He was described as an odd child: sensitive, compassionate, and decidedly withdrawn. Seeming to get on with adults better than children, he preferred to stay inside during recess and help Sister Mary prepare the classroom for the afternoon classes. She called him “charming” and “mischievous”, sometimes even “devilish”, even though he was never in any real trouble to her or anyone else. Once, during her morning coffee with the other nuns and faculty, however, she confided the strange influence this six-year old boy had on her. It unnerved her, sometimes, how strong the desire to be in his favor, to anticipate and attempt to meet his needs. She was a professional with 20 years of experience, and she knew she should not choose favorites. He did not overtly seek her attention; instead, he appeared to be the kind of child who preferred not to stand out, yet he seemed to speak to a part of her that she originally associated with motherhood, something that, because of her vows, she would never experience. Further reflection revealed that this child appealed to a deeper desire within her. She never considered any interaction with the boy inappropriate; however, she was unsettled by how she was drawn to him.
Various girls at various times throughout elementary and middle grades developed deep, intense crushes on him, all of which were unrequited. In fact, very few of these girls vocalized their feelings to anyone, let alone their object. He radiated unattainability that allured and intimidated girls in his school, while igniting violent competition in his male classmates. He was teased and picked on relentlessly throughout his first 8 years of school. He had a few close friends, but most of the boys gave in to their blind compulsion to crush his quiet confidence. Most of the time, he stoically endured the aggression, but he was no shrinking violet. He didn’t win every fight, but he never backed down from a scrap when pushed.
He attended an all-boys Catholic high school, where his sensitivity and tendency to withdraw manifested into depression and anxiety, making interpersonal relationships difficult. He began to interpret the silence and aloofness from girls as apathy, and he resigned himself to a lonely, quiet life – a dramatic conclusion, as are teenagers’ wont. The truth was that he had a very specific idea of how things should go: they would become best friends, a discussion would occur about how they feel about one another, they would declare their love for one another, and they would tumble into a beautiful sexual relationship. He championed monogamy and marriage; conversely, he tended to date girls who were outgoing, strong-willed, and vocal about liking him. These relationships were intense and short-lived, always ended by the girl who had either become bored or frustrated with his standards and reluctance to take things further on the physical level.
Then, in his sophomore year, he had the encounter that began to shape his sexual identity. Ms. Lincoln was his Spanish II teacher. She was thirty two, married, with two young children. He was never the kid who crushed on his teachers, female or otherwise. Entertaining any ideas like that seemed ridiculously impractical and cliche; however, she was the object of some of the other students’ conversations, and he did not deny that she was quite attractive: brunette, freckles, youthful green eyes that expressed a bemused interest in the odd behaviors of the young men in her classroom. Motherhood had filled her into a woman who would intimidate any 16-year-old, if he were actually given a chance.
Occasionally, while working on an in-class assignment or practicing in a small group, he would look up and notice her looking at him. Her eyes would be narrowed and far away, and when she noticed him looking back, she would slowly look back down to her desk or away, out the window. He would flush and look away quickly. He brushed it off as just her zoning out, thinking of something completely unrelated to him, but he did sometimes entertain other ideas. He then decided that the next time they made eye contact, he would return the intensity of her gaze. When that time presented itself, and he looked up to notice her, he narrowed his eyes and thought to himself, “What do you want, Ms. Lincoln?” He hoped the the question might translate through his body language. They held their gaze, and he asked, in his mind, “What do you want, Ms Lincoln?” over and over again. He lost track of how long they’d been staring at each other when the absurdity of the moment became so clear that it made him smirk. The smirk of embarrassment at his own absurd actions broadened into a smile, because he understood: “We are people, Ms. Lincoln. We all are SUPPOSED to be connected in one way or another. Some of us find we have a stronger connection with some than we have with others. There are no rules to it; these connections do not abide age, laws, or manners. Our connection is very strong, and I think you might agree. So, what do you want, Ms. Lincoln?” She broke his gaze and looked down at her desk. She seemed to be smiling to herself and squirming slightly in her chair. He kept looking at her, and she raised her eyes towards him, connected, and her face flushed. She smiled again and shook her head, stood up, and continued on with the lesson. After his second year, he no longer took Spanish, so neither he nor Ms. Lincoln spoke of that exchange. Until the summer after his senior year.
It was mid-June. He had finally graduated; the formality of applying and choosing a college, the graduation ceremony, the ensuing family parties gave way to much less formal student-thrown parties. One of the new, younger English teachers threw an end-of-the-year party at the house he and his wife had just moved into. In a highly unprofessional move, he invited the recent graduates to this party, and he proceeded to stock four large coolers with Miller High Life, making this a celebration that would be talked about for years to come.
He was going through his marijuana phase at this time, so he wasn’t drinking. He also wasn’t smoking much, due to a drought in the area. So, he found himself at this party, petrified without the brace of any substances. He made small talk with some of the priests from the school and some of the students he really never talked to while in school. After he felt he had spent the proper amount of time for a party, he turned to go. He walked onto the front porch, and stopped in his tracks. Ms. Lincoln was sitting on the bottom step, smoking a cigarette, her back to him. This was the final straw of anxiety for the night. He took a deep breath. “Hey, Stranger.”
She turned around. “Hey, you!” She flicked her cigarette towards the street and stood up. They hugged awkwardly, giving a shy laugh. He leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette, prompting her to light another, and they spent the next fifteen minutes covering what he had been up to since sophomore year, where he was going to college, what his summer plans were. She talked about her kids and husband, her masters classes, and her plans for leaving that high school within the next three years. They then stood in the cool, early summer air, silent, smoking.
Ms. Lincoln broke the silence. “You must have a lot of girlfriends.”
He looked at her for a long time, then laughed. He wasn’t sure if she was making fun of him.
Sensing his discomfort, she added, “I’m just assuming that you date a lot.”
He laughed again and looked away. “Why do you think that?” he asked, looking directly at her, into her eyes.
His question and piercing look disarmed her, and she looked away. “I don’t know. I’ve never met anyone like you. You are sweet and sensitive and really intimidating at the same time. It’s a dangerous combination, you know?” She took a drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke in his direction, above his head. He was still looking at her, genuinely intrigued. “That, right there!” She pointed at him, the cigarette between her fingers trailing a thin ribbon from her mouth to the space he hand then occupied. “You say so much without even saying a word. I want to protect you and do anything you want at the same time…” she trailed off and laughed, embarrassed by her own frankness. She stepped towards him, her green eyes finding his. He could smell whiskey on her breath. “My god. You have no idea, do you?” He shook his head, grinning quizzically. “It’s fine,” she said, taking another drag of her cigarette. “You’ll soon find out. And, when you do, god help the women in your life.” She leaned in and kissed him, softly, on the lips. Her lips were full and soft.
He kissed her back, knowing full well that this was as far as any of this was to go. He looked at his Spanish teacher for a long time, knowing that he should be freaking out, knowing that she should be freaking out, but he actually felt the opposite, as if this was the most natural occurrence in the world. He took a long drag of his cigarette, exhaled, and smiled. “You have a great summer, Ms. Lincoln.”
“You, too.” She smiled.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/7jbsmq/neighbor_sir_part_3_ds_mdom_fsub