Ritardando


I thought of Ms. Swan constantly and not always with my hand around my cock. If I were to be completely honest with myself, her appearance may have been what piqued my interest in her but her mind maintained it. Despite the fact I’d spent the past few months fixated on how much I wanted to fuck her, the past two days showed me how much I wanted to know her. I walked into school Monday morning hating that although she and I were about to spend the next seven hours under the same roof, it was unlikely that I would see her. Talking to her for even a moment would make my day so much more bearable.

I detested high school with a passion I could not begin to articulate, but not because I disliked structure, authority, or being forced to interact with a proliferation of Abercrombie-wearing automatons with two-digit IQs. It was all just so boring. After I skipped ninth grade, my parents considered sending me to private day school. Despite its distance from where we currently lived, Delbarton was the obvious choice. We discussed it at length one afternoon, and decided that relocating to Morristown as a family would be the best thing for us to do. My parents went into the study to research what career opportunities existed for them. When they reemerged two hours later, my mother smiled at me and claimed she had some promising leads. Her freshly reapplied make-up and red eyes told me something entirely different. I couldn’t allow her to sacrifice the home she loved and her successful psychiatry practice just to make the next three years more tolerable for me, so I insisted I stay in public school.

My parents fed my intellect even if my teachers did not. We discussed literature, philosophy, and medicine. I learned more during an hour of grocery shopping with my father than I could in a week of so-called advanced placement courses. Philadelphia was twenty minutes away via commuter rail, and I took full advantage of all the culture which Center City offered.

Despite my overwhelming high-school ennui, I still arrived an hour early each and every Monday to serve as the rehearsal pianist for one of the small vocal ensembles. When I opened the door to the chorus room and flicked on the lights, the empty classroom confirmed that punctuality was indeed a dying virtue. Not knowing how much time I’d need to kill, I sat down at the piano and played some Rachmaninoff.

“That’s one of my favorites. Beautiful job with it.”

I wondered briefly if excessive masturbation could cause a person to hallucinate; I had to be imagining that I’d just heard Ms. Swan’s voice. Panicked, l stood up faster than a boardwalk whack-a-mole.

Her hair was tied back, and she wore a turtleneck sweater with loose pants. Her demure appearance was a far cry from the image of pure sex she projected Friday night, but she was no less alluring. Since I now had a better idea of how she was shaped underneath her wholesome attire, its modesty only increased her appeal.

Be still, my rising cock.

I mumbled something asinine about it being one of my favorites, too. She nodded, smiled awkwardly, and backed out of the room.

I felt like an idiot and spent all of homeroom and first period wallowing in embarrassment, before devoting the rest of the day to trying to picture her ass in a thong. My father came home from the hospital around five and we began our Monday night male bonding ritual consisting of heading out to the local pub to eat dinner and watch sports.

When we walked inside the restaurant the young, blonde hostess asked my father for his name. She smiled and openly gawked at him, then leaned forward to consult a seating chart. She put her finger on her bottom lip and shifted her weight from one foot to the other which in turn caused her breasts to wiggle. It was an egregious display considering all but two tables were empty, but I was not surprised by it.

To say that the opposite sex found my father attractive would be an understatement. He got hit on at least once every time we go out in public unaccompanied by my mother. If he happened to be wearing his lab coat or scrubs, women practically dropped trou on the spot. He usually responded as politely as he can without encouraging them.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess said before looking at my father. “Let me know if you need anything, Carlisle.”

He smiled and ran his left hand through his hair, much like I do when I’m anxious; he only does this when he wants to call attention to his wedding band.

I spoke as soon as the hostess was out of ear-shot. “I think all of your concerns were unfounded.”

“Which concerns would those be?” He flattened his left hand on the table so his ring would remain visible.

“About Ms. Swan’s moral fiber. She stopped by the music room this morning and when she realized it was me playing, she couldn’t get away fast enough.”

“She’s probably uncomfortable.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand how I could have misread her. She seemed interested in me, almost playful.”

“There may be some interest there, but do you realize what you’re expecting her to do? She could lose her job, you know. Let it go, Edward.” He looked up at the TV on the wall behind the bar and abruptly changed the subject. “Do you think the Flyers can win tonight?”

Certain that my phone would not be ringing in the foreseeable future, my father saw no need for us to continue discussing Ms. Swan.

Weeks passed and I began to wonder if maybe I had misinterpreted her attention. I’d never been in her class therefore I had no idea what her usual demeanor was like. For the first time, I wished I hadn’t skipped ninth grade. I knew I should listen to my father, but I wasn’t content to leave things as they were. Each Friday I went to the Art Museum hoping she would be there, and each Friday I went home disappointed.

I was expecting this week to be no different. I’d been at the Art Museum for about an hour before I fell onto a bench in frustration. This was absurd. I was about to leave when I saw her walking quickly towards the rear of the gallery. When she saw me, she changed course. I’d waited a month for this and now that she was in front of me, I had no idea what to do.

“Hello, Edward.”

I tried not to look at her as she sat beside me. I wasn’t sulking, I just didn’t know what I should say. There was so much I wanted to know, but I was afraid if I started asking questions she would feel like I was interrogating her.

“You never called.” I stated the obvious, hoping she would elaborate.

She sighed. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“You’re not one of my teachers.” Though I suspected my father was correct in his assessment, I still wanted to hear it from her.

“No, I’m not.” She sounded distant in spite of her proximity. “But I do teach at your school, so I may as well be. I can’t be at my house alone with you. I’m sure you understand why.”

Theories abounded, but I needed something more concrete.

“I would never take advantage of you.” I wouldn’t. Unless of course, she wanted me to…

“I know.” She fumbled with her purse strap awkwardly.

I knew I didn’t deserve her if I couldn’t even verbalize why I wanted her. Suddenly, I found my voice.

“I’m sorry you feel uncomfortable with me. I don’t feel uncomfortable with you. I’d seen you at school months before I finally worked up the courage to speak to you. You’re beautiful, but of course you know that. That’s not the reason I feel drawn to you. I mean, it was initially. I am a guy, you know. But then you spoke to me like I was normal, like I was just anyone. No one had ever done that, not once in my entire miserable existence. And for that short amount of time, I could be me – not a genius, or a freak, or the asshole who blew the bell curve – just me. It was the best time I’ve ever had. Even if I’ve now scared you off, even if you never speak to me again, I need you to know that.”

“Edward….” She never completed her thought.

I gave up, and stood so I could leave. Before I could take a single step, she grabbed my leg to keep me in place. I felt myself getting hard and sat right down, hoping she couldn’t tell.

“I don’t speak to you as if you were just anyone, and I think maybe that’s part of the problem.”

She didn’t exactly admit her interest in me; she’d merely implied it. I smiled anyway.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

I folded my hands in my lap and prayed she couldn’t see the extent to which she was right. “So what now?” I asked.

“Nothing has changed, Edward. You’re still sixteen. You’re still a student where I teach.”

June wasn’t that far off, and my father did tell me I would be free to pursue her after graduation. Maybe in the interim we could be friends. It could work, but not if she was reminded of my status as her subordinate each and every time I addressed her.

“May I call you Isabella?”

“Absolutely not,” she snapped.

Okay, so that backfired. I still hated the idea of going another month or longer without talking to her. Perhaps she would find other forms of communication less compromising.

“May I call you?” I asked.

She simultaneously smiled and rolled her eyes, and I wondered if she was consciously trying to send me mixed signals.

“Maybe.” Her voice was tentative but her facial expression screamed sex.

It was all the encouragement I needed.

“Maybe isn’t no,” I reminded her.

She rose from the bench before turning around to face me.

“It isn’t yes, either,” she qualified before hurrying out of the gallery.

I went home shortly afterward, hoping my father wouldn’t question me on my much improved mood.

“How was the museum?” he said when I entered the kitchen.

“Fine. Huge crowd around The Gross Clinic as usual.” I walked over to my mother and kissed her on the cheek. “I think I’ll read in my room for a bit. Goodnight.”

I made my way up the back stairs quickly. When I reached my bathroom I undressed and got into the shower. This time, I knew I would be hearing from Ms. Swan. She seemed far too intrigued by me not to initiate contact. As tempting as it was to spend the next several minutes mentally replaying our brief exchange, I was far more tempted to pass the time picturing her lips around my cock. As I pumped my erection, I wondered if she was the kind of girl who would swallow. Something told me she was. I had a mental image of her on her knees gulping my load and I came almost instantly.

I was back in my room for about ten seconds when my phone beeped. I had a text message from I number I didn’t recognize. It had a 215 area code. I pressed the button to view it.

Yes, you may.

Ms. Swan was inviting me to call her. Of course, there was still the issue of how to address her. I quickly typed a response.

Call you Isabella?

Five minutes and thirty-six seconds later I received her reply.

No, Edward. Just call me.

Did she want me to call her now or later? It was after eleven. Calling this late would certainly be rude. But then again, she’d sent me a text message so she must be awake. Forty-three minutes of complete indecision later, I sent her another text message.

Are you still awake?

Almost immediately, she responded.

Are you?

In actuality, it did feel like I was dreaming. There was only one way to find out. My fingers shook as I pushed the call button.

“Hello?” She answered in less than one ring.

“So is this your usual Friday night thing? Art Museum in the afternoon, home before midnight?” I wanted to know if she was single, but was terrified to ask directly.

She laughed. “I think it’s safe to say that nothing about today has been usual. Though, I am curious. How did you know it was me?”

“I called you, Ms. Swan.”

“No, I mean earlier when I sent you a text. I didn’t sign it. You didn’t have my number. How did you know it was me?”

“You have a Philadelphia area code,” I lied. I knew I’d sound completely pathetic if I told her that no one besides my parents had my cell number.

“So do two million other people. Besides, I live in Collingswood now.”

“Fine, then. No one else besides my parents has my number,” I admitted before changing the subject. “Even so, I knew this time you’d contact me. I just wasn’t sure when. Actually, I thought it would take you much longer. I was prepared for you to make me wait.”

I laughed in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood.

“And would you have?” she asked.

“I would wait for you. I would wait forever.”

She became very quiet and I knew I’d said too much. “I’ve made you uncomfortable again.”

“No, you haven’t.” She answered a bit too emphatically.

I knew she was lying and I asked her not to patronize me. She finally admitted that she was a bit uncomfortable. I had no idea when I would speak with her again, but there was one thing I needed to know.

“May I ask you one question before saying goodnight?” She said nothing so I continued speaking.

“I have a feeling that first night at the Art Museum, under any other circumstances or had I been anyone else, our evening would have ended much differently. Am I correct?”

Her almost inaudible gasp confirmed my suspicions.

“It’s okay, Ms. Swan. You don’t have to answer. I think I already know, and I shouldn’t keep you any longer.” I paused briefly before whispering, “Good night.”

I ended the call having found out exactly what I’d needed to know. She’d wanted me as much as I wanted her. I climbed into bed with newfound resolve. I was not going to disobey my father, as he’d made some valid points. In three months, I would no longer be a high school student. I’d have a driver’s license and be able to pursue her on a much more equal footing. Maybe then she would look at me the way she did the night I met her – as a man, albeit a younger one, worthy of her attention and possibly even her love.

Although I’d never before attempted to appear suave, it couldn’t be all that difficult. My father had women falling all over him, despite the fact he discouraged the attention. I could win her, and I had three months to figure out how. I was looking forward to the challenge.

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  1. on 06 Jul 2010 at 9:55 amluckyduck0076

    Ms. Swan doesn’t want to be called Isabella, because she has fantasies of Edward calling her Isabella. You know, I think it is a good thing that Edward’s dad is so supportive of him, same with his mother. For when Edward & Bella end up together, they won’t judge Bella so harshly since they were the ones that pushed Edward into hitting on her in the first place.

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  2. on 07 Jan 2011 at 6:42 pmSea4Me

    Mr. Perceptive. Thank heavens he can’t actually read minds.

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  3. on 30 Jan 2011 at 1:54 pmJanice

    He’s up for the challenge . . . is that a pun??

    [Reply]