Flying

I guess the bad times started after Mr. Carson. Who’s real name was Kenneth. He was thirty years old. He was my math teacher. But he didn’t treat me like his student.

He kissed my neck.

He whispered sweet nothings in my ear.

He took me to his bed.

He told me not to tell. Anyone. Ever.

I thought it was ok at first. Maybe even a little bit exciting. But as time went on, I started to feel worse and worse about it. His kisses stopped making my stomach flutter and started making it turn. The way he talked to me gave me a headache. He had a bald spot and only ever listened to talk radio. His bedspread was itchy.

So I told. I told the principal that I was dating/kissing/screwing a teacher. He got fired. I got branded. Slut to the Extreme. Mega Skank. Whore to the tenth power (get it? It’s a math joke.)

Everyone ditched.

The pills don’t mind my reputation.