Alissa Nutting - Tampa

“So what can we learn about the poor, sad character of Arthur Dimmesdale?” I asked. Frank Pachenko raised his hand. Today he wore an actual raincoat, an oversized, red and shining version of the type a kindergartner might wear. It was a hideous color, like the erection of a dog.

“Secrets will fester inside you and make you sick,” Frank reported. At all times, he had the cheerful air of being completely pleased with both himself and the world around him. I pictured him standing in that jacket with that same grin amidst several hundred buckets of fish entrails at the back dock of a busy seafood market. The kid simply wasn’t one to let reality spoil a good time.

“Guilt will eat you alive!” Heath called from the back of the room with a dramatic flair, extending his upturned palms to the sky. I felt a pang of worry in my stomach at the effect the content of today’s class might have on Jack—would it taint his view of the proposal he was about to receive? When I looked over at him he was watching the rain outside the classroom window, the glass pane alive with a metropolitan energy of moving water.

“Do you think he’d feel as tortured if Hester hadn’t gotten pregnant and then been caught and punished?” I asked. “What if no one had ever found out—if they’d stayed two consenting individuals who simply got together outside the view of the uptight townspeople? Couldn’t it have been kind of fun for them—an invigorating secret instead of a poisonous one?”

“Like when you’re dating a girl on the down-low,” Danny said.

“Right… sometimes the whole crux of the excitement is actually based on the fact that it’s a secret,” I added enthusiastically, hoping some of the conversation was filtering through Jack’s daydream. “Unfortunately, pregnancy revealed Hester’s half of the secret. Now Dimmesdale is suffering with a sort of survivor’s guilt for not being taken down in the scandal as well.”

A discussion ensued (“This one time, I was dating this girl but I also kind of technically had a girlfriend…”), though I was careful to stay in the vicinity of Jack’s desk at the back of the room; I had to be next to him when the final bell rang. When it sounded, I stopped right next to the entry side of his desk so it wasn’t even possible for him to get up. “Jack,” I said, standing utterly still amidst the bustle of the students around us rallying to exit. “Stay behind for a moment so we can talk.”

He nodded, imperceptibly at first, but then he looked up and gave me a slightly worried smile.

“Thank you, Jack.” I took a seat in the desk directly behind him, staring at the blond trail of hair on the base of his neck that swirled discreetly to the right. When the room had emptied, part of me wondered if I should skip the pretense of words entirely—simply stand and disrobe, then ask him to follow suit.

I cleared my throat. “What I need to say to you is a little embarrassing, Jack. I think it’s best, at least at the beginning, if you keep looking forward and I talk directly to your back, just like we’re doing now. Is that all right with you?”

His head nodded. I eyed the waistband of his baggy shorts; my hand could easily slip down their back and touch the base of his tailbone. It was hard to continue talking. But I needed to establish for Jack that our actions wouldn’t be wrong; I also needed to see if Jack would put out any verbal warnings. I kept reminding myself that if he didn’t respond to my advance, if he told, I could simply deny it—I was only speaking words; they couldn’t be proven. “Good. I need to ask one favor from you before I even begin. No matter what I say, no matter what it makes you feel or think, I need you to promise me that you’ll stay in your seat.”

He nodded again, the muscles of his back tensing rigidly upright. Outside, the rain gave a long, windy gust. I wanted him to feel like he wasn’t simply keeping my secret—that I was keeping one of his as well.

“I was driving by your house on Saturday night,” I admitted. “When we first got our rosters, I recognized your address. A friend of mine lived on your street once. So when I was over by your neighborhood, I just decided to drive past your house and see if the subdivision had changed much. I didn’t actually expect to see you, but I did. I slowed down to look at the houses and I saw you in your room.” I took in a deep breath, hoping what I said next wouldn’t make him run. “You didn’t have your clothes on. You were touching yourself.”

His hands slid up to his face and over the back of his head. “God,” he said. His breathing broke into an unusual pattern; for a moment I thought he might cry. “You can see into my bedroom from the street? But it’s so far back on the side…” In a perfect world, I could’ve assured him that without binoculars one probably couldn’t see inside very well at all, but discretion warranted I keep this detail to myself. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

“Of course not, Jack. You weren’t doing anything wrong.” Now I leaned inward toward him, wishing I could fast-forward past my words to his reaction. “But since I saw you there, doing that without your clothes on, I haven’t been able to think about anything else.” I paused for emphasis but there was only silence; Jack was frozen. No part of his body moved. “All I can think about is touching you. I want to touch you so badly that I’ve decided to just ask you if you’ll let me touch you.” The tardy bell sounded, a sharp quick cut into the static of the rain. I let the shock of its noise dissolve, then continued. “What I’m saying is that you turned me on.”

It wasn’t possible to read an answer into his unchanged posture. “You can look at me now,” I finally said. He turned, expressionless, and I decided to play at a lack of confidence. My eyes drew toward the floor. “You probably think I’m old and gross.”

“N-no,” he finally stuttered. “I don’t at all. You’re beautiful, I mean.” He looked directly at me, studying my face as if to make a medical diagnosis. “You could be on television.”

I gave him a pleased smile. “You really think that?”

He nodded with an unfiltered, strictly adolescent sincerity. “Yeah. All the guys talk about you. Everyone was, like, blown away when you showed up on the first day.”

I reached one hand toward him and began moving a finger lightly across his arm. “I’m not interested in all the guys. I’m interested in you, Jack.” I’d said enough about me; it was time to shift the blame of desire back onto him. “Have you ever thought about me? The way you were thinking at your window Saturday night?” When he didn’t answer I paused so as to seem embarrassed and decided there wasn’t harm in leading him even further; he didn’t look frightened or outraged. “I’ve thought about you,” I said quietly. “Since Saturday I’ve thought about you a lot.”

“Yes,” he finally answered. His voice was shaking. “You’re really pretty.”

“Can I please kiss you, Jack?” I closed my eyes and found his silent mouth with my own. His lips were perfectly sized, almost exactly the length of mine, his mouth not so large, like Ford’s, as to make my own tongue seem insubstantial inside of it. I pushed my lips hard against his teeth, gripped a section of soft hair on the back of his head. Minutes later when I opened my eyes to pull away, I saw that his were already drawn wide—they’d been open and staring the entire time. I moved my hand up his leg and he squirmed a little, ashamed.

“I got kind of…,” he started.

“I know.” I smiled. “I want to feel it. I love that you’re hard.” He nodded and I traced my hand along the firm length in his cargo shorts. I noticed he was peeking down the dip in my blouse at my breasts. “Do you want to see them?” I whispered. I squeezed his erection; despite the dense canvas of his shorts, I could make out the circumcised shape of his tip beneath my fingers.