Lolita Confessions

I admit, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Board of Education, that I am just as guilty of this crime as he is. Hell, this is not even a ‘crime’, it is merely social deviance - -which is the violation of cultural norms and violation of norms considered important to a group or society generally resulting in some kind of generally negative social reaction. I actually learned that in his class. His lecture on Deviance came right after his lecture on Sex, which came less than a week after he informed me that despite his longing; having a relationship with me would be not only against school policy, but also his personal morality. I know – If it was against his morality, than why did he write you such letters in the first place? Because, my honest superiors, I am a Nymphet. Girls like me turn good men into paedophiles. Yes, I know that I am of age, but just barely, and he became legal when I was no older than four. To put things in an even broader perspective; when he was my age, I was hardly six years old. Yes, I am legal now, but he’s a thinker and a dweller, just like I. Therefore, he more than likely, after saying how he wanted to “watch me suck his cock”, let his mind wander to perhaps a cousin of his who is my age, remembered changing their diaper while babysitting, and freaked-out. I cannot blame him there. I have a little cousin who is five right now; that would be like me being obsessed with someone born in the same year he was fifteen years from now. Eew.

You know what’s funny? The fact that I can flirt with him as much as I want and have it deemed “cute”. However, the second he shows any sign of interest in me, it becomes “sexual harassment”. I didn’t feel as if he was abusing his authority and making me feel powerless at any point. In fact, I loved every moment of it. It made me feel important – isn’t that how teachers are supposed to make their students feel? Yes, he could have shown it in other ways, by telling me I was bright and stuff, but he did that too. He said that while I may be a very sexy girl because of my looks, the thing that really make me stand-out from the other girls he knows, is my ability to say exactly what is on my mind and the fact that I show intelligence far beyond my years. Maybe that was his weakness; or maybe it was just a line. Maybe it was because he was trying to justify his obsession with a child. I got an A on his first exam, though. Many people didn’t. And I know it wasn’t just grading me out of favouritism, I only got 93. Of course, I tried to get a perfect 100, but he refused to give it to me, as the answers that were wrong were, indeed, wrong.

Anyway, let me start at the beginning. As I mentioned before, I am what is known as a “Nymphet”. It was Vladimir Nabokov who coined that phrase in his novel Lolita, which told the story of a middle-aged intellectual’s obsession for his twelve-year-old stepdaughter. In short, Nymphets are young girls who stand unaware of their own power to seduce boys and men alike. We are not unbelievably lovely, as we never took much time to consider seduction part of our daily routine. In fact, we are fairly normal young girls; not at all like the ‘jailbait’ stereotype of a sexy girl who looks far older than she is. We have certain attributes, though, perhaps big eyes that manage to somehow manage both an innocent and seductive look at the same time; lips often painted in reds and glosses as to mimic movie stars; child-like limbs extending to small hands and feet with fingers and toes coated in chipped polish. Our hair is worn in many styles, and we have many habits that most would deem annoying; such as popping gum bubbles, playing with the folds of our skirts, shifting in our seats, and sucking on lollipops, jawbreakers, and other such things. We love sweets, dancing too. My sister, Margot, is fourteen, she is a Nymphet too. Well, not quite yet. My poor parents, having two Nymphets for children! She has the look, but lacks the attitude. We Nymphets, once we learn our power, use it to manipulate. After all, we have always been horrid brats, most of us obscenely spoilt. So, if we had decent childhoods with indulgent parents, why do we find ourselves attracted to older men? I wish I knew, maybe because my own dad was the only man I could ever depend on. This isn’t about psychoanalysis, though, it’s about how I put my teacher under my spell, or something. Really! I swear it must have been a spell! My sister and I have tried Magick before, but, the curious part was, I never put a spell on him. After all, then I’d have some teacher stalking me, or failing me because I drove him so insane with intangible lust, that he wanted to make my life miserable. But that is not the case. In fact, it started out pretty normal.

‘Normal’ as in a schoolgirl crush that started on the first day of class, when a man so amazing looking entered the room that I could, ( as corny as it sounds), literally feel my mouth water. He was beautiful – late twenties at the very youngest, but in all truth, perhaps thirty-three or thirty-four. He was tan, tall yet slim and muscular all at the same time, with hair of light-brown and gold slicked back, with a few strands falling playfully over his honey-coloured eyes. I offered him a brilliant grin, and gave one back to me..,so perfect, so godly. I made a secret vow to myself that I would put in extra effort in his class, and amaze him with my intense engagement in class discussions, in order to be more than just ‘another student’ in his class. To think, that only moments before my Adonis’ arrival, I had been thumbing through the text book and thinking to myself about how that subject would be the one I would most likely end-up dropping, as the text proved to be anything aside from interesting. Of course, that thought changed when I realised exactly who I would be ‘forced’ to stare at for two hours during every Tuesday and Thursday for the next twelve weeks. Oh, I ended-up never missing a class!

After that first class, (which now seems so far off from the events which took place after, despite the fact that they were only about five weeks apart), I told my sister about this professor, and just as I was telling her such, the song Stacy’s Mom, which is a pop song about a boy’s crush on his friend’s mother, came on the radio. Within five minutes of hearing that cong, which we had already memorised month ago, we changed around the lyrics to fit my darling professor:

Professor can I see you after class?

You can tell me what I need to do to pass.

We can discuss the Electoral College,

You can share with me all of your knowledge.

Now I know you think it’s a crime to look at me,

But it’s totally legal since I’m older than eighteen!

My prof is really kinda hot.

It’s nothing like that book by Nabokov

Professor can’t you see,

I don’t want a boy the same age as me,

I know it might sound off,

But I’m in love with my prof.

Professor, do you remember when I raised my hand?

You said that I seem to really understand.

I can tell you like me from the way you stare,

And the way you said “There’s a desk over there”.

Now I know that it seems like we can never be,

Because you’re my professor of Sociology!

My prof is really kinda hot.

It’s nothing like that book by Nabokov

Professor can’t you see,

I don’t want a boy the same age as me,

I know it might sound off,

But I’m in love with my prof.

It was a joke between my sister and I, nothing more than shits and giggles, perhaps? Yet, somehow, I found myself becoming oddly bold around him. About three classes into the Semester, (after two hours of attempting to pay attention to a lecture about gender differences, or something of the sort), he mentioned about three times how we need to write down our e-mail addresses, as it was his main means of communication with us. As the class filed out, I shot him an impish grin, and then popped a cherry-flavoured lollipop in my mouth, for the mixture of both temptation and the fact that the coffee I had been drinking had left an odd flavour in my mouth. To my surprise, he tapped my shoulder to get my attention. Of course, I knew it was for some practical reason, but of course my imagination conjured up some vision of him saying something about how I’ intoxicated him with desire’, or something of the like. But no, it was simply:

“Hey, is that an ‘a’ or an ‘e’ in your e-mail?”

I took the sucker out of my mouth and twirled it between my fingers, “It’s an ‘e’. It’s French word.”

He smiled, “Nice. You speak French?”

“Oui? Et vous, Monsieur Professeur?”

“Um…no, that’s the right answer to that, right?” he ran his fingers through his hair nervously, he suddenly looked so boyish. He cleared his throat, “Listen, I hate to sound redundant, but just e-mail me back if you get an e-mail from me. That way I know that I have it right.”

As he spoke, I had continued sucking on the lollipop, and had propped myself sitting upon the side of his desk, “Yes, yes. You are being a rather redundant little boy, but will do.”

He grinned, suddenly seeming more at ease, “Little? How can you be so sure?”

I giggled. He couldn’t mean what I though he meant, could he? I played dumb.

“Surely, Professor, a man of your esteem understands the coy sarcasm of a young woman?”

He dug his hands in his pockets, staring directly at me, a gorgeous half-smile plastered upon his face, “And surely a young woman of your understanding knows what I meant.”

Ah! So that’s what happens when two people who thrive off the Socratic method of conversation engaged in dialogue! Not about to give-up on my game, I placed my right index finger under his chin in order to tilt his face towards mine, and whisper,

“Ah, good Professor, while I may be very skilled in understanding both literature and politics, I have not yet mastered that of understanding the opposite gender.”

He leaned in closer to me, so close, that I could feel my body shake with excitement, “But, understanding the other gender is essential top making it in life…”

And then, someone for the next class, opened the door. Upon seeing them, I hopped off the desk, grabbed my bag, muttered something about the Electoral College, and darted out of the room.

I was very satisfied with myself for the entire weekend. Had he been flirting with me, or was it all in my head? Oh well, I didn’t know for sure, therefore, it was best to doubt. I ran through at least fifty times with my sister and my best friend, Ellie. It resulted in all three of us falling into fits of giggles.

“Well, he’s your teacher. Isn’t he, like, old?” asked Margot

“She’s legal; she can go after him if she wants!” Ellie was loving this, after all, it was from her that I learned how to show men the correct amount of confidence.

“What does he look like?” That was a joined question, and the most important.

I grinned, “Like Ewan McGregor with tan skin and lighter hair!”

It was agreed that he was definitely worth a look.

It should be noted that I have a habit of being extremely outspoken in class. No, I do not do it because I yearn for attention – well, maybe partially, we Nymphets tend to be Narcissists. I usually speak out because, well, I have something to say. I am especially fond of speaking my mind when it comes to controversial subjects. Of course, that was half the fun of a course such as Sociology!

On one Tuesday, we were discussing gender, when the discussion of relationships came-up. I, the lone flirt in a classroom full of monogamous people, decided put in my two cents worth, about how I believed that women should be just as able as men to sleep around, and not get stigmatised. That resulted in several people in the class calling me a ‘whore’. I raised my hand again, and Professor refused to answer me, and told me to be silent.

I was livid. So livid that I felt sick. I had vested the past three weeks into impressing him, and now…and now he hated me. I spent the rest of the class in a rather heinous attempt to keep myself from crying. Should I go and apologise to him? Hell no, I had not done anything more than speak my mind! I thought he would appreciate such a thing! Horrid man, trying to ‘tame the shrew’.

“Hey,” he said as soon as class was over, “Come talk to me outside.”

I took a deep breath, as I was not in the mood to deal with him at the moment.

“Fine,” I muttered in a harsh tone, before pulling my sunglasses down over my eyes, and heading out of the class.

He followed after me, “Hey. I’m sorry about back in the classroom, I just…you just…”

“You silenced me.”

“No…I mean…yes. But I had to. I do not know who you are or what your background is, but in a community college setting, it is not necessary to one-up your fellow students.”

He was lucky I didn’t slap him across the face, “I wasn’t one-upping anyone! I was simply speaking my mind and…”

“And you are a brilliant girl, outspoken too. You tend to be a bit intimidating, though. I have to respect that, but there’s a time and a place for that.”

“Funny. I thought school would be that type of place,” I was glad I was wearing my sunglasses, so that he could not see the tears forming in my eyes.

“It is,” he said nervously, “But there are still limitations and…you don’t belong here, do you?”

“Of course I do, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. But, yes, I’ve had a different situation, I guess. I was one of the top students in my graduating class; I did go to a great university. However, this past fall my parents divorced and I got very ill with Consumption and ended-up missing too many classes at my old school. So here I am.” I offered him a less-than happy smile, as I had completely floored myself by revealing all of that to him.

He just nodded, “I’m sorry that happened to you…are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Do you even know my name?”

He was silent for a moment, “Amanda?”

I drew a deep breath…ready to slap him yet again. I had just revealed the traumas of the past two years to him, had flirted with him, had thought that he saw me as someone more than just ‘one of his students’, and he did not even remember my name!

“It’s Penelope…”

“Penelope,” he said my name as if he were caressing each syllable.

I smiled – this time it was for real, and walked away, remembering that I had never told him my name anytime before that moment.

I still called him “Professor”. I had bared my soul to the man, and I still could not even call him by his first name, even in conversation where I was speaking of him, he was still always “Professor”. I called all my other teachers that, it’s common courtesy. True, most teachers asked to be called by their first name, but I always called them by their title. Perhaps to keep them in a position of authority. Prep school can have that effect on a girl. I saw other students calling him “Christian”, but whenever I went to speak to him, I could only call him ‘Professor”, perhaps in an ironic tone.

“He’s simply someone good for me to have a fling with,” I explained to Ellie over a jar of Maraschino Cherries one evening, “It has the whole Forbidden Fruit aspect that I want to get out of my system before I choose someone to settle down with.”

“Pens, he’s wild about you. Just be careful not to break him in the process,” she laughed and ate the last cherry (damn!).

“I don’t even know if he likes me like that…”

“Don’t be silly, the guy is obviously crazy about you. From what you’ve told me…”

“Maybe he’s like that to all his students.”

She chucked a pillow at me.

“If my teacher spoke to me like that then…damn…he’d see my fiery Irish side real quick!”

I smirked, “Well, he seems to be unaffected by an Italian Seductress, or whatever I am.”

“Yes he is. He may be a teacher, but he’s s till a guy. That means he has fantasies. He knows you’re legal, right?”

I giggled. Seeing how people tend to think that Margot and I are twins, I was able to see where Ellie was coming from.

“Yes, I mentioned my age on the first day of class.”

“Ok…listen, if he’s as hot as you claim, then I could really use him for one of my photo shoots.”

My eyes widened. It’s common knowledge to anyone who knows her, that when Ellie gets an idea, it usually happens. This one, however, seemed beyond farfetched, and I had no urge of mentioning it to Professor.

“No. Ellie. He’s my teacher, he couldn’t…”

“Just ask him about it, please?”

“No! That’s a really random and odd thing to ask a grown man who’s supposed to be an authority figure to me!”

“At least allow me to see him!”

I sighed, “Fine. Just come tomorrow after my midterm. Class is over at 5:30, so be there at 5:00.”

It seemed innocent enough.

I stayed up the entire night studying for his midterm. I had learned during the previous semester about how one of the characteristics of ‘Courtly Love’ was somehow having the ability to achieve great things due to the feelings one had vested in the other person. That ‘great thing’ for me, was studying my ass off until I had six weeks worth of notes completely memorised. By around three in the morning, I was so ready to drop, that the only thing that kept me awake was the reminder that I was going to ace this test not only for myself, but also for him; as he seemed so nervous about making it as easy for us as possible.

All that studying paid off, as I completed the exam within twenty minutes of receiving it. It should be noted that this exam had about twenty pages to it, so I managed about a page per minute, which was quite impressive seeing how it was fill-in-the blank and short answer. I was the first done. He was seated at his desk, typing on his computer (important teacher stuff, of course! After all, he was so beyond human, that he would never be doing anything that wasn’t part of his work!). I walked behind him and plopped the exam down in front of him. Of course, it would have been easier for to walk to his right side, and hand him the test, but then I couldn’t ‘accidentally’ brush against him as I handed it in. He turned slightly red and looked over the exam.

“Wow…I can already tell this is going to be an A!”

I shook my head, and started towards the door, “Don’t get my hopes up.”

Once out of the class, I called Ellie. It was still earlier than five, but I decided to let her know I was out anyway, as I would probably be waiting there a while. After about half an hour of sitting at a table, anticipating my excuse for going back into the classroom, I decided that I had to tell him I had left something in the room…sadly, I still had everything. So, I took my small silver hoop earring out of my ear, and slid it in the pocket of my denim capris. There, I would tell him that I had ‘lost’ my earring, and thus had to go back into the classroom to search for it. There had been three other people from my class waiting outside as I took the earring out. Therefore, I had to play it up as if I had defiantly lost it, by asking a fellow student if he had seen my earring, as he exited the classroom. He was the last student to finish the exam. When he exited, I waited a moment, and then waltzed back into the classroom.

“Lost my earring,” I said casually as I dropped to my hands and knees and started to ‘search’ under the table, “I always lose something in your classroom.”

“Well, as long as it’s not your virginity, it’s all good.”

“Ow!” I slammed my head on the table. Had he actually just said that? Teachers didn’t say that to students, right? I quickly crawled under a second row of tables, turning to look up at him. He was staring back at his computer screen. I had to think of something sassy to return back to him.

“And how are you so sure that I still have that?”

“Oh, I think you do!” He laughed.

I discreetly pulled the earring out of my pocket, and threw it on the ground.

“Found it!” I stood up and walked over to him, sliding the earring back into the hole in my earlobe, “Why do you still think I have it?”

He smirked and turned his chair from side-to-side, “You just seem like the kind of girl who would.”

“I’m taking that as an insult,” I started towards the door, although I seriously did not plan on leaving.

“No. Don’t. It’s just…you’re young.”

“Your point?”

“Young and virginal. It’s cute.”

“Bite me.”

“Young, virginal, and feisty.”

“We’ve already accomplished that,” I turned back around to face him, “And what if I said I thought you were still a virgin?”

“You think I am?”

“Perhaps. However, it wouldn’t be because you’re young – it’s just because nobody wants to give you action. Unless I’m counting your right hand. Right…or is it left? Either way, that doesn’t count as getting laid,” I stuck my tongue out at him and walked over a bit closer to him, “What you doing after you get out of here?”

“Teaching another class right next door,” he pushed his chair out a bit, in order to look up at me.

“I didn’t know you had another class right after this,” I thought it was odd, seeing how he had a habit of walking outside with me after class.

“Yeah. I do. Same subject, longer class. Goes for three hours.”

“That sucks.”

He shrugged, “It’s a living, and I enjoy teaching, so it’s all good.”

“I enjoy acting and dancing, but it still gets taxing after a while.”

“But you aren’t getting paid for it.”

“I could if I wanted to.”

“Like, stripping?”

I gave him a sideways glare, “I’m a ballerina.”

“I was just joking.”

“No shit,” And with that, I actually left the classroom.

Ellie was waiting outside when I came out. She looked as if she had run all the way across campus, in fear of missing him.

“You look beat,” I said, throwing my book-bag down on the table, taking out a grape Blow Pop and sticking it in my mouth.

“Had to park on the other side of campus. Tell me I didn’t miss him.”

“You didn’t, he’s in there typing away on his computer. I stalled him, pretended to lose my earring.”

She grabbed onto my arm, as if to lead me towards the classroom, “C’mon! I want to go see him! I need to ask him about the photo thing.”

“No!” hadn’t we already been through that?

“Please, Penny? Just let me ask!”

“Only if you pretend like I had nothing to do with it. Just bring it up out of the blue. I’ll freak out when you ask, pretending like I had nothing to do with it.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh, “Just…go stall him again.”

“How?”

“Tell him that you’re waiting for your ride and you don’t want to wait alone,” she made that statement in a mock-damsel-in-distress tone.

I grinned, “Works for me!”

With that, I waltzed back into his classroom and plopped down on the first table in the front row, just in front of his desk. He looked up at me.

“Anything I could help you with?” he asked it as if the conversation we had just held less than ten minutes ago had not happened.

“Well,” I said, lowering my eyelids at him, “I’m supposed to come in here and tell you how my ride is late picking me up, and I am far too scared to wait alone,” Insert mock pout right here.

And he gave that same pout right back to me, “Aww. You poor thing. I’m supposed to keep you company, then?”

I laid down on my stomach, placing my chin on my hands and haplessly crossing my heels, as I turned my face to look at him, “Or something of the sort. Wanna know a secret, though?”

He smiled softly, and peered over his computer screen at me, “I would love to know a secret of yours’.”

“I have my own car, and I drove it here today. I am simply supposed to stall you so that my friend, Ellie, can talk to you. Do you know Ellie O’Conner?”

“Is she in our class?”

I giggled, “You goon! How could you not know your own students? No, she’s not even a student of yours. She simply has seen you around campus, pointed you out to me, and I said you were a teacher of mine, and she said that she wanted to meet you because she said you’d be perfect for one of her photo thingies.”

“Photo thingies?”

“Yes, she’s a photographer. She said you’d be perfect for this picture she needs to take for a class, or something.”

“Er…is she here?”

“In the hallway. However, you have to promise me something.”

“Anything…”

“You have to pretend like I didn’t breathe a word of this to you, because I’m going to pretend like I’m surprised that she asked you.”

He laughed, “Promise,” he shifted in his chair, “You probably want to get off that table.”

“No I don’t.”

“Well, you should. It’s inappropriate.”

“But I’m comfortable.”

“Off the table, now!”

I grumbled and rolled off of it, hopping down on both my feet. I walked over behind him, and peered over his shoulder, pretending to be staring at his computer.

“What you doing on that?”

“I’m looking at e-mail,” he turned his head to look up at me for a moment, before glancing back at the computer screen.

“You guys get internet access in classrooms too? That’s swank.”

“Well, sometimes we have to use the internet for class, you know.”

“I think that’s a dumb thing to do.”

He laughed, “And just why do you think that, Missy?”

“Because you could get porn pop-ups, or something,” He was directing the mouse with his right hand, so he had his left arm resting on his desk. I brought my arm down as well, allowing my fingers to lightly rest upon his left forearm.

“That’s what pop-up blocks are for.”

“I should really start e-mailing you again. I just…stopped.”

He grinned, “You really should. I like getting e-mails from you.”

I crinkled-up my nose, “I don’t like e-mail. I don’t like IM, either. To me, it loses everything personal about communication between to people. It isn’t even in their own handwriting anymore!”

“That’s an interesting argument, Little Miss. You write everything out long-hand, then?”

“No, I just think letters and such should be composed that way. Well, letters that are important.”

He smirked, “And just what makes a letter important?”
“I guess if it’s of a personal nature?”

Then, Ellie came bursting into the room. She didn’t even bother knocking. Then again, it usually wasn’t necessary for people to knock on classroom doors. Plus, she had more than likely checked through one of those thin, prison-like windows that are on all the doors, just to make sure that there wasn’t a snog session in process.

“Penny! C’mon! Now! We need to get going!”

Was she being serious, or was this all part of the act? I wasn’t sure, so I responded as I would either way.

“Professor, this is my best friend, Ellie O’Conner. Ellie, this is my Sociology professor.”

“Christian,” he said, extending his hand towards her.

“Hi, Christian!” she said, shaking his hand, “Wow…you’d be perfect to use for my photo shoot!”

“ELLIE! He’s a my professor!” I cried, in mock-surprise. I looked to Professor, who was just sitting there smiling.

“Er…when is this and what does this entail?”

“Well, you see, I’m doing this photography course and…”

He cut her off, “Hey, how about I e-mail Penelope, and she gives me all the info?”

I nodded, “That sounds good.”

Ellie then just grabbed onto my arm, as to pull me out of the classroom. I said good-bye to Professor, and then followed her out of the school.

“You weren’t lying!” she cried, as soon as we were outside, “He’s too hot to be a professor! I’m surprised that our school even hires men that hot! I bet he’ll agree! Do you think he will? You should see the way he was staring at you, Pen! You two would be so perfect together! Like Romeo and Juliet, but more…insane.”

I smirked, “Don’t you mean Abelard and Heloise?”

When I arrived at Ellie’s house, where I was to spend the night, the first thing on the list for me was to e-mail Professor, telling him the time for everything. I kept the letter rather normal and casual, although Ellie was sitting behind me the whole time, trying to get me to type something a bit more….romantic.

He didn’t reply until the next morning, but instead of keeping it on the same professional level as I did, he replied with:

Saturday isn’t good for me, as I’m teaching a class in the evening.

Sorry virginal and pure child.

That was enough of that. After squealing and telling Ellie to come over and see, Professor and I started our very own modern rendition of The Letters of Abelard and Heloise, although instead of being written in romantic prose, The E-Mails of Christian and Penelope were composed in perverted net-speak. Some exerts are as follows:

Me: Once again, my dear professor, you do not know for certain of how pure I am.

Would Sunday be better?

Him: What exactly does this photo thing entail? Clothed? Nude? Boxer-briefs?

Me: Well…we’ll start off clothed, but who knows where we will go from there. And boxer-briefs? Sexy!

Him: Nude or clothed, can’t hide the fact…8 inches.

(Insert victory dance by me here)

Me: 8 inches…very impressive! So, Sunday, then?

Him: Do you want to do something after?

Me: Such as dinner, or something? I’m broke. You forget that I’m a college student…YOUR student, to be exact.

Him: Wait, is this making you uncomfortable? I’m so sorry! No more flirting, no more sex-talk and no going out anywhere!

(FUUUUUUCK!)

Me: Christian! I didn’t mean it like that, I’m completely comfortable with it!

Him: I can’t. I’m sorry. I like you a lot, but I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. I was out of line.

Me: No, you weren’t, but I understand. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I cost you your job.

That was the general gist of it. I got off the computer after that, as I made-up some excuse about having to join Ellie at the mall. In all truth, I just started sobbing, no, not because I felt as if he was making rude remarks towards me, but because…now that I think about it, I’m not really sure. I think it was just a flood of emotions. Ellie, however, was just going on and on about how lucky I was. At least I had a supporter in her. ‘Supporter’, real life relationships shouldn’t have ‘supporters’.

Margot, on the other hand, completely freaked-out when I told her.

“He’s your teacher! I feel bad about this! You need to tell!”

“Margot, I trusted you with this, don’t go telling Mum and Dad!”

“I’m not going to do that, but don’t go out with him!”

I scowled at my sister, “I’m old enough to do what I want!”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, “Go screw your teacher, just don’t expect me to respect you when it comes to romance and such anymore!”

I knew I should not have told Margot. No, not because I didn’t trust her or because I knew that she would be upset at first, but because I knew that Christian wouldn’t want me telling others. The first rule about such affairs was that they were to remain secret for a reason. Margot didn’t remain mad for too long. Hell, only about ten minutes after I told her. Then, a really good song came on the radio, and we forgot what we were fighting about. In fact, we had determined that she would come with me to Christian’s next class, as she just wanted to see him.

I feared seeing him on Tuesday, as I didn’t know how he would react towards me. Part of me had this scene going on in my mind, where someone had gotten a hold of his e-mail address, and everything he had written was a complete lie. The other, scene, however, consisted of something done in an over-dramatic fashion in which he runs out in the rain, saying how he was willing to sacrifice everything he had, as his love for me was all that mattered. Of course, there would be everyone from school gathered around us, as he swept me up into his arms and kissed me passionately…or something.

Ever notice how in those fantasies, everyone you ever knew somehow ends-up around you in order to observe your moment of true passion? Maybe that just comes with being a narcissist.

Of course, with such thoughts running through my mind, not even a double dosage of NyQuil could put me to sleep. So, I sat down at my desk, took out my pen and my stationary, and composed a letter.

Dear Christian,

I am just composing this letter to let you know that I am not mad at you for what you said the other day. In fact, I am rather flattered that you have taken interest in me. You have done nothing wrong by developing feelings for me. We are nothing more than a young man and a young woman who have romantic interest in each other; it is merely the situation which turns such an affair into a crime. While part of me, well, MUCH of me, wishes for us just to say ‘come what may’, I respect and care for you too much to put your job at risk. Therefore, it is far wiser for us to just forget it. I am sorry.

Yours,

Penelope Hayes

Oddly enough, I gave him the letter. I had not intended to, as it was mostly words of Woe-Is-Me martyrdom mixed with sappy bearing of the soul that most men would laugh at or become frightened with. In short, I was putting my heart in my sleeve. I had a history of composing such letters to boys I had taken interest in, but I never actually delivered them for that exact reason. In most cases, I put them in my diary, or I threw them away once I found a new object d’amour. However, once class was over and the room was empty, I walked over to him and attempted a ‘smooth move’, in which I tried to slide the letter into his hand. That didn’t work out half as smoothly as I planned, though, as he thought I had been reaching out to take his hand, which took him by surprised, and caused him to jump back at least a mile.

“You dork! I’m just giving you a letter that I wrote for you!”

He turned bright red, and grinned, “Can I read it?”

“No. I just gave it to you to look at but not read,” I rolled my eyes.

He them opened the letter and stood there for a few minutes, reading it.

“So, what does it mean?”

“It means exactly what it said: that while I care about you, we can never be.”

He bit his lower-lip, and just stared at me for a moment, “Oh. Well, I know it’s not a good idea. It’s just…it was really stupid of me.”

“Christian, don’t worry about it. I’m glad that you like me like that,” I had been hoping that he would throw the letter across the room, saying that he didn’t care about society. That, of course, didn’t happen.

“But you’re right, Penny. It would be wrong for us to pursue a relationship. I can’t and don’t date students.”

Damn! Damn! Damn!

“You started it, though,” I grinned impishly at him.

“That’s not the point, I realised I was out of line. You even pointed it out in your letter.”

“I didn’t mean it!”

“Then why did you write it?”

Because I was using reverse psychology, “Because I knew it was the right thing to do,” I muttered, my hands reaching down to play with the hemline of my white flowered frock.

“Penny…smile.”

I pouted.

“You’re a meanie and I hate you!” I crossed my arms over my chest.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “Listen, don’t take it personally. It’s just, I’m the one with something to lose…”

“Oh! Like I haven’t lost a lot already? If you got fired, you could at least find somewhere else to teach. If I got expelled over this, then I wouldn’t have anywhere else to go! I’ve already hit rock bottom! It’s just not fair, how you’re the best thing to happen to me in two years, and we can’t be together because of the stupid law!”

“Penny…I like you.”

I turned my back to him, “I’m sure you say that to all your pretty students.”

“Hell no, I would never talk to other students the way I talk to you!”

I finally looked back up at him, “Thanks…”

He leaned back against his desk, “Do you stare at other professor’s cocks?”

I blinked, “What?”

“I see you staring at me in class, Missy.”

I really never recalled doing that, but I decided to play along, “Er…of course not. Well, then again…all my other teachers are women, so that’s a kind of redundant question.”

He chuckled at my comment, “That it is.”

I sat down on a nearby desk, kicking the heel of my white Mary Janes against the leg, “So, are we boyfriend and girlfriend, or something?”

“Penny,” he said seriously, “You’re very young. I’d feel horrible for corrupting you.”

That caused me to giggle and automatically switch back to the ‘seductress role’,

“Silly professor! I’m not innocent! You just aren’t used to girls like me! Ever read Lolita?”

“The one who killed people?”

He had to be joking! Well, at least he wasn’t an English professor, then I’d have amore a reason to worry.

“No! Nabokov! It’s about this man who\'s obsessed with this little girl. I\'m what is known as a ‘Nymphet’.”

“As in, you love to fuck?” he gave this goofy grin that I would rather not describe because it made me want to hit him in the head with a blunt object in order to let him come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t a twelve-year-old boy anymore.

“No. That\'s Nymphomaniac,” I rolled my eyes and then picked-up my book-bag with the intention of taking-out my edition of Lolita, “Let me get the quote from the book…”

“It’s ok!” he said quickly, seeming much like a fruit fly on caffeine, “Just tell me straight-up!”

I sighed, “In short, it’s a young girl who comes off as appearing innocent, because she is, yet she has a certain power where she can seduce men without knowing it. In other words, Jailbait that does not appear older than she is.”

He raised his eyebrows, “You’re how old?”

“Don’t worry, I’m legal. That means you can do what you want,” I tossed him a coy smile.

Of course, in the midst of that…heated…conversation, I had forgotten about the fact that Margot had come with me, and had been reading a magazine in the hallway until I was done with class. I only remembered when she came bounding into the room, stopping short when she saw Christian.

I quickly hopped off the table, and made my way over to Margot.

“Christian, this is my baby sister, Margot. Margot, this is my Sociology professor, Christian.”

“Great to meet you, Margot,” said Christian, doing this odd but attractive sort of movement in which he tossed his hair to the side before smiling. Margot, however, seemed far from impressed.

“Nice to meet you as well, Professor Eight…I mean...” she threw her hands over her mouth, her brown eyes wide with shock at what she had just said, “Oh shit…I’m dead!” And she ran out of the room before I could regain my senses and kill her.

“Y..you told your sister?” Christian looked like he was about to faint, as he grabbed onto the side of his desk in order to remain standing.

I felt like vomiting, as I searched for an excuse, but I knew there wasn’t one.

“Christian…it’s nothing…we’re sisters, we share everything! It’s not like she’s going to tell! It’s just silly girl talk…”

He took a deep breath, “She won’t tell your parents?”

“She’ll take it to her grave. Margot and I keep no secrets from each other. So, she couldn’t tell even if she wanted to, seeing how I have enough blackmail on her to get her disowned.”

He sat there silent for a moment, before he walked over to me and placed his fingers under my chin to lift my face towards his, “I like you a lot, but don’t tell anyone, Kiddo. People don’t like these types of relationships,” then he stepped away from me, and made his way back to his desk, “You better go see your sister now, and let her know that everything’s alright. I don’t want to be the cause of a upsetting the pretty little Hayes sisters,” he then winked at me, and proceeded to pack his things. I took that as my cue for dismissal.

I was rather giddy for the next few days, as I found myself idly wasting the hours I didn’t see him in a state of girlish daydreams. However, on the days in which I did have his class, I would stay after for a bit, just to spend some time with him.

“Why do you get the spinney chair?” I asked him, one day after the rest of the class had emptied-out, aside from me who had plopped down in the chair behind his desk while he was busy trying to unhook the overhead projector.

“Because,” he said, placing his hand on the back of the chair to stop my spinning, “I’m the professor, and seeing how I have to put up with little monsters like you all day, I deserve a chair that can double as a ride,” he grinned at me.

“I think I should have a spinney chair, just because you give a lot of homework,” I took the blue lollipop out of my mouth, and stuck out my tongue at him, “Is my tongue blue.”

“Looks like a pen exploded..”

I crinkled-up my nose, “It’s only the blue lollipops that do that, you know. Never green, never purple, and red you can never see…but blue lollipops are a hazard.”

Then, with one quick movement, he swiped the lollipop from me and stuck it in his own mouth, “You think my next class will laugh at their blue-tongued professor?”

I hopped up from the chair, and lunged towards him, “Hey! That’s mine!”

He laughed and sat down in the chair, now that I was out of it, and then wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me down onto his lap, “You took my chair, so I took your lollipop. I knew it would get you to give me my chair back,” he handed the lollipop back to me.

“You shouldn’t have a spinney chair if you don’t spin on it. It defeats the purpose,” I put the lollipop back in my mouth, and reached across the desk, picking-up a magazine he had been reading before, flipping through it until I found a black and white picture of a man and woman who looked like they were dressed at mimes, “Ooh! The Dresden Dolls!” I cried, holding-up the picture for him to see, “They’re my favourite band! They sing my song!”

“And what song is that?”

“Missed me, Missed me, now you gotta kiss me. If you kiss me, Mister, I might tell my sister. If you tell her, Mister, she might tell my mother and my mother, Mister, she might tell my father, and my father, Mister, he won’t be too happy and he’ll have his lawyer come up from the city…it goes like that,” I propped my legs up on the desk, causing my skirt to fall back a bit, but nothing too bad otherwise I wouldn’t have put my feet up in the first place.

“That song is kind of…creepy…isn’t it?”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, a little. But it’s still a good song.”

“Penny,” he said with a sudden tone of concern in his voice, “That’s a big bruise on the side of your leg.”

I had forgotten that I had a big welt on my left thigh. The day before I had been trying to hide it because it was ugly, but I had forgotten that day.

“Eh..it’s nothing. I just got hit by a tennis ball because my sister has the lousiest aim in the world,” with that, I put my feet back down on the ground, and straightened-out my skirt so that the bruise no longer showed.

“I can’t believe you told her,” he whispered, his body suddenly stiffening.

“Margot? I already explained to you that it was nothing and that she would never tell in a bazillion years,” I looked up at him, just to show him that I was telling the truth.

“I can’t risk it,” he kept his arms wrapped around me, though, and clung to me so tightly that there was no way that I could move off his lap.

“Oh hush,” I said with a forced smile, as I figured that once again, he was just panicking for no apparent reason.

“No. I mean it,” he let go of me, and moved so I knew to get off his lap, “I’m your teacher. You have parents. I would get not only fired, but possibly arrested if your parents chose to press charges.”

“But I’m legal!”

“That doesn’t matter! There are laws against this for a reason! I cannot date students no matter what! None of us teachers can! It’s an issue of sexual assault, or something!” He didn’t look at me once while he said this. Instead, he kept his head buried in his hands.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! It’s not like I don’t return your feelings or brush off your advances! It’s not like I’m a small child who doesn’t know any better!” I felt my lungs closing-up; yelling was not a good thing for me. I coughed in order to get some air, pretending to maintain some composure.

“Penny, you may be legal and one of the brightest students to ever pass through this school, but you’re still very, very young, and I can’t…are you alright?”

I nodded, but I was still coughing. I sat down in the spot that I usually did in class, as I had become too dizzy to stand, “I’m fine. Just…leave me alone. I don’t need you acting like I’m the fucking plague, or something. Don’t you think I feel like enough of a whore when I come into class and everyone wonders why the hell I always defend you when they rip on how hard your midterm was? Don’t you think they wonder how I managed to get an ‘A’ on it when the rest of them got no higher than a B minus..”

“You earned that A! You only got one answer wrong!”

“That’s not the point! It gives them all the more reason to hate me than they do now, just because I talk in class. They put two-and-two together, when I tell them that maybe it’s their fault that they did badly, and not yours’.”

“Penny, they don’t hate you.”

I looked out the window, it was pouring outside, lightening, too. I did not want to walk to my car alone, “Christian, it’s raining. Walk outside with me?” I asked, standing-up and walking to him. I felt weak and dizzy; my lungs were hurting and I just wanted to cry.

“Penny,” he looked down at me, and smiled softly, “I’m only going to be professional from now on. No kissing in school, or anywhere. No more staying after class. No more flirting. No more letters. I’m a teacher, you’re a student. I’m sorry.”

“It’s a stupid rule. I could understand if you were fifty and I was fifteen. But thirty and nineteen aren’t that big of a deal. We’re not old, we’re two young people in a situation that…” I reached my hand up to wipe my eyes, I hated crying, especially over something like this, “Fate is cruel.”

“Don’t talk like that. Just go on with your life. Study, read, immerse yourself in work, that’s what I do.”

“And deny emotion?”

He sighed, “Sometimes, you just have to, otherwise you’ll end-up dwelling on the things that you can’t have, you yearned for, or you lost; and you’ll go crazy.”

“Teachers shouldn’t say such things to their students.”

“I wasn’t talking as your teacher.”

I know, you were expecting him to have slept with me and me to have gotten an A because of the fact that I was dumb enough to believe some lie that he loved me, when really he was playing that card with several other students of his. You were expecting the classic story of the predator professor harming the innocent little schoolgirl. After all, isn’t that what happens in nearly every such case, which gave you the grounds to make such a law forbidding any relationships beyond that of work when it comes to teachers and students on this campus?

Did you actually think that such rules would stop it? There will always be that one young professor, fresh out of graduate school himself, who finds himself shamefully enamored with that one little girl, still in messy braids and popping bubble-gum, who is just barely old enough for him to gawk at. The two will find themselves in the only form of forbidden love that still exists in mainstream American society, which results in the two of them being stigmatised for the rest of their lives.

Either that, or they end-up numb to the fact that such a relationship ever happened, only to have those feelings suddenly rekindled at full force when they pass by the classroom in which their lesson was held, or they start their new semester, only to find themselves feeling completely empty when the time block in which they used to meet comes to be.

Because of such laws, what is done is done and gone before it could even begin. You have no right to be mad at him, Ladies and Gentlemen, unless you too wish to blame this Lolita, his Lolita, as well.