men told me I
did, anyway. I took cardio kickboxing three times a week and yoga on weekends.
When Justin looked at me, what did he see? A woman old enough to be his mother?
His former teacher? Or a woman he’d like to take to bed?
“My diagnosis?” All of a sudden, he became serious. “You’re
lonely.”
Justin found my weakness, and it hurt. He seemed a little
taken aback by my reaction. The pain must have registered on my face.
“You’re a great teacher. You were strict and fun at the same
time. I learned a lot about critical thinking. I shouldn’t believe everything I
see on the news or read in the paper.” Justin paused, licking his
oh-so-kissable lips. “But sometimes you seemed… wounded. Alone.”
Perfect description. “Bitter breakup,” I said. “I’ve moved
on.” A three-year relationship flushed down the drain. An emotionally abusive
relationship. To make a clean start, I sold the house we lived in and moved
into a condo downtown. In the condo, there were no memories to haunt me, no
taunts or putdowns lurking in the shadows.
“Does that explain your lack of patience?” Justin reached
into the small fridge below the bar and removed a tray of ice cubes. “The
breakup, I mean.”
Lack of patience? “I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes you snapped at the students. Me included.”
“You needed somebody to snap at you. You always showed up
late.” Tardy students were a pet peeve of mine. “Sometimes I wish I taught at a
university and not in high school. Patience is my weakness.” One of them,
anyway.
“Patience can be learned.”
“Do you think so?” His eyes, twin bits of blue ice, drew me
in and sent a chill down my spine. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Maybe teachers don’t make good students.”
“That remains to be determined,” he said, reaching for a
tall bottle of clear liquid. “As well as my choice of drink for you. What does
a lonely woman want? What works best as a mood enhancer? Something sweet?
Something colorful? Served in a fancy glass?”
I hadn’t been with a man in months. After all this time, I
wanted someone nonjudgmental, someone I could have fun with, who wanted
mind-blowing sex as often as I did. I needed a smart, easygoing guy.
I needed Justin.
“Well, I can’t wait to see what you come up with as my
mystery cocktail,” I said coyly, my breasts pressing against the bar.
“Keep looking at my artwork,” he said. “Your drink is on its
way.”
The next pic showed a—oh my fucking God—a huge penis sitting
in the middle of an empty room. The caption read: “Phallus—Two hundred forty pounds
(medium— concrete).”
Uncontrollable giggles escaped my throat. “Sorry, Justin.
There’s a double entendre. If this is a medium , I’d hate to see a large .”
He looked a little embarrassed and brushed his longish hair
off his forehead. “Leave it to my teacher to spot a problem. I’ll change the
wording.”
Justin had a one-track mind, all right. Every paper he
handed in, every oral presentation he did, related in some way to perceptions
of women’s bodies, whether in men’s magazines, or porn videos or issues of Cosmo .
How could I get him to focus on my body?
“What inspired this two-hundred-and-forty-pound symbol of
virility and manhood?”
“In modern society, men think their penis is the center of
their existence. It defines them. It has a mythology that’s larger than life,”
he explained. “My ex-girlfriend says I’m making up for my shortcomings. My
brother says I’m trying to brag about my assets.”
Which was it? I’d love to find out, to undo the top button
of his jeans, tug on his zipper, slide my hand down his flat stomach until I
reached his cock. I’d straddle him, my pussy swallowing him whole, and—
With a flourish, Justin placed a margarita in front of me. A
margarita! Just the way I liked it, on the rocks, with a wedge of lemon perched
on the side and salt along the rim.
“Mind reader!” I
did, anyway. I took cardio kickboxing three times a week and yoga on weekends.
When Justin looked at me, what did he see? A woman old enough to be his mother?
His former teacher? Or a woman he’d like to take to bed?
“My diagnosis?” All of a sudden, he became serious. “You’re
lonely.”
Justin found my weakness, and it hurt. He seemed a little
taken aback by my reaction. The pain must have registered on my face.
“You’re a great teacher. You were strict and fun at the same
time. I learned a lot about critical thinking. I shouldn’t believe everything I
see on the news or read in the paper.” Justin paused, licking his
oh-so-kissable lips. “But sometimes you seemed… wounded. Alone.”
Perfect description. “Bitter breakup,” I said. “I’ve moved
on.” A three-year relationship flushed down the drain. An emotionally abusive
relationship. To make a clean start, I sold the house we lived in and moved
into a condo downtown. In the condo, there were no memories to haunt me, no
taunts or putdowns lurking in the shadows.
“Does that explain your lack of patience?” Justin reached
into the small fridge below the bar and removed a tray of ice cubes. “The
breakup, I mean.”
Lack of patience? “I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes you snapped at the students. Me included.”
“You needed somebody to snap at you. You always showed up
late.” Tardy students were a pet peeve of mine. “Sometimes I wish I taught at a
university and not in high school. Patience is my weakness.” One of them,
anyway.
“Patience can be learned.”
“Do you think so?” His eyes, twin bits of blue ice, drew me
in and sent a chill down my spine. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
“Maybe teachers don’t make good students.”
“That remains to be determined,” he said, reaching for a
tall bottle of clear liquid. “As well as my choice of drink for you. What does
a lonely woman want? What works best as a mood enhancer? Something sweet?
Something colorful? Served in a fancy glass?”
I hadn’t been with a man in months. After all this time, I
wanted someone nonjudgmental, someone I could have fun with, who wanted
mind-blowing sex as often as I did. I needed a smart, easygoing guy.
I needed Justin.
“Well, I can’t wait to see what you come up with as my
mystery cocktail,” I said coyly, my breasts pressing against the bar.
“Keep looking at my artwork,” he said. “Your drink is on its
way.”
The next pic showed a—oh my fucking God—a huge penis sitting
in the middle of an empty room. The caption read: “Phallus—Two hundred forty pounds
(medium— concrete).”
Uncontrollable giggles escaped my throat. “Sorry, Justin.
There’s a double entendre. If this is a medium , I’d hate to see a large .”
He looked a little embarrassed and brushed his longish hair
off his forehead. “Leave it to my teacher to spot a problem. I’ll change the
wording.”
Justin had a one-track mind, all right. Every paper he
handed in, every oral presentation he did, related in some way to perceptions
of women’s bodies, whether in men’s magazines, or porn videos or issues of Cosmo .
How could I get him to focus on my body?
“What inspired this two-hundred-and-forty-pound symbol of
virility and manhood?”
“In modern society, men think their penis is the center of
their existence. It defines them. It has a mythology that’s larger than life,”
he explained. “My ex-girlfriend says I’m making up for my shortcomings. My
brother says I’m trying to brag about my assets.”
Which was it? I’d love to find out, to undo the top button
of his jeans, tug on his zipper, slide my hand down his flat stomach until I
reached his cock. I’d straddle him, my pussy swallowing him whole, and—
With a flourish, Justin placed a margarita in front of me. A
margarita! Just the way I liked it, on the rocks, with a wedge of lemon perched
on the side and salt along the rim.
“Mind reader!” I
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