Sam & Teach Ch. 03

"Yeah," I say. "Definitely."

Ginny's not-so-evil twin shakes her head in disgust at me and says, "You need to sign out."

"Oh," says Sam. "Right."

She rapidly scribbles her signature on the clipboard papers that the woman holds out, snags her offered belongings, and then drags me out.

As soon as we're back in the car, I turn to Sam. "What?"

"What are you, some fucking super-hero?" she asks.

"Uh, no?"

She retrieves my cellphone from where I'd left it in a cup-holder and shows me a missed call. "I just called you. Did you teleport here or time travel or what?"

"Oh. I left as soon as I knew you were here - from your parents. What happened, Sam?"

She shakes her head. "Just drive. Get me out of here."

I do, speeding away, the brick-prison shrinking in my rear view and then, after we go over a hill, gone.

I know Sam well enough to be silent. We drive in stillness and peace, my radio on but muted, little more than the murmuring of distant bards. When we pass back into the city limits, Sam begins crying. This is not at all like her crying after the opera. This is an angry cry, and she kicks the dash repeatedly, punctuating each with a vehement "Fuck!"

After a few more angry kicks, she says, "Stop."

I pull over. She climbs out of the car, dashes away from the highway and into a nearby field, and proceeds to scream obscenities at the clouds, which float on past, uncaring. I climb out and lean back against the car and watch her work out her rage. After an exhausting ten minutes, she stomps back toward me.

"You alright?" I ask.

"Not remotely. I will never speak to my asshole of a father or bitch of a mother again."

I nod.

"I'm going to ask you a question and I don't want any bullshit, teach."

I hold my hands up in a peace gesture. "No bullshit."

"Did you mean it when you said you love me too?"

"Yes."

She looks at me suspiciously and then smiles. "Yeah. You really mean it."

"Yes, I really mean it. What happened?"

She opens her car door. "Get back in. I'll tell you on the way home."

"Home?"

"Yeah. Your place. Didn't anyone ever tell you? Home is where the heart is."

I start up the car engine. "How very sweet," I say.

"Yeah, yeah."

#

Sam's story is simple enough. After spending Saturday with me, partaking in that timeless combination of sex and studying, she arrived home and was immediately ambushed by her parents and their 'intervention.' They had assumed that all her missing time was out spent dealing drugs, engaging in prostitution, thievery, and general debauchery. But their intervention was less about Sam and more about sweeping her under the rug: her father used his influence to get her whisked away, to Brown's Correctional. She was so stunned, she hadn't protested, but when she saw the sight of the building, she had raged and raged about being an adult, about being put in against her will, and that she had done nothing wrong. They'd drugged her and when she woke up, she was inside her room, locked from the outside.

"But how'd you get out?" I ask.

She shrugs. "Feminine wiles." She pauses. "And Mrs. Hesse."

Sam ends her story there and we spend the last thirty minutes of the car ride in silence, my hand in hers.

We pull into my place, and I unlock the door and enter. "You hungry?" I ask, heading into the kitchen.

Sam follows me. "Yes."

"What do you want?" I say and begin looking through the fridge, wishing I had stocked it recently.

"Edmond," she says and there's something in her voice that causes me to turn around. She's staring at me with her piercing green eyes, eyes which are hungry, sure, but hungry for something else. The feeling, I realize, is mutual. All of my stress and fear and worry have transformed into happiness at being reunited with her and a hunger to be still more closer.

"Sam," I say simply and then we step forward into each other's arms. Our lips meet. I kiss her over and over and she kisses me back. I kiss her neck. I want to kiss lower but her shirt is in the way. We remove it. I kiss down over her bra-clad breasts, down to her belly, until she jerks me back up. Our lips meet again and we taste each other's tongue and lips. Her hands reach out for my shirt and pull it out of my waistband. I raise my arms and then my shirt and undershirt are removed too. Sam runs her hands over my chest, and then they're down at my pants again, undoing the belt buckle. My pants are down around my ankles. I twirl Sam around, and I peel down her tight leggings, just far enough to reveal her bare ass and cunt. Standing up, in the middle of the kitchen, I bury myself in her. Our flesh is joined once more. I bend her back and push deeper, until her I can feel her butt against my groin. I hold myself there, simply enjoying being inside her, but she says, "Hurry. Make me feel good."

One hand on her breast, another between her legs, I hold her against me and begin to move inside of her. "More," says Sam, and I give her more. We overbalance and tumble forward against the sink. Sam reaches out to stop her fall and inadvertently turns on the faucet. I'm back inside her quickly, fucking her against my sink. With each inward stroke, she raises up on her tip-toes and, I watch myself disappear between the two globes of her ass. She bends over and her jostling hair gets wet and she moves the faucet out of the way. The stream of water flows onto the counter, creating a rapidly spreading pool dripping from the edge.

"Mmmm," she humms as I plunder her tight pink pussy for pleasure. "Deep. So deep." She reaches back behind her and spreads her ass, showing me her asshole. I slide my hands up the smooth skin of her waist and over her back and then grab hold of her shoulders. With every thrust, I pull her back onto me, the collision sending ripples up her ass.

She doesn't announce her orgasm, but I know it arrives when she goes still. We come together, after maybe three minutes of sex. I lean against her, over her, my cock still inside her, to turn the water off. After I do that, she grabs holds of my hands and brings them to her bra-clad breasts. They fit easily into my palm. "Don't pull out," she says.

"Nope," I say.

"Mmm," she says and I can feel her squeezing those muscles down there around me. "I have a question to ask."

"Yeah?" I say, weakly.

"So I don't have a place to stay anymore... can I maybe possibly stay with you while I finish high school?"

Despite myself, I hesitate.

"Think of it this way," she says, rubbing her smooth, soft ass against me. "There are 59 positions in the Kama Sutra we haven't done yet and 118 days of school left. Isn't that perfect? Twice each position, once with my pussy, once with my ass. Annnnd I'll give you head whenever you want me to. Good-morning blowjob, goodnight blowjob. A quickie between classes. Whatever. And you can tutor me in physics! And - hold on, will you play with my nipples?" She grabs hold of my hands and slides them up under her bra so I can get a hold of her nipples. "That's better. And when we're not busy fucking and learning, we can watch cartoons together. You can make your delicious sandwiches and breakfasts, and I can bake cookies. Pretty awesome huh?"

As if in response, my half-erect cock begins to grow again inside of her.

"Already?" she says. "Can I take that as a yes?"

"My feelings for you are simple, Sam, but the society we live in is complex. So my answer is yes, as long as you promise to be careful."

"I promise," she says and adds, "Now make me feel good again."

Epilogue

The biggest fight of our relationship - and we had a lot of them, about her friends visiting, about public displays of affection, about what cartoon to watch on Saturday mornings - arrives after she graduates, with straight A's (a hard-earned 93.4 in my class). She tells me she plans to go to the local community college, so she can stay close to me. I tell her no. She's been accepted to a very prestigious school, but it's six hours away, up in Washington. I tell her to go there. She accuses me of not loving her. She says that life is too short to spend it away from those we love. I tell her she'll find new people to love there. She says she doesn't want to find new people, she has me. I tell her that she can make whatever decision she wants but she's not staying here. She storms out in a rage. The next day, while I'm out doing errands, she comes back and packs up her stuff. I return to a house empty of Sam.

Life's greatest cruelty: when you love a person so much that you have to let her go because she's better off without you.

I spend the next six months in a solid depression, questioning the truth of that. I miss Sam. I miss the routine we built up. We got into this habit, waking the other up: her mouth over my cock, or my tongue in her pussy - and then a big breakfast, her manning the juicer, me manning the skillet. I miss the smell of her shampoo on my pillows, her perfume on my sheets. I miss finding her underwear, her cute little panties and bras, scattered on the floor of my bedroom. I miss the aura of eroticism, that cloud of sexuality upon which we floated: during those five months of school and a little way into the summer, we fucked on every surface in my house. In the shower, on my dinner table, on the floor when anywhere else felt like a million miles away and we couldn't wait that long. Even outside of my house. We went camping once, and close to the peak of the mountain, she rode me in a position known as Upavitika - the Sacred Thread. Our sounds of pleasure echoed from the mountain top. Once, in class, as we watched a video about Maxwell's laws of electricity & magnetism, she masturbated. She spread her legs, giving me a clear view up her skirt, a clear view of the anal plug in her ass. The boy next to her noticed, but she didn't even care. After the class let out, I locked the door and fucked her right then and there, bent over her desk, fulfilling her favorite fantasy. Somehow she even convinced me to fuck her in the girl's locker room, and as we were going at it in the shower, the entire girl's lacrosse team came in, showered, changed, and left, and I'm sure at least one girl noticed that there were two pairs of feet underneath the opaque rubber curtain in front of the shower.

It wasn't the pleasure I missed. It was the sex, the joining, the being with her. I missed curling up on the couch at night to watch a movie. I missed making dinner for her, while she sat at the table and studied for homework: the conversations we had, not just about physics, but about English and civics and philosophy and psychology and fashion and feminism. Her mind unfolding like a steel flower, sharp and beautiful, and I got to watch it happen. I missed giving her sweet gifts, sweet gestures, never worrying they would be anything but appreciated, and I missed all of hers too, the little texts she sent, the little 'anonymous' notes she'd slip under my office door during school.

But all that was now gone.

Whenever I missed her most, my mood at its lowest, I would sit and stare at my phone, tempted to call her, but I never did. I knew I'd done the right thing. I had convinced myself of it, justified my unhappiness by it. She should have a chance to live her own life, I told myself, not anchored to an older man like me. That's what one part of me said. The other part... well, every day that part of me was disappointed. If she truly loved me, she would call, wouldn't she? And if I truly loved her, I would call, wouldn't I? But I didn't and what did that mean?

In time my depression lessened, as of course it must. The color returned to the world. I even dated again, the longest of which lasted four months, but in the end, every other woman seemed less exuberant than Sam. I always felt like I was holding back in sex, and thus holding back in the relationship.

#

A couple months shy of two years after we said goodbye, as I am sitting at my table grading the latest round of physics tests, my phone buzzes. I casually pick it up and look at the caller ID and drop it like it's a snake: "Sam <3" is calling. I hesitate only for a moment before I answer.

"Hello, Sam?"

"Hey Edmond," she says. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I say. "How are you?"

"Good." She pauses. "So. Weird question: Do you want to come visit me?"

#

It turns out, I learn in the rest of our three hour conversation, that she did decide to go to that school and that she even ended up dropping her fashion design major and instead picking up architecture. "Fashion for buildings," is how she describes it.

Her spring break is coming up, and I take the week off to visit her, my mind carefully neutral. All expectations dampened, excised as soon as they occur. During the six-hour drive, I am filled with equal parts excitement and dread.

I'd left as soon as I got off work and so I arrive late at about 10 pm. The campus is a ghost-town, all the students having departed for warmer climes, and I find myself milling around the old library ("the big town hall-looking building with columns" Sam called it), waiting for her to show.

"Hey stranger," she says, coming from behind me.

She looks different. She has glasses and her hair is cut shorter and done up in a more serious bob. She's put on a little weight, giving her a softer, more womanly look. But still I recognize her and I am swamped by the restoration of my old feelings, a wave that easily washes aside my carefully constructed dams and levees. What's two years? I want her. I love her still.

"Hey Sam," I say and offer her my arm. She takes it and we go for a walk, talking of inconsequential things. Her speaking mostly, me just quietly listening to the rhythms of her voice. When we come across a Corinthian column, Sam stops and explains about how it's meant to represent the thin beauty of a girl, and I say, "Studying your Vitruvius, I see. We have those at Greenstone Academy, but I can't say they ever reminded me of you."

"Mmhmm," says Sam and leans against the column. It's now 11:30pm and there is absolutely no one in sight. "So."

"So," I say.

"So," says Sam. "I heard there was a position in the physics department opening up here."

"Uh huh," I say. "And?"

"Aaaaand... I miss you? I was hoping I could convince you to take it."

I chuckle. "I miss you too. If you don't mind my asking, how exactly do you plan on convincing me?"

"Well. I was kinda hoping that I could first convince you to give me a good fuck. It's been awhile. All the boys out here, well, they just don't understand friction and forces like you do, Edmond."

"I see you haven't changed much, Sam."

"Nope. So?"

"So I stand by what I did. You had to leave me here, had to come here, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she says.

"But I've missed you too." I'm silent, staring at her green eyes, which just now are sparkling and confident. I laugh. "Yes. Where are we going to do this?"

"Right here," she says. "For the past two months, I've walked past this column every day and every day I've imagined you fucking me against it."

"Two months?" I say.

"I had to work up the courage. Now lift me up and do me already," she says and begins hiking up her skirt. "I'm not wearing any underwear."

"Of course you're not, Sam, of course you're not."