Authors: Jim Cunneely
After being lost in my thoughts for a few peaceful moments she walks out and pulls me to the middle of the loveseat so that she can straddle me again. She locks her fingers together and puts her arms around my head, resting her forearms on my shoulders. She smirks as if to remind me of the secret that exists between us. The dirty feeling I have lived with since the day in the stairwell
has been the only souvenir I need to ensure my reticence. Her expression persists long enough for me to think it’s not about the secret. I raise my chin quickly to her and ask, “What?” mirroring her expression.
“I’m happy to have you back here,” she sighs as though snuggling into a warm cozy blanket. I don’t know what to say so I let escape a nervous chuckle that makes me more uncomfortable. She slowly touches her lips to mine making the faintest sounds of kissing. The smacking of my lips is an instant behind hers as I try to participate in spirit if not in person.
Our kiss is noticeably short before she stands up and leads me to the bedroom. Once inside, she lays me down on her bed and climbs over top to lie beside me. I look around, trying to take inventory of the room without seeming like I’m in a museum. I am awestruck that I’m in a grown woman’s bedroom, not to mention, a teacher. I see a dresser and two night tables. Nothing visible decorates the walls except a rack hanging next to the dresser, necklaces hanging from protruding knobs.
I feel the warmth between her legs purposely grind for a second against my semi-erection and my involuntary reply is to raise my hips. She stays only long enough to tantalize a reaction from me that I’m afraid to surrender. She moans slightly but completes the action of lying beside me, propping her head on her hand and renews the kiss where we left off in the other room.
She plays with my hair and tugs gently on my ear lobe. Her fingernails glide along the side of my head, down behind my ear and all five uniformly caress my cheek in circles. When I react to avoid the tickling her whole body moves along with mine to keep her tongue in my mouth. After my skin has lost sensitivity and she feels as though I’m no longer receptive her mouth moves someplace different. Her lips are softer on my cheek than on my
own and I like it. Tingling travels down my body as she moves to the space where my jaw meets my neck.
Without control, I release a soft whimper that sounds like a puppy having a dream. Since she already inhabits my ear she only whispers, “Am I overstepping my boundaries?” This question will become synonymous with implicating me in blurring the margins that verify I am a student and she a teacher.
I wonder if this is pillow talk.
Not until years later will I realize asking that question is nothing more than an injection of paralytic venom. How can I say, “No,” to Carla Danza? All of my senses and experiences in high school thus far have inculcated me to know this is an opportunity at which any other boy would eagerly leap.
How do I say, “No,” when the bulge in my pants must be visible from the other room? It’s letting her know exactly my level of enjoyment. How can I say, “No,” when I have agreed to come to her apartment and her bedroom and told her I love her? And at every one of those junctures my failure to say, “No,” is, undoubtedly, “Yes.”
It’s just that perception of consent that plants the seed of disgrace I will carry for the rest of my life. That’s what will make it almost impossible to lay the blame exclusively at her feet when I feel implicated not as an accomplice, rather a co-conspirator.
I hear the question but cannot answer, too focused on what she is doing to my neck and now where my neck meets my shoulder. The shift from one place to another provides an instant to remember that she asked me something so I try to think with the intent of answering. I don’t know where the boundaries are anymore. Two months ago this would have been absurdly over any line. But where is that frontier now? I’ve told her I love her. She has cried to me. We have discussed plans to make love and visit
Paris. The line seems to be buried beneath layers of raw emotion. The best I can do is a groan meant to convey, “No,” completely spellbound like never before.
“Just tell me if I am”, she assures me, “And I’ll stop.” She knows that I will never ask her to stop. The euphoria on my face and in my faint whimpers scream that I love what she is doing. She knows that this is purely carnal pleasure and she is okay that it overrides the mindfuck. She is across the front and onto the other side of my neck in one motion.
All this while my hands are at my sides, I think. I’m pretty sure she’s massaging my arms while her lips gently caress my skin. As she finishes kissing my entire head and neck she works her way back to my lips and once again gently places her tongue in my mouth. As she does, she assumes her position next to me, holding herself on her elbow.
There are no windows in her bedroom and it’s cloudy outside, so as four o’clock arrives it becomes very dark adding to the tantric feeling. She lifts up my shirt and rubs my stomach causing me to spasm. She reminds me again that I can stop her at any time by repeating her question. I am so lost in the visual image of her lips all over my neck that involuntarily, I say, “No.”
“No,” verifies that my body works much like other fifteen year old boys’, efficiently and with one guiding principle into which she is fully plugged. She interprets participation, joining her in this moment. Are there even boundaries anymore? We have cooperatively normalized all of this. The preordained value system in which we both exist in the outside world is unaffected by what is taking place here. She continues to run her hands all over my chest using a combination of her nails to scratch and her fingertips to stroke my tender young flesh. As she works her way up my body she raises my shirt at the same time.
“Would you be more comfortable if we took this off?” awakens me momentarily.
I don’t speak but lift my shoulders so that she can slide the shirt from underneath me. Once off, I lie back down and she continues to touch me while simultaneously kissing my torso. She starts at the center of my trunk just below my pecs in the very middle where they meet.
I like this a lot. Her hands have moved to my sides and are still stroking but her lips and tongue are creating a wild work of art around my body. I jump violently. The trembling begins to work its way down my legs. I quiver as though trying to kick out a cramp. It’s neither a moan nor a sigh that leaves her mouth as she nears my hard left nipple. One, unmistakable laugh fills the silent room.
Is she laughing because I have done something wrong? Is she laughing at my body because I’m underdeveloped or because I don’t have hair on my chest? Because I’m shuddering as if I have some sort of disorder? These are all the thoughts that go through my head as I hear her one inconsequential giggle.
She asks, “Are you ok?”
“Fine,” I tell her, “Are you?” She says that she’s great which doesn’t account for what she found humorous and doesn’t assuage my insecurity. But it’s not something that I have to deal with at present.
Making her way up my neck she asks one more time, “Have I overstepped my boundaries?”
I find it almost comical and the satire wasted that she is looking not for my approval but my leadership. She wants me to tell her how much I like it or she may even be prompting me to use specific requests. I don’t understand why she keeps asking because she knows what she has in mind. I’m sure she presumes
I knew what was in store or I was at least in the same ballpark regarding today’s agenda.
She lays half of her body on mine and kisses my neck again with more teeth involved than before. As her hand touches my stomach she asks the question one last time, making it abundantly clear why we had to pass through so many checkpoints on our way to this destination. She finally unveils her ultimate goal.
Realization washes over me when she says, “How about now? Am I overstepping my boundaries now?” This is at the exact instant that her hand drops below the waistline of my pants and strokes the length of my fully engorged, throbbing penis. This sensation causes my hips to first rock back and then thrust with the full strength of my pelvis, abs and diaphragm toward the ceiling. The voyeuristic show is accompanied by the soundtrack of me letting out a full-fledged groan that starts somewhere in my throat and only increases in rasp as it projects.
The sound is drawn out and I feel embarrassed when I hear it becoming conscious that I have just lost what little self-control I may have had. She is stroking as she runs her tongue down the center of my body slowly and laboriously trying desperately, it seems to keep in contact with my writhing. I think she speeds up licking the axis of my whole body for fear that I might orgasm.
As her mouth reaches my jeans she kisses the semi-circle of my stomach from hip bone to hip bone very slowly. When she arrives back to my navel she starts to unbutton the top button of my pants and then unfastens, with remarkable dexterity, every one that makes up the button fly. When she pulls my pants down my heart pounds, painfully. My lips involuntarily move to the sentence, “I can’t fucking believe this.” I don’t think she hears, but I try to stop myself anyway.
She has my pants down just below my ass and is now working on my underwear stretching the waistband all the way out to clear the arc of my penis, now excruciating with excitement. She places each hand beside a hip so that I can feel her wrists barely touching me as she begins to kiss my newly exposed body. She encompasses my thighs and where they meet my pelvis. The area of my stomach that surrounds it is also treated to diversionary teasing. But she is very careful not to make any contact whatsoever with her target. All that has touched me so far are the wisps of hair that fall out of place causing tantalizing panic. Once she has given consideration to every, recently undressed area she starts at the tip and works her way down the length of me kissing gently.
Upon reaching the base she begins to work her way back up, arriving at the tip of me again, she takes me voraciously into her mouth. Hungry to taste, hungry to envelop and hungry to please me. My hands are locked over my head, redundantly notifying her of my surrender. They were previously in the way and I felt uncomfortable anywhere near what was going on down there so I removed them, allowing her to work. I feel about to come but know from television that it’s undesirable to ejaculate quickly. I’m trying desperately to keep control over the explosion that I feel building below my stomach. My hands grip tightly on the solid wood of the headboard and it feels as though I might rip it from behind the bed.
Her right hand grabs what is exposed of my left ass cheek before she works that hand up my body and onto my hip bone. From my hip she pushes hair back behind her ear and then grabs me full force as though she is seizing a handle to keep from falling. Within five strikes I pop. She pauses a second, maybe out of
surprise or how quickly it happened, but once I ejaculate I hear something amazing.
I hear her moan as she swallows me. She takes all of me, as though I am nectar she was craving. The sound of the swallow is accompanied by the sound of satisfaction one might hear from someone drinking water after having gone days without. She sounds thrilled and aroused simultaneously at having had me in her mouth and now having ingested me too. Once done she begins to move her head up and down gently.
She slows down at unnoticeable increments until I feel the warmth of her mouth replaced by the cold of the air on my wet skin. Her mouth moves back up my body faster than it moved down, stopping at my hard, right nipple to dance in one single circle and up to my face. She nestles her head in the place that drove me most crazy when kissed before. After just a few seconds rest, as I feel myself drifting off into some other state of unconsciousness she whispers in my ear, “That was beautiful.”
I can’t agree. I can’t disagree. I can’t tell what it was or how it was or absolutely anything about what happened. Although my body is relaxed and feels like I was just the sole center of the universe my mind is starting to unravel what put us here. Almost immediately, as my body begins to loosen my mind begins to wind tighter around the intangible explanation. They were working at opposite ends of the same turnbuckle earlier, tightening against one another to cause nothing but tension. My mind was disassociating from the moment to allow my body to participate. But now my thoughts are reclaiming their hold on reality and the process of how we got from any point in our past to right now is muddled.
As I rejoin myself I remember I still have to wrestle tonight. Reality takes a firmer grip when I replay the captain of the football
team telling us not to jerk off after Wednesday in preparation for Saturday’s game. Wednesday was the last acceptable time to jerk off because ejaculation releases testosterone, decreasing ferocity. This thought creeps up on me as I slowly open my eyes. But I did just get a blowjob from my teacher, which has to have some counterbalancing effect on the karma of depriving my body of hormones. What could possibly make me more of a man?
I win my match providing something positive to discuss with my parents. It doesn’t take my mind off the afternoon but at least helps put some distance from the surreal so I can feign normalcy at momentary intervals. My phone is already ringing as I walk up the stairs after saying, “Goodnight,” to my family. I know it is her wanting to debrief. I’m sure she is going to tell me how beautiful she thinks it was and if I know her at all she is going to ask at least once more if she overstepped her boundaries.
Claustrophobia envelops me. I don’t know what I should think about anything. The confusion of the orgasm is unbalanced against how dirty I feel. The knowledge that she is going to lay so many unanswerable questions on my lap which all need correct answers frightens me. It was a powerful experience that I would like to somehow sort out on my own. Her suggestions and thoughts cloud the issue so much that it overlaps my own, creating uncertainty about what belongs to me and what I’ve been forced to adopt.
The conversation proceeds exactly as I expected and I agree with everything. She asks, “Do you think you will be comfortable enough to make love on our one month anniversary?” I have no idea how to answer because my comfort, although falsely prioritized was far from paramount today so why would it matter in the future?