by Selena Kitt
Leah took it, noting the return address was from The School of American Ballet in New York, her heart dropping.
“There was a scout who came by in the fall. He told me to write and request an audition,” Leah explained. “I did, but they never replied. I didn’t think about it again.”
That was mostly the truth. Her hands shook as she opened the flap on the envelope. On the television, Lucy was stomping through a vat of grapes as Leah read the words, “We are happy to inform you your request for an audition has been granted...”
Leah looked up at her mother, incredulous. “They want me to come to auditions this summer!”
“Just how do you think I’m going to pay for that? I’m not made of money, Leah. We’re not the Nolans.”
“I know that. I can apply for a scholarship.” She blinked, watching her mother stab her cigarette out in the ashtray on the end table. It was one Leah had made in grade school, painted orange and shaped like a fish.
“Well all I have to say is...” Her mother stood, walking over and flicking off the television. “You’d better hope you get it.”
Leah watched her walk away, down the hall, into the kitchen. She heard the sounds of her putting away their uneaten dinner. No enthusiasm, no “congratulations!” —nothing. She knew Ada would be happy for her. So would Erica. Mr. Nolan would be thrilled. But her own mother could only worry about how much her dream might cost.
Leah crumpled the envelope in her hand, keeping it balled in her fist until she got to her room downstairs in their bi-level and then throwing it into the wastebasket before turning on her transistor radio to listen to Peggy Lee sing about Mr. Wonderful.
Leah sat next to her mother at the sermon on Sunday and tried not to listen. Instead she counted the word “sin.” Forty-seven sins. Father Patrick said the word “sin” forty-seven times, and the one time he was practically yelling from the altar: “How tender is our flesh! How hard our hearts! How much more aware are we of suffering than of sin!” and it made her face burn.
But there she was, skipping school again on a Friday, sitting in Erica’s room, listening to records and drinking one of the beers Bobby had brought with him while she watched them slow dance. Leah was feeling just how tender her flesh really was, how vulnerable and aching. Just seeing their bodies touching, swaying together, made her long for something she knew was a sin.
And she just couldn’t deny it anymore. It was all she thought about, no matter what she was doing—standing in the shower, sitting in class, eating Ada’s pork chops—she couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Mr. Nolan lying on the bed in the darkroom touching himself.
But it wasn’t just watching him that had her spinning, it was also the way he stared at her the next day, the way he reached out and touched the corner of her mouth with the napkin when he shared his pastry, the dark look in his eyes when his gaze fell between her legs on that morning. Watching Erica and Bobby, the way they nuzzled each other and kissed, she had a startling revelation, and she knew then she was really in trouble—she was falling for her best friend’s dad.
She grabbed another beer—they were sitting on Erica’s hope chest—using the church key to open it, seeing Bobby’s hand slip under Erica’s blouse. Leah stood, hanging onto the edge of the night table when the room tilted sideways and her head started buzzing. She’d only had two other beers in her whole life—she’d never really been interested in partaking whenever they raided someone’s parent’s liquor cabinet—and this afternoon, watching Erica and Bobby together, she’d had four and was now working on her fifth.
“I’m going to leave you two alone,” Leah murmured, seeing their tongues twining together, Erica’s leg wrapping around Bobby’s calf as he moved his hand under her blouse, the other edging her poodle skirt up so high even Leah could see her garters and panties as he squeezed the flesh of her behind in his hand. “I’ll let you guys have the bed.”
They broke off kissing and Erica looked at Leah. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Leah inched past them toward the door.
“You don’t have to.” Bobby’s eyes swept toward the hem of Leah’s skirt. “Why don’t you stay? The more the merrier.”
Leah’s eyes met Erica’s and she knew her friend had told him, she just knew it from the way Erica bit her lip and looked away so fast. Leah’s face burned, her chest tightened, and she shook her head. Erica had invited her along to the Gratiot Drive-In—what Yvonne called the passion pit—with them, but Leah had refused that too. She didn’t want to be trapped in the backseat with Buddy and Yvonne steaming up the windows again.
“Three’s a crowd,” Leah insisted, opening Erica’s door and not looking back as she shut it behind her, taking her beer with her.
Leah stood in the hallway, leaning against the wall because she was having a dizzy, buzzing feeling in her head still. She heard them whispering, and then the sound of the bedsprings and knew they were making out. She stood there a while, standing in the darkened hallway, thinking about Mr. Nolan. It wasn’t until she heard Erica moan and say, “Oooh yeah, lick it!” that she made up her mind.
They were home alone again, which wasn’t unusual. She had never noticed before how often Mr. Nolan was gone. But she had definitely noticed and felt his absence lately. She walked quietly down the hallway, peeking around the corner into the living room just to be sure. It was Friday, so Solie had gone home early.
There was Mr. Nolan’s loft, up high, the place she and Erica used to run to in the middle of the night when they had scared themselves silly telling ghost stories. Sometimes he would let them snuggle under the covers and sleep up there with him until morning.
Leah crept under the loft, putting her beer on Mr. Nolan’s desk and retrieving the key. She pushed the tapestry aside before unlocking the padlock and sliding the bolt on the door. She was walking into a secret, and the anticipation made her waver. She went through the first room and into the second, climbing onto the little bed, telling herself she was just a little drunk, dizzy still, but she turned on her tummy and buried her face in the pillow, trying to catch his lingering scent and remembering him. There was nothing she could do but think about it—how his member had been so swollen in his hand, how fast he pumped it, the words he used that made her face burn and her sex wet.
Sliding off the bed to the floor, she looked longingly at the projector, but she didn’t want to disturb Bobby and Erica or draw too much attention to herself. Just being in here was risky, knowing they might discover her missing.
Instead she went back into the first darkroom, sliding an “art book” off the shelf and situating herself on the padded bench, her back to the wall. Inside there were hundreds of images, all graphic and powerful. Even in just the short time that they’d been exploring the collection, she found herself less aroused by the photos than she did by the movies. It seemed like some sort of progression—the more she saw, the more she wanted.
She pulled her skirt up and started flipping pages. The first couple were girls together, licking and touching each other, and she couldn’t help but remember Erica’s tongue between her legs.
Slipping her hand under her panties, she parted her lips, rubbing her finger over her little pleasure button. She knew Erica was getting licked right now, and Leah wished for a tongue too. Her hand felt good moving back and forth in the wetness, but just one experience of feeling a mouth between her legs had made her a little unsatisfied with just her fingers. She balanced the book in her lap, flipping pages and rubbing herself.
There was a girl dressed in a plaid skirt and blouse that reminded Leah of their uniforms. She was sitting at a desk, teasing her teacher by opening her legs and showing him she didn’t have any panties. In the next photo, he used his pointer to smack her bottom and, seeing her bent over the desk, legs spread, the way he squeezed himself in his hand like that made Leah pant and rub a little faster.
It was too hard to turn the pages, Leah decided, and she stood, pulling her panties off and lying on her stom
ach on the bench with the book in front of her. The padded bench material was cool against her skin, but she didn’t mind. Her flesh felt far too hot.
Leah reached under her stomach, searching through the wetness, flipping pages with her other hand. Now the young student was on her knees, and it was clear her teacher was ordering her to suck. There was a whole series showing her tongue rolling around the tip, him pressed deep into her mouth, his hand grabbing her head, then a close-up of the tip against her outstretched tongue.
Her fingers made wet noises as she rubbed herself, teasing her little pink pleasure center as she turned the pages. In the next picture, the student was lying on his big desk with her legs pulled back as he licked her. Leah whimpered, aching to feel a tongue. Erica’s mouth had felt so good between her legs and she closed her eyes for a moment, resting her cheek on the page as she remembered, arching her back and raising her bottom in the air. She slipped two fingers inside, using her thumb to tease that spot, and rocked against her own hand.
The memory of Erica licking her changed into the fantasy of Mr. Nolan between her legs. What would it feel like to have his tongue there? What would it feel like to have him slide inside of her, instead of her fingers? Leah moaned, feeling feverish and hot as she squirmed on the bench, her nipples hard underneath her, and she wanted to touch them. She rolled over onto her back, pulling her shirt up and her bra down, exposing her breasts.
She imagined him sucking her nipples as she tugged on them, lost in the fantasy of him kneeling between her legs and licking her breasts as he stroked himself against her mound. Leah fingered herself faster slipping two in and working hard to get yet another finger into her flesh. Would he stretch her open like that? Would he fuck her? Hard and fast and long? Would he groan and grunt on top of her like the man in those films?
Leah moaned, trying to be quiet, picturing him between her legs, telling her how much he wanted her, how desperate he was for her. Would she let him? Her heart raced, her breath coming in short pants as she fingered herself, and she knew she would. She knew she wanted him to.
“Yes,” Leah whispered, arching her back and pressing toward the imaginary man between her thighs. “Oh yes, do it, Mr. Nolan. Put it inside of me!” Just whispering the words, hearing them out loud, was beyond exciting. She whimpered and squirmed and fingered herself faster. She wanted it. She wanted him.
“Leah?”
She froze, eyes flying open to see Mr. Nolan standing in the doorway. He shut the door behind him, flicking the light on—not the soft, red darkroom light, but the large fluorescents hung high on the ceiling—his face a mask of shock and something else. Something she didn’t quite recognize.
“Oh my God!” Leah pulled her hand away and snapped her legs closed as she yanked her blouse down to cover her exposed breasts. The thought of what he’d seen wasn’t nearly as shameful to her as the thought of what he might have heard her fantasizing about, calling his name! Her heart pounded and she felt her face burning as she struggled to stand. “Mr. Nolan, I...”
What? What could she possibly say? He’d caught her in his secret darkroom touching herself, looking at his photographs—what kind of apologies could she make? She wanted to run and hide. He was carrying a briefcase and his camera and he set those down on the developing table and walked toward her, his gaze sweeping over the book pulled out from the rest, open to a very graphic photograph and then back to Leah.
“I—” he started, looking almost as shocked as she felt, like he didn’t know what to say either. “I thought you girls were out, I—”
He didn’t finish his sentence and she noticed he was staring at her hand, still wet with her juices. His gaze fell to the floor, and he stepped back, realizing he was standing on her discarded pair of panties.
“I’m sorry,” Leah apologized, looking down at her hands and wiping them on her skirt. “I shouldn’t… I was...”
He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “Listen… it’s okay...”
Leah glanced up at him and saw him struggling, his face working, the words trying to come out. “These are… these are adult things you’re looking at. These kinds of images… they’re not for young people. Sex isn’t about this… well… these, what you’re looking at, these are just about sex. This isn’t what love is about...Oh, hell. What a mess.” He closed his eyes and put a hand over them, shaking his head.
“It’s okay.” She wanted to make him feel better somehow. Her own embarrassment was starting to fade as she sensed his. “I know… I just… I’d never seen anything like these before...”
Looking at her, he nodded. “I imagine you haven’t.”
“They made me feel… funny...” she explained, blushing. “Down there… and I couldn’t help touching myself. I know it’s a sin, but...”
He frowned. “No, It’s normal,” he insisted, and she saw him swallow. “Those feelings are all normal. These pictures… all they’re meant to do is to arouse you. To make you feel… funny… like that.”
“Is that what you do with them?” She met his eyes, feeling bolder as she remembered how he had touched himself.
“Like I said...” He cleared his throat, grabbing the book off the bench and putting it back on the shelf. “These are… adult things...”
Her fear and shame faded almost immediately at his words. “I’m an adult.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “You think you are.”
Her jaw tight, her anger—and likely the four beers she’d had—making her bold, she slid up onto the empty darkroom table and opened her legs, showing him what he had only seen a glimpse of that morning in the kitchen. “Do I still look like a little girl to you?”
He stared, his face going first white and then red. “Leah… no...”
He came to stand next to her, taking her hand. It was the same hand that had been pressed against her mound just minutes ago. “There’s a lot more to sex than this… it’s really complicated… and I’m sorry you found these, that you were exposed to this… it’s my fault… it won’t happen again...”
She rolled her eyes at the lecture, at him trying so hard, and slid her hand out of his, tugging playfully at his tie. She wanted to bridge the gap between them, the one he seemed so intent on maintaining. “I saw you, Mr. Nolan.”
His jaw dropped and he looked at her, incredulous. “Saw… me?”
“The night you came into the bathroom… do you remember that?”
Glancing at him, she saw him nod, his face pale again.
“I watched you,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. “Touching yourself. In there.” She gave a nod toward the other room, the darker, darker darkroom.
“Oh Christ,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she confessed. “Seeing you touch yourself while you watched that man on the screen… with those two girls...”
His eyes met hers and she saw the shock in them at her words, but there was something else too, it wasn’t just shock. She’d seen it before, in the kitchen when he’d looked up her skirt, when he’d watched her dance, and yes, a moment ago, when he’d walked in and caught her touching herself.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered, moving her bare foot up his inner thigh, high enough to feel he was hard. She was encouraged by that, and the alcohol made her feel more free, like she’d drunk some liquid courage.
“Leah… I know this kind of thing can be confusing...” He took the hand she’d slid around his neck and put it in her lap with a shaky sigh.
“I’m not confused,” she insisted, sliding down to the floor and kneeling between his legs. He shook his head, but she wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his crotch and nuzzling there.
“Oh hell,” he whispered, and she felt his hand moving in her hair, the lightest of touches.
“Please...” she murmured, turning her face, so her mouth was moving over the hard length of him against his trousers. “I want to...”
<
br /> She had him unzipped quickly, and she reached in to find him, looking up into his eyes. He was dazed, startled, even a little horrified, but there was something underneath that, and whatever it was kept him from stopping her. He didn’t say no as she freed him, taking him into her hand.
Remembering how he had touched himself, remembering the photos she’d seen, the movies she’d watched, she wrapped her hand around the shaft and started moving it up and down the length. His eyes closed for a moment and he moaned when she pulled all the skin up toward the tip. He was getting lost in the ecstasy as she stroked him, wrapping her other hand around it too.
He jumped when she leaned in and kissed the tip. “Whoa, wait...”
Remembering her brief practice lesson with Erica sucking her finger, and not wanting him to make her stop, she slipped her mouth down onto him, taking just about half until she couldn’t take any more. He tasted different than she expected, a little acrid at first, the skin soft, but the flesh hard under her tongue. He moaned, looking down as she came back up, licking around the head.