No beauty here but
Of the crepuscular sort,
A shadow of hope.
The way forward lies
Inside, where the light beckons
Winged wraiths to cavort.
Each pirouette and
Each unwieldy twirl a world
He came today
Awakened by the music.
And with him
For what I thought we had,
For what I thought I’d lost…
For what I know is true…
He came today
And left again,
A shadow in my heart,
But not a pain.
(On Tuesday, June 30th, I will be retiring as a public school educator. If I am ever asked to make a goodbye speech, this is what I’ll read. Reading allows me to remain cool, and avoid tears. I’m sneaky like that! LOL!)
Let me begin with admissions. I wasn’t the most organized supervisor in the world. My forte was never administrivia. I have two strengths, which served me well – I know how to teach, both students and teachers, and I know how to encourage them for success. In exchange for administrivia done well and on time, I gave my students and teachers help to find their feet when they fell, and courage to fly when they stood tall.
I have never been a “Yes” woman. My spirit is too free, my imagination to broad, my professionalism to strict, and my standards to high to permit me to blindly follow along with things that I did not see as in the best interests of students. And frankly, I’m too old to be intimidated into “falling in line” like sheep being herded by the sheepdog.
I became a teacher because I wanted to share my love of learning, and specifically of learning English language and literature, with my students. I understood, even if only intuitively way back when I was not quite twenty-one, that studying literature would open students’ minds to the world of imagination AND to the real world they inhabit. It has always been my job as a proud English teacher to help them see how tales of dragons, demons, and magic were important for their growing, and how those tales, along with “true” and “true-to-life” stories, if read acutely, could help them learn who they are, what they care about and believe in, and how they are going to be in the world.
For me, education is about teaching students to be truly independent thinkers, to be critical, to question, to ask “Why?” Instead of “How high?” when they are told to jump. Education is about raising individuals who will become accountable human beings, not about raising sheep. I brought my own experiences as a student in Barbados and in Jamaica to bear on my practice and on my relationships both with students and teachers. And I have not regretted any of it. I was right…I AM right about who and what school is for.
Over these last thirty-four years, I have been blessed to work with a number of remarkable human beings, both younger and older. And in the last fifteen years, I have been blessed to supervise and support some dedicated, learned, hardworking teachers whose care for students and love of their subject – whether English, a world language, music, art, or library media – I both respect and admire. A few of them have become close and beloved friends. So, I leave this first half of my life on a positive note, despite the cruel trials and professional sordidness of the last years. Frank Sinatra said it best, so I’ll just quote his song, as the lyrics speak for me:
“Regrets? I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention. I did what I had to do, and saw it through without exemption. I faced it all, and I stood tall… For what is a man? What has he got? If not himself, then he has naught! To say the things he truly feels, and not the words of one who kneels. The record shows I took the blows, and did it my way!”
Every unanswered message,
Every forgotten anniversary,
The unending silence
Of obvious rejection…
After time spent together,
After searing conversations,
The unbending silence
Of ultimate rejection…
Every shared intimacy nulled,
Every promise made voided
By the heart-stopping silence
Of infinite rejection…
White under the gray,
The moonish sun
Slips shyly behind black clouds
Gravid with rain,
The gift of life offered
With roars and grumbles,
And incisor-sharp flashes
Of jagged light.
The wipers can’t keep up,
And the goosebumps on my arm
Are Braille notes of delight.
She had always loved to see that particular action…the fingers grabbing the sheets, her beloved wrestling with total loss of control. Making love, having sex…fucking…should ALWAYS be like that, she thought, else why bother? To see a MAN grabbing the sheets…THAT was priceless! It meant his lover knew how to take him to the edges of his control, to strip it away from him, to leave him wanting, needing, hungering…lost in the moment.
THIS man was on his belly, his legs spread wide, his lover’s hands kneading his muscled flesh, cupping his tender sac, sending that finger just far enough to touch HIS special spot, a hungry tongue licking his sweating skin, teasing the crease between his tightly-muscled butt cheeks. She could almost hear the groan that tore from his throat, deep – a growl really – as he was tortured and tormented and exquisitely loved. She could hear his hisses as his lover worked his prostate, winding him up, building the scream he soon would not be able to contain, as his ball sac tightened, and he felt the orgasm building and raging up his spine, filling his aching cock which he fought to stop himself from grinding into the soft sheets under him.
She closed her eyes for just a moment, to savor the sexual high that she felt building in her own blood at the sight before her, and then opened them as he began to shout out his climax. His ecstasy was excruciatingly beautiful, wild, sensual, driving her own need to have him. She watched his fingers tighten on the sheets, saw his eyes close in tortured pleasure, heard him call her name. That was always her cue to take over, to take him, to make him hers…again.
She turned to look at the one who had thus prepared him for her, and with an almost imperceptible nod, relieved her proxy lover.
“Turn over,” she ordered him, her voice hoarse with the strength of her own arousal.
She loved this game that he let her play with him, and she knew that he loved it too, because it pleased her. He did anything she asked, because he wanted to please her. And when she was pleased, he was pleasured beyond anything he could possibly imagine. Today, after she rode him to her own first climax, she would show him the depth and strength of her love for him. He had no idea how well loved he would be today, and from now on.
Her proxy watched as she straddled him.
“Keep your eyes closed, and your hands in the sheets, my love!” she whispered, because she couldn’t speak more loudly if her life depended on it.
When she slid her wet center down over his still raging erection, she saw the muscles of his belly clench, saw his fingers once more wrestle with the sheets, saw his eyes roll beneath the closed lids. and felt the jerk of his cock, a breath away from unloading his seed inside her.
“Hold on to me, now, lover mine, but don’t come till I say!”
She squeezed him inside her, trying at once to help him keep control, and to arouse him past fever pitch. His tormented groan rocked her, and his upward plunge shook her to her core. She leaned over and bit him hard where his neck joined his shoulder.
“Not until I give you leave, my love!” she said, her tone admonishing. “I promise, it will be soon!”
He gasped when she rocked herself on his hard rod. He growled when she raised herself almost completely off him. He groaned again when she slid back down his length, seating him inside her to his balls.
“Ah, fuck!” he said, his fingers tight in the sheets. She had had the foresight to use a stronger cloth this time, as the last time he had shredded the sheets with his bare hands.
She chuckled, a shaky sound at best, given her own aroused state, his cock jerking inside her.
“I’ll let you fuck me soon enough, my love! Let me fuck you now, okay?”
She leaned down to kiss him, sucking his tongue deep inside her hot mouth, and whispered,
“Look at me now, my love!”
He opened his eyes, and stared into hers, and the emotions she saw swirling in their depths almost unseated her.
“I love you too, my darling!” she answered his look. “With all of me!”
She began to move…
Ask her why she’s feeling
And she will say
Filth clouds the senses,
Like mudslides over diamonds.
Ask her why she’s crying
Hot, unwelcome tears,
And she will say
Desire shreds the spirit
Like rabid claws on newborns.
Ask her why she’s keeping
And she will say
Words leave needs unspoken
Like blood without plasma.
Hurts to be ignored
By the very people whom
You want to love you.
Hurts even harder
To recognize you’re really
(The poem I refer to is Henry Reed’s “Naming of Parts”, which is a poem about war and young men, but which has a section about the young soldier’s mind on sex. Hence my riff! Sorry I’m such an English teacher! :P)
The way the temperature
Dips and sways,
Like a drunken ballet dancer,
Reminds me of the movement
Of that practiced hand
In Henry Reed’s poem,
Which learned to ease the spring,
While all the birds and bees
Went about in seasonal delirium.
The young gunner
Lost his concentration
As Nature teased his senses.
“Easing the Spring”, Reed called it.
Spring is like that,
Teasing us with
Warm and cool, seducing us
Into the heat of summer.
“So” his thumb slid under her welling eyes and swept the tears away in a tender show of affection, “what do you want me to do?”
For the first time since she had known him, she relaxed completely, and told him the whole truth.
“I want you to choose again,” she said, and smiled through her tears.
(from “The-Way-She-Kneels/”. This is the first sequel.)
He inhaled deeply. Everything male surged in him, raising his core temperature, as though she had touched him intimately. Her hands still circled his hips, and her mouth was still close enough to do bad things to him, if he wanted. And he wanted…so desperately it shocked him. But now that he had begun this seductive give and take, he wanted to ease her into things she would not normally do for him, like sucking him off. He wanted her to keep wanting to please him because it pleased her. If this was how their relationship would play out, he was willing to go the distance. She was worth it to him. She was worth everything to him.
He watched her waiting, a last tear sliding down her cheek, her lips trembling slightly. He knew she was afraid he would hurt her, either by word or deed. He was determined to show her how wrong she was, because he knew he would never enjoy anything at all with her if he frightened her away.
“Stand up,” he told her quietly, reining in his emotions. He waited till she stood before him, and then he said, standing up himself, “Undress me. Start at my feet.”
She knelt again, and he smiled. She seemed to have missed the irony of her position, but he knew she would figure it out eventually. So when she looked up, he wasn’t surprised to hear her say, her voice sharp,
“Don’t think I’ve missed what you’ve done here!”
He chuckled, and she stared at him for a moment before letting a small smile quirk her lips.
“I’ll let you get away with it…this time. Just don’t think you can sneak anything by me.”
She removed his shoes and socks, and then, after smoothing her fingers over his arches, and without rising from her knees, she began to undo his belt buckle. Her touch was gentle, but he found he had to lock his knees to hide his intense reaction to it. He was willing to give and take, but he wasn’t yet ready to share the depth of his feelings or the impact she had on him. She opened the belt, and unbuttoned his fly.
The air around them snapped with sexual energy as she pulled his zipper down and exposed the black boxers he wore. She paused, and he watched her stare at the thick evidence of his arousal tenting the front of his underwear. He jerked it, startling her, and she licked her lips. He stifled the groan that rose in his throat at the sight of her tongue. She pulled the pants down his legs, and tapping on his feet, instructed him to lift up so she could remove them.
When she returned to his boxers, still on her knees, he waited to see what she would do. She rubbed her palms on her thighs, as though they were damp, and as she reached for the sides of the garment, his cock swelled, as he imagined her tongue licking the head, sucking his length into her mouth. As if she knew what he was thinking, she licked her lips again, and the head peeped over the waistband, presenting her with the core of his need.
She swallowed so loudly he heard it, and a surge of triumph swept through him. He tightened his leg muscles, wondering wryly how he was going to manage when she actually touched him, if he was so undone by her looks alone. She drew the garment slowly down his legs, her fingers touching him with featherlight arousal, and he wondered when she had wrested control from him. He shivered as she pulled it down his legs, and when she tapped his feet, he stepped out of them, too, and prayed he could continue to withstand her breath on his bare skin.
When she stood up, he inhaled deeply, relieved that he could still stand on his own. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, and when she leaned in to draw it off his shoulders, her lips brushed his skin. They both gasped. She went to pull away, but he stopped her.
“Don’t move,” he ordered her. “Finish what you’re doing.”
She obeyed him wordlessly, and when the shirt was on the floor, he finally touched her, holding her face in his hands, kissing her chastely on the forehead, when he really wanted to ravage her mouth.
“How was that?” he wondered. “Did you like it? Did it turn you on?” When she hesitated, he pushed a command into his voice. “Answer me! And don’t lie.”
“It was fine,” she whispered, her eyes lowered.
“I didn’t hear you,” he said, though he had heard every word. He wanted her to let go completely, to be honest with herself, and with him.
She cleared her throat and raised her voice. “It was fine.” She kept her eyes on his chin.
“That’s not all I asked,” he said. “Answer the rest, too.”
She looked up at him then, and tried to move her head, but he held her face immobile in his hands. Surprisingly, she didn’t glare at him, as he expected.
“No. Look at me and tell me how it made you feel to undress me.”
She was clearly struggling with this command, but finally she looked him in the eyes and said, “It turned me on.” Her cheeks were pink with embarrassed shyness, but she held his gaze. He could almost hear her thinking that she wasn’t a coward, that she could answer any question he asked.
He let her face go, and took her hand in his. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Without waiting for an answer, he placed it on his twitching cock. “I’m going to undress you now,” he informed her, tightening his muscles. “And you’re going to make it worth my while. Stroke me. And don’t stop, no matter what I do, no matter what happens. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” Her whisper this time was hoarse with her arousal.
“Kick your shoes off,” he said, and she did, managing not to let go of his straining erection. Her hands were silken and deadly, winding him up to fever pitch. He reached behind her and pulled the zipper down on her dress, pushing himself further into her hands. They both groaned at the increased contact. He pushed it off her shoulders, and told her to step out of it when it fell to the floor. Kicking it aside, he tackled her bra next, glad it had a back closure so he could keep her body next to his. He fought not to rip it from her flesh, but in no time, it had joined her dress on the floor. He made sure she never stopped stroking his dick, instructing her to switch hands when he pulled it off.
“Push your panties down to your knees,” he ordered her, and when she did, he used his feet to push them to her ankles. “Step out and kick them behind you,” he said, and when she did, their bodies collided. He hissed, and reached in, sliding his middle finger between her swollen lips, down and back up, stroking her clitoris on the way up, and she whimpered. He could smell her arousal as he withdrew his finger, and a drop of precum pearled on the tip of his cock. He inhaled deeply, and leaned in to whisper in her ear, his hands on her hips,
And then he kissed her hungrily, unwilling to wait till she chose their next move. Whatever she decided she wanted to do next, he would do. Somehow, he knew she would make the right choice. Just like she had before.
“Your turn,” he told her, and smiled.