Tantalus in Chains Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Girls Aren't the Only Ones Who Can Make Lollipops Sexy

"Romantic poetry," I said, surveying my class. "Oh, go ahead, get it out of your system."

There was an uproar of moaning and groaning. Zack let his head drop to his desk with a thud, and he didn't sit back up.

"Okay, time's up. Now open your book to page 306. There you will see one of the most beloved English poets ever, Lord Byron."

Chuck snorted. "That dude looks like a freak."

Chuck had a point, I thought. The portrait our book had chosen was definitely not the most flattering. Byron was wearing some kind of horrible plaid hat. But this wasn't the kind of thing you could point out to your high school seniors if you wanted them to take poetry seriously. I pretended to look offended. "A freak? You better be glad the women of Byron's time didn't hear you say that. I don't think I could protect you from them. He was the guy whose picture everyone would have had taped on their locker door, if they had locker doors. Or pictures."

Rayanne, one of my better students, piped up. "Yeah, look on the next page. He's kinda hot, Miss Martin."

I grinned and then looked at Chuck. "Told you."

"Whatever. He's got nothing on me."

Zack smirked at him and demonstrated that he'd been watching The Office by muttering, "That's what she said." He'd started saying it a lot lately, and it was beginning to get a little annoying.

"You know what else she said?" I asked tersely. "She said to turn the page and read 'She Walks in Beauty.'"

Zack painted on a look of surprise as he flipped the page. "That is EXACTLY what she said. Were you eavesdropping?"

Damn, he was gorgeous when he was pissing me off. "Just read."

"She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes." He paused and looked a little surprised. "This is kind of good."

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. "Thank you, captain obvious. Keep reading."

He had started out sounding bored and hurried, but as he lost himself in the poem, his voice reached a pitch that had everyone hanging on his every syllable.

Rayanne sighed. "That was really good, Zack."

"Yeah, man," Chuck said, flipping back to the hideous portrait of Byron. He shoved it under Zack's nose as he said, "You totally sounded like a guy who would wear a kilt on his head."

I was impressed, I'll be honest. It's not often a student, especially a male one, gets interested in Romantic poetry. The fact that it was Zack was icing on the cake. "I think that might be the best anyone's ever read that poem in my class," I said.

Zack shrank under the praise, exhibiting that strange mixture of discomfort and pleasure he always showed in the face of compliments. "Thanks," he mumbled, and the bell rang.

*****

The next day was Halloween. It was the kind of circus that Halloween always is in the public school, second only to Valentine's Day. Students tried to scare me with their generic monster costumes. I would overreact on purpose, and then say something like, "You think you can scare? You're going to have to do better. I once read The Iliad, Moby-Dick and The Mysteries of Udolpho in the same summer."

None of them ever knew what I meant. It was usually more effective to point out that nothing is more terrifying than a teenager on a sugar-high. I used to give them Pixie Sticks. Do you know what they did with them? They snorted them. That's right. They inhaled them through their noses. Not the sharpest tools in the shed.

Fifth period came quickly today for once, and Zack came in looking blissfully normal. He paused when he came in and grinned at me. "Like my costume?"

I slid my eyes over his body, feeling my pulse quicken. He had on those damn ripped jeans again, for one thing, but I somehow had a feeling they weren't what he wanted commentary on. "Oh my God," I said. "You are the most horrifying putrefying corpse I've seen all day."

"Burn!" Chuck chimed in. He was a class clown, but he was also one of the few students who would know what "putrefying" meant.

Zack's eyes sparked deliciously as he flicked them over me. "Did you look in the mirror this morning?"

I smiled so that my plastic vampire fangs would show. "Yeah—no reflection, though."

"I'm just saying," he said.

"So what are you?" I asked as I followed him inside, closing the door. All the other students were already inside, and I was ready to get class started.

"I'm a stripper." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Want a lap dance, Miss Martin?"

My face turned bright red. I could only hope the class wouldn't realize it was because my body was screaming for him.

"Vampires don't blush," Zack observed.

"Strippers actually have cars," I countered. "At least, if they're good at their jobs."

He pretended to be wounded for a second, and then he grinned. "It's okay, you're just jealous that all the ladies want me. After class, Miss Martin. I'll give you a special deal."

My palms itched to touch him, and my skin felt like it had burst into flame. I pushed the awareness of my desire to a corner of my mind, and I managed to dismiss him with a roll of my eyes.

The bell rang. The rustle of cellophane whispered through the room as the students dug through the candy they had accumulated throughout the day. I cleared my throat. "Some of you seem to have forgotten that you are not allowed to eat in my classroom."

They groaned in unison.

"Some of you may also remember that today is Halloween, the time when we celebrate chaos and madness. And I must be out of my mind to say this, but just today, I will let you eat as much candy as you want. If I find ONE SINGLE WRAPPER on my floor after class, you all have detention."

They cheered and went back to unwrapping their candy. I picked up my well-worn anthology of Poe's poems and short stories and began to read "The Raven." They had all heard this poem a million times before, and had in fact studied it during their junior year. I finished the first stanza, and then I paused dramatically. The students were settling down, prepared for a routine day of literary study. I smiled. "I've got a surprise for you," I said. Then I went to the DVD player and pressed play. They were beside themselves. I was showing a clip from an episode of The Simpsons with James Earl Jones reading the poem. I retreated to the back of the class to turn out the lights and watch.

His lush voice wove a hypnotic spell that stoked the slow burning fire inside me. Most of the students were just as lulled by the meter. Then my eyes fell on Zack. He was staring at the screen, completely lost in the world James Earl Jones was creating. Completely unconscious of what he was doing, he rubbed a Charms Blowpop across his lips. It was the kind of thing that porn stars did, and it always looked gaudy in their hands because they did it on purpose, completely aware of the effect they were having. Zack was in his own world, and he was riveting. The red candy shell glistened in the flickering light of the television, and it left a faint sheen on his skin. I watched him twirl it in his hands, subtly shaping his lips around the tip but not fully engulfing it. I could feel my nipples hardening as an image tore into me.

James Earl Jones began to speed the narration, speaking with firm, quick emphasis that inevitably quickened my pulse. "And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming," he began. Zack chose that moment to sink the Blowpop into his mouth. His eyes burned with the intensity of the poem's building climax, and I gasped out loud. It was soft enough that no one heard it. I braced myself against the wall behind me, feeling my knees weaken as he worked the candy in his mouth. The full force of my desire pooled in my gut, then throbbed downward to my clit. My heart hammered with my panicked realization that if I squeezed my thighs just right, I would have a silent orgasm. Zack had been drawing me to him like a Siren since August, but he had never been the direct source of my sexual climax.

Bart Simpson's voice jerked me out of my trance, and the crisis passed. I flicked on the lights and walked shakily back to the front of the room to lead a discussion on "The Raven." It was a mercifully short time before Zack bit into the Blowpop and it was gone.

*****

Before I knew it, it was time for last period, which I had to myself for once. I was straightening papers on my desk when I heard Zack clear his throat. I looked up and almost knocked the entire pile back off my desk. He was towering over me. It was funny, but in my mind I always imagined the students were shorter than me. They definitely appeared to be while they were sitting in their desks. It was an endless source of amazement that they generally stood at least a head higher than me when they were out of their seats.

"Miss Martin?" He looked concerned.

"Sorry, you startled me. In my own little world. Nice work yesterday with Byron's poem."

It had been three months since I'd been alone with him. I blushed, suddenly remembering what I had been picturing him doing to me just a few hours ago.

He was blissfully unaware of the conflict inside me. He was too intent on his own as-yet-unexpressed inner conflict. "Yes, ma'am. I was just wondering if... umm..."

Good Lord, this boy could not ever just ask for what he wanted. It was endlessly distracting because I inevitably found myself fixating on some part of his body whenever he paused. Today, it was his mouth, for obvious reasons. It had somehow escaped my notice until today that it was the kind of mouth you would expect to find on a pixie or an angel. I wondered if his lips were as soft and warm as they looked. My fingers imagined it for me, the smoothness, the gentle heat of his breath, the way he would move them against my skin...

I curled my fingers into fists and hid them behind my back. "You were wondering?"

"Well, poetry is kind of... well, it's kind of good."

I smiled. "Yeah, that's kinda why people write it."

"Is there more? You know, that doesn't suck?"

My heart stopped again. Wordlessly, I reached for my favorite anthology of poems and handed it to him. I kept a spare copy at school for just such an emergency, although I'd always viewed it as a crazy fantasy that any student would actually want more poetry.

His eyes widened at the size of the book.

"Start with Robert Herrick," I suggested. "He's a Renaissance poet, but he was kind of cool."

"Thanks," Zack mumbled with a grin. Then he shuffled out.

Twenty minutes later, I could still feel my desire for him pulsing through my body. I put my head down on my desk and wondered if I would ever be able to look at him without wanting him.