Tenure

11. James

11

James

The rest of the day is a blur. I can’t concentrate, can’t do anything but picture her hair wrapped around my wrist as I slide my dick into her slick cunt.

I’m irritable, have been rocking a semi all day that’s chafing against my fly since I ditched the boxers, and try as I might I still can’t drown out her words from Monday.

I’m still in high school.

I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I’ve never fucked a student before, let alone a fucking minor. I swallow, hoping to God she’s eighteen, but I have a sick, sinking feeling that she’s not.

And still, I keep picturing her on her knees, lips wrapped around my cock, those big brown eyes staring up at me as her wetness drips down her thighs.

I should tell Tess to come this weekend after all. I need to work some of this off.

I like Tess. She’s . . . efficient. I wouldn’t exactly call her cold, and the woman definitely does her yogalates. But she’s transactional. We both know what we want. A physically fit partner, someone who you can demand a lot from. And absolutely zero fucking strings. I don’t know a goddamn thing about the woman, nor vice versa, and apart from one very brief conversation where I clarified out loud that that was what she was after and she confirmed she was, we’ve never had to speak about it again. Perfect scenario, really. At least until recently.

I pull out my phone to give her a call, but the screensaver is a picture of . . . Kiernan?

I stare at the phone long enough that the screen goes black, before pressing the side button and lighting it up again. It’s Kiernan, some blonde girl sticking her tongue out, and a decent looking boy with his arm wrapped around her neck and his lips pressed to her cheek.

I picture her grabbing her phone and her bag and storming out. She must have taken mine by mistake. Godfuckingdammit.

My knuckles crack as I squeeze the phone.

Is this her boyfriend?

“Professor?” someone asks.

“WHAT?” I snap, turning around.

It’s Shannon, and she looks flustered. She always looks fucking flustered.

I exhale long and hard, and for the first time in years I really want a cigarette.

“Sorry, Shannon.” I try to calm down. She’s a good TA, for the most part. Does what she’s told, never complains, keeps the students happy and off my back. “I’m having a . . . week.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I growl.

“You sure?” She glances pointedly down at the phone in my hand, which is still showing the picture of Kiernan and her . . . whoever.

I tuck the phone back into my pocket.

“I said no.”

“I just thought maybe I could—”

But before I can make any more fucking mistakes today, I storm out of the room.