'We always strive after what is forbidden, and desire the things refused us.' -Ovid
He was 32. I was in college.
There were six or seven of us who stayed back that day; I didn't count the number exactly. The room was shoved away in a remote part of the school where you only went for class, yet he brightened it, made people want to come. His charisma and quirky personality drew people to him, made them listen to him, even love him.
He was tall, not particularly muscled but well-toned. His hair was a little longer than most other teachers and the darkest, warmest chocolate; a swirl of dark chocolate infused with tiny ribbons of red flowing from his head. He let his stubble grow out and maintained a permanent 5 'o' clock shadow. The same rich scarlet dotted his warm, dark facial hair, making him glow in the sun and catch the tiniest glimmer of a spark in the shadow. I often wondered how it would feel to brush my palm across his face, or better yet... my lips. Would the flame I saw ignite my skin or would it smolder under my touch? I could dream all day about the possibilities. His nose was oddly crooked and his eyebrows didn't match his hair. He had the odd spot of acne barely visible to anyone but himself. He wasn't handsome, or even had traditional good looks, but the charisma that oozed from his lips made every girl he spoke to melt.
Every girl wanted him, swooned over his every word. He was eloquent when teaching. It was like his lips had rehearsed and perfected every word, every syllable, and every sound that came from his mouth; a dance of sorts, emanating beauty and grace. His tongue was in perfect harmony with his teeth and lips. The pronunciation of every word was just right. The thick velvet tone crept inside you and made you weak. All attention was on his lips, all of the time. They were full, swollen, and lathered in a smooth layer of moisture, always the perfect consistency. The only thing that gained more attention than his lips, were his eyes. Oh those eyes. They were sharp and assertive and had certain wit about them. His eyes spoke more than his lips ever did. They were blue, deep stormy blue, grey when you first saw them and violet in the sun. Churning and shining, they held a flicker of something not completely innocent, devilish in fact. That flicker of something wicked captivated everyone who looked into those hypnotic eyes. His eyes, and his words, were every girls dream.
Every female student in his class fell in love with his allure. But he never flirted, never led on any student to make them believe they would be anything but his student. He respected his students, and valued his career. He made every girl swoon, and every girl know they couldn't have him.
The old, damp classroom where I had English soon turned into my favorite place to be in the school. His smooth smile and the mischievous spark in his stormy eyes made everyone want to be in his class, no matter how run down the room. The door creaked when it opened and slammed when it shut, there was an old gas heater in the back of the room that was always cranked up to full, and baby blue curtains laced the top windows like frosting on a cake. There were leather bound books, lined on the edge of his desk, the desk its self the deepest mahogany, and the leather on his chair was worn and fading.
Smiles and laughs filled the old English room, and he sat by my side most of the tutorial. In hand was his coffee, black with three sugars, he must have drunk three a day. Hot chocolate and tea was poured for the rest of the students, and we huddled over our mugs for warmth. Finally night fell and it was time to go home. Our jackets were haphazardly strewn over the coat hanger, placed deliberately in front of the gas heater. I lingered back to arrange my notes joking with him about my upcoming test. He hadn't moved from my side, but stood when I did and was handing me my books to place in my bag. He reassured me I would do great, as I had done for every other assessment this year, yet the back and forth jokes continued.
He placed his hand on my arm and rubbed it reassuringly. The static electricity from my woolen jumper made the hair in my pony tail stand on its end. He smiled gently and flattened it out, taking his time to run long, slender fingers through my silk hair and down my back. My cheeks blushed and I instinctively faced down, his black suede shoes pointing towards mine. He had never actually touched me before, and the countless hours I spent day dreaming about it didn't let me down. My whole body burned. My palms started to sweat and my mouth suddenly had too much moisture. I swallowed at least three times in a row. The joking stopped and he nudged closer to me, taking hold of my cheek in his palm. I was sure he could feel the crimson burning in my cheeks, how foolish I must have seemed. He tilted my head gently to face him, his face was a little closer than I expected. Those eyes swirling and teasing were all I could see, but there was something else in them, something I hadn't seen from him before. They were cheeky like always but somehow seemed coy, like he was debating something inside. I was startled by his proximity but didn't dare move. I relished his touch and held strong his gaze.
Looking into his eyes once intimidated me, frighten me even, but being in his class for the past year soothed all of my anxiety and replaced it with curiosity, a burning desire to see right into him, just as he was somehow able to see into me.
His lips parted gently, barely enough to breathe and I could smell his deliciously warm, sweet breath. There was the faintest hint of coffee, which he drank methodically, and it was almost like I could smell each of the three sugars too. He had been eating marshmallows, when combined with the coffee and sugar, created a perfectly rich sweet aroma. I breathed in his wonderful breath deeply and fully, as inconspicuously as I could and without thinking nuzzled into his palm on my cheek. He dropped his hand, which startled me, and we both shifted from the dream like state we were in for a second, and for an eternity.
He handed me my last book which I slowly put reluctantly into my bag, closing the zipper painfully slowly. I had dreamed about a touch like that from him for the past year, never believing it would actually happen. The moment ended too soon. I wanted his palm back on my cheek, on my neck, sliding down my back, tracing over my chest... I closed my eyes for a second to remove the thought from my head. He probably meant nothing by it, just a teacher reassuring his student. But oh how it affected me. I shouldn't have thought such things about him, he was a fantastic teacher, a great man, but something in those eyes; those deep, stormy eyes made me wonder if my fantasy ever would come true. I pulled my bag onto my shoulders, and pulled my pony tail out so it hung free to the left. I turned to face the door, too ashamed to face him and quickly made my escape.
"Don't forget your jacket, Piper." My hand released the door handle and I turned to see him by the coat stand holding my jacket for me.
"Oh, yes sir." I replied, thankful he noticed it. The weather was harsh and the walk back home would have killed me without my jacket. I went to him, dropping my bag near the door. He held the jacket open and I stepped into the warm, soft layers of water proof material. His arms folded around me, wrapping me in my jacket, lingering a little too long around my waist. He dropped them, but didn't step away. I could feel his breath on my neck; it sent chills down my spine and made every hair on my body stand on end. I slowly, cautiously, turned to face him, careful to not step away in the process. My heart pounded as I looked into those eyes again; those eyes that consumed and twisted and lured me in.
"Thank you sir." I whispered, sounding desperately innocent and shy. He smiled gently, warmly and lifted his hand to brush stray hairs from my face. His eyes carefully traced the movement of his fingers, and mine vigilantly followed the movement of his.
"For you Piper," he let his hand fall, "anything." That charm was irresistible. He could talk his way into anything, anything he wanted he got, because he was so deadly smooth. He moved his face closer to mine. He was a head or so taller than me and crouched slightly to level with my eyes. His were cautious, the playful spark that made his eyes gleam was replaced with intensity and desire. A burning, molten blue that was hotter than fire. His eyes were wide and his lips parted as if he might speak but no sound came out. He closed them again, battling with himself as to what he should say.
