The Problem with Lust, page 13
I lower my head, and struggle to stop myself from doing what I am desperate to do—to unbutton her blouse and have her topless beneath me—so instead I kiss her softly, and for the longest time. She moans as if I’ve made her feel something deep, something passionate. It’s a sound I love to hear. I lift my hand to her face and cup her soft cheek. She looks half-scared, half-excited.
My hard-on turns to steel.
I so desperately want to fuck her right now, but instead I kiss her again, claiming her mouth as if every inch of her body belongs to me.
My tongue sweeps inside her mouth and I savor her sweetness, not letting up.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she sighs, breaking our kiss. Her chest rises and falls as I lift my head. “Too much?” I ask, my eyes pinned to her moist lips and it’s almost impossible for me to do what she’s asking.
She wraps her hand around mine, and the skin-on-skin contact sends shivers scurrying all over my body. It’s strange, that all we’re doing is holding hands and kissing, and yet my cock is throbbing like it’s poised for entry.
“You’re so damn gorgeous,” I say, lifting her face with my finger under her chin, directing her to face me again.
“You’re only saying that bec—” but before she can finish, I’ve claimed her lips again, and she sighs like she’s floating in heaven. She will be soon enough, and she’ll be screaming when I make her come over and over again.
I’m so hard now that I can’t stop my hand from sliding inside her blouse, and into her bra.
Her warm breast greets my palm and I squeeze gently, loving the feel of her softness. Instinctively, I deepen our kiss, and move my thumb over her nipple again, it’s hard, and grows harder still when I rub it gently.
Her moans grow louder, and I’m desperate to slide my fingers into her panties and see how ready she is, but I resist. Exploration is going to have to wait a while.
I usually end up in bed with whoever I’m kissing on the first date. I haven’t had a first date in a while, and while this isn’t technically a date—I don’t know what this is—I’m pretty sure that Trinity doesn’t give up anything even on the tenth date.
I start to unbutton her shirt, pulling back so that I can read her face and stop if she wants me to. She watches me, and her parted lips and her shiny eyes tell me all I need to know. My fingers move gently and quickly, and even though I’m desperate to bury myself inside her, I won’t. She lets out a sexy sigh, and I can’t think straight, because arousal has fogged the thinking part of my brain, but I know not to do that. I can’t have sex with her on this first time, not with Trinity.
We’ve been making out for the longest time, and my boner is so hard, I’m going to have a bad stomachache.
Hot Gina would have had her mouth around me by now, or her legs wrapped around my waist. We’d go at it for hours, in all sorts of positions.
I’ve never had to wait so long to get my release.
Trinity giggles lightly as I peel her shirt away and expose her great big white bra. I’m used to seeing pretty, flimsy, lacy numbers, not an ugly contraption like the one she’s wearing. It looks like it’s from the Victorian era, and has all the sexiness of a praying nun.
The sight of it clogs my thinking for a brief second, but I quickly move past it. I don’t undo her bra clasp, but my breathing speeds up, and I torture myself with holding back.
Trinity’s face is everything I’m not used to seeing. She’s shy, and vulnerable, and unsure, and it’s like she’s let me open a treasure chest and given me access to all the loot.
I could strip all her clothes off and have sex with her, but I don’t.
My cock says yes, but my head says no.
She’s a nice girl.
A good girl.
But I have a lot of baggage.
I’m the wrong guy for her.
What she needs is someone slow and safe and boring. Like that schoolteacher friend of hers.
“Why did you stop?” she asks, as if she can read my mind.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Trinity,” I say, staring into her eyes and feeling my heart float away in them. “I don’t want to stop, but I have to, otherwise we’ll go too far.”
“Don’t you want me?”
I blink. Oh, sweet Jesus. Of course I want her. But she doesn’t know the real me, and for some reason, I don’t want to be that guy to her.
“I’ve never had sex before,” she says, shattering the warm, intimate bubble we’ve been floating in.
“What?” It’s like she dropped a glass boulder straight onto a concrete floor.
“You heard.” Her face flushes, only this time I suspect it’s not from her arousal.
“You’re a virgin?” I let out a gasp, one that sounds more like disappointment or maybe it’s shock, I can’t tell. I’m not sure what I feel, but it’s not overjoyed.
I should be ecstatic—because she won’t know what to do and everything will be new. This is so rare, so unheard of, I should be happy.
I should feel pleased.
I should be honored, but I don’t feel any of those emotions because she thinks I’m the best thing to happen to her and I know what a bastard I can be.
I roll away and sit up, trying to make sense of what she’s told me.
“Is it a problem?” she asks, sensing the chill as the moment flattens and shatters to the ground like a dropped icicle. She covers her chest again with the blouse, and folds her arms over it. I notice that she doesn’t start buttoning it up, though.
“No,” I say, turning away, wanting her not to feel bad about this because it’s a good thing, only I’m not a good thing for her, and I don’t want to be the one who takes this precious thing from her.
She’s been holding onto it like a Golden Ticket out of Charlie’s Chocolate Factory, but I’m no Willy Wonka. I won’t do the right thing by her in the end.
I’m not a guy who does long-term. I do Hot Gina, and other easy girls like her; girls who know the score and like it that way.
“It’s not a bad thing, No. It’s not,” I tell her, though who I’m trying to convince here, I’m not sure. I don’t get involved with women like Trinity, and I don’t know why I let myself this time.
“Then, why don’t you look happy?”
“How come you’ve never had sex?” I ask, because that’s got to be the million-dollar question.
“I never met anyone I cared enough about.”
Oh, shit. I really don’t want to be the guy who pops her cherry, and this just confirms it a million times over.
“I was saving myself,” she continues.
Saving yourself? For what? I want to scream. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Twenty-fucking-five. “Huh,” is the only word I can muster in response. How the hell do you reach the ripe old age of a quarter of a century without having had sex?
She has no idea what she’s missing.
I stare at her downcast face. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
How can she not know? “I can’t…I can’t …” I’m out of words, and instead I jump up off the bed and stare down at her. She’s sitting up now, and slowly buttons her blouse again.
“What did you think was going to happen just now?” I ask her.
“We were kissing. I liked it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” A bit too much. She must have known exactly how much I liked it with the way my hard-on must have dug into her belly. “Where did you think we were going to end up?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been kissed like that, for that long before.”
I rake a hand through my hair. I’m still in shock. I can’t believe a human being can reach this age and still be a virgin.
“Are you laughing at me?” Her eyes narrow.
I reach down and cup her face. “I’m not laughing at you. I find it hard to believe that someone … that you’re still a virgin.” Now it makes sense, her telling me how much she likes my kisses.
“How many boyfriends have you had?” My curiosity gets the better of me.
“Why do you need to know?” she asks. I’m intrigued. She’s like a specimen to me, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, but for someone like me, who is addicted to sex, Trinity is an anomaly. I want to understand how she could reach this age without ever having had sex. No wonder she liked me stroking her wrist so much. “No touching, and stroking?” I ask her.
“Why did you move away? I’m not a leper.”
I sit back down quickly again. “No, you’re not. I moved away because I don’t want to do something you’re not ready for.”
“You make me feel like a freak.”
I turn to her, and brush my thumb over her lower lip. “You’re not, and I apologize if I’ve made you feel like that.”
“If you’re going to ask me about my lack of sex, I want to know all about your sexual exploits.”
My stomach hardens as I lie down.
“You didn’t like that, did you?” she asks. She’s resting her head on her hand, and her elbow digs into her pillow. I don’t say anything. How will she ever understand the concept of fuck-buddies, someone like her who has waited so long before having sex?
I can’t answer her question, but I try to. “There’s nothing to know. I love sex. That’s it. That’s why you’re the last person who should be around a guy like me.”
“Who was your last girlfriend, how long ago?” she asks, not heeding my warning.
What am I supposed to say to that?
I push the thought of Hot Gina away. And because I have no answer, I pull Trinity towards me and kiss her again. This sets off another round of getting-ready-to-fuck type of kissing. I can’t resist her. I can’t keep my mouth away from her even though I know I should. “You’re so sexy, so goddamn irresistible. You’re enough to drive a man delirious.”
“Am I?” The way she asks me, it’s like this is a completely new revelation to her.
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re just saying that because I haven’t had sex before.”
I run my hands through my hair. She is a bigger prize than Hot Gina. I could be all her firsts, and I’m pushing her away. It’s the right thing to do, even though my cock doesn’t agree with me. “I’m saying that because it’s true. I find you sexy beyond belief, but I didn’t know you were a virgin until a few seconds ago, so no, it’s not because of that. It just makes you unique. You’re gorgeous and sexy because that’s the truth, not because I have any ulterior motives to get inside your panties.”
She props her knees up on the bed. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
She’s making it impossible for me to abstain. “I shouldn’t have done that. We shouldn’t have done that.”
“But we did,” she replies.
“What do you want from me, Trinity?”
She shrugs.
“I’m not the type of guy you should be interested in, Trinity.”
“I didn’t come looking for you. You’re the one who came crashing into me.”
When she puts it like that, I can’t help but smile, even though this is serious. It’s serious in that I need to step away from her.
She was disgusted when I told her that I phoned my friend to have sex. I had to lie to save myself, because Trinity couldn’t stomach the truth.
And now she thinks I’m something I’m not.
There’s no way we can be together.
“I have to go,” I say, getting up. Sometimes tough love is the right thing. “I was only supposed to give you the logbook.”
She stares up at me with her big Bambi eyes, and makes my heart melt. I have never walked away from a woman who tells me she wants me.
But I do, because this time it’s the right thing to do.
Chapter Nineteen
TRINITY
* * *
The throbbing between my legs continues even after Max leaves.
What just happened?
Every shred of common sense disintegrates when he’s around me. I should know better by now. I should know that every interaction with him leaves me feeling as if I’ve been sucked into a twister. He’s bad for me, but he always sucks me in, no matter how hard I try to stay away.
I want to be with him, even though being with someone like him probably won’t make for lasting happiness. I want romance, and dating, and marriage; all of it, but I don’t think Max is the type of guy to offer that.
Yet I still want him.
This can’t continue. What we did, it can’t carry on. I need to wean myself off the drug that he is.
I am determined to get over this temporary flash of insanity with which I’ve become inflicted, and during the following week I do my best to block all further thought of him from my mind, which is easier said than done. I try to concentrate on the things at hand, grading workbooks, preparing lessons, being present as much as I can.
It isn’t easy, it wasn’t easy especially after our last meeting; I can’t forget about the taste of him, the feel of his lips, and the giddying sensation of his hands over me. All of these things are imprinted on my mind and body.
I make it to the end of the week and on Friday, after our crochet class, Christina and I go to dinner together as usual.
I want to tell her about Max, even though I don’t think she’ll approve. If she met him, saw his sexy swagger and his mannerisms, and that too-handsome-to-be-trusted face, she would ask me what I’m doing with someone like that.
The urge to talk about him becomes ever more potent the more I try to suppress all thought of him. What I have for him feels like a stupid schoolgirl crush, but at this age I’m supposed to know better.
To stop myself from talking about Max, I tell her about Dylan and my latest concerns. His recent drawings have been a slight cause of concern for me. In one, his mother was lying on the floor while his dad stood over her. When I asked Dylan what was going on, he looked away.
“You’ve either got to report him to child services, or tell Marshall about your concerns,” Christina says.
“But what if I’m wrong?” It’s a fine line, being concerned, and reading too much into a situation. Dylan’s drawings have only now become worrisome. Previously, it was the state of his clothes, or the fact that he looked so undernourished and gaunt, that worried me. I can’t go to the principal with my concerns based on these things alone. And Dylan’s mom seems to be trying so hard. I’ve spoken to her on a few occasions when I’ve been outside at the end of the school day. She seems normal. A doting mother.
“Are you still giving him pieces of fruit after school?” Christina asks.
“Sometimes.”
“You’re going to get into trouble, Trin.”
“For giving him an apple?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m just being a human.”
“If you’re that worried, you need to tell someone.”
“But I don’t want to cause more problems at home. His mother is nice. Maybe she’s struggling a little, and she’s trying to do her best, but most moms are, aren’t they?” The wisp of a woman, with sunken eyes and bad skin, was pleasant enough. She was interested in finding out how Dylan was getting along at school. She told me she worked as a cleaning lady at one of the schools nearby, and that her husband was out of work, which was why I never saw her do many of the school pickups.
“You’re being an overly interfering teacher.”
“I’m concerned.”
“Then tell the principal.”
“He might get child protective services involved.”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“I don’t see any evidence.” I haven’t seen any bruises, or cuts, or cigarette burns. I know Max had them, I know what they look like. In my earlier training, I saw a child with the most horrific burns on her. I still can’t forget them.
“Then don’t get involved.”
I honestly don’t know what to do. I would hate myself if something happened to Dylan that I could have prevented, but I also know that I might be imagining the worst, that his mother is doing her best to get by, and maybe his father isn’t a tyrant, but just a man trying to juggle life.
Being out of work causes pressure. Maybe the man has debts, and low self-esteem, and is trying to find work. Maybe Dylan’s parents, like many parents, are dealing with the usual life stuff that many of us deal with and some can handle better than others.
Me reporting Dylan as a potential neglected child could make things worse for a family who are already on the brink.
To think that when I went into teaching, I had naively assumed it would be all about inspiring and motivating young minds. I didn’t know I’d be on watch looking out for signs of neglect and abuse.
“When are you going out with Ed?” she asks, pulling me out of my burdened thoughts.
“I’ve been. It was last weekend.”
Christina throws down her fork in surprise or annoyance, I can’t tell.
“And you never thought to mention it?”
“I was going to get to that,” I reply, calmly.
“I’m beginning to think you’re keeping things from me.”
“I would have told you. I was going to get to that. It was fine. The calzone was—”
“I’m not interested in the calzone. Ed, date, chemistry. Tell me about those things.”
“He’d made an effort, he looked quite nice, I thought. It wasn’t a date, and we had no chemistry.”
“You didn’t like him even a teeny-weeny bit?”
“I like him, I’m just not attracted to him.”
“But you’ve been talking to him for ever. You said he seemed nice, and decent, and you both wanted the same things.” She’s alluding to the no-sex clause, and that it’s easier to date guys who have the same mindset, otherwise things can get tricky.
“I know.” I rearrange the cutlery on my plate. “I just didn’t want anything to happen.”
“And what about him?”
“He wanted to do something.”
“Do what?”
I shrug. “Go to the movies, not go home so early.”
“And you?”
“I wanted to go home.” I prop my elbow on the table and rest my cheek on my hand, pondering my options. “He’s interested, but I’m not.”
My hard-on turns to steel.
I so desperately want to fuck her right now, but instead I kiss her again, claiming her mouth as if every inch of her body belongs to me.
My tongue sweeps inside her mouth and I savor her sweetness, not letting up.
“Wait, wait, wait,” she sighs, breaking our kiss. Her chest rises and falls as I lift my head. “Too much?” I ask, my eyes pinned to her moist lips and it’s almost impossible for me to do what she’s asking.
She wraps her hand around mine, and the skin-on-skin contact sends shivers scurrying all over my body. It’s strange, that all we’re doing is holding hands and kissing, and yet my cock is throbbing like it’s poised for entry.
“You’re so damn gorgeous,” I say, lifting her face with my finger under her chin, directing her to face me again.
“You’re only saying that bec—” but before she can finish, I’ve claimed her lips again, and she sighs like she’s floating in heaven. She will be soon enough, and she’ll be screaming when I make her come over and over again.
I’m so hard now that I can’t stop my hand from sliding inside her blouse, and into her bra.
Her warm breast greets my palm and I squeeze gently, loving the feel of her softness. Instinctively, I deepen our kiss, and move my thumb over her nipple again, it’s hard, and grows harder still when I rub it gently.
Her moans grow louder, and I’m desperate to slide my fingers into her panties and see how ready she is, but I resist. Exploration is going to have to wait a while.
I usually end up in bed with whoever I’m kissing on the first date. I haven’t had a first date in a while, and while this isn’t technically a date—I don’t know what this is—I’m pretty sure that Trinity doesn’t give up anything even on the tenth date.
I start to unbutton her shirt, pulling back so that I can read her face and stop if she wants me to. She watches me, and her parted lips and her shiny eyes tell me all I need to know. My fingers move gently and quickly, and even though I’m desperate to bury myself inside her, I won’t. She lets out a sexy sigh, and I can’t think straight, because arousal has fogged the thinking part of my brain, but I know not to do that. I can’t have sex with her on this first time, not with Trinity.
We’ve been making out for the longest time, and my boner is so hard, I’m going to have a bad stomachache.
Hot Gina would have had her mouth around me by now, or her legs wrapped around my waist. We’d go at it for hours, in all sorts of positions.
I’ve never had to wait so long to get my release.
Trinity giggles lightly as I peel her shirt away and expose her great big white bra. I’m used to seeing pretty, flimsy, lacy numbers, not an ugly contraption like the one she’s wearing. It looks like it’s from the Victorian era, and has all the sexiness of a praying nun.
The sight of it clogs my thinking for a brief second, but I quickly move past it. I don’t undo her bra clasp, but my breathing speeds up, and I torture myself with holding back.
Trinity’s face is everything I’m not used to seeing. She’s shy, and vulnerable, and unsure, and it’s like she’s let me open a treasure chest and given me access to all the loot.
I could strip all her clothes off and have sex with her, but I don’t.
My cock says yes, but my head says no.
She’s a nice girl.
A good girl.
But I have a lot of baggage.
I’m the wrong guy for her.
What she needs is someone slow and safe and boring. Like that schoolteacher friend of hers.
“Why did you stop?” she asks, as if she can read my mind.
“You’re fucking beautiful, Trinity,” I say, staring into her eyes and feeling my heart float away in them. “I don’t want to stop, but I have to, otherwise we’ll go too far.”
“Don’t you want me?”
I blink. Oh, sweet Jesus. Of course I want her. But she doesn’t know the real me, and for some reason, I don’t want to be that guy to her.
“I’ve never had sex before,” she says, shattering the warm, intimate bubble we’ve been floating in.
“What?” It’s like she dropped a glass boulder straight onto a concrete floor.
“You heard.” Her face flushes, only this time I suspect it’s not from her arousal.
“You’re a virgin?” I let out a gasp, one that sounds more like disappointment or maybe it’s shock, I can’t tell. I’m not sure what I feel, but it’s not overjoyed.
I should be ecstatic—because she won’t know what to do and everything will be new. This is so rare, so unheard of, I should be happy.
I should feel pleased.
I should be honored, but I don’t feel any of those emotions because she thinks I’m the best thing to happen to her and I know what a bastard I can be.
I roll away and sit up, trying to make sense of what she’s told me.
“Is it a problem?” she asks, sensing the chill as the moment flattens and shatters to the ground like a dropped icicle. She covers her chest again with the blouse, and folds her arms over it. I notice that she doesn’t start buttoning it up, though.
“No,” I say, turning away, wanting her not to feel bad about this because it’s a good thing, only I’m not a good thing for her, and I don’t want to be the one who takes this precious thing from her.
She’s been holding onto it like a Golden Ticket out of Charlie’s Chocolate Factory, but I’m no Willy Wonka. I won’t do the right thing by her in the end.
I’m not a guy who does long-term. I do Hot Gina, and other easy girls like her; girls who know the score and like it that way.
“It’s not a bad thing, No. It’s not,” I tell her, though who I’m trying to convince here, I’m not sure. I don’t get involved with women like Trinity, and I don’t know why I let myself this time.
“Then, why don’t you look happy?”
“How come you’ve never had sex?” I ask, because that’s got to be the million-dollar question.
“I never met anyone I cared enough about.”
Oh, shit. I really don’t want to be the guy who pops her cherry, and this just confirms it a million times over.
“I was saving myself,” she continues.
Saving yourself? For what? I want to scream. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
Twenty-fucking-five. “Huh,” is the only word I can muster in response. How the hell do you reach the ripe old age of a quarter of a century without having had sex?
She has no idea what she’s missing.
I stare at her downcast face. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
How can she not know? “I can’t…I can’t …” I’m out of words, and instead I jump up off the bed and stare down at her. She’s sitting up now, and slowly buttons her blouse again.
“What did you think was going to happen just now?” I ask her.
“We were kissing. I liked it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” A bit too much. She must have known exactly how much I liked it with the way my hard-on must have dug into her belly. “Where did you think we were going to end up?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been kissed like that, for that long before.”
I rake a hand through my hair. I’m still in shock. I can’t believe a human being can reach this age and still be a virgin.
“Are you laughing at me?” Her eyes narrow.
I reach down and cup her face. “I’m not laughing at you. I find it hard to believe that someone … that you’re still a virgin.” Now it makes sense, her telling me how much she likes my kisses.
“How many boyfriends have you had?” My curiosity gets the better of me.
“Why do you need to know?” she asks. I’m intrigued. She’s like a specimen to me, and I don’t mean that in a bad way, but for someone like me, who is addicted to sex, Trinity is an anomaly. I want to understand how she could reach this age without ever having had sex. No wonder she liked me stroking her wrist so much. “No touching, and stroking?” I ask her.
“Why did you move away? I’m not a leper.”
I sit back down quickly again. “No, you’re not. I moved away because I don’t want to do something you’re not ready for.”
“You make me feel like a freak.”
I turn to her, and brush my thumb over her lower lip. “You’re not, and I apologize if I’ve made you feel like that.”
“If you’re going to ask me about my lack of sex, I want to know all about your sexual exploits.”
My stomach hardens as I lie down.
“You didn’t like that, did you?” she asks. She’s resting her head on her hand, and her elbow digs into her pillow. I don’t say anything. How will she ever understand the concept of fuck-buddies, someone like her who has waited so long before having sex?
I can’t answer her question, but I try to. “There’s nothing to know. I love sex. That’s it. That’s why you’re the last person who should be around a guy like me.”
“Who was your last girlfriend, how long ago?” she asks, not heeding my warning.
What am I supposed to say to that?
I push the thought of Hot Gina away. And because I have no answer, I pull Trinity towards me and kiss her again. This sets off another round of getting-ready-to-fuck type of kissing. I can’t resist her. I can’t keep my mouth away from her even though I know I should. “You’re so sexy, so goddamn irresistible. You’re enough to drive a man delirious.”
“Am I?” The way she asks me, it’s like this is a completely new revelation to her.
“Yes, you are.”
“You’re just saying that because I haven’t had sex before.”
I run my hands through my hair. She is a bigger prize than Hot Gina. I could be all her firsts, and I’m pushing her away. It’s the right thing to do, even though my cock doesn’t agree with me. “I’m saying that because it’s true. I find you sexy beyond belief, but I didn’t know you were a virgin until a few seconds ago, so no, it’s not because of that. It just makes you unique. You’re gorgeous and sexy because that’s the truth, not because I have any ulterior motives to get inside your panties.”
She props her knees up on the bed. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
She’s making it impossible for me to abstain. “I shouldn’t have done that. We shouldn’t have done that.”
“But we did,” she replies.
“What do you want from me, Trinity?”
She shrugs.
“I’m not the type of guy you should be interested in, Trinity.”
“I didn’t come looking for you. You’re the one who came crashing into me.”
When she puts it like that, I can’t help but smile, even though this is serious. It’s serious in that I need to step away from her.
She was disgusted when I told her that I phoned my friend to have sex. I had to lie to save myself, because Trinity couldn’t stomach the truth.
And now she thinks I’m something I’m not.
There’s no way we can be together.
“I have to go,” I say, getting up. Sometimes tough love is the right thing. “I was only supposed to give you the logbook.”
She stares up at me with her big Bambi eyes, and makes my heart melt. I have never walked away from a woman who tells me she wants me.
But I do, because this time it’s the right thing to do.
Chapter Nineteen
TRINITY
* * *
The throbbing between my legs continues even after Max leaves.
What just happened?
Every shred of common sense disintegrates when he’s around me. I should know better by now. I should know that every interaction with him leaves me feeling as if I’ve been sucked into a twister. He’s bad for me, but he always sucks me in, no matter how hard I try to stay away.
I want to be with him, even though being with someone like him probably won’t make for lasting happiness. I want romance, and dating, and marriage; all of it, but I don’t think Max is the type of guy to offer that.
Yet I still want him.
This can’t continue. What we did, it can’t carry on. I need to wean myself off the drug that he is.
I am determined to get over this temporary flash of insanity with which I’ve become inflicted, and during the following week I do my best to block all further thought of him from my mind, which is easier said than done. I try to concentrate on the things at hand, grading workbooks, preparing lessons, being present as much as I can.
It isn’t easy, it wasn’t easy especially after our last meeting; I can’t forget about the taste of him, the feel of his lips, and the giddying sensation of his hands over me. All of these things are imprinted on my mind and body.
I make it to the end of the week and on Friday, after our crochet class, Christina and I go to dinner together as usual.
I want to tell her about Max, even though I don’t think she’ll approve. If she met him, saw his sexy swagger and his mannerisms, and that too-handsome-to-be-trusted face, she would ask me what I’m doing with someone like that.
The urge to talk about him becomes ever more potent the more I try to suppress all thought of him. What I have for him feels like a stupid schoolgirl crush, but at this age I’m supposed to know better.
To stop myself from talking about Max, I tell her about Dylan and my latest concerns. His recent drawings have been a slight cause of concern for me. In one, his mother was lying on the floor while his dad stood over her. When I asked Dylan what was going on, he looked away.
“You’ve either got to report him to child services, or tell Marshall about your concerns,” Christina says.
“But what if I’m wrong?” It’s a fine line, being concerned, and reading too much into a situation. Dylan’s drawings have only now become worrisome. Previously, it was the state of his clothes, or the fact that he looked so undernourished and gaunt, that worried me. I can’t go to the principal with my concerns based on these things alone. And Dylan’s mom seems to be trying so hard. I’ve spoken to her on a few occasions when I’ve been outside at the end of the school day. She seems normal. A doting mother.
“Are you still giving him pieces of fruit after school?” Christina asks.
“Sometimes.”
“You’re going to get into trouble, Trin.”
“For giving him an apple?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m just being a human.”
“If you’re that worried, you need to tell someone.”
“But I don’t want to cause more problems at home. His mother is nice. Maybe she’s struggling a little, and she’s trying to do her best, but most moms are, aren’t they?” The wisp of a woman, with sunken eyes and bad skin, was pleasant enough. She was interested in finding out how Dylan was getting along at school. She told me she worked as a cleaning lady at one of the schools nearby, and that her husband was out of work, which was why I never saw her do many of the school pickups.
“You’re being an overly interfering teacher.”
“I’m concerned.”
“Then tell the principal.”
“He might get child protective services involved.”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“I don’t see any evidence.” I haven’t seen any bruises, or cuts, or cigarette burns. I know Max had them, I know what they look like. In my earlier training, I saw a child with the most horrific burns on her. I still can’t forget them.
“Then don’t get involved.”
I honestly don’t know what to do. I would hate myself if something happened to Dylan that I could have prevented, but I also know that I might be imagining the worst, that his mother is doing her best to get by, and maybe his father isn’t a tyrant, but just a man trying to juggle life.
Being out of work causes pressure. Maybe the man has debts, and low self-esteem, and is trying to find work. Maybe Dylan’s parents, like many parents, are dealing with the usual life stuff that many of us deal with and some can handle better than others.
Me reporting Dylan as a potential neglected child could make things worse for a family who are already on the brink.
To think that when I went into teaching, I had naively assumed it would be all about inspiring and motivating young minds. I didn’t know I’d be on watch looking out for signs of neglect and abuse.
“When are you going out with Ed?” she asks, pulling me out of my burdened thoughts.
“I’ve been. It was last weekend.”
Christina throws down her fork in surprise or annoyance, I can’t tell.
“And you never thought to mention it?”
“I was going to get to that,” I reply, calmly.
“I’m beginning to think you’re keeping things from me.”
“I would have told you. I was going to get to that. It was fine. The calzone was—”
“I’m not interested in the calzone. Ed, date, chemistry. Tell me about those things.”
“He’d made an effort, he looked quite nice, I thought. It wasn’t a date, and we had no chemistry.”
“You didn’t like him even a teeny-weeny bit?”
“I like him, I’m just not attracted to him.”
“But you’ve been talking to him for ever. You said he seemed nice, and decent, and you both wanted the same things.” She’s alluding to the no-sex clause, and that it’s easier to date guys who have the same mindset, otherwise things can get tricky.
“I know.” I rearrange the cutlery on my plate. “I just didn’t want anything to happen.”
“And what about him?”
“He wanted to do something.”
“Do what?”
I shrug. “Go to the movies, not go home so early.”
“And you?”
“I wanted to go home.” I prop my elbow on the table and rest my cheek on my hand, pondering my options. “He’s interested, but I’m not.”
