"Some of you may also remember that today is Halloween, the time when we celebrate chaos and madness. And I must be out of my mind to say this, but just today, I will let you eat as much candy as you want. If I find ONE SINGLE WRAPPER on my floor after class, you all have detention."
They cheered and went back to unwrapping their candy. I picked up my well-worn anthology of Poe's poems and short stories and began to read "The Raven." They had all heard this poem a million times before, and had in fact studied it during their junior year. I finished the first stanza, and then I paused dramatically. The students were settling down, prepared for a routine day of literary study. I smiled. "I've got a surprise for you," I said. Then I went to the DVD player and pressed play. They were beside themselves. I was showing a clip from an episode of The Simpsons with James Earl Jones reading the poem. I retreated to the back of the class to turn out the lights and watch.
His lush voice wove a hypnotic spell that stoked the slow burning fire inside me. Most of the students were just as lulled by the meter. Then my eyes fell on Zack. He was staring at the screen, completely lost in the world James Earl Jones was creating. Completely unconscious of what he was doing, he rubbed a Charms Blowpop across his lips. It was the kind of thing that porn stars did, and it always looked gaudy in their hands because they did it on purpose, completely aware of the effect they were having. Zack was in his own world, and he was riveting. The red candy shell glistened in the flickering light of the television, and it left a faint sheen on his skin. I watched him twirl it in his hands, subtly shaping his lips around the tip but not fully engulfing it. I could feel my nipples hardening as an image tore into me.
James Earl Jones began to speed the narration, speaking with firm, quick emphasis that inevitably quickened my pulse. "And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming," he began. Zack chose that moment to sink the Blowpop into his mouth. His eyes burned with the intensity of the poem's building climax, and I gasped out loud. It was soft enough that no one heard it. I braced myself against the wall behind me, feeling my knees weaken as he worked the candy in his mouth. The full force of my desire pooled in my gut, then throbbed downward to my clit. My heart hammered with my panicked realization that if I squeezed my thighs just right, I would have a silent orgasm. Zack had been drawing me to him like a Siren since August, but he had never been the direct source of my sexual climax.
Bart Simpson's voice jerked me out of my trance, and the crisis passed. I flicked on the lights and walked shakily back to the front of the room to lead a discussion on "The Raven." It was a mercifully short time before Zack bit into the Blowpop and it was gone.
*****
Before I knew it, it was time for last period, which I had to myself for once. I was straightening papers on my desk when I heard Zack clear his throat. I looked up and almost knocked the entire pile back off my desk. He was towering over me. It was funny, but in my mind I always imagined the students were shorter than me. They definitely appeared to be while they were sitting in their desks. It was an endless source of amazement that they generally stood at least a head higher than me when they were out of their seats.
"Miss Martin?" He looked concerned.
"Sorry, you startled me. In my own little world. Nice work yesterday with Byron's poem."
It had been three months since I'd been alone with him. I blushed, suddenly remembering what I had been picturing him doing to me just a few hours ago.
He was blissfully unaware of the conflict inside me. He was too intent on his own as-yet-unexpressed inner conflict. "Yes, ma'am. I was just wondering if... umm..."
Good Lord, this boy could not ever just ask for what he wanted. It was endlessly distracting because I inevitably found myself fixating on some part of his body whenever he paused. Today, it was his mouth, for obvious reasons. It had somehow escaped my notice until today that it was the kind of mouth you would expect to find on a pixie or an angel. I wondered if his lips were as soft and warm as they looked. My fingers imagined it for me, the smoothness, the gentle heat of his breath, the way he would move them against my skin...
I curled my fingers into fists and hid them behind my back. "You were wondering?"
"Well, poetry is kind of... well, it's kind of good."
I smiled. "Yeah, that's kinda why people write it."
"Is there more? You know, that doesn't suck?"
My heart stopped again. Wordlessly, I reached for my favorite anthology of poems and handed it to him. I kept a spare copy at school for just such an emergency, although I'd always viewed it as a crazy fantasy that any student would actually want more poetry.
His eyes widened at the size of the book.
"Start with Robert Herrick," I suggested. "He's a Renaissance poet, but he was kind of cool."
"Thanks," Zack mumbled with a grin. Then he shuffled out.
Twenty minutes later, I could still feel my desire for him pulsing through my body. I put my head down on my desk and wondered if I would ever be able to look at him without wanting him.
