***
I didn’t wear the skirt today as an invitation, but he took it as one. And a challenge. I thought he was out of his mind, but then I suspected Mr. Connelly had a way of executing recklessness in a subtle, controlled way. Impossible to anyone else, but he could do it.
Everyone was working in pairs or small groups the last fifteen minutes of class, and the room hummed with low talk and laughter. I stayed in my seat because no one offered to work with me. Mr. Connelly circled the room a few times before walking past my desk and knocking my notebook onto the floor in front of my feet. He bent down to pick it up, squatting on the floor for the few seconds it took me to spread my legs and give him a glimpse of my panties. I blame it entirely on the Brazilian wax.
Mr. Connelly stood up and handed me my notebook.
“Sorry, Cadence. I’m clumsy,” he said, then moved on to the group behind me.
I could actually feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I’d blushed a thousand times because of Mr. Connelly, but this time was excruciating. My face literally hurt, and I didn’t want to know how red it was. I concentrated on my breathing, and read the page summary in my math book over and over again until the dryness of the material drained the color from my face.
The bell rang, and I hopped up.
“Cadence, I have a letter for your parents,” Mr. Connelly said. “Hang back a minute.”
I hovered near his desk until the last of the students shuffled out. He sat down and looked me over.
“Come here,” he said. I walked over to stand in front of him. “You’ve been very naughty, you know.”
My heartbeat sped up.
“You show me your little pink panties in class when you know I can’t do a thing about it.”
I can’t breathe.
“I think you need a spanking, Cadence. For being such a bad girl.”
“Mr. Connelly!”
He chuckled. “Well, what will you give me then? You were naughty. I can’t just let you walk out of here unpunished.”
I thought for a moment, then whipped my head around to look at the door. No one coming inside. No one peeking through the door window. I turned back to Mr. Connelly and took his hand. I moved it under my skirt, steering his fingers to the crotch of my panties. I’d only been touched here once before. I didn’t like it then, but I liked it now.
He moved his fingers back and forth over me all the while he stared at my face. His touch was light at first, and it almost tickled. But then he increased the pressure, and a moan escaped my lips. I jumped back. What the hell was I doing? We were at school!
I cleared my throat as I smoothed my skirt. “You said you had a letter?”
Mr. Connelly smirked. “Hmm. Where did that thing go?” He folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair.
I was embarrassed by my boldness, embarrassed that he wielded a power over me that compelled my sensuality. I wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face.
“I’m not the naughty one. You are!” I blurted, then spun around to leave.
Mr. Connelly laughed hard, then cleared his throat when the classroom door opened. The assistant principal walked in.
“So make sure your parents get that letter, Cadence,” he said as I gathered my books.
“Yes sir,” I replied.
“Cadence, you need to hurry. The bell’s about to ring,” Mrs. Jackson said.
“Yes ma’am.”
I glanced at Mr. Connelly, whose face was unreadable, and hurried out of the room, making it to English just before the tardy bell. I was flushed and shaking, mortified that we’d nearly gotten caught. How stupid could I be to let him touch me at school?
But I couldn’t deny the rush. I was terrified when that door opened, but at the same time, I liked the idea of nearly being caught—the threat of our secret being exposed. I’d have to mull that over in English and try to understand why recklessness was so attractive to me now. It was never that way with me before I started seeing Mr. Connelly. And it wasn’t like Mr. Connelly was a risk-taker. Well, that’s not entirely true. He had to be a bit of a risk-taker to secretly date me. Suddenly, I realized I was no different. I was nothing but a risk-taker. A wildly inappropriate panty-revealing risk-taker. What the hell was happening to me? And why did I like it?
Me: Do you have plans this weekend?
Mark: The usual. Why?
Me: I want to spend the weekend with you.
Mark: The entire weekend? How?
Me: Avery and I are “volunteering” at a women’s shelter from Friday night to Sunday afternoon.
Mark: Cadence.
Me: Mark.
Mark: That’s so wrong.
Me: What? Volunteering? I thought that was a good thing.
Mark: You know what I mean. Lying about volunteering at a women’s shelter? Come on.
Me: Do you want to spend the weekend with me or not?
Brief pause.
Mark: When can you be here?
***
“When do you think your parents will catch on to these fake community service projects?” Mark asked, sitting on the couch.
“Never,” I replied, lying on my stomach on his living room floor. “They adore Avery. They think she’s a saint or something. Ruth or Esther from the Bible.”
Mark said nothing as he leaned over to get a good look at the page. “‘Ten Ways to Turn up the Heat in Bed’,” he read out loud. “Scandalous.”
“And informative. Where do you think women learn all their tricks?”
No response.
“Mark?”
“Shhh. I’m reading,” he said.
I closed the magazine.
“Hey? What did you do that for? I was learning,” he said.
“You really care to know about this stuff?”
He tossed his ungraded papers on the coffee table and plopped on the floor beside me.
“I find you utterly fascinating, Cadence. I want to learn everything about you and how your brain works and what you like to read and learn and all the stuff that makes you so very female.”
I grinned and opened my magazine. “Feathers.”
“Feathers?”