Dangerous Confessions

It's Okay, Baby

It's all about the chase, I used to say. There was absolutely nothing more pleasing than the entire process of flirting with my boys till the point of no return, 'til they were just unable to take it anymore and ended up falling willingly into my arms, and then into my bed, leaving me with the fake and yet always reliable sensation of "I didn't do anything...and still got everything". The sex part was just the cherry on top of the ice cream, really, but that didn't make it any less enjoyable. Almost like a nice glass of wine after a long day at work.

Why did I do it? It may sound crazy, but I'm a little bit of a risk-taker and being an English Teacher didn't always provide that much of a thrill, following the exact same routine every day, and this is the reason why it all started about two or three years ago. I guess, when it comes down to it, that's actually the only reason why it started: pure fun, adrenaline of danger.

I need to clarify that, as much as I enjoy English Literature, I only really got into teaching to help pay the bills. It's true that I had to work with teenagers every single day, but because of the nature of my child-like personality, it turned out to be quite an easy job. Also, I had a lot of spare time for myself, medical insurance, plus good payment and the opportunity to teach the art of writing. So what else could I have wanted?

Still, it was quite a demanding job. I was a busy man and I barely had time to think about any kind of relationship. Then a young boy named David Walliams came along. He had lost track of my subject after a series of unfortunate family issues and his world basically splitting in two. The year was about to finish and he was desperate to pass the course since he couldn't afford to fail his exams.

Up until this day, that image remains still in my head. I remember the decisive expression on his face when he stood up from his chair across my desk, unconsciously running his hand through his hip and thigh, my eyes following the movement intently; he said he would do absolutely anything in order to get a good grade. Absolutely anything you want, he repeated vehemently. Just tell me what to do, sir.

I tried hard to relax in my chair, fighting back the urge to bite my lower lip. David was suddenly looking so damn sexy.

"How far do you want to go?"
"As far as you want. I don't care," and his eyes told me he wasn't lying.
"Come here..."

Then everything happened just too quickly. Minutes after, he was sitting on my lap, unbuttoning his shirt. I grinned. But then, as his lips attached to my neck and his hand travelled south until it was working wonders inside my pants, I was moaning loudly in pleasure. That handsome young lad ended up bent over my desk while I pounded into him from behind, tightly holding onto his hips. That wasn't the end of it, I fucked him once or twice in the cleaner's room and everybody was happy. I wasn't as tense anymore and he got a lovely A at the end of the year. He was that good.

But David was just the first of many. What had started out as an accident slowly turned into a structured method with which I could have whoever I wanted, boys, girls...some teachers even, it didn't matter.

I've told this story so many times and to so many people, I can practically see what must be going through your mind right now...and the answer is yes, I'm the biggest bastard on earth and no, I was never afraid of being caught; I thought myself way too smart for that to happen, and for a while, it didn't.

How did I do it? Well, first of all, the objective needed to be carefully chosen. The reason why I keep using this specific word is because I find the other one - 'victim' - way too dramatic. Because despite the fact that they were 'victimised', every single one of my pretty babes enjoyed it just as much as I did; sometimes even more.

Second of all, according to the reasons I had originally chosen him, I picked the most effective way of getting under his skin until there was no way back. The way I behaved, the gestures I had toward them, the words I used, the moves I made were careful and closely directed toward making them believe they needed me in every possible aspect of their life, toward making them believe they were completely lost without me and that is exactly how the persistent need of pleasing me arose.

Sometimes, if I was feeling lucky enough, I would even make them fall in love with me and then dumped their ass in the worst possible way, but it all depended on the first step of my method: the reasons why I had chosen them, I mean, as it happened with Stephen Mulhern. The poor little kid was still hanging up on me, writing me the most ridiculous love letters and showing up suddenly in my office, sometimes even at my house to ask why I didn't love him anymore and trying to sneak kisses I would reject.

With Declan it was more than obvious what I needed to do. Friday class had gone pretty well, and I had a very interesting conversation with Professor Cowell at lunch that same day. After two or three well-directed questions I found out he had been his form tutor the previous year; his exact words were "Brilliant kid with such a sad story."

"Sad story?"
"Didn't you hear? Last year, the poor boy tried to commit suicide."

After hearing that, I felt almost obligated to submerge in the boy's private file for at least a few hours.

***

It was Monday morning; the air was freezing cold and thick outside school because every single bit of concrete was covered by snow. I decided to take refuge in my warm office since I had some paperwork that needed to be taken care of. Classes didn't start for a good half an hour yet. There was a slight knock on the door.

"Come in!"

"Good morning, Mr. McPartlin." Declan's pretty face popped into the room, but he didn't dare coming in. "I'm here to give you my book rep-"
"Aye, I know why you're here, Declan. But if I recall correctly, I said 'come in'. It's not exactly pleasant to have a conversation with someone while they're standing half way between the corridor and my attention."

It was priceless to appreciate the slight changes in the small boy's features as he was trying to figure out whether I was scolding him or making a joke. He finally decided on the latter as he noticed the smile on my face, then finally stepped into the office, still slowly and carefully, almost as if he knew how dangerous I could be.

"Sir, I can't thank you enough for this opportunity."
"Sit down, Mr. Donnelly. I want to clarify that I did not do this for you, I did it because you actually took the trouble of studying and reading the book, unlike most of the students that did turn their papers on time, judging by this bunch of crap I'm reading."

I took a deep breath and took off my reading glasses. "Ok, Declan... In order to grade this, I need to ask you something, and this time, I want nothing but the truth." He nodded slowly. "Why wasn't your work finished when it should have been?"

Declan shifted uncomfortably on his seat. His gorgeous eyes darted around, obviously looking for an escape; that's when the need of being closer took over me again. I stood up and walked around the desk until I was kneeling right in from of him, as if trying to make him believe I wasn't going to hurt him.

"Don't even consider lying to me."

There was a hint of fear in those eyes; they were almost begging to me not to keep on with the subject. I took his hand between my own. Just like the first time I had touched him, he flinched, but wouldn't pull away from me.

"Mrs. Dalloway was my mother's favourite book. She used to read it to me when I was little, even if I couldn't understand a word of it. She used to say that children's books never really portrayed the real world," then he paused. His mouth opened just the slightest bit to keep talking but a knot had formed in his throat. He swallowed hard. "She passed away a year ago, and I just couldn't bring myself to go through those pages again. You'll see, sir, sometimes it's quite difficult for me to study at home, and I started writing the book report in my breaks, but I just..." The grip he had on my hand tightened, and I could tell I had touched something I probably shouldn't have.

"It's okay, it's okay, baby."

He looked up; his breath was uneven and he was beginning to sob. Looking deep into my eyes, he murmured, "You're being too nice to me, sir," And I couldn't make out if it was a warning or a green light. I didn't have to figure it out; all of a sudden his arms were around my neck, his slender body pressed tightly against mine, and I remained still.

Before I knew it, Declan was running for the door and then he was gone.

I was breathless.