|
|
Monday, January 31st, 2005
| |
7:52 pm - Chapter 4 (con't)
|
My usual routine, as I have mentioned, was to come home from school, study, sleep, then go to work. On the nights I was off - usually split days, to make sure I got as little sleep as possible - I studied longer and slept longer. Before getting involved with Richard Stanley, I really didn't do much else besides sleep, study, go to school, and work - though I was able to read, if only for a few minutes. It was nice, as many generations of escapists have found before me, to indulge in a world beyond my own narrowly focused view.
That's what I was doing when Richard Stanley made his unexpected visit. I had come home from school, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, put my hair up in a ponytail, and settled onto the couch with a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. The door rang before I'd even finished the sandwich.
I moved slowly, not really feeling like dealing with anyone, and especially not with political campaigns and Mormons, the only visitors I ever received. Looking up, I saw through the window that it was Mr. Stanley. My stomach fluttered. I was both excited and uncertain. I was happy to see him, but hadn't learned to be completely flexible in the way that such a relationship demanded - and I hated not knowing what to expect. I had almost fallen into the pattern of confusing fantasies with plans.
That didn't last much longer.
I took a deep breath before opening the door, and when I did, he smiled at me. "Hello," he said.
"Hello, Mr. Stanley."
He smiled. "Richard. May I come in?"
I hesitated. "I'm ... not sure. I ... have to study."
He nodded. "Of course you do. I just wanted to give you this." He handed me the envelope. As he did, he brushed my hand lightly with his finger, which sent an energized shiver along my skin. "You'll find the arrangements we talked about inside. I hope you find them convenient. You are so beautiful, Helen." He said the last without changing the pitch or rhythm of his voice, but it affected me as if he'd taken me in his arms and given me his most passionate kiss.
I didn't feel beautiful, in my shoddy clothes, in my equally shoddy apartment... At least, I hadn't felt beautiful until that moment. Once he said those words, I immediately felt so, and sensual. "Perhaps you could come in... for just a minute."
I let him in, and turned toward the couch. He grabbed my arm, gently but firmly, and turned me. He put his hand behind my head, leading me to him, then kissed me ever so softly on the lips. With his other hand, he reached under my shirt, lightly trailing his fingers up my side and over my breast. When finished, he moved away from the kiss, but only by half an inch, his face still so close I could feel his breath.
He continued to hold my head here as he grabbed my nipple and twisted it slowly between his fingers. The sensation was wholly erotic - the pain sweet, as my waiting had been through the week. I sank into the bliss of his nearness. When he had kissed me again, he pulled away, released me, and stepped back. Standing two feet away from me - now such a very far distance - he said steadily, "I'll go now."
I looked into his eyes, and knew he saw the plea there: the plea to stay, the plea to take control, the plea to take me. He smiled ever so slightly, put his hand firmly on the doorknob, and turned. The statement was clear. I would have to ask. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Maybe he would still turn back to me, answer the request he had seen in my gaze... but he opened the door, and stepped through.
Later in our affair, this would be a game. "No, no," he would say with a smile, "it's late, you should go now. Go on, go." Then we'd laugh and continue our play, feeling as if, like children, we had all the time in the world.
At this moment, though, it was not a game. He knew I wanted him, but he would make me ask. He would let me give him control, but he would not let me pass off responsibility for it. He began to close the door, waved over his shoulder without looking, and pulled it behind him. When it was only inches from shutting fully, I finally said the words.
"Wait! Please stay with me. I want to... now."
|
|
(3 comments | comment on this)
|
| Friday, January 28th, 2005
| |
9:17 pm - Chapter 4
|
Arrangements were a mystery for a full week. During that week, he kept his office door locked in the morning, did not leave notes for me, and would not look at me when I passed him in the hallway. I began to think over our last conversation and pick it apart for anything I could have said that would have made him dislike me. I worried endlessly that I had somehow offended him, that he was purposely giving me the cold shoulder as some kind of punishment. I knew there was probably some other explanation, that he was merely waiting for the right time, but my imagination got the better of me. I wasn't sure he would ever touch me again, and the idea of that deprivation scared me more than I liked to admit to myself.
I also worried that perhaps I wasn't the only one. Such is the nature of an illicit relationship, I suppose.... When you know that you are an act of betrayal, the idea of being betrayed yourself doesn't seem so far removed. I kept imagining he had had relations with every girl in school. When I saw him in the halls, I became painfully aware of the way the others looked at him. There were so many moony stares I couldn't help but picture him with each of them, saying the same things he had to me, touching them the same way he had me. What if each of those girls with the moony face was recalling a special memory?
I resolved not to look at him, ever, in public, with anything but the same stony gaze he set around me. I refused to be thought the fool.
Of course, I didn't truly believe he was playing such a game, even when it most occupied my thoughts. He couldn't possibly have planned what happened, and surely some kind of rumors would have spread if it were true. Those days did serve to make me more cautious, however. I became ever more guarded as to how I behaved in public. I wanted no one to suspect anything unusual, so I kept my routine as normal, and kept my grades high.
The week also served, however, to heighten the anticipation. The waiting was an exquisite exercise in mystery. I worried for the worst, but anticipated what could be. I wondered if and how he would contact me again, and every day - every minute - I was in the school, I was aware of every detail. Anything could happen. A note could come, he could appear in an unexpected space... I felt the sense of possibility in every moment, and the excitement offset the worry in a glorious agony.
When he finally contacted me, it was truly a surprise, and where I least expected. I was at home.
***
(Chapter 4 to be continued)
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, January 26th, 2005
| |
6:11 pm - Chapter 3 (con't)
|
I'm not sure what I expected when I went back. I had been fantasizing all through my shift, and I suspect my fantasy, as is often the way with such matters, became confused with reality. I imagined him holding me, caressing me, whispering in my ear... I imagined us together in a hundred ways, and could barely contain myself with the anticipation. I didn't focus on my work, and got in a little trouble, but the foreman was understanding when I told him I was nervous about a test.
After all of the fantasizing, though, I was nervous when the time finally came. Walking down the bland high-school hallway, with half the fluorescent lights lit and the smell of sanitizer hanging in the air... I suddenly couldn't imagine myself having sex here. I recalled the previous day, and tried to merge the memory of the ultimate excitement with my current surroundings. As I stood before his door, knowing he was in there and knowing what would happen if I went in, I felt slightly queasy. It wasn't that I didn't want to do it. I wanted him, and my desire was as strong as it had been in the former hours. It just wasn't how I'd imagined it. In my fantasies, the lights were softer, the surroundings less dull, the air embracing.
This was... This was high school, and in that moment, I felt its suffocating atmosphere as I had only begun to feel it the day before. Was this truly the place where I'd sought refuge from reality? This place of rigid routine, delayed dreams, and history through a strainer? It was a horrid place, and my dreams didn't fit here.
I finally opened the door, and he was waiting for me. He sat at his desk, dressed in his usual Dockers and white shirt, both crisp as if freshly ironed. Probably by his wife. He was watching me, and I realized it probably seemed strange for me to have not moved from the door after closing it. My feeling of not belonging in this environment hadn't diminished upon seeing him. It had worsened, if anything. He didn't seem to belong here, either. Despite everything, I'd never before felt hopeless. Now I did. Now I saw how the world worked against happiness, and I felt the weight of what would come before me in life.
His gaze stayed upon me, as if he was doing a diagnostic, figuring me out. Did I have a gauge on my forehead, I wondered, to be read so? Did he know what I was thinking, or just taking a guess? For a moment, I was sure he knew, without doubt, what was going through my mind.
As if knowing that I wasn't sure what to do next, he patted his knee and said softly, "Come here."
I walked to him and sat on his lap, hands folded in my own. He kissed me on the cheek, then whispered, mouth still close to my cheek, "Why did you return today?"
"Because I wanted to," I replied without pause.
He took my chin in his hand and turned me to him. "Then why did you hesitate before coming in?"
His eyes, brown flecked with gold, looked into mine. He continued to hold my chin, but gently. I told him the truth, every thought that I'd had, as best as I could share it out loud. I felt warm when I finished, and knew I was blushing. He released his hold and lightly ran the back of his hand down my cheek. "That's understandable," he said, leaning back, resting his hand on my bare knee. "We don't have to meet here."
"We don't?"
"Of course not. I can make other arrangements. It would probably be for the best, really."
He didn't say anything for a moment, and had shifted his gaze to my lap. He moved his hands between my knees, and motioned ever so slightly for them to part. As if a reflexive action, they did, and his hand moved a few inches up my inner thigh.
He looked back up, and said, "Do you feel better now?"
"Yes," I said, holding his gaze.
"Good," he said, moving his hand higher. "Do you want to stop for today, then?"
I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "No, I don't."
"Good." Nothing else was said, and he kissed me for an eternal hour, hand rested comfortably between my thighs.
When I left his room, the lights actually did not seem so dull, nor the air so harsh. Perhaps dreams could co-exist with high school, after all.
|
|
(4 comments | comment on this)
|
| Sunday, November 28th, 2004
| |
1:02 pm - Chapter 3
|
Never once in the course of our affair did we discuss whether what we were doing was wrong. Never did he say, even once, "We shouldn't be doing this." If I ever saw a glimmer of doubt in his eyes, I do not recall it. If he ever felt uncertain, he kept his worries to himself. I worried, particularly about the safety of his career, but I didn't obsess about it. I had nothing to lose, and I knew he was intelligent enough to understand the risks. Perhaps that is why we never talked about it. The danger of our rendezvous was obvious. There was no point to talking besides stopping, and neither of us wanted to stop.
I sometimes wondered if he had purposely waited to contact me until I was of legal age. He could have easily found my student record, after all, and if he did have worries, at least that would be one less. I never asked him, for it was just another thing that didn't need discussion. There were plenty of issues besides my age which made our affair dangerous. There was his position as a teacher, and mine as a student. There was the gold band on his finger.
Yes, there were times I considered my morality. I was young, but not foolish. I knew very well that I was doing something that could have terribly serious consequences, that could disrupt and ruin lives. I knew that I was damaging his union, even if we were never found out. I did not rationalize. I knew we were wrong, but I returned to him time and again, anyway. I weighed the risks with the rewards, and decided the rewards were worth it. I knew that at any moment this could end - either smoothly or horribly - and I knew I had to be prepared for either outcome.
That first day of waiting was the longest. Though there were many long days in our affair, days of longing anticipation, almost unbearable hours of craving his touch, that first day was the longest. I went through my classes in a state of unreality. Who were these people I sat next to? They were supposed to be my peers, but what had once seemed a mere cultural disconnect was now an entirely different dimension. They chewed gum, passed notes, engaged in generations-old rituals of high school courtship, teased unpopular kids, took notes, asked questions, twirled hair and sharpened pencils. All of the sweetly mundane habits of daily student life were there as usual, but none of it seemed real to me now.
Reality seemed to have stayed behind, in Richard Stanley's classroom. In those vivid, intense moments of ecstasy, my life had finally become about living. I knew now how it felt to be completely alive, and it seemed so ridiculous to spend even a moment of it arranged in rows, learning on wooden squares. I suddenly felt that school - which I'd always seen as a good thing, if not great - was a suppression of reality. I wanted to be out in the world. I wanted to dance in the snow. I wanted to read books written by geniuses. I wanted to talk about things that mattered. It seemed like it should be possible to do that in school, at least the latter two, so why weren't we?
The day was long. I craved his presence. I wanted to let the energy of life course through me, and I wanted to share it with him.
***
(chapter 3 to be continued)
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, November 25th, 2004
| |
1:38 pm - Chapter 2
|
I understand that some might have a problem with my age. When this started, I was seventeen. Society grows ever more judgmental, I fear, and there are those who would call this child pornography. So be it. If it is so, it is child pornography written by the hand of an old woman, shaking to grasp at the memories of youth. I doubt anyone will throw me in jail.
That said, after the day he saw me nude, nothing more happened for several weeks. I had no classes with him. We did occasionally pass in the hallway, but neither he nor I acted with anything more than the indifference with which teachers and students give each other in high school halls.
I continued my lonely life, working and studying and sleeping. My mother didn't make any more effort to know what was happening in my life than usual. She'd been addicted to heroin since my father left us, and was rarely home. I did miss having a mother, but I was too busy to concern myself. I had to pay the bills. I had to save money for college. If she chose to spend her days having sex with men for drug money, I had no choice but to save myself, and wait for her inevitable death. I only hoped that she would wait until I was eighteen, and save me a court fight for independence.
As it happened, my eighteenth birthday came with no visits from a police officer, and my only celebration was a sigh of relief.
The morning after my eighteenth birthday, I found a note in the teacher's lounge. Taped to the mirror, it read, "Helen - Would love to see you again. Your choice. - Richard Stanley".
I dressed and went to his classroom. I didn't have to think about it. I'd known that we would eventually continue what we had started, and had merely been waiting for the when.
I entered his room, and he smiled. His brown hair was getting long. I liked the way it fell against his forehead. "Hi," I said. "Hi, Helen," he replied, moving toward me. I felt my body's reaction as he approached me, full of expectancy, craving to feel his body against it. He walked past me and locked the door. "I won't forget to do that this time," he said with a grin. I smiled. He took a few steps, until he was just inches from me. He put a hand on my waist, and I looked up at him, waiting. I resisted the urge to touch him, and let him take the lead.
His hand stayed on my waist for a moment, then he dropped it gently down my side to my hip. He reached around to my back, and then down over my jeans. His hand retraced its path, then moved up, cupping my breast. I'd worn no underwear, and he squeezed gently. His hand stayed there, and I reveled in his touch. "You're beautiful, Helen," he said. The husk of his voice told me how much he meant it, and how much he wanted me. For the first and only time, I wanted to leave him. I was scared of what might happen, and whether I could handle it. I was close to walking out, and ending this before it went too far.
Just as I decided to go, he reached down with both hands and unbuttoned my jeans. He slipped a hand inside, and I parted my legs without thought. His finger rubbed the spot that had throbbed so when I had watched him, and it began to throb again under his touch. I looked off to the side, trying to absorb this new sensation, afraid that the watery feeling in my legs would keep me from standing much longer. He rubbed faster, and my breath quickened. Then my entire body betrayed me. I fell, shaking, but he caught me and lowered me gently to the floor, where he continued stroking between my legs. I felt a finger enter me, and moaned. I grasped him then, unable to control myself. My hand was on his neck, gripping him hard, and I couldn't catch my breath. He whispered in my ear, "That's it, there you go, oh God Helen, come for me..." I did, again, unable to contain a moan. I let go of his neck, and sank to the cold floor, feeling as if my body had turned to jelly. I tingled from head to toe.
When I had caught my breath, I looked at him. He sat above me, watching, smiling. "I'm glad you enjoyed that," he said. I turned on my back, and spread my legs. "Do you want to?" I asked.
"Very much," he said, "but it's almost time for school." He smiled, bent down and kissed me on my forehead. "Come back tomorrow."
|
|
(4 comments | comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, November 24th, 2004
| |
4:56 pm - Chapter 1 (con't)
|
I found Mr. Stanley reclined in his desk chair, head back and mouth slightly open, eyes closed. I looked down and saw that he had taken his member from his pants to masturbate. He was moaning softly.
I knew immediately that he was thinking of me. I knew that seeing me naked had brought him here. In that moment of realization, I became a woman in a way I hadn't upon losing my virginity. I walked toward him. I didn't plan to, but my feet carried me, and my body wanted to be closer to the experience it had started. Only when I was within five feet did he notice me. He looked frightened, which reminded me of my sweet boyfriend the day I'd pushed him against a wall. I said softly, "Don't stop. It's okay." Not all the fear left his face, but he did not stop. I walked to the door, locked it, and walked back to the desk, where he continued to stroke himself. He seemed less certain and less powerful at first.
I leaned against the desk and watched his hand move up and down. As the moments passed, his previous assurance returned, and he again began to moan. He didn't close his eyes, however. They stayed fixed on me, and I knew he was imagining me naked. I pulled my shirt over my head and unfastened the clasp of my bra. I pulled the bra off, and turned my gaze to his. The desire I saw made me want to climb onto him, to hold his manhood in my own hand, to let him touch me, to finish him off. I stayed still, however, knowing that if I followed this impulse, a line would be crossed that neither of us could uncross. I wasn't ready for that, though I was ready for this. I felt as if I had been waiting for this for a long time, and felt the pleasure of an awaited desire realized.
His eyes traveled over my face, breasts and waist. His hand moved ever faster. I found my own breath quickening. I stared at his penis. It was fully erect and purplish-red. The word engorged repeated in my mind. He was probably about nine inches long, but at the time, it seemed a foot and a half. I couldn't imagine something so huge fitting inside any woman.
I again found myself wanting to touch the area between my legs, and for the first time in my life, connected that feeling to the one I'd read of so many times. Most of the words I had read didn't describe it well at all. "Clitoris" and "stimulation," "like electricity" - none of them fit. "Pulsing" was one that worked, however. I wondered if the gentle but gripping pulsation was felt by men the same way, though bigger.
Then he came. He didn't say my name, and probably didn't know it. He said nothing else, either. He simply moaned louder and longer, and spurted his cream onto the floor. While he caught his breath, I dressed. He watched through a drowsy gaze, still holding himself, but gently. I could think of nothing to say, and he seemed to have no words, either. I wrote my name on the board - Helen - and left.
It had begun.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004
| |
1:22 pm - Chapter 1
|
My life at the time was hectic, so I had no friends. Not counting my boyfriend, of course. Now it was my senior year of high school, and I worked nights stocking inventory at a computer production plant. I got off at 5:30, went to school and studied, attended classes, went home and slept, and repeated this every day. When I didn't work, I slept or studied. My life was very narrow, and breaking up with my boyfriend after our first time ensured my state of friendlessness for the rest of the year.
This was the life I chose, however. It was the life I had to choose.
I arrived at the school at 6 a.m. every morning, just minutes after the janitorial staff unlocked the doors. They knew me well, but we didn't speak much. They just smiled sympathetically and waved, returning to their work. We were kindred spirits, indeed. I worked because I had to, and never made a part of the social circles, what few and mild circles there were at the plant. Mostly men who drank a lot before and after work, but one or two groups who went bowling together, or got together for major football games. They were kind enough to me, and treated me as one of their own, but in the end, they were outside of my reality, and I kept my distance.
At Horroria High - the strangest name for a high school in America, I suppose - I went directly to the teacher's lounge to change. This was the only room that had space, light, sinks, comfortable places to sit, mirrors, powder and perfume - everything I needed to make myself feel like a normal teenager, and less like an old, aching, tired woman. I was always finished before the first teachers arrived, so I never thought twice about my changing spot.
I changed out of workboots, baggy work jeans, and t-shirts into cute sneakers, tight, low jeans, and close-fitting t-shirts. After an hour of preparation, I felt like a girl again. I felt seventeen again.
On the morning that began it all, I paused for a moment after stripping out of my grubby, baggy work clothes, and looked myself over in the mirror. I was critical. I had lost too much weight, and my skin was too dry. My librarian-brown hair hadn't been cut in months, and hung over my breasts limply. However, I did like the way my eyes glimmered in the ray of morning light, and if I stood at an angle, that ray caught my skin in a way that almost made me look sensual.
When I heard the door open, I couldn't move. I saw myself grabbing for my clothes, and hiding behind the couch, but I couldn't. I turned my head slowly to look over my shoulder, and saw Mr. Stanley standing there, equally frozen. "Oh," he said, averting his beglassed gaze and returning it only briefly to say, "I'm so sorry." He backed out and closed the door behind him. I looked back in the mirror, seeing myself as he had seen me, and immediately saw and felt the effects of the blush.
I dressed hurriedly, then sat on the couch for a few moments, my heart pounding. I wasn't sure what to do. I had never asked permission to use the teacher's lounge, and had never thought until then how much trouble I could be in for it. I didn't know if I could go talk to him about it, though. I wasn't in any of his classes, but that didn't mean I wasn't painfully embarrassed. No man - no grown man - had ever seen me so, and I had no idea how to handle it.
Finally, I decided to go see him, at least to apologize for using the lounge without permission.
I walked down the hall, the moment replaying over and over in my mind, and the look on his face seared into my brain. I felt like I had to urinate, and had the strange feeling that that sensation would go away if I put my hand in that spot.
Ignoring that urge, I opened Mr. Stanley's door, and was amazed at what I saw.
(chapter 1 to be continued)
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| |
10:47 am - Prologue
|
The affair with the substitute teacher started a week after I had sex with my boyfriend for the first time.
I will tell you about the affair, but first I will tell you of my boyfriend.
He was a shy boy, and so sweet. I had a crush on him all through my freshman year, and found out he had a crush on me when he kissed me back oh so hard. I had pushed him against a wall when I found him alone between classes one fine autumn day, and he had looked so frightened. I think he must have thought I'd take his lunch money.
I kissed him gently, to make up for startling him, but he kissed me back with a passion that surprised me. He was so small, so quiet.... but this was a boy who wanted me.
We dated for two years. I dreamed about our first time through all of it. We agreed to wait until we were older, until we could handle the responsibility, but we changed our minds one night.
We were in his house alone. His parents were out of town. We were watching a movie. Yes, all the cliches.
It just happened. I had dreamed of it for so long, but it was disappointing. I'd imagined it would have all the passion of the first kiss, but it was rather bland. Our young naked bodies pressed together, he pushed hard once to enter me. It hurt a little, though not as much as I'd imagined. He was on top of me and in me for a long time, and I kept waiting to feel something, anything, that made this the special, exciting, life-changing moment I'd longed for. Nothing ever happened. He became very excited, and I watched him with the removed curiosity of a scientist. He didn't seem to know I was there, but he was very loud and fast and excited. When he shook above me, I felt tender toward him. Such a vulnerable, lovely creature.... I felt tender as one feels toward a little brother. I held him close, and knew I'd never do this with him again.
The affair with Richard Stanley started seven days later.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
dream_erotica's journal