Teacher Predator

authorkellybyrne.com
Time to unlock a very personal secret. Photo courtesy MorgueFile

Like any other relationship, it started with a glance. A flirty suggestion of something more in his eyes. Of possibility.

Of danger.

What did I know? I was only fifteen. I wasn’t experienced.

But he was. Because he was over twice my age. And a teacher.

He wasn’t my teacher. I don’t remember his name and I honestly don’t remember how I even came to know him, but somehow, during my freshman year in high school, in the middle of the between-period-hallway-shuffle we’d found each other.

Or rather, as I see it now, he found me.

I wasn’t immediately attracted to him. The idea of being close to a teacher like that had never entered my mind before. But something began growing in me the more we talked, the more we interacted.

I had a class opposite his room. From where I sat I was able to peek in on him if I was careful not to be too obvious. When he’d catch me looking, sometimes I’d look away, tame the rabid beast tearing up my insides when his gaze met mine. But sometimes, I’d hold just a little longer there with him. Feeling that jolt of electricity pass through the space between us, coming to rest right in my groin.

I guess I was daring him. Tempting him to make some kind of move. Obviously, I had serious issues to work through. But clearly, the issues were not just mine because he didn’t look away either.

Over time (a couple weeks? Maybe more maybe less) I progressed to an emotional place where I felt really safe with him. He made sure of that by being there for me when I needed someone to talk to. About anything. I’d make up any excuse just to drop by and see him and he never turned me away. He was never too busy to flirt. Just like a boyfriend.

All my teenage hormones would let me think about was how masculine he was. How verile. Robust. And red. I had a thing for gingers at the time.

He was tall, at least a foot taller than I was, and from what I could see when I undressed him with my eyes, a bit fleshy in the middle, but still incredibly seductive and manly.

I wanted to touch him. To know what his full lips felt like on mine. I imagined they’d be warm and soft and exciting. I imagined a lot of things.

One day I told him how I was having trouble in math and since he was a math teacher he offered to help me. I’d meet him in his classroom after school that day. Our first date.

Are your sirens going off yet? Your DO NOT ENTER signs exploding bright and foreboding across his classroom door?

Too late.

After I entered, he closed the door to his class. It was after school so it wouldn’t seem odd to have locked up his room for the night.

This was the first time were truly alone.

On his way back to his desk at the front, he brushed by me, barely touching his hand to my arm and it was like he’d lit that whole side of my body on fire. He smelled incredible. Like a man, not the boys I was used to sitting next to in class.

We talked about his family, and in my ridiculous, emotionally fucked-up head, the idea that he was choosing to be there with me instead of home with his wife and kids made it even more tantalizing.

He wants me. I’m what he desires. I must be something special.

As he approached me, I knew what he was coming for. I’d seen that look before. From him. Closer and closer…I couldn’t hear anything over the sound of my erupting insides.

He put his hand on my cheek, bent down and kissed me. Gently at first. It was everything I’d imagined it would be. To my fifteen-year-old mouth, he tasted like adulthood, freedom, sex. At least what I thought sex might taste like someday.

Then he got a little handsy and unfocused. His mouth swirled over mine, rushed, and hungry and wet. His fat mustache scraped back and forth across my nose, rubbing it a little raw, because he was getting just that careless.

I stopped him before we got too reckless. But when I peeled myself off the top of the desk and straightened my disheveled outfit, he didn’t move away. I sat down at the desk and looked up at him. Still, he didn’t move away. He stood his ground, right there beside me…

With his swollen junk straining at his zipper, pointing in my general direction. In my general face direction.

It was then that I had my epiphany.

Sometimes it takes a little (or a lot of) junk in the face to realize maybe what you’re doing isn’t such a good idea.

It wasn’t until years later that I realized what really happened with us. What he probably did to other girls before me and what he probably did to other girls after me. Which is why I wish I could remember his name.

I should have spoken up about it then. I should have spoken up sooner.

But I’m going to stop ‘should’ing all over myself now. I just hope my story will somehow touch someone else’s life in a positive way before something like this happens to them.

I know this incident is tame in comparison to some stories we’ve seen in the news and on the interwebs lately. But does it mean any less? Hell no. He was a predator, a Dirty Wolf in teacher’s clothing, preying on a young girl.

As for my part in this, I used to condemn myself as a needy little harlot, but I’ve come to understand the younger me better in the last decade or so and have found some compassion.

Honestly, I don’t chalk what I did up to youth, or naiveté. I know I knew better, but I had some very serious self-esteem trouble when I was young (I’m not the only one) and I would look to men (boys) for validation of my worth.

I found my worthiness grew shortly after my boobs did and would seek attention for my physical attributes and, later, my sexual prowess. It made me feel wanted and loved.

The Wolf could see that and he used it to his advantage. He made me feel special. Beautiful. Desired. Cared for when I needed it most.

He crossed a line that should not be crossed. He knew what he was doing.

That’s why I’m sharing my story. Because I don’t want it to happen to your girls.

That kind of personal attention can be exhilarating when you’re young, even to someone who knows better than to accept it. It can be exciting and a little dangerous. It can look like true concern that makes an insecure girl feel special. Glowing compliments and a strong shoulder to lean on that makes you feel safe when, really, he just wants to chew you up and spit you out.

Young ladies, take heed. Beware The Wolf. Click To Tweet

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Kelly Byrne
An award-winning writer in many a genre, I currently herd words into novels and short stories about wildly flawed, but lovable characters. I strive to uncover the extraordinary in the ordinary, for those who believe in the possibility of the impossible, and those who always believe in love. My fiction embraces the idea that extraordinary things can and do happen in the real world. These whisperings of supernatural elements give my work a strong emotional edge, lending surprise and wonder to every story. I live in Los Angeles with my desperately handsome boyfriend where I’m working on my next novel.

10 Comments

  1. Oh boy, Kel. Your story could easily be mine if there had been such a teacher around when I was that age. Well, there was, but luckily it never went any further than a mad crush on my part and some coveting of his silverware from the cafeteria that my friend’s aunt, The Lunch Lady, swiped from his tray one day.

    I think the thing that’s so horrible about your story, beyond the mere fact that it happened, is that when you’re in it, it feels like the most exciting thing in the world and you wonder, “How can that be wrong?” And the one person who should be able to tell you that has too much vested in your ignorance. But no question about it, it is wrong.

    You’re right on when you said you probably weren’t his first or last, and it is too bad that you can’t remember his name. Here is it, National Childhood Abuse Prevention month, and Barbara Walters has Mary Kay Letourneau and her husband (i.e. childhood rape victim) on her show. It’s just wrong on so many levels…

    The best thing I gave my daughter to protect her from men like this, from that aching, often desperate need for male attention (often the wrong kind), is a daddy who loves her and shows her that every damn day. She knows her worth, and she’ll never need anyone else to give it to her and will never let anyone take it away from her. Oh, how different so many girls’ lives could be if they had the same thing (me included).

    I hope this blog post gave you thing you never had at the time: a voice. I’m glad I was here to hear it.

    1. Thanks so much, Kel. Everything you said is spot on. It did feel like the most exciting, amazing thing at the time. And to a young girl who does have that hole in her self-worth, that excitement definitely goes a long way to fill it in.

      And yes, yes, yes! The very best thing you gave your girl is an awesome dad who loves the hell out of her and will never let her question her worth. That is paramount.

      It’s been a weird day, emotionally speaking. I guess I never really processed what happened and so writing about it has helped me do that. Been a little raw today. But that’s the great thing about writing it out. Now it’s out. It doesn’t have to weigh on me anymore.

      I really do hope what I’ve written here helps someone who needs it. I know there are a whole lot of girls out there who do, sadly.

  2. I feel for kids these days. They’re inundated with events like this. And with social media, things can get out of hand even faster. God help our future generation. And please let them read this.

    1. Amen, Rachael. It makes me a little sick to my stomach to think how prevalent this probably is, but I think the more we talk about it, the more prepared kids will be to handle it.

      Don’t even get me started about social media and sexting and everything happening online these days. Oy. It’s enough to make a wise person want to crawl back in the cave and declare themselves a Luddite. 😉

      But I digress.

      Thanks so much for reading and becoming part of the conversation. Please do share this with anyone you think it might speak to.

  3. “I had some very serious self-esteem trouble when I was young (I’m not the only one) and I would look to men (boys) for validation of my worth.” It’s amazing how our stories always intersect, Kelly. But then I wonder just how many girls look for male attention and kisses to push down their feelings of worthlessness. I know that for many years I equated being desired with being lovable. And it didn’t hit me (how very wrong I was to think that being wanted was the same as being appreciated, respected, loved,) until college. I saw the film, “Lenny”, starring Dustin Hoffman as profane 60’s comic, Lenny Bruce. In one of his routines, the edgy comedian says that a man will “do it to mud”. He’ll “schtup mud”. And I realized, in a sense, he was right. That so many of the guys who wanted me were not expressing love or even approval (which I was always seeking) but plain old, animal desire. And that in me they saw someone incomplete, who had learned to lead with her sexuality to compensate. Predators have a sixth sense – a sick sense, really – for their prey. And our girls are vulnerable if we don’t imbue them with a sense of worth– beyond how they look, apart from how they can please a man. And, further, we must teach our boys never ever to take advantage of a girl’s neediness, her youth or her helplessness. Never, ever to put sex before respect. Never ever to let himself become a predator . . . but instead to feel the need to protect those who, somehow, never learned to respect and protect themselves. I feel for the 15 year old Kelly. And I am so glad that she knew when to stop. Deep inside her lived a certainty that no one could seduce or eliminate. Deep inside her lived you.

    1. So spot on, Davis. And YES! Boys should be taught better as well. Damnit, I really want you to get your blog going! The world needs to hear your voice, woman!

      Anyway, I’m actually a little jealous that you came to this conclusion in college: “And it didn’t hit me (how very wrong I was to think that being wanted was the same as being appreciated, respected, loved,) until college.”

      It took me a lot longer to figure that out. An embarrassingly long time, in fact. But good for you for getting there. It’s where we all need to start out, but unfortunately circumstances don’t always allow for that in each person’s life and we need to find our way to it any way we can. I’m just glad I finally did.

      Thank you for your hugs, your support, and for being awesome.

  4. Unfortunately there are a lot of men out in the world preying on young girls such as you were. I don’t know how we combat that. It is so hard to tell the big bad wolves from the regular teachers. It’s a shame though that someone like that can basically ruin a young girl’s life and get a way with it.

    1. It’s horrible, Rena. Like I said, my experience was fairly ‘tame’ compared to the headlines we read these days, but it left a lasting mark on me psychologically for so many years. That’s a lot of power one person holds over another.

      And to use that power for ill just because you’re a horny bastard, is criminal. I wish there was a way to stop it all from happening ever again to anyone. I know there’s not, but if we talk about it, and talk to our kids about things like this, and instill in them that unshakable sense of their worth in this world, that’s a start.

      Knowing what I do now I can clearly see how he was incredibly inappropriate with me basically from the start, but when you’re in it, living it, as Kelly says, the excitement is blinding.

      I hope I’ve been able to shed just a teeny bit of light in that darkness for someone who might be considering pursuing something more with a flirty teacher.

      Being helpful and kind and caring as a teacher is appropriate and welcomed and goes a long way to help a student in need. But those positive things are a far cry from sexualizing a student, flirting with them, and hopefully kids will come to understand the difference and run away if the latter happens.

      Thanks for your support, Rena, and for sharing on twitter to help spread the word.

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