Leave the Night On Pt. 02

I have a saucy reply for him hanging from the tip of my tongue but, before I can drop it, one of the kids tugs at the hem of my shirt to ask if it's okay to take a picture with the horses. When I join my class for the picture, I finally allow that smile I've been holding in to show.

We move to the cows next. Some of the children, who were doubtful when I told them milk came from cows instead of their fridge, are in shock. They're only convinced I told them the truth after one cow is milked in front of their very eyes. Half of them are amazed the brown cow doesn't actually give chocolate milk. I can't wait for them to see where eggs come from. I know I will be responsible for some future vegans.

Mr. McCullough hands Julian the mug with the recently drawn milk. Julian splashes some coffee from a thermos flask into it and takes a sip to the horror of all of us city people. Unabashedly, I watch his tongue dart out to lick off the milk mustache on his upper lip. For some reason, it makes me feel all fuzzy down in my pants.

He catches me gawking and mistakes my leering look for curiosity. "Want to try it?"

I squinch up my face. "Ew."

"It's good, Miss Jones," Hannah encourages me. Now all the kids, and one dog, turn their expectant eyes on me. If I don't drink it, I'll be to blame for making them into finicky milk drinkers forever.

Julian shoves the warm mug into my hand. "Come on. It'll give you antibodies."

"Antibodies against what? Cows?"

"Just try it, City Girl."

Reluctantly, I take a small sip from the mug trying not to think of why it's so warm and extra foamy. To my utter surprise, I like it. It almost tastes like a fresh cappuccino. I hum in appreciation. "Wow. You're right, Hannah. It is good," I say, and take a second sip despite my initial disgust. The kids start laughing suddenly. "What?" I ask.

Julian points to my face. "You have a milk moustache," he says and as soon as he says it, his thumb is brushing over my lip, wiping the milk away. It's one breathless second. His touch stays longer than necessary. Everyone around us disappears and I can't find anything to focus on but where his touch meets me. I see a hint of surprise there, as though he acted on impulse, catching himself off guard.

I take a step away and his hand drops. "Thanks, Mr. Song," I say sheepishly, brushing the whole thing off as nothing. It was nothing.

As the morning wears on, my pupils become Julian's number one fans. They follow him around like he is the Pied Piper of Hamelin, agreeing with every word he says. Everyone believes him instantly when he tells them how eggs are made inside birds. He even manages to explain to them how the egg comes out of the chicken without scarring them for life.

With the children distracted, marveling over the origin of eggs, I peruse around the coop for no other reason than to be noisy. I circle around it to find a clearing at the back where there's an axe nudged into a chopping block. My fantasy comes alive in my mind, as vivid as the green on the tree's leaves. There are only a few logs piled, but that is all I need to picture Julian's tanned chest glistening with sweat, his back muscles flexing and contracting as he brings that axe down on one of those logs. ...Jesus F Christ. An unwelcoming wetness seeps out of me. I stand there having a vision of my sexy fantastical Julian swinging an axe until I force myself to remember where I am and who I am today. Miss Jones. Not Pearl. The respectable and professional Miss Jones parents know.

"Pearl?" I jump at the sound of his voice, just as deep and husky as I fantasize it. "Come on, we're moving to the pigs," he says, forehead crinkled over curious eyes.

I throw a thumb over my shoulder. "Is that just a decoration to make you look more manly or do you actually chop firewood?"

"I actually do it. Only in the winter, though. Why?"

Damn. I swallow dryly, shaping my face into blankness. "Nothing. Just asking." I turn away from him before my thoughts are materialized into obviousness all over my face. I don't want him to read my thoughts. I'm afraid that will make him too self-satisfied and the sass that will ensue shall be unbearable. And the more he teases me, the more I like it. I whirl back around. "Listen," I begin, taking advantage of this window of privacy. "The kids are loving this day. I'm glad I could bring them here today. Thank you for this."

"We can make it an annual thing, if you like," he offers.

I bite my lip. A million dollars couldn't hold back my smile. I've been trying to find a place like this to bring my kids every year unsuccessfully. "That'd be great."

It's insane how he can have me melting around him one second then boiling with anger the next. I glance up at him at the same moment his eyes descend to mine. Julian's eyes are the color of strong coffee. An inviting deep blackness that pulls you in until you're drawn close enough to its essence; to a dark brown that outlines his irises. Those eyes would always leave an aftertaste, a lingering memory of what it feels like to have his attention laid on you.

The shiver that suddenly skims over my skin straightens my spine. Julian is unlike anyone I've been attracted to before. He sets a first love type of rush within me. One look from him has my heart working off beat; a flapping of butterflies' wings against my ribs; something clutching at my belly, turning my breathing into a deep, yet inefficient, exercise. My skin becomes too sensitive, hungry for touch as the very breeze in the air is a caress close to unbearable. His eyes wander over my face, tarrying on my lips. Lust flows out of me, slick and hot, where only I can delight on the illicit-like feeling. It's delicious and shameful; a secret only mine to feel. And yet, he knows what he's doing to me. It's on the upturned corner of his mouth, on the darkness in his deep-set eyes. He knows what I look like wearing my desire for him.

His teeth sink down on his bottom lip and the muscles on my inner thighs tense up. I'm assaulted by such a violent desire to suck on that lip of his, my nipples harden. The chaffing of the lace of my bra becomes abrasive. I straighten, exhaling a shaky breath. "I know this look," I tease, being the bold one for once. "Fantasizing about me, are you?"

"I don't think you call it fantasizing when you dream of something you've already had." His stare intensifies and I read the intention behind it.

"I have trouble recalling some parts. Perhaps my memory should be refreshed. It's been a while." At my words, his eyes almost shoot out of their sockets. He doesn't have enough face for his surprise. There. He didn't expect that one. I savor the reaction I create on him for the precious seconds it lasts. It's as good and as fast as an orgasm.

"I remember it all," he says, quickly recomposing himself. "I could help you with your memory issues, if you want..." He lets his last words hang in the air between us.

My eyes slide down his chest to linger on the slight bulge behind the fly of his jeans, before crawling back up to his face. "We still have one more stop, right? We need to hurry. Kids must be getting hungry." I walk away puffing my chest like a champion. Let him have some of his own medicine.

All the excitement over the other animals are nothing compared to the reaction the kids have when we get to the pigpen, all uttering Wow! and So cool! and Can I touch it?. In the air, there's a mixture of amazement, fear, and a very bad smell. Julian explains the difference between a sow and a piglet and a boar, all the while throwing covert glances my way.

"Do you kids want to see something really cool?" Julian asks and everyone answers him with an animated Yes!.

He gets inside the pen, amid the pigs, his boots sloshing in the smelly dark mud. He stomps his way through the screeching animals. Without much difficulty, he manages to corner one of them. It screams like a fiend until Julian presses both his hands on the animal's loin and, just like that, it shuts up. The pig stays perfectly still; its ears erect in attention.

"Wow!" The kids are all amazed.

"How did you do that?" I ask, awestruck as well.

Julian removes his hands from the pig, still, it remains unmoving. "Come here."

I actually snort. "Me?"

One of his brows go up, waiting. I don't move an inch. "Kids?" He calls, appealing to his little fans. "What do you say Miss Jones comes in here to help me with the pigs?"

"No, no! That's a bad ide-" I don't even have time to protest before the kids all start cheering. Yeah, Miss Jones! Go, Miss Jones!

Oh, these little ungrateful shits.

Defeated, I throw my hands up and consign to my fate. Making these little humans happy is why I'm here. With that in mind, I make for the pigpen. The heavy smell of ammonia burns my nostrils. Julian helps me over the concrete low wall that contains the animals with an arm around my ribs. He leads me to the motionless animal and shifts so that he's behind me, his broad chest to my back. I'm surrounded by him, flooded by the sense of security he provides me. God, it feels so good it's an involuntary body reflex to lean into him a little. If only the smell around us weren't so bad, I'd enjoy the excuse to be this close to him more.

"Put your hands here," he says, taking my hands in his and putting them over the pig's rump. The animal's skin is rough under my touch, but Julian's palms on the back of my hands are soft. "Put some pressure into it."

"Okay." I do as he tells me and feel the beginnings of an instinct to flee coming from the pig, but then a slight tremor ripples through it before it stills. "That's incredible," I mumble to Julian, incredulous. "Why is he so quiet?"

"She is in heat," he says, hot breath brushing my ear. "She knows there's a male around. She's this still because she's waiting to be mounted."

The shiver that raises every little hair in me is so strong I'm sure he feels my slight tremble. I want to murder myself when my body reacts to his words even in a situation in which we're surrounded by pig-shit-smelling-mud. "Now you're just teasing me," I murmur. I hear him chuckle, the sound a gentle tickle on my neck. Suddenly, too suddenly, he pulls away from me, leaving me cold. "Where are you going?" I ask, panicking.

"It's okay, Pearl. I'll be back in a second." He leaves me there with the pigs, joins the others and starts to explain to them how he made the pig so quiet.

I stand as still as the pig, not daring to take my hands off of her. I look around myself and the other animals seem to be minding their own business, unconcerned by my presence. Behind me, one pig only a few paces away and much bigger than the rest, makes eye contact with me. I swear to all that's sacred that pig is looking right at me with real emotion in its eyes. "Julian?" I call, not daring to tear my eyes away from the beast. Julian's a few feet away, holding a brownish piglet. Marnie, the kids, and even Mr. McCullough, are all gathered around him enchanted by the little animal. I'm of no importance when a cute little piglet is in sight.

The big brown pig makes a honking sound. My heart starts beating in my throat. I blink once, then the thing springs towards me. The mud sucks on my boots. I barely have time to scream. The pig possessed by a demon hits me right behind the knees. I lose my balance, sway forward for a second, then my world tilts backwards and I land on my ass in the mud. I blink again and the animals' snout is an inch away from my face. I scream then, like a banshee. The huge pig runs the other way and, for a second, I think my scream scared it, but then Julian is there shooing it away. Hands under my armpits lift me to my feet.

Only when I'm safe do I hear little giggles and snickers turn into a chorus of children's laughter. Fluffies is barking hysterically. My face burns so hot my scalp is tingling. Julian's chest rumbles with the force of his laughter. I feel the vibrations against my back.

Son of a bitch. "I'm going to murder you, Julian," I spit, pushing away from him.

He bends in half, hands on his thighs. "You-you-you-" He chokes on words, laughing so hard he's red in the face. I grit my teeth, mostly because inside I find the laugh suits him so well, I could watch him until he went breathless. I cross my arms, waiting until he manages to put himself together. "You best shower first," he gasps to speak, wiping a tear off his cheek. "You stink."

Even if it's the wrong time to notice it, even if his face is as red as a tomato, Julian has a great laugh. The hot passing anger pulsing through me dissolves quickly when I see my students laughing so much as well. Dirty and stinking as I am, I do the only thing I can; join in the laughter. "This is why I told you kids not to touch any of the animals!" I say to the children, genuinely laughing at myself for their sake. Best medicine. At least they're having fun. I don't really mind it being on my expense.

It's forever before everyone releases all the laughter from their bellies. The day Miss Jones was attacked by a pig and fell on her bum in the mud is going to be marked in the school's history. I answer ,"Yes, I'm great," when Marnie and Mr. McCullough ask if I'm okay.

Julian appears by my elbow, mouth still twitching. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. You can take a shower up at the house." I cast him a glance I hope displays how much I want to grab him by the balls to inflict pain. Physically damaging pain.

"I'll watch the kids, Pearl," Marnie says. She can't even hide her smirk.

Julian puts a way-too-familiar hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the steep path up to the house. "It might not be safe for you to be alone with me right now, Julian," I warn him when we're out of reach from any attentive ears.

"Why? You going to attack me? Finally tired of fighting your desires?"

"God, you drive me crazy."

"And I'm hardly even trying."

***

JULIAN'S HOUSE IS GORGEOUS.

I'm shoeless, standing at his foyer awestruck. There's so much light, for a moment, I have to squint my eyes. On the other side of the house, across from me, there's a floor to ceiling expanse of glass. Wide open French doors let in a light breeze, offering a view of the house's backyard littered with Hannah's plastic toys. A lake, a few yards away, is glimmering in the morning sun. I could believe gemstones flow in the water. I take a tentative step further inside.

There's a fireplace in the living room, to my left. Julian's beige couches are the kind that engulf you in a hug so soft leaving would be difficult. I can just see how it'd be to sit there with a fire crackling in the hearth, a nice blanket, a good book. It'd be complete bliss. To my right his marble kitchen isle is shining, perfectly clean. Hannah's drawings are pinned to the fridge by animal shaped magnets. There's so much warmth. The place even smells great, like pinewood. This house looks like a home. It has a life of its own.

"Wow." I mumble, stupefied. "Your place is beautiful."

He takes a look around himself, nostalgia settling into the lines of his face. "There was an old farmhouse in this exact spot. My parents demolished it and built this place when I was still in vet school. They lived here for less than a year before they decided to move to the city. We moved here after Hannah was born." 'We' he says. I sense this is a summarized version of the story. "Bathroom is through here."

I follow him into a hallway worrying the bad smell clinging to me might maculate his perfectly kept place. We enter a room and he stops so abruptly, I almost crash my face into his back. In this room there's a bed so large a whole family could sleep comfortably in it. I stare at it. I realize he's led us to his room. The huge bed is where he sleeps. I squinch up my face. "Is this your room?"

"Yeah," he says, nonchalantly.

I nod. "It's a nice room." It really is. Like everything in this house, it is spacious, illuminated by the sunlight allowed in through the glass on the doors that lead to the lake. "Big bed, uh? Lots of pillows for one man. I like pillows too. They say it's good for your back to sleep with lots of pillows. One under your head, one in between your legs..." I trail off, biting my tongue to keep it settled. I'm on the edge of blabbering.

My unnecessary mention of it makes us both stare at said huge bed. I start imagining things happening on that bed. I can't help it. My mind wanders by its own volition. My cheeks start warming up. My God, I'm going to panic. And it's stupid, because here's a guy who's fucked me too many times for me to feel shame around him.

"I like it big. It allows me a greater range of motion," he says, grinning.

I pull in enough air to inflate my lungs to their maximum capacity. "So! Shower?!" I ask, too eager to get out of the bed subject.

"Come on."

His bathroom, as it turns out, is also larger-than-it-needs-to-be-for-one-man. My eyes flicker to the bathtub behind the half-drawn shower curtain. "Here," Julian says, opening a cabinet under the granite sink, "best soap to get rid of pig smell." He hands me an oval, dark soap bar. "Leave your clothes on the floor, I'll get rid of the stench and mud for you."

"You'll wash my clothes?"

He shrugs. "I'll get you a clean towel."

Alone, I do a little perusal with that curiosity everyone harbors over other people's bathrooms. It's too neat and too clean. There are more organization skills applied to this room than to my whole life. I begin to understand Julian is very diligent when it comes to his housekeeping. In fact, I'll bet he's this organized about everything.

I sniff and my own smell crinkles my nose in disgust. The air around me is already polluted by my presence. Desperate to get clean, I'm fast in peeling off my clothes which I crumple into a ball I kick to a corner. I turn the shower on, let the cascading hot water wash the dirt away. The soap Julian gave me does away with the mud on my skin. I'm rising off my body when I look up and see him.

He stands by the threshold, statuesquely. There's no telling how long he's been there. I should've had the sense to close the door. He said he'd go get me a clean towel; it was implicit he'd come back. I'm used to showering in a house that shelters three other women. A closed bathroom door is taboo.

Empires fall and monuments are built in the time it takes his gaze to travel down my body. It's only when his eyes linger on the apex of my thighs that I remember; Julian's never seen me completely naked. Any of the times we were together, we'd been both half-dressed. Pants half off, shirts half on. Never showing it all. Never under clear revealing lights.

I wait to be slapped by that instinct to hide, to cover myself. For my insecurities about my body to take the shape of the self-conscious monster they are. I wait for shame. For propriety. Nothing comes. No embarrassment, no longing for a perfect, better body. Nothing. I want him to see me as I am.

Anticipation has a hold of my muscles. I don't even twitch. I keep my eyes on him. Julian stares, in a trance. I see his brows furrow, his Adam's apple riding up and down. Over the sound of falling water, I think I hear the scraping of that invisible lump being swallowed, forced down his throat. Darkness creeps over the angular lines of his face, dominating his wandering eyes.

I'm thrown into a Déjà-vu. I'm on that dance floor again, dancing like I'm in my living room. Lost to feeling. My eyelids fall closed, delivering me to rhythm. When I reopen them, he's the first thing I see. Leaning on the bar counter with a lazy presumptuous smile across his face. The way he watches me has me believing he can taste me with a look, eyes communicating everything hands would do given the chance.