All I Ever Wanted.

I knew it was wrong to fantasize about her supple breasts pressed hard against my chest; for my mouth to linger against hers, our tongues dancing in a rhythmic motion and to beg for my head to be buried in between her legs. She was my student. There had to be boundaries. It wasn’t healthy to visualize about something that will never happen. It didn’t matter that the other girls in my class swooned over me. I wanted her to swoon over me. I just wanted her in general. It was torture. And in some sick way, I think she knew how much I wanted her. It was like every time she would bend over to pick up her dropped pen, she knew I would be staring either at her ass or her glorious rack if I was lucky enough for her to be facing me. I was stuck between a dilemma—act on it and lose my job—or don’t, and die a sexually frustrated young man.



Before class started, I sat in my swivel chair, turning slowly, while biting down on my thumb nail. Any moment she would walk through that door. I was curious to see what outfit she would be in today; what body part would show more than the other. I also had to remind myself not to ogle at her; make obvious the attraction. I have a habit of only staring at her; thank God the others don’t pay it much attention. The last thing I need is for a student to catch on, pay mind to every move I make. It wouldn’t end pretty.

I clicked on the student roster as the clock read eight-thirty. Class would start in exactly five minutes. My heart raced at each passing second. It about leaped out of my chest when I heard footsteps out the door. But when it opened, revealing Todd McKinsey and Taylor West, I felt a sadden stab in my gut. Who was I to think she would come this early. She was usually the last in my class. I’d just have to wait to see her then; but for now, I would indulge in mindless conversation with two kids who insist on being here on meticulous timing. I would ask them about their weekend, or how they were doing. And they would ask me about upcoming tests and what they could do to improve their already pristine grade. I grew tired of these two same kids. I know I’m a teacher, and I should love to hear about my student’s boring fucking weekends, or their home lives. But really, I could two shits.

We all three waited patiently for the others to take their seats. And as the clock struck nine o’clock, I wondered where Fae Scott was. And the same painful stabbing emerged in my gut; what if she wasn’t coming? Class would be boring then. Nothing to stare at and I rather enjoyed hearing her thoughts, and smiling as she sheepishly got an answer wrong. She made my days here at this penitentiary for learning.

“I guess this is everyone…” I muttered aloud, going behind my desk to marking Ms. Scott absent. This was her first absence all year; I dreaded doing this. My hand hovered above the mouse, but just as I was about to press my finger down, the door opened, and in walked the girl of my erotic fantasies, attired in tight black fitting sweats and plain white tee that stopped just above her hip bones, revealing the smallest amount of stomach. Her hair looked a bit askew, and her make-up was lightly done. And once she took her seat, she laid her head down on the desk. I’ve never seen this way; it bugged me. But I tried to press on with class like it was nothing, though it was eating away at me. I assigned the class book work, giving me time to sit back and watch her from the corner of my eye.

She didn’t remove her head from the desk till Rick Johnson, the all star athlete with his head up his ass, tapped her on the shoulder. She slowly raised her head, turning around to face him. I couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other, but I figured he was just asking if she was okay. She then took out her notebook for her bag along with a pen, and started on the assignment. That assured me a tiny bit; seeing her at least write. Though it was killing me not knowing exactly what was going on with her.

When everyone was done, I went around collecting them instead of having them brought up to me; this gave me a chance to ask if she was okay and get closer to her. And when I got to her desk, she stared up at me, her green eyes penetrating me deep with sadness I almost choked. I looked closely to her features, making sure I didn’t forget them. That’s when I saw the bruise; lying on her left cheek bone. I could tell she tried to hide it with make-up, but the cornflower blue shone above. I wanted to punch a wall; better yet, punch the fucking prick who hit her. Anger was building up inside me quicker than I could handle. When I asked her if she was okay, my teeth were grinding together. She shook her head yes, and then gave me her paper. I quickly collected the others, snatching them out of the kid’s hands, not meaning to. I was infuriated. I hated men that hit women; my mother was abused by my father daily. I grew up with it and promised myself I’d never tolerate it.

I was thankful when the bell rang. I couldn’t hold my rage in much longer. My bad temper hadn’t flared up in awhile. Not since what happened in New York. This was just a sign of things to come. I had to get it under control. But seeing her leave my room, with something heavy weighing on her mind, with that awful bruise tainting her beautiful face, it was hard keeping it tamed. I needed a drink. After school, I would buy myself a much needed bottle of Jack, and drink till I forgot about that fucking bruise.