Tutoring the Delinquent

Something hard is pressing to my bottom. I wiggle around on the large object, trying to discern its exact shape. When Teddy grits his teeth and curses, it dawns on me. It’s his hard penis. He’s…aroused? I’ve read about male sexual response in my health class, though I admit I skimmed a little, it made my private parts feel uncomfortably warm. “Is that permission, Iris?” he pants. “Is that tight ass telling me yes, Teddy, play with my tits?”

The temperature in the room is a million degrees, right?

What was I thinking, wearing a sweater? Sure, it’s a cold fall night, but I’m in flames. And I have that odd, melting sensation between my thighs again, about a hundred times worse than when I read about male arousal in health class. Because this is real. This man is real and he’s erect for me, for some strange reason. I’m scrawny and quiet and unpolished. I can’t possibly be what he’s used to.

Still, his touch feels so startlingly amazing, I find myself whispering, “Yes.”

In a split second, the textbook has been knocked onto the floor and my back is being pressed to the mattress. His eyes are glittering, hands unsteady as he shoves open the sides of my cardigan. “Holy…fuck.” He drops his face down between my breasts, making a sound that’s a cross between an inhale and a snarl. “Ah, honey. They’re so fucking pretty. Going to come just looking at them. Sweet Jesus.”

I don’t know when it happens because I’m reeling from his words, from the pleasure they give me, but both of my wrists are in his left hand and pinned over my head, his tongue licking up and over one of my nipples, stiffening it instantly, painfully, his right hand squeezing the opposite mound in a possessive grip.

And…I implode. I lose the ability to think. The region between my legs, which I’ve never explored or spared a lot of thought for, gathers up so forcefully it makes me whimper, then scream, my legs thrashing…and I…is this an orgasm? I see nothing. I feel only ripple after wave after torrent of pleasure burn through my belly, my femininity, my back arching up off the bed, wrists straining in his grip. All the while, he looks down at me in pained awe. Lustful shock.

“Teddy.”

“Good girl. Call for me,” he rasps, still teasing my nipples with his fingers, prolonging the roil of harsh tugs and mighty twists beneath my belly button. Release. It’s never-ending and it’s so deep, so wild, so necessary. “Call for your man.”

My man. Yes.

In that moment, I commit blasphemy.

Because I pray to him. I pray to this man, recognizing him as my new savior. The one whose touch holds me in such a deep thrall that I can’t reason or breathe. “…thy kingdom come…thy will be done…”

I’m halfway through the Our Father, having replaced God’s name with Teddy’s. Sister would be so disappointed in me. She’d wring her hands and lock me in the confessional. As long as this man visits me there, I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care.

I must lose consciousness for a moment.

Or an hour. The passage of time has no meaning anymore. My legs are still shaking.

I turn my head and watch Teddy pack my things into the suitcase that I keep under my bed. It doesn’t take him long, because I don’t own much. When he’s finished, he picks me up like a child and I wrap my legs around his waist, bury my face in his neck and let him carry me out of the dorm full of gaping students, the wheels of my suitcase squeaking behind us.

“Let’s go home, honey.”

Chapter Three

Teddy

When I wake up, she’s gone.

It’s like having a claw hammer buried in my skull.

I dive out of bed with a bellow, clutching at the sheets like I’m going to find her hidden in there. Where the hell did she go? Where the fuck did she go?

The anger has returned with a vengeance in her absence.

I scratch at my chest until blood shows up in angry welts. When she was in my arms, the snakes were kept at bay. Now she’s gone and they’re bigger, more vicious.

“Iris!”

I rampage through my apartment, knocking trophies off shelves. Pictures of me with the university president, the governor. People who mean nothing to me.

There’s just her now. There’s only her.

Just before I reach the kitchen, I stumble to a stop in front of a picture of my father. Standing beside me as confetti rains down, the marching band behind us, batons raised. Gone. The only other person to ever mean anything to me. Gone. The snake fangs dig into my stomach with more force and I almost go down on my knees. Need her. I need her here now.

Do I even have her phone number?