“That’s ok…” I said. “I enjoyed it, too…”
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I didn’t move and he didn’t let go, and if my phone hadn’t bleeped with another Dad prompter we’d have probably stayed there forever.
But my phone did bleep, and I was already late again.
He let go of me, and I hurried away before I lost every tenuous scrap of willpower I had left in my body.
***
Mark
Her hair blew in the breeze — catching on the wind like a feather halo — and it was beautiful. I watched her leave, and she dithered at the gates, her dainty little feet dancing along the path in sweet black ballet pumps. My little Helen, so graceful and kind. A sweet soul in a sweet body, and I wanted to taste all of her. It was all I could do to let her walk away.
Her nerves were intoxicating, her wispy breath teasing my face whenever I passed too close. It would have been so easy to kiss her. I could have sent the kids home and pulled her close and touched my lips to hers, and loved her. I could have loved her.
I could have made love to Helen Palmer the way I’d made love to Anna.
And then I’d have taken her all over again, and this time it would have been different.
What I’d give to see the darkness inside her; those deep, dark urges that stir the muse and give it life.
I tried to rein it in, returning to my car only when she was long out of sight. I drove home quickly and stoked up the fire. Poking and prodding until it was crackling and hissing and spitting flames at me.
And then I painted. I painted long and hard, as though I could bleed Helen Palmer out of my veins through my paintbrush. My painting was dark and edgy, a dark blur of colour against the flicker of the flames in the grate. Her legs were spread in invitation, and her eyes were wide and innocent. Her skirt hitched up her thighs to reveal just the softest pair of plain white panties. And she was wet. Her tiny nipples poked through the thin fabric of her blouse, and around them I painted my fingers, gripping at her, teasing her, coaxing those sweet little breasts to life under my touch.
My mouth watered at the memory of her taste, and I was hard. My cock strained and thumped and it hurt.
It hurt to need a woman I should never have.
Anna’s face stared out at me from the mantelpiece and today, for the very first time — the only time since I’d met her a lifetime ago — I felt the urge to turn her away.
Mark
I could feel my grip on reality slipping away, bleeding out slowly through every hour I spent in the same room as Helen Palmer. The days danced by in a blur of paint and laughter, and on the third day we started up the radio, blaring out a cacophony of chart music that roused the youngsters to new heights of productivity. The set took on life, vibrant gold temple scenes, and a dusty market, and mock drapes in purples and ocean blues, and my beautiful student came alive too, right before my eyes. Responsibility suited her, she bloomed with the thrill of command, coaxing those who looked up to her for guidance with both grace and skill.
I watched her confidence blossom. Her shoulders rose higher, her chin up, her eyes sparkling as she toiled away the hours.
And she reminded me of the love I’d lost. Helen was unlike Anna in more ways than I could ever articulate, but in others she was a perfect match. Her talent, her dedication, her drive, her intuition.
Her compassion.
The look in her eyes had softened, and I saw less of her raging teenage hormones. They’d been replaced by something much more hypnotic. Call it maturity, or call it pure old-fashioned affection, I’m not quite sure. But I loved it. I loved her for it.
I found myself pondering the world in ways that I shouldn’t. Considering the practicalities of a life with Helen at my side, in some far distant future, when she was a woman with university behind her, and I was just a man, not her teacher. But she was so young, with her whole life stretching out in front of her, and I was reaching the middle of mine. I’d be growing old as she discovered life’s endless possibilities, hooking up with men much younger than me who’d steal her heart from under me, just so long as she’d let me go.
I did everything I could to believe that was ok.
She deserved the very best, and that best could never be here, in this town, with a man like me.