Like any other relationship, it started with a glance. A flirty suggestion of something more in his eyes. Of possibility.
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?
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.
Dear Reader, you hold a lot of power.
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