Alissa Nutting - Tampa

After fifty long minutes, when the bell rang and the other students dispersed, I grabbed my keys out of my purse and ran to the door, locking the knob, then quickly began to disrobe. I’d worn the French maid bra-and-thong set—the very one that had gotten Ford so worked up on Christmas that he’d helped himself to an extended session with my unconscious body. “Jack,” I said, my voice slightly too businesslike, “I’m very sorry I couldn’t pick up your phone calls last night. My husband really is a policeman. If he caught me talking on the phone in the middle of the night—it wouldn’t matter who I said it was—he’d get suspicious. Cops have resources, Jack. He’d have me followed. I wouldn’t be able to come over to your house ever again. I wouldn’t be able to pick you up and go places with you. None of it.” I walked over and began clearing off the top of my desk, all except for the small tabletop Christmas tree in the corner.

I made sure to face away from Jack so he could see my thonged ass as I spoke. No matter how angry he was, could he really resist looking? Could any straight fourteen-year-old boy?

“Think of the situation we’d be in right now if I hadn’t done what I did.” Jack’s expression remained unconvinced. I realized he needed to share in the blame. “It’s not like you left me a lot of choice,” I pointed out. “You told me he’d be gone for hours.”

Jack’s eyebrows lifted incredulously. “So it’s my fault you slept with him? I didn’t know he’d come back so soon. When he gets his car worked on he’s usually gone half the day.”

I backpedaled a little. “I’m not blaming you. I’m just reminding you of the fact that you thought we had more time than we did.”

Even before he spoke, I realized I’d miscalculated; his level of anger at the situation wouldn’t allow for any contrition. “You had sex with him,” Jack yelled. “You slept with my dad. You didn’t even give him time to say anything.” As he began pacing from side to side, I started to worry. It wasn’t safe for Jack to be this upset at school. One offhand remark from a pimply smart-ass in the hallway and Jack could throw a punch. Then, when confronted about his uncharacteristic aggression in the assistant principal’s office, Jack would lose it and begin spilling details. “Maybe he wasn’t even that suspicious. But you just started crawling all over him. You wanted to. I heard you guys in the bedroom. You liked it!” Jack started toward the door and I let him go; it was locked. He turned the knob a few times, then gave the door a frustrated kick when it didn’t open. “Let me out,” he finally said. He didn’t turn back around to face me.

I needed a new plan for a truce—I had to give him a peace offering. I softened my voice, adding a new tone of apology. “He watched me pull up my pants, Jack. The human brain can do amazing things with denial, but it has to have enough incentive. Me staying for dinner and watching television with your father is a little ego boost for him, but it’s not the type of leverage needed for him to block out questions of what I may have been doing with my pants halfway down in the kitchen with his teenage son.”

I took off my bra, then said his name. After a long moment he turned around to face me. “Come here,” I said.

Jack’s eyes fell to the floor. “Are you going to fuck him all the time now?” he asked.

I couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle. “I would rather be sprayed with bear mace than touch your father again.” Carefully, my heels still on, I climbed up onto the desk and got on my knees. “Are you going to come here?”

“He’s going to want it all the time.”

“Well he’s not going to get it. You and I will be more careful. I’ll have to be around far less when he’s home. And when he is home, I’ll tell him that things are going a little fast for me and I need to dial it back a bit.” Jack nodded but stayed fixed next to the door.

“Come here, I’m going to let you do something special.” I wanted to tell him that the act would be exclusive to us, but doing that meant bringing up my sexual relationship with Ford—it was a risk to talk about sex with another person right now. But I wanted him to know this was certainly out of the ordinary. After a moment of debate, I decided it was worth it. “I don’t even do this with my husband,” I added. This wasn’t entirely true of course, but I doubted that saying We do this when I want Ford to feel indebted to me and I’ve doped myself to the moon on barbiturates would have the same persuasive vigor.

The gamble paid off. Grabbing his backpack, he walked up to the desk and dropped it to the floor dramatically, like a soldier shedding his duffel bag upon entering the house after returning from war. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his knees along with his boxers. “Climb up here with me,” I said encouragingly. I turned and sloppily began to lick the length of him, wetting him up as much as I could. With that I squatted down onto his penis, letting it slip securely into my asshole before kneeling down on all fours to be fucked on the desktop. It was an act I’d never enjoyed, but I figured with Jack there would at least be the pleasure of getting to see his surprise and enjoyment as he experienced it for the first time.

I was wrong. Jack wasn’t gentle or slow and he remained completely mute throughout the process—there were no moans of how great it felt or expressions of gratitude at how I was subjugating myself for his pleasure. Perhaps in his naïveté he wasn’t aware of the pain involved on my behalf, or maybe he was completely mindful of it, trying to repay me for the agony he’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours. Either way, his silent anger made it a true punishment. It was the first time we’d had sex that I was glad when it was over.

When he finished and slipped back out, there was a small amount of mucus and blood that I dried off with a Kleenex. I wiped myself off and readied a small plug of tissue to put between my cheeks so his semen wouldn’t visibly leak out and stain my pants later in the day. Too late I realized that Jack was digging around in his backpack; by the time I looked over to see what he was doing his personal smart phone was already extended toward me. I didn’t have time to move or cover myself in any way before the damning click of its camera echoed through the room. He’d snapped a shot of me completely nude, spreading apart my ass cheeks in an act of inspection.

“Very funny, Jack. But you’ve got to delete that. Better yet, let me do it.” I held out my hand, motioning for him to pass me the phone.

“I’m keeping it,” he demanded. “I’ve got to have more than he has.”

“Come on, Jack. You’ve had me a thousand times and he’s had me once. Think of all the things we’ve done together. All I did was let him tuck it in for a minute while I looked at the wall and thought about my grocery list.” But he didn’t appear to be in the mood for bartering, not even after the sexual concession I’d just given him in the middle of the day on school property. “Fine,” I agreed. “Keep the picture.” It would only be a matter of time before I had an opportunity to delete it.

When Jack left I Febrezed the room profusely, but our act seemed to have left behind a hormonal cloud that had a full-moon effect on the classes afterward. Trevor, having been dumped by Darcy over the holiday break, did a freewrite that obliquely referenced suicide and proceeded to read it out loud to the class as he stared at her across the room. When class ended he sought counsel at my desk while I tried to get comfortable in my chair; though the ache left from Jack’s fury felt raw and sharp, it also seemed a reminder of forgiveness. Hopefully Jack would feel I’d done due penance and we could go back to the way things had been.