It’s not even about that, Cadence. You’re masturbating before church!
“Shut up!” I hissed, and continued rubbing myself until I felt Mr. Connelly touching me instead. I was laid out on his desk, shorts and panties off, and he stood over me, touching me incessantly between my legs while he asked me how to calculate sine.
“Calculate sine?” I breathed. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. What the fuck? Just make me come!
“Sine, Cadence,” Mr. Connelly said patiently. “This is review from trig. You should remember.”
“I don’t know,” I cried, panting rapidly, feeling the ember burning deep in my abdomen. He kept stoking it with his fingers, growing the fire that would eventually burn me alive.
He bent down to whisper in my ear. “Sine equals opposite divided by . . .” And he slipped two fingers into me.
I screamed, the fire bursting and sizzling between my legs, licking the tender flesh of my inner thighs. He muffled my cries with his mouth, kissing me softly while I came hard, back arching involuntarily like I was asking him for more. So he gave it to me. He kept stroking me, drawing out my orgasm until it shifted from pleasure to agony.
“Please stop,” I begged into his mouth, and he did.
I opened my eyes, one hand resting between my legs, the other clapped over my mouth. My body shuddered over and over as I stared at my ceiling, empty of everything. Empty of goodness. Empty of the bad. I had nothing to guide me, no direction, no intentions, so I made the decision to go.
***
I sat in my car, heart thumping hard and fast. I could just turn the key in the ignition, back out of the parking spot, and leave. That easy. Pretend I never came here. But a force greater than my fear took over, turning me into an automaton as I subconsciously locked the car and walked up the brick pathway to his apartment. Apartment 620C.
I watched as my hand curled into a fist and knocked on the door.
Oh my God. My hand just curled into a fist and knocked on the door! I need to leave! Now!
Mr. Connelly answered. “Hi, Cadence.”
“Uh huh.”
He smirked. “Would you like to come in?”
“Uh huh.”
I stood frozen to my spot.
“Maybe now?” he suggested.
“Uh huh.” But I couldn’t move, and only put one foot in front of the other once he wrapped his hand around my upper arm and gently pulled me inside.
“I’m not gonna pounce on you, if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Mr. Connelly said, shutting the door behind me.
Bad joke. Bad timing. Would he be considered a sexual predator? I was still seventeen. I wouldn’t turn eighteen until December.
“This is a bad idea,” I blurted.
“I know.”
I looked up at his face. “You’re my teacher.”
“I know.”
“Isn’t there like a conflict of interest or something?”
“Completely.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Completely.”
“Mr. Connelly!” I was beyond flustered. “If you know it’s wrong then why are we doing this?”
“I didn’t say it was wrong. I agreed with you that it’s a conflict of interest and that I’m afraid.” He took my clammy hand and led me to the couch. “Please call me Mark,” he said, inviting me to sit.
I sank into the couch. He sat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of me.
“I can’t call you that. You’re my teacher,” I said. I felt ridiculous and young and silly.
I shifted on the couch cushion feeling trapped. I was frustrated because I liked the feeling, and I’m not sure I was supposed to.
“Cadence? It’s okay. If you wanna go, that’s okay. If you’re not feeling what I’m feeling, then it’s okay,” he said. “Will you look at me?”
I forced myself to meet his gaze, pulling my hand from his.
“It’s okay,” he repeated slowly.
“Would you treat me differently in class if I did go?” I asked.
“No.”
“Would you fail me?”
The side of Mr. Connelly’s mouth quirked up. “I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that on your own.”
“Shut up!” I laughed, and punched his arm.
“Ouch,” he said. “You’ve got a mean jab.” He rubbed his arm, pretending that I actually hurt him.
“I’m doing better,” I mumbled.
“Yes, you are, Cadence. I was only joking.”
I looked down at my lap. “I don’t wanna go,” I whispered, my face burning bright red.
Mr. Connelly nodded. “Good. May I make one rule?”
“Just one?”
He laughed. “Well, I’m sure we’ll have many, but I just have one for today.”
“What is it?”
“While you’re here, will you please call me Mark?”
“I’ll try,” I replied.
“Well, that’s good enough for me,” he said. “You hungry?”
For the first time in nearly a year, I felt ravenous. I shouldn’t have. My stomach was in knots. My entire body a ball of electric nerves. I should have gagged at the thought of food, but it was the exact opposite. I thought I could eat everything in his kitchen.
“A little,” I said, and my stomach growled long and loud. I wanted to die. “Okay, maybe a lot.”
“I notice you don’t eat much,” Mr. Connelly said.
“I haven’t been hungry until now,” I replied. I wasn’t trying to be funny, and he knew.
“I’ve got leftovers from last night. I made a shrimp couscous dish,” he offered. “I don’t know if it’s something you’d like, but you’re more than welcome to it.”
I nodded. I didn’t know what couscous was, and I didn’t care. I would eat it because I had to eat something, anything, right now.