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The first time had been a mistake.
"I forgot my umbrella," she'd told him, as the cold autumn rain rattled every last window in the classroom. "Is it OK if I wait here until the storm passes?" Roger didn't have a reason to say No; soggy socks and damp sweaters were never his favorite combination. Buses ran late, teachers shouldn't offer rides to lonely students. Weather was a fickle mistress, and Tanya Martinez was by far his favorite Senior—not a shoe-in when it came to quizzes, but not the type of brown-noser that they'd mock over morning coffee in the faculty lounge. She was pleasant enough to make him smile, kind enough to laugh at his jokes and generous enough to offer a helping hand when it came time to clean the room on Fridays, though he knew—like most teenagers—she had much better places to be after school.
Waiting in the rain at a drafty bus stop, however, was not one of those places. So of course he was more than happy to say Yes.
They talked for the longest time that day, about anything and everything—History lessons, music, boys. Prom dates that were miles away, and summer plans that didn't include sitting around a bachelor pad watching documentaries and reading old war novels. He told her about his love of antiques, and she gushed over her tabletop games and role-playing characters, the fantasy book she'd been writing since Freshman year. The rain was unrelenting, but inside their private world, it was warm and calm. Roger never felt so content.
And then, in the middle of a stupid joke about the Ottoman Empire, Tanya pushed him up against the wall and kissed him.
Her hands were soft on his wrinkled face, her lips sweet and sticky with strawberry gloss. Roger's fingers immediately flew to her waist, hoping— meaning —to put a stop to this. Because it was wrong. It was inappropriate. It was everything he told himself it should be. But it was everything he'd wanted from a girl as precious as her.
His mouth opened without a word of protest.
Their tongues danced delicately as Roger pulled her closer, quiet murmurs and gentle hands moving through the endless thunder. She swept the stray hair from his forehead, kissed him deeper. Curled the tip of his ponytail around one finger, as though to anchor him in her embrace. By the time he found the desire to coax her away, the pounding on the windows had turned to a steady drizzle, and the warmth in his chest had pooled somewhere it absolutely did not belong.
"Tanya." He licked the taste of strawberries from his lips. "This isn't right. We can't do this again."
Tanya's gray eyes looked heartbroken, but she nodded nonetheless. "Sorry, Mr. Berkman," she mumbled, her cheeks flushed. "We can forget it ever happened."
He wanted to believe those words more than anything.
The second time, Roger had no one to blame but himself.
That wasn't true; he could easily have blamed it on the clothes she was wearing, as so many other detestable men like him would. The skirt was far too high-cut for winter, and the sweater so short, it rode up each time she reached to drag her eraser across the very top of the chalkboard, revealing a tawny expanse of skin that made his lips tingle and his gaze endlessly drift from the stack of tests laid out on the desk before him.
It always had to be pink with her. The cutest color in the eyes of a seventeen-year-old girl, and apparently a fifty-two-year-old man with an ex-wife and a son he hadn't seen in over a decade. Her skirt was pale salmon, sweater a bubblegum shade. Peach hearts decorated her socks, and watermelon scrunchies held up those high pigtails that she wore with all the confidence of a fashion model. Everything rosy and warm, as he pictured the inside of her cunt might look if he were to part his fingers around her lips and open them wide.
Had he been in the habit of wearing ties, he certainly would have choked. And had he been a stronger man, he might have gotten away with just window-shopping.
Swallowing, Roger set his red marker down and glanced at the clock on the wall.
They were alone. The door was locked. School had let out some time ago, and Roger had been palming his crotch under the desk for a good five minutes, touches growing rougher whenever her skirt came dangerously close to revealing a tiny bit of cheek.
The second his eyes glimpsed pink lace, he stood from his desk and took a leisurely stroll up behind her.
"Need some help?"
Tanya didn't turn, but pushed her hips back slightly, as if to throw a brick at his already crumbling morals. "It's OK. I'm almost done."
And so was Roger.
Laying his hands on her waist, he boldly pressed forward, and ground his clothed erection against her perky little ass.
He heard the eraser hit the floor long before he saw it.
The friction was indescribable, full of heat and lust and the thrill of rustling fabric trapped between their bodies, clinging to the last shred of decency Roger had left. Tanya's pink fingernails dug into the wooden tray, her hips rolled in smooth undulations as Roger gasped and groaned and rutted without regret. And—god—he could have fucked her right there, soiled that pretty skirt and wrecked that even prettier pussy. If only Tanya hadn't opened her mouth, and moaned through the haze of chalk dust:
"Mmm…Mr. Berkman. I fingered myself this morning just for you."
A low growl tore from Roger's throat as his cock erupted in stream after stream of come. Sticky. Wet. And disgustingly sobering.
God, you're really fucked now.
He swore at the box of tissues on his desk while he stuffed them into his underwear by the fistful, Tanya giggling at his helpless attempt to mop up the mess.
"You should take your clothes off next time."
Roger grumbled, "There wasn't supposed to be a this time."
He turned to fix her with a stern glare, but the smile on her face told him all he needed to know.
Whoever it was that said "Third time's the charm" obviously hadn't imagined just how charming Tanya would look with her lips wrapped around his cock.
"Hey, Mr. Berkman, can I show you something?" She asked it so innocently, tapping the foggy window as if to point out each tendril of frost on the glass. "Did you know you can make tiny feet with your fists?"
Roger smiled and eased his chair back from the desk. "No, but now I want to. Show me how you do it."
Grin too bright for winter skies, Tanya turned towards the window and pressed the side of her balled-up fist to the glass, pulling it back to dot the top curve with five small fingerprints. "See?"
"Huh." It really did look like a tiny foot. With cute toes and wrinkled arches, and a childlike whimsy that only Tanya could possess. "I'll have to try it on my car window on the way home."
Tanya's cheeks glowed the color of campfires, warm as snow-dusted mittens and apples plucked to make spiced cider. Laying her pushbroom against the wall, she looked at Roger and bit the corner of her lip. "Can I show you something else?"
Roger saw it coming from a mile away. He knew what she was up to when she leaned over to shove his chair back; he put on a shocked face as she sank to her knees and began to undo his belt buckle, followed by the button and zipper on his fly. His cock was more than half-hard; her hands unfathomably soft where they curled around his shaft to free him. Roger blinked past the fog in his eyes, and asked, coyly:
"What do you want to show me?"
Tanya didn't speak, but nuzzled her cheek against his fattened cock, and stared up at him with a smile that said Don't look away.
Roger wouldn't dare.
He sat there quietly and watched her lips part. Lifted a hand to brush one of her pigtails. Drew in a breath when she peeled back his foreskin, and let it all come rushing out once she took him in her mouth and sucked with such tender loving care, he was sure his heart would melt.
Drowning was never supposed to feel this good.
Two inches, three, five. Swallowing down and sliding up, Tanya's tongue tracing that thick vein that he'd so often teased himself, with the tips of his fingers in the shower, as he imagined pink nails in place of his plain ones.
Pink lips, glistening like morning icicles under his car.
Their eyes locked. Roger reached his thumb to sweep the bangs from her forehead. And Tanya did something his fantasies had somehow missed.
She slipped her hand into her waistband and began to touch herself.
Roger's head rolled back with a long moan.
He could almost feel the slick building at the tips of her fingers as her entire body began to move. A cunt wet for him, a hunger that couldn't be sated by the cock in her mouth. His nails scratched the desktop while his other hand held her in place, slowly fucking into her with a roll of his hips. He was more than most women could take, he'd been told on many occasions, out of flattery and honesty. But Tanya didn't so much as gag. All Roger heard—between his gasps and groans—was the subtle sound of slurping, and the whimpers of Tanya chasing her own pleasure. Heat that fogged the windows in his brain, where she'd smeared her prints all over the glass.
Her rocking drew her back to his tip, and Roger tightened his fist around one pigtail.
"Stop."
She paused.
"Deeper."
Like a good student, Tanya heeded his word and took him in as far as her throat would allow. Roger was shaking by then, moaning. His pleasure had no end in sight, until Tanya started to hum, and the vibrations slammed into him at lightning speed.
"Tanya—god—"
He arched his hips one final time and shot his come onto her tongue, Tanya's throat contracting as she swallowed it down without hesitation.
She swallowed. Every drop.
Roger was still panting when he blinked his eyes open, to the seductive sight of swollen lips, and a smile that gleamed pearly-white under the lights.
They stared at each other in silence, and gently, Roger ran his thumb over her bottom lip.
Tanya gave a purr, and sucked it clean.
After the fourth time, Roger couldn't be bothered with games anymore.
"You think you know what you do to me, Tanya?" He growled as his teeth etched their frustration along her neck. "I can't sleep unless I'm dreaming of you. I can't shower without touching my cock. I can't even look at you in class sometimes without wanting to tear your clothes off and show the entire room just how badly I want to fuck you."
Her body was clay in his hands, bending under the weight that pinned her firmly to the chalkboard. "Mr. Berk—"
She gave a piercing gasp when Roger's fingers shot up to grip her cunt beneath folds of pink plaid.
"I know what you're after," he said, with a rough squeeze. "You walked through that door with your panties wet. Now, you're gonna leave without them."
There was no plea, no whimper of his name as he dragged her by the wrist over to his desk, sweeping pens and papers aside like so many desperate couples in R-rated movies had taught him. It took her weight well, a meager squeal of wooden legs its only protest. Tanya leaned back on her hands and looked up at him—shocked, afraid, trembling at the thought of his intentions. But those glimmering gray eyes didn't lie.
She wanted it just as much as Roger.
His hands made quick work of her panties, neatly-trimmed fingernails leaving their marks on her outer thighs, in case there was any doubt left as to who she belonged to. And oh, did she try her hardest to play the good girl, but the second Roger began to slide his chair in, she spread her legs perfectly, welcoming him between them, holding up her skirt to show off her young, forbidden cunt. She watched with glazed eyes as he thumbed her shiny-wet slit.
"Do—do you like it?"
Like was one hell of a word when it came to sitting face-to-face with your student's pussy. But Roger couldn't think of a better way to describe the thrill he felt at finally having her within his grasp, her pretty lips blooming like flowers fresh from the ground. "Did you shave for me, too?"
Tanya swallowed, and slowly nodded. "I always want to be ready for you."
Then she should be more than ready for this.
Wetting his lips, Roger leaned forward and gave her cunt a long, tantalizing lick.
The cry that broke from Tanya's throat could have made every locker in the empty hall vibrate with jealousy.
Her hand came to cradle the back of his head, fingers dug into his scalp, as though terrified he might stop—maybe to punish her for that B- minus she'd gotten on his last test, maybe to seek revenge for her incessant teasing. Maybe just because he could. And maybe he would have, if she didn't taste so unbelievably delicious, from her dripping hole to her delicate lips, her clit swollen and throbbing against the very tip of his tongue.
"Ohh, Mr. Berkman…" He heard her gasp. "That feels so good."
The urge to touch himself was almost unbearable; with every little lick, his cock seemed to grow harder, until his zipper felt as if it would split in two from the strain of holding back.
He kept his fingers busy with spreading her open—not quite ready to press inside, too proud of his tongue to let her get off on anything but. Her slit was as sweet as he'd hoped it would be, better than any slice of cake, and Roger had always been ravenous when it came to dessert. He took all he could, savored every part he got his mouth on. When he split her with his tongue, Tanya moaned; when she spoke again, her voice was hoarse and broken:
"Don't stop—more."
More what? That long-buried, shamelessly lewd part of himself ached to hear exactly what she wanted. A thick cock in her cunt? A pounding that could make her toes curl and her lips never speak another man's name? He would have killed for her voice to echo with the same desires, but his arrogance knew—if all Tanya could do was moan and arch her hips—he had no right to complain.
He murmured along to keep her company, his tongue crawling from her greedy hole to tempt her clit once more. A few light twirls and Tanya was gasping faster.
"Ah, oh…I love it when you lick my clit."
Good, Roger thought. Let her know whose cute little clit this is.
Lips pursed, he gently began to suck, teasing her where she needed it the most, until her fingers clenched and her thighs shook, and his name rushed out in a breathless cry:
"Mr. Berkman—"
And then, he felt her come, for the first time since they'd kissed that rainy day, when Roger had prayed nothing between them would change.
Tanya's soft pussy lips echoed his foolishness with every pulse.
He could have spent an eternity watching them dance for him, given her an encore that would never end. But time was short, and Tanya was already eyeing the bulge in his pants, ready to return the favor.
Plucking her panties off the floor, he used them to wipe the slick from his bristly chin, then did the same to her cunt before stuffing the damp pair in his pants pocket.
She licked her dry lips. "What are you gonna do with those?"
Roger shoved his chair back and spread his legs to make room for her. "Take them home and jerk off into them as much as I want." He caught the corner of his mouth pulling into a smirk as Tanya slid off the desk and closed her fingers around his zipper.
After the fourth time, Roger stopped counting.
The backseat of his car had never felt hotter than it did the night before Spring Break.
He had her contact in his phone under Strawberry—a name he'd chosen not because of her favorite flavor lip gloss, but for the strawberry-printed bra she'd been wearing the day he'd laid her on his desk and painted her bare tits white with his come. At school, it was always sex. But when they messaged, their words were affectionate, caring. Lonesome in Roger's case, because what else could they be after a decade spent on his own? He showed her his vulnerable side, and Tanya showered him with devotion, secrets kept between the two of them, more treasured than the touch of their bodies.
At least, in Roger's eyes, they were.
Strawberry: Can you pick me up from D's after our game tonight? Around 10:30?
Her messages were as cute as she was, dotted with tiny hearts and kissy-faces, emojis that Roger embarrassingly struggled to master at his old age.
Gray: Sure. Just text when you're ready.
He liked the name she'd picked for him, not because of his graying hair, but because their eyes were the same silver shade, whether gazing at each other in lust or admiration.
Gray: Are you finally taking on the Pale Witch?
Strawberry: We will, if our party ever gets out of the catacombs.
Gray: Just throw a couple fireballs and you'll do fine.
Strawberry: My character uses shadow magic, remember? I don't wanna have to rework her stats.
Gray: Hey, it's never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.
He could read her giggles in every word.
Strawberry: Yeah, I guess you're right. I know at least one old collie who managed to learn a few things.
Gray: I thought I was more of an Afghan?
Roger would always smile at the screen, the warmth of knowing that Tanya was smiling back.
Strawberry: I hope you had a good dinner. See you soon. xoxo
It was just like how he imagined their relationship might look if they didn't need to hide, to take what they could get whenever they could get it. In their words, they truly had a place to breathe.
In his car, it was only sex when they wanted it to be.
Streetlamps shone like torches at the end of the block, warm white dancing in shadow, giving Tanya's body a starlight glow that he could cup his hands around and hold until the last speck of dust burned out. Her nipple was hard candy against his teasing tongue, her skin sharp with the taste of salt. Her cunt was a river and Roger was always in the mood to get his fingers wet. Just like his good old days back in high school, making out in the student lot with his crush from History Club. Handfuls of tulle after senior prom, mouths on hot flesh and fingers slid under the waistband of sticky panties. A slippery clit to welcome him, a grind of hips through the air.
The cries of a beautiful girl who wanted no one else.
"Shh, shh," he pulled his lips from her breast to whisper in her ear. "Don't let anyone hear that pretty voice."
Fooling around with a just-barely-turned-eighteen-year-old was dangerous enough in private, but out on the street, there were only so many shadowy parking lots and deserted alleyways they could hide in before some poor pedestrian or overworked housewife decided to peer through the foggy windows on their way to dragging the trash to the curb.
Though, if Roger were being truthful, he'd simply wanted to keep it all to himself.
She whimpered a soft apology and ran her fingers through his loose hair, from his scalp down to the nape of his neck.
He tried to pretend he didn't wonder what it would feel like sometimes, to have her comb his tangles out atop a soft pillow.
He was getting a lot worse at lying.
Up and down, Roger stroked her slit with his fingers, everything nice and slick by the time he slipped one inside. Tanya squirmed and pushed back to drive him in deeper, like he knew she would.
He knew her so, so well.
"Mmm, you're naughty," he purred, with a playful nip to her earlobe. "Getting turned on by these bony old fingers."
Dirty talk always seemed to get her wetter, her cunt oozing those sweet juices that dripped down his knuckles as he slowly pumped his hand against her.
"What's that? Want another?"
Tanya moaned as quietly as she could.
"Please…"
She clenched when he pulled his finger out, too greedy to let him go, too impatient to wait until he'd pushed a second one in before she started gasping and grinding her hips again. Baring her throat so Roger could eagerly claim it.
"Better?" He asked.
He felt her nod, and took that as his cue to begin fucking her properly, stretching her tight hole where his cock should be. His thumb found her clit and rubbed it in circles, all while his fingers twisted and curled to reach the sweetest spot inside her.
It was never long after that.
He left Tanya heaving against the door in her afterglow as he turned to admire his pruned fingers in the pale streetlight.
Someday, my cock will look like this. Steeped in her come, the peak of all they'd been chasing. A good end to a pleasant story, written by their own hands. One that Roger looked forward to reading, as many times as it took him to forget.
Sighing, he spread his fingers apart and gazed at the sticky threads that tethered their tips.
Someday.
Roger closed his eyes and sucked them into his mouth.
It was in his classroom coat closet that he finally got what he wanted.
They fucked like the world was on fire—fast and needy, Roger's pants pooled around his ankles and her skirt bunched up above her waist, their heads breaking through the water in one glorious last gasp. He was ashamed to admit that a small part of him had wished she'd been a virgin—in a distasteful, misogynistic sort of way, too blinded by his hunger to realize how improbable that scenario was, sucking dick as good as she did. But he trusted her when she'd said it was only a couple of boys, and when she'd smiled and told him he didn't need to be gentle.
He rammed every cry out of her.
"Oh god, don't stop. Mr. Berkman—ah—right there."
He loved the way even the softest of her moans echoed like a siren in the small, dark space; a coffin to bury their lust in, just as Roger buried his cock in her pussy, guided by slick flesh and the salty smell of sex.
"Ah, mmm…Mr. Berkman."
"Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up so good," Roger grunted, pistoning into her from behind. "Ruin those cute pink panties with my come."
"Please—" Her voice was breathless in the heat, a mirage that flickered through the unending spring. "Harder."
"Yeah, you like it rough, don't you? This big cock pounding your teenage cunt."
He swore he'd never talked so filthy, or acted as careless as he'd done with her. Risking his career, his freedom, every aspect of his life that he'd built up over decades of struggle and hard work. The only thing he didn't need to worry about was getting her pregnant, though he had a feeling she still would've let him fuck her raw even if it weren't for his vasectomy.
The air grew heavier with each thrust, until Tanya was rocking against the wall, reaching between her legs to furiously rub her clit.
"Come on, baby, come for me," he commanded . "I wanna feel your tight little pussy milk my cock."
"Your pussy—" She spit out between gasps. "Yours—"
"That's right. And I'll lick and finger and fuck it whenever I want. I—Tanya—"
His balls tightened, and Roger came with a growl, uttering one last warning as he felt Tanya contract around him:
"I'll die…before I let you go."
Everything after that was a blur.
He remembered his hips stopping, his cock going soft. Gentle lips swallowing his gasps, and fingers sweeping sweat-damp strands from his forehead, Tanya pulling him tight into her embrace. The feel of his heart pounding—guilty and reckless.
But the words he remembered more than anything.
"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I shouldn't have said—that was—"
Through the pitch black darkness, he heard Tanya laugh. "You're so cute," she said, and nuzzled her face against his neck. "I'll always be yours."
She hugged him tighter, and Roger felt his body tremble.
"Please, Mr. Berkman, don't ever forget that."
"I think, after graduation, you should start calling me Roger."
His old hatchback purrs above the light June drizzle, its voice soft and contemplative as Tanya turns from where she'd been gazing out the passenger-side window. "Yeah?" She beams. "Is that my graduation gift?"
"Maybe," he answers quietly, staring at the raindrops that trickle like sperm down the windshield—a funny thing to think, knowing what they'll be doing once he gets her back to his house.
"It's a good gift," Tanya says. "Better than the flowers my mom'll probably get me."
Better than anything else he has to offer, because he can't very well scoop her off the stage and give her a kiss.
An endless row of lights stretches its arms through the night on either side of them, less than a mile to their destination, but plenty of time for Roger to think. To frown. To let Tanya lead him down her path with a gentle hand on his thigh. She gives it a squeeze. "Y'know, we've got the whole summer until college starts," she says. "I thought it might be nice to take a trip together. Maybe to the beach? It'd just be for a few days. No one would even miss us."
No; no one would miss him. But Tanya is irreplaceable. It hadn't taken a kiss to tell him that. "Maybe."
"Remember those apartments I showed you? I think I might be able to afford one of the smaller ones, with my new job. If I don't end up blowing all my savings on textbooks." She laughs, that sweet giggle Roger has always adored. "Delia said she'd go half with me, 'cause it's not too far from our schools. And it's only, like, twenty minutes from your house. You could come over whenever you want. She wouldn't tell."
Roger knows she wouldn't. She was smart enough to figure them out, smarter still to keep her mouth shut. Obviously as a favor to Tanya, since she didn't much care for his lessons. Roger doesn't like to think what he would've done, had she not been so kind.
Maybe she's lying for them tonight, too. There were always plenty of lies to go around.
It was the only truth Roger could ever bring himself to accept.
The car crawls to a stop at an intersection, the red light a warning he should've heeded a long time ago.
"Hey, Mr. Berkman?"
"Hmm?" Roger turns his head to look at her.
"Do you ever get…a weird feeling when you think about the future?"
The frown on his face deepens. "Like nerves?"
"No. More like…" Tanya pauses, mulls it over. "Like butterflies in your stomach. You don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow, or a week later, a couple years from now. And it kinda scares you, but at the same time, you know whatever it is, it's gonna be good."
Roger's lips try and fail to smile, and he casts his gaze to the green light ahead, slowly continuing on. "I'd like to hope that's the case."
A few minutes later, they pull into the alley behind his house, Roger parking the car in its shadowy spot outside the kitchen. Tanya doesn't wait for him to lock up before skipping towards the small set of stairs leading to the door.
"What do you wanna make for breakfast tomorrow?" She asks. "I'll cook this time."
Does he even know anymore? Is he brave enough for his heart to admit it? "You pick."
"What about pancakes? I think we have some chocolate chips left over from the cookies we made last weekend."
They do, in the pantry. Along with her favorite tea, her favorite snacks. The things she keeps on his bathroom sink, the spare clothes and the scrunchies, the entire left side of the bed smelling like her, even after he's washed the sheets.
Those mornings he wakes to an empty space beside him, he feels so lonely he could die. It's why he never stopped, why he pushed the guilt down deep in his chest, why he let her through his classroom door week after week after week, convincing himself that he wouldn't fall, yet knowing his laces were tangled beyond hope.
He can feel them tug now, as he drags his feet along the driveway.
College will be coming up soon. Career plans, parties with boys her age. Sharing apartments with roommates; twenty minutes versus twenty feet. Twenty years that he might not have left, a whole life ahead of her, too precious to be held back.
"Mr. Berkman?"
He blinks his eyes to see Tanya standing at the kitchen door, the pink overnight bag clutched in her hand like the string tied to a balloon, a finger's twitch from floating away. "You coming?"
She smiles at him, and Roger feels the swarm of butterfly wings in his stomach.
Tightening his fist around the ribbon, he walks up the stairs to join her.