as she turns her back and bends forward, her hands pressing against the blackboard. She sits in my lap, eagerly grinding her ass on my stiff cock through my dress slacks. “Teach me something.”
I went to college because I have a passion for history. I became a teacher because I wanted to give back. Because the world can use more people at the front of a classroom who give a damn. If anyone had told me a week ago that I’d be fantasizing about fucking one of my students, I’d tell them they were insane. I would never intentionally cross that line or jeopardize the years I spent training to be here. Now? It’s a nightly pastime. It’s so vivid, it may as well be in person.
By the time Friday morning rolls around, I’m bracing for the possibility that sooner or later, someone will find out. The wrong someone. And I’m starting to believe that’s already the case.
Kara’s friend in my World History course.
Pattie Court.
She knows.
It’s all over her face when she sits at the back of the class. As far as I’m concerned. That’s one person too many.
On Friday night, I see no other option than to confront Kara in person. She needs to understand what’s at stake. We were both consenting adults when I fucked her. Neither of us had any idea that we’d end up in a teacher-student situation within mere weeks of that night. That part is no one’s fault. But ignoring it like it didn’t happen, not having a game plan that we both agree to, it’s fucking dangerous.
I have no one to blame but myself.
This is all my fault.
By not approaching her back on Monday when we realized I’m her teacher, and she’s my student, I fucked up.
Big time.
Now it’s time to fix it.
There are one of two possible places I can meet with Kara. We never exchanged phone numbers, so unfortunately, I have to show up out of the blue to see her.
School is not an option. It’s off the table entirely.
Option one, then, is to look for her at the midway. Although the school is back in session, the midway opens on the weekends from Friday to Sunday, right up until Thanksgiving or the first snowfall, depending on which one happens first. I know this because it’s my business to know. I took the time to peruse the midway website while I was weighing my options. The problem with this option is that it’s a public place. People will see us, and very likely, one or more of those people may have some connection to our school. No matter how innocent our conversation is, there’s the chance that if we’re seen by anyone, they can quickly jump to conclusions.
The second possible place to confront her is at her home. The risk of her parents finding out about me is high, but there’ll be fewer eyes on us. There’s definitely a better chance for a private discussion.
Twenty minutes before the midway closes, I drive to Kara’s secluded house. Parking on the street, I wait for her. There are no vehicles in the driveway, which I take as a good sign. Maybe her parents are working late. Of course, they may also show up at the same time that she does, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
After an hour of sitting in my late model Ford Mustang, a pair of headlights approaches from behind me. I see Kara’s profile in the driver seat as her Range Rover SUV passes me. I’m relieved to discover that she’s alone. Giving my car horn a honk to get her attention, I see her slow down a few yards ahead of me and pull over to the sidewalk.
I knew everything that I wanted to say, right up until she steps out onto the pavement and starts to walk toward my vehicle. But I was fooling myself into thinking that I showed up to talk about keeping what happened under wraps.
No.
That’s not it.
I take one look at her and everything changes.
I have to have her again.
I just hope she wants the same thing too.
7
Kara
A car I’ve never seen before is parked outside my driveway. If that alone isn’t alarming enough, imagine my surprise when I look at the familiar imposing frame of the occupant and hear him sound his horn to let me know he’s here for me.
I slow down and put my Range Rover in park, hopping out of the driver seat.
“Mr. Kent?” I say his name in a question through the rolled-down window as I make it to his driver side door. “Are you lost or something?”
“Get in the car,” he says, his deep voice taut and stern. “We need to talk. Privately.”
I look up and down the deserted dead-end street, then back at him. “I know I’m the only house on this street, but this is a public road. People from the motel sometimes end up all the way up here before they realize it’s a dead-end street and they’re going the wrong way. I think you should come inside.”
“You’re not expecting anyone?” he asks.
“My folks are out of town for another week. It’ll just be me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, studying my face.
“Positive. I just need to park. You can leave your car here, or park it behind mine. Totally up to you.”
After parking, he follows me to the door. There’s a heavy, uncomfortable silence between us that wasn’t there the first night we met. I’d like to believe it’s the formality of being student and teacher. Maybe we’re both embarrassed, since neither of us took the time to find out a thing about each other before we fell into bed and fucked each other that night. Maybe I’m just naïve about what it really is.
Anticipation.
Sexual tension.
Longing.
None of these feelings have any business popping up right now.
Unlocking the front door, I deactivate the alarm system and lead him through the large foyer to the living room.
“Have a seat,” I tell him. “Would you like a drink? I think Dad has a few beers in the fridge. There’s wine in the cellar too.”
But he doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t sit. He moves over to me and facing me in the arched doorway, searching my eyes as he looks down at my face.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Kent? Is something wrong?”
“Don’t call me that,” he orders me. “Not when it’s just the two of us.”
“I’m not sure I can call you Jackson anymore,” I admit. “It’ll be too easy to slip up at school.”
“You told her,” he murmurs, leveling his gaze at me as he takes a step toward me.
“Pardon? Told who? And what?”
Leaning forward, he rests his palms on the wall behind me, blocking me in with his beefy, muscular arms. “You told your friend ab
out us. What were you thinking?”
“Look, I’m really sorry about that. That was before I realized…before I knew you were my teacher.”
“Your friend doesn’t look like she can keep a secret,” he says frankly. “I can’t take that risk. It’s better if I disclose what happened and face the consequences now. It’ll be much worse if they believe I withheld key information about myself that could’ve protected you and other students.”
“I prefer to leave it in the past,” I tell him. “I won’t say a thing. Pattie won’t either. I’ll make sure of it. I’m sure you can do the same.”
“You want to act like it never happened?”
“For now, yes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just one course,” I say, feeling the words catch in my throat. “Just one semester. One school year, tops.”
I want him to read between the lines, and I can tell he’s processing something.
“What exactly are you trying to tell me, Kara?” he asks. “Say it.”
“I can wait for you,” I blurt out on a breath, then regret the way it sounds. “What I mean is, we didn’t plan for that night to happen, but I don’t regret it. I think there’s more… to us. So, maybe we can wait. Keep it professional… as student and teacher for the school year. After that, I’d like to find out what more there might be between us. If that’s what you want too… is it?”