A strange way to begin but we have to start somewhere. It's been said that those who can't do, teach. How exactly that fits into my situation will determine your interpretation. It's true. I dated my teacher. Don't worry he isn't a pedophile. When he was teaching me I was 15 or 16 years old. It wasn't until many years later about 11 or more that I actually dated him. (No that is not his picture, you know I keep everyone safe!)
I remember sitting in his class. Thinking how intelligent and clever he was. He was young black hair tall with blue eyes. At my age I hung on his every word. Everything he said seemed completely important and I thought he would be the man who would and could change the world, definitely, for the better. He was my school age crush. Sure I had boys my age that I had crushes on. But I was in awe of him. I remember in great detail nearly everything he said, taught and the way he would pace back and forth when he would be passionate about whatever it was he was lecturing on.
He seemed perfect. I even think he married his high school sweet heart and together they had children, the house, the dog and the perfect life or so one would think. It wasn't until he came back into my life that I began to actually know who he was.
Now divorced, sexually repressed by a wife who put the Bible in place of her bedroom activity, he was jaded. Not the brilliant man I remembered. His hair now that salt and pepper coloring but still intelligent. Still bright blue eyes but yet he no longer seemed to be able to change the world. It was I who challenged him to at least start changing his students. To at least make a difference in their lives that way he had mine so long ago. Whatever life had done to him, had took the life out of him somehow.
I enjoyed his intelligence. I was happy having intelligent conversation and could not only debate but share ideas on education and my thoughts for now how I would change the world. Which were eagerly dismissed, I didn't understand teaching, I didn't understand teaching to test. That didn't bother me. It challenged me. And though he thought my ideas were radical I still enjoyed the witty banter that occurred. It's sometimes hard to match wits with someone.
Though I welcomed his knowledge and the idea of a brilliant mind being able to converse with me, he looked at me as a young girl who would be able to help with the outlet of his years of sexual oppression. Though he would deny that wasn't the case, the conversations became less intelligent and more sexual. Was I interested in him? Absolutely, however I am a good girl and going that route and trying to pressure me into anything was not going to work. I was not the young impressionable high school girl day dreaming any longer.
Call me crazy. But I am not a "talker". I do not talk about my feelings openly, my problems and I especially do not talk dirty. It's just not my thing. On one particular event I remember him asking me "Did you ever think you would be here kissing me?" Was this a god like complex or a serious question. No I honestly didn't consider that it would happen but to bring it up now seems a bit inappropriate. If I would have asked him the same question, it would have been perverse seeing how I was a child when he knew me.
I think my rules when fooling around or making out whatever you want to call it, mouths should be used for other things and not for talking. So shut up and get to it. Not in this case. If the rules applied there would be no blog. And so let the make out conversation begin...
*Talk to me.
(long pause... )
me: What do I say?
*Talk dirty to me?
( In thought: Rain makes mud puddles.) Try to avoid it and kiss again. Nope
*Talk to me. Tell me you're a good girl.
me: Um I'm a good girl.
*Tell me you're my good girl.
(In thought: Seriously... so uncomfortable.)
*It gets easier the more you do it. Just talk to me.
Try to avoid it again. Nope
*Tell me. Say it.
me: I'm just not good at talking it's not my thing.
*Come on. Tell me. Say you're my good girl.
All this talking and we weren't even doing anything but kissing. So every time he stopped to talk I lay there in the dark completely numb. I had no interest. This whole talking wasn't doing anything for me at all. I didn't like it and I felt stupid. And then he said...
*Tell me you're a good girl who will take care of her man. Tell me you're my good girl and you're going to take care of me the way a good girl should.
Oh my god! Am I a child? I feel like I should be in piggy tails with catholic school girl uniform on in some bad porn. I am not YOUR anything. I do not get off on conversation during kissing. I do not want to talk. Either kiss me or shut up and go to sleep something. But stop talking to me.
*Tell me you want to fuck me.
As if my silence was not point enough that I didn't feel like talking. That I didn't find it sexy. That I did not want to do it. That I did not get turned on by listening to him talk. Did it stop of course not! Nothing goes my way. And he continued on and on...
Years ago I hung on his every word. Now all I wanted him to do was stop talking.
But as he would say he liked me for my mind. He liked me because I was intelligent. He liked me because I was "cute". When it comes down to it, he liked me because I was everything his wife wasn't and he thought that I would be a ticket to his ultimate fantasies played out over and over. I was his ticket out of middle aged man and back to his youth that was deprived by his wife and family. I would be his second chance to do all the things he couldn't with his wife. All the things she refused to do. I was his ticket to paradise.
Too bad, he wasn't mine. I will be anything for the right person. But I will not be used and mislead by the wrong ones with fancy words and false promises.