I’d like to think that the first exchange with Mr. Anderson was enough to change the course of my life.  And in some ways, it did.  I’d like to think that at the moment, I made the “mature” decision to pursue Mr. Anderson, as he had opened floodgates I had never known existed.  But I don’t think “mature” is the right word to use.  I was young, and although reasonably mature for a girl of my age, my judgement had been clouded all because of a pair of piercing blue eyes.

I often wonder if that first kiss changed the course of my history… if it shaped the individual I became, or if it really had anything to do with anything.  Did that first kiss affect each relationship that would follow in the future, or was it already in my plan to have life happen the way it did?


After that first kiss, I was in Mr. Anderson’s room everyday after school.  For what, I wasn’t sure, exactly.  Perhaps a repeat performance.  The only problem with that plan was that his classroom was no longer empty after school.  By the time all the students left, it was time for Mr. Anderson to leave, and there was nothing that could be done.  It was becoming more difficult to find stolen moments because he seemed to be avoiding me.

I finally found a moment when he was alone and wasn’t rushing off to do something else.

“Can I talk to you for a sec, Anderson?” I poked my head around the corner to see him sitting at his desk, once again clicking away, as he did that first day.  He looked up, and while his face remained stoic, his eyes were clearly smiling at me.  I took that as my cue to go into the room and put my stuff down on the nearest desk.

“What’s up?” Mr. Anderson asked nonchalantly.

“I wanted to talk about what happened the other day…” I started.  “You know, the kiss…?”

“Was that okay?” He stood up slowly and began walking towards me, still stone cold stoic with his facial expressions.  I’m not sure what it was, but he apparently had the ability to keep my paralyzed.  Not with fear, but with something more.  A mixture of fear and unknowing. 

“… to kiss you?  Did you want me to kiss you?” He broke the silence with a coaxing tone in his voice.

“Well, I didn’t stop you,” I retorted, which stopped him in his tracks and kept him more than an arm’s distance away.  His facial expression changed from stoic to something a little unfamiliar and awkward on him.  Hurt, maybe? 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.  Did you want me to kiss you?  Because if you didn’t, I understand and I’ll back off…” he took a step backwards, in demonstration.  “But if it was okay, I’m going to do it again.”  In a silent shuffle, he took a few steps forward until he was close enough to me to allow me to smell his cologne.  The same he wore for the first kiss.

“No.. it was…. I didn’t mind.”  I stuttered.  Usually, I was clear and concise and didn’t stumble over my words.  There was a reason I excelled in English, and it wasn’t because I stammered along my words and forgot how to say little things in a big way.  Nearly a second after I ended my non-commital statement, Mr. Anderson’s arms moved swiftly around me as he stood me up.

“Is it okay if I kiss you again?”  His lips hovered over mine as he spoke.  Rather than repsonding, I closed the remaining distance between us, and leaned up to kiss him before he had a chance to react.  His body responded to the proximity, and the heat radiated around us.  This kiss was longer, more passionate.  It was more than just a kiss.  It was lust.  And wanting.  And genuine need.

This time, my hand explored his body, feeling his arms, his back, his face.  It was like I couldn’t get close enough to him, and his responses to me were identical.

I was gone.  I couldn’t get enough.  I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be entwined with this not-so-mysterious man.  There was nothing more to say.  I was his.


I began to devlop an obsessive need to see him all the time.  I wanted more and more from him.  As naive as I was, all I wanted was to be near him, to touch him… to feel him.   And nothing more.  I needed to be near him all the time.  I wanted to know what he was doing, and who he was with, and if he needed me to be near as much as I did.  But most of all, I wanted to know if he was flirting with anyone else.

It got to the point where I was leaving my normal classes early to see if he had a free period.  And when he did, Mr. Anderson would pull me into his classroom by the hand and lead me to a corner where no one could see, and passionately attack me with his body, his lips.  I was in heaven and hell all at once.  The obsession, the pain it cost my heart.

The knowledge of his wife and family, at the time, had eluded me, and my judgement was clouded by a few passionate kisses.  I was torn between the moral superiority of taking the high road and leaving him to be the awful man who had the audacity to cheat on his wife, and the thousands of happy non-thoughts I experienced every time he looked in my direction.

I had known about the family for as long as I had known Mr. Anderson.  I had never met them, and he rarely spoke of them, but their existence was clear and a common piece of knowledge.  His wife was at least thirteen years his senior, and his children were his pride and joy.  And here I was, making out with their father.  In his classroom.  After school.  In what could be considered a clandestine love affair.  And I would never mention the family.  Not around him.  Not if I wanted to think of me and only me. 


After weeks of secret meetings and quiet make-out sessions, Mr. Anderson was becoming a little more aggressive with his passions.  The more I didn’t protest his actions or movements, the more he explored my body and pushed his limits and mine.  I couldn’t say anything.  I didn’t want to.  I wanted more of him, as much as he was willing to give me.

Towards the end of school one day, he pulled me aside and asked me to meet him in his classroom after everyone had gone home for the day.  I met him as he requested, just assuming he was planning another make-out and groping session, so I was surprised when he led me by the hand to the back of his classroom and through a doorway that led to an old and unused Art Room.  After closing the door, he pinned me against and crushed his lips and body against mine, licking and sucking and grinding, creating more heat than I ever thought imaginable.  But I went with my hormones and mirrored his every movement, every gesture.

The second I heard the sound of a zipper and realized his hand were no longer on my body, but rather on his pants, my eyes shot open, but never broke the kiss we were engaged in.  I relaxed a little when I felt his hands return to my waist and left breast, and closed my eyes to continue exploring and experiencing.  I moved in closer to Mr. Anderson’s body, straddling one of his legs, and noticed that his pants were not up where they should have been as previously thought.  Instead they were around his ankles, and he was grinding into the crease of my pants where I had straddled him.  I started to pull away, feeling a little uneasy about the direction our little sessions had taken.  But he took my face in his hands when he felt my resistance, and whispered in my ear.

“I need you.  You’re my obsession.  I need to be with you.  Right now.”  Again, I was paralyzed, but with uncertainty.

“I don’t know…I… uh..” I stuttered, and his grip remained strong.

“Don’t you want to be with me?” He asked, pleading in a passionate whisper.

“I do… but…. I… I don’t know…” Stuttering had become a flaw of mine.  A common side effect of the paralysis.

“It’s a simple question… Do you want me?”

“Of course I want you…” I didn’t get a chance to finish that statement.  I had no idea where it was going to go, but I was certain there was more to that statement, like a protest or a statement of uncertainty.  His lips were against mine in a flash while his hands worked at the button and zipper on the khaki pants I wore that day.

Everything after that happened in a blur.  From moment to moment, I had no idea what was happening until after it happened, and it barely gave me time to process what was about to happen.  My pants were on the floor, I was partially exposed, and I was being guided to the floor, with a 6 foot man hovering above me, helping me to the floor. 

The floor was ice cold, even in the heat from the radiator not far from where we stood.  It was uncomfortable and cold.  And just as quickly as I had put my head down, my lips were again occupied with Mr. Anderson, with his hands venturing lower down my body, my guess, an attempt at preparing me for the next step.

I was a virgin before that day.  And in the course of 5 minutes, all that innocence was gone.  All the naivete, all the kid stuff.  Gone.  And it was painful, and not at all fun.  I writhed and groaned and complained beneath him, and he made very few remarks to ease my mind and take it off the pain I was experiencing.  I scratched and gouged at his back, all the while he was going to town, pumping in and out and flopping about much like a fish who just got tossed onto dry land. 

He moved and wriggled and grunted and groaned in satisfaction.  And in five minutes, it was over.  I was no longer the naive girl I had known my entire previous life.  No.  I was a woman.  Nothing else had changed.  I didn’t change anything outwardly.  I wasn’t glowing or smiling, or in a haze of overwhelming happiness.  I just was there, still on the cold floor, waiting to get up and go home.

Mr. Anderson helped me off the floor, pulled his back up, and left the room without so much as another word to me.  I was no longer paralyzed with uncertainty.  I wasn’t feeling anything but physical pain and discomfort.  Oh, no.  The magazines were all wrong about this being a you wondrous experience and something to remember for the rest of your life.  I would remember it for the rest of my life, that’s for sure.


Laying in bed that night, I couldn’t sleep.  I stared at the ceiling, trying to wrap my head around the events of the day.  I woke up that morning, planning on taking a test in History, blow off Accounting, and make-out with my not-boyfriend-teacher-guy.

From the moment I closed my eyes that night, everything had changed.  Lying awake in a now empty room, in my head it felt the same.  I kept replaying everything that happened, trying to remember it exactly as it happened, then trying to remember it differently.

I couldn’t keep my thoughts from Mr. Anderson.  Despite the family “issue” that seemed to be plaguing any potential future I could have hoped for, I still wanted to consider him as something that belonged to me.  There had to be someone for everybody, and I thought he was the one for me.  Sure, I could look passed the wife.  After all, he was with me, which in my mind meant he didn’t want to be with her.  I couldn’t think about that aspect any longer.  If I was ever going to make it work, I would have to focus on being selfish and taking what I could get when I could get it.  And at the moment, it didn’t matter the cost.