I just wanted to do a quick update today just to go through all the things that have happened so far this week. And let me tell you, gentle readers, it’s been a crazy one.
For starters, we have a new President-elect. I can’t explain how pleased I am at the turnout of this year’s election, and how excited I am to have been a part of such a historical event. Perhaps we’ll see some change. But either way, this is a good thing for our country.
Michael Crichton passed away yesterday because of Cancer. He was 66. He will be missed. He was the famed creator of ER and Jurassic Park, among other things.
You may have noticed there’s a sticky post at the top of this blog. It is to celebrate November being “National Novel Writing Month.” This is my first time doing something like this, and it’s pretty exhiliharating. So, you’ll be noticing random posts that don’t belong within the theme of this blog. I do recommend taking a look through those posts in order by the date they were posted. I’m trying to keep things as chronologically in step as I can. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.
It is no secret that I’ve been working on a novel for awhile now… this is something outside of that. A completely different story, mostly because I only have 30 days (well, 24 now) to do it in, so it’s not about the editing… it’s just about the writing, which is very freeing.
So I urge you all to check out the official website for NaNoWriMo and help support literary abandon!
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.
I had never dreamed I would end up in the position that I was in. Or in the room I was in, for that matter. All it took was one quick swift movement that I never saw coming, and I was up against a wall, panting and praying for a contradiction of things: first, for that moment to end, and second for that moment never to end.
Had I not given it any thought, I never would have doubled back to “check on something”… I would have left the school and gone home. After all, does anything good ever happen after school?
I was 17, a senior in high school. It was during the fall of my senior year. I had nothing to worry about. I was smart and took all Advanced Placement (AP) classes that year, and even those were a bit easy. And I was planning on coasting through the year. I had nothing to worry about. My teachers didn’t need to cut me any slack because, frankly, I didn’t need it. I was passing with flying colors without doing anything extra.
Then along came Accounting. Don’t get me wrong, math is an easy subject for me. Calculus was something of a bore, and Trig even more so. So, Accounting was nothing to sneeze at. Simply adding short columns of small numbers, and putting those numbers on a ledger. Could it be any simpler? Absolutely. But I didn’t want to be in the class to begin with. I didn’t like the teacher. I pretty much thought he was a dancing monkey who should have been a music teacher rather than teaching Accounting and Religion/Theology.
I had been stuck in his class because the Psychology class had filled up faster than anticipated. Perhaps it did have something to do with Mr. Anderson. I wasn’t the only one that didn’t want to be in his class. So, they stuck me in with Mr. Anderson, and Accounting. I remember the day I found out quite clearly. I immediately went to the Administration office and stormed in demanding my classes be changed. But it was a little late, they said. And the other classes were filled up. And I felt defeated. No worries, I thought to myself. I’d just deal with it, and try to transfer during the next semester.
The first class was fine. I sat in the back, opened my book and began with getting ahead of my assignments. No use is falling behind because of my unoriginal hatred of this Anderson Fellow. I finished the first three assignments during that first class, and patted myself on the back for a job well done, and getting ahead was always a good thing. Not once during that first class did I look up to pay attention to Mr. Anderson. In fact, it took me at least 3 weeks to even consider paying attention, and that was only to get the notes for the test we were to have, allegedly.
When I finally did look up, I was thrown off by a set of piercingly blue eyes staring back at me. Those eyes had been enough to startle me and I nearly fell out of my chair. What had me even more confused was who those eyes belonged to. Mr. Anderson. He had said something before I looked up, and the heat and annoyance in his eyes said it very clearly.
“Come see me after school,Angel” Mr. Anderson repeated. I hadn’t been paying attention, so I missed whatever it was he said. That was his way of punishing me, apparently. I rolled my eyes to cover for the look of shock that must have shown on my face, and that everyone seemed to laugh at.
I’ll admit to not wanting to show up after school. I was never a rebel, don’t get me wrong. But my hatred for the formerly non-piercing eyed Mr. Anderson ran deep.
He had been the previous year’s music director, and I had strongly disliked him from the moment I walked into the music room. I didn’t appreciate change much, and he just made things a little more irritating with his mere presence.
The change in music directors had been an unprecendented one. To this day, I have no actual knowledge of what happened to the previous director. Only rumors. Rumors involving a drug bust, a hooker, and a pineapple. And therein lies the reason they were only rumors.
Upon meeting Mr. Anderson, I disliked him. He was different and pushy and everything had to start from the beginning. Whatever curriculum and activitites that were in place before his arrival, had been changed drastically. Lucky for me, I wasn’t the only one who had a strong dislike for him from the beginning.
I was never shy about my feelings towards him. I fought him every step of the way during my Junior year. I was rebellious and refused to do anything until I got my way. I walked out of rehearsals, and demanded solos and ever rallied my own posse to help with the arguments. I even quit the music group several times, and was repeatedly begged to return and relax. I was the equivalent of a spoiled 5 year old child who has just come to realize the powers of manipulation. But I gave Mr. Anderson credit for at least putting up with whatever was dealt to him, even though he probably didn’t deserve it. And so began our tormented relationship.
At approximately 2:47 pm, after school that day, I re-entered Mr. Anderson’s classroom. There were still stragglers who stayed after for extra credit, and extra help, and detention. Mr. Anderson was sitting at his desk with a male student standing over him. Kenny Bloom. Kenny was a football player, who was in dire need of help to pass Accounting.
Mr. Anderson looked up from his desk and Kenny’s work and nodded to me to acknowledge my presence and gestured for me to take a seat. I looked around and found a seat directly in the middle of the classroom, not quite at the back, and not quite close enough to Mr. Anderson’s desk.
I had barely put my posterior in the seat when I heard my name and saw Mr. Anderson walking in my direction. Kenny had grabbed his backpack and blue and white Varsity Football jacket, and the only thing I saw as I looked towards the door was his jacket, and a blur or blue and white and gold from the jacket.
“Angel,” I looked back towards Mr. Anderson, who had sat on the desk of the seat in front of me. “Angel, do you know why you’re here?” His eyes were starting to burn a hole through me. If it was entirely possible, they were bluer and brighter than earlier in the day.
I had no words to respond, having been lost in his entrancing eyes, and just shrugged my shoulders in question.
“You’re here because you keep undermining me. It was fine when I was just the music director. But now that I’m your actual teacher, you have to find some respect for me, even if you don’t have it. Angel, can you do that for me, at least during my class?” I nodded, still speechless and entranced. I hadn’t realized until that moment what an attractive man Mr. Anderson was. But all that was irrelevant. I had plans to play the good seed during the day, and go back to sincere hatred in the after school hours.
“Thank you,” Mr. Anderson stated, sincerely. “Now that we have a truce, is there anything I can do to help you get through this class?” He had moved an entire seat closer without me even knowing he’d done it.
I shook my head emphatically no.
“Alright. You just let me know.”
I nodded my head emphatcially yes.
“Are you okay?” He was kept moving closer to the desk I sat at.
More emphatic nodding.
“Okay,” and he walked back over to his desk, sat down and started clicking away at his keyboard. I still couldn’t get up from my chair, so I grabbed a book out of my bag and started reading it. Once my legs were working again, I would be able to get up and leave.
About an hour later, I found myself a little more relaxed, so I packed my things and began to leave the room. However, upon leaving, I felt myself so inclined to touch the ivory keys of the keyboard stationed directly in front of Mr. Anderson’s desk. The keyboard wasn’t turned on, so no sound came out. Mr. Anderson looked up from his computer at me then back down to the floor where a small plug was sitting near a socket by the wall. I put my bag down upon his head gesture, and plugged the keyboard in. My hands returned to the soft keys, and sounds were coming out. Not the most beautiful sounds in the world, I’ll grant you, but sound, nonetheless.
In one swift motion, without me even knowing, Mr. Anderson was standing behind me. I never saw him move from his desk, and seconds later, he was close enough behind me that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. In another swift movement, his hands came over mine, guiding them across the keys, and playing notes that actually sounded good together.
Again, I was breathless and frozen where I stood.
“Do you know how beautiful music can sound if you are passionate about it?” Mr. Anderson spoke in a near whisper. I barely nodded, but there was just enough movement for him to understand that I was trying to nod emphatically. As my fingers continued to glide across the keys, his hands moved and his arms came around my waist, and he placed his chin on my left shoulder, close enough so I could feel him breathing in my ear. Still I couldn’t speak. I was afraid to breathe. If I did, he would move. It would be like watching a lion in the wild. One tiny movement and the scene could changed in less than a second.
With the close proximity, I could smell his potent cologne, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body. And still, I couldn’t move.
“You smell incredible…” Mr. Anderson took in a deep breath, with his nose on my auburn hair.
“Thank you,” I whispered, almost inaudibly. I couldn’t believe the situation I’d gotten myself into. Unexpected, but at the same time, I felt that I had known it was coming. Since that morning, when I became mesmerized by those deep blue eyes, inexplicably I knew the outcome of this exchange. I knew I wouldn’t move. I knew I wouldn’t do a thing to change the circumstance. I knew I would go with the flow, and follow my instincts and think about everything later on.
I could feel Mr. Anderson’s arms moving. Crap, I thought to myself. I couldn’t think of a thing that I had done to make him want to move from the position we were in. His hands moved immediately to my waist, and a turning motion began. I found myself turning around with the gentl pressure he was putting on my waist, to face him.
The moment we stood face to face, I could not stop looking into his eyes. I was lost in the deep swirls and black flecks, and the arms tightly wrapped around my body. And then he lowered his face slightly and our lips met for the first time. It was the most natural thing in the world to be experiencing at that very moment. His lips were soft against my own cherry-chapstick coated, slightly parted lips. My hands rested on his forearms for only a second before his hands moved from my waist to cup my face, and as if it were a habit, as if it were something I’ve done a million times before, I wrapped my arms around his waist so that my hand were intertwined behind his back.
The kiss only last for less than a minute, but it felt like too long to be forever, and too short to be not continue on longer, and it was done. He slowly backed away, again leaving me breathless and frozen. When I opened my eyes, I caught a glimpse of him leaving the classroom, and I was alone.