Bury the Children in the Yard (11 page)

He turned off Main Street, into college housing now. Some of the houses were just as large but there was a generally squalid quality to most of them, owned by landlords who didn’t really care and rented by people who would be living for nine months at the most, sometimes two or three or more to a bedroom. Then he was away from the town and into the country, on his way to his shabby apartment in a trashy Dayton suburb.

He wondered when his heart was going to stop racing.

Neither Nabokov Nor Coltrane

It was dawn before he finally fell asleep. He kept thinking that what had happened in his classroom with Ashley couldn’t have possibly happened. He was drawn tight with sexual tension and had to fight the urge to masturbate, a desire he gave into daily, sometimes more than once. It was a desire that made him feel invigorated and alive because he knew it wouldn’t be around forever.

Nothing ever was.

He’d been reading Nabokov’s
Invitation to a Beheading
and, by the time he decided to go to bed, realized he hadn’t digested a word. The John Coltrane record he’d been listening to had stopped a while ago. Even the irritating sounds of the white trash neighborhood – arguing, drunken yelling, dogs barking, sirens, shitty cars with bad exhaust systems – had gone unnoticed. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ashley. It was always the quiet ones. He knew she wouldn’t expect anything more than a few days with him, but she hadn’t seemed the type. Normally her hair was not worn in pigtails but down. It was a coppery brownish color and wildly curly. She was what most her age probably referred to as “cute” rather than “hot.” Apparently cute was his type. While he made it a habit of covertly ogling students she was someone he found himself returning to. And sometimes he had even fantasized about her during his masturbation sessions. The word “ripe” often popped into his head when he looked at her. She was perfect, right now, at this age. She dressed mostly conservatively. Even what she wore today, if not such a cliché, would have been considered conservative. Hell, it was still the uniform at a lot of Catholic high schools. Sometimes he would play a game where he looked at his students and imagined the rest of their lives for them. He saw Ashley dating around in college. Mostly friends of friends. She wasn’t a bar type. Not a hookup type. She would graduate college and maybe begin work on a master’s degree, but her first priority would be to find some sort of boring, stable job. If she were lucky, it would even pay for her education. She would eventually meet someone she met at work or through a coworker. Someone who was verifiably economically stable and emotionally sound. By this time, she would be carrying a few extra pounds. Still cute but no longer ripe. The type of woman you
know
is going to get fat. She would eventually marry someone who was basically just like her and it wouldn’t really matter anyway. At this point, both of their biological clocks would be ticking so loudly for them to both fall into their particular demographics they would appropriately mold and sacrifice parts of themselves to mesh perfectly. She would have a child and, if post-partum depression didn’t fuck with her too much and jeopardize the marriage and if she were allowed to quit her job and stay home, another one. But then it would be time for the husband to get a vasectomy and, at this point, it would be her and her children with the husband as a minor accessory.

Dismal.

By the time he got into bed, his lustful thoughts had turned to guilt and he went to sleep thinking about the accident. Nothing turned dreams into nightmares more than that.

The Specific Reason Both of Them Were There

He awoke at ten, made some strong coffee, and watched CNN for about an hour before heading to the Vietnamese restaurant on the outskirts of campus. He thought that would be a safe spot since most of the other students would either be engaged in their last day of finals or on the way home. Phuong’s was usually empty anyway.

Ashley wore a spring green wool peacoat, black snow boots, thick white leggings that stopped above her knees and, as requested, the skirt and pigtails. She waited in front of the restaurant. Steve did his best job of parallel parking, which was still laughable, and got out. He’d been trying to think of something to say and ended up managing only, “Hungry?”

“Starved,” Ashley said.

They went inside to eat and make small talk. Comments about the weather. What the other one was going to order. Ashley stripped off her coat. She wore a simple white blouse unbuttoned to reveal just the slightest bit of her cleavage. It was enough for Steve. He tried not to stare at her breasts pressing against the shirt. Padded bras left so much to the imagination.

“So why aren’t you going home over break?” He hesitated to ask this, thinking it might be something financial. At their school that wasn’t usually much of a problem but there were still plenty of students there on financial aid. Financial aid didn’t cover plane tickets.

She shrugged. “Mom and Dad travel. They’re in Barbados until March. They offered to fly me out there but, I don’t know, it seemed like a hassle.”

So money definitely wasn’t the problem. “Barbados in December sure beats the hell out of Ohio. Might be worth the hassle.”

“Ah, yes, but you’re not there.”

And she had immediately drawn his attention to the specific reason both of them were there. He almost choked.

“Well, yes, um, I’m certainly glad you decided to stay behind.”

“Have you ever fucked a student before?”

Jesus. He could feel himself blushing. Felt relieved when the waitress brought a plate of spring rolls. But he wasn’t off the hook.

“So ... have you?”

“Not, uh, not since I was one.”

She laughed.

“Have you ever, uh, done something like this with a teacher?”

She picked up a spring roll, licked her lips, and said, “It’s never been something I’ve wanted before.”

He picked up a spring roll and took a bite, noting she didn’t directly answer his question.

They both finished eating fairly quickly. He put her coat on for her, took a deep breath of her hair. He opened the car door for her, waited for her skirt to slide up as she sat in the seat. Then they were on their way to his modest cabin on Furnace Lake, the maintenance of which was the one indulgence he had ever allowed himself. It was one he thought he had paid for every day of his life but he couldn’t seem to part with it. On the ride there, he kept wondering why he didn’t just take her back to his apartment, bang the hell out of her, and be done with the whole sordid affair.

Maybe she deserved more than that but, in the end, he thought the result would be about the same.

The cabin was about an hour away in the opposite direction of the college. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bothered wasting the money to rent his shitty apartment and lived in the cabin year round. The radio was on NPR and he considered asking her what she planned on doing when she graduated just to make polite small talk. He stopped himself, cleared his throat, and said, “So I probably don’t need to really bother with much conversation, huh?” He thought of that story she had written. Whoever she was on the outside was not reflected in that story. Maybe she had tried to show him what she really thought. How she wanted life to be. Who was he to argue with that?

“Not really. Unless you want to.”

“Maybe later. But not so much right now. I
cannot
stop thinking about fucking you.” He glanced over at her. Long enough to catch the smirk and the hint of color flushing her cheeks.

“I’ve been wet since meeting you at the restaurant.”

He grabbed her hand and put it on his thigh. More female contact than he’d had in over a decade.

She scooted toward him in her seat and moved her hand up his thigh until she found his penis. It was hard and she began rubbing it lightly. It stiffened further. He looked down at her hand. Dull silver rings on her thumb and index finger.

Her thigh was warm on his free hand. He moved it up to her crotch. Even warmer. Her underwear were damp. He wanted to go inside them, but he also enjoyed torturing himself. He found the outline of her labia and began tracing it with his pinky.

“Are you thinking about my pussy?” Her whisper was full of warm moist breath that reached into his skull.

“Yes.”

“You feel pretty hard. Are you thinking about being inside me ... Steve?”

He continued to lightly rub her. “Actually, I’m just thinking of your pussy. What it looks like. What it tastes like.”

“And you’re so busy driving right now.”

“A shame.”

She unfastened her seatbelt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He lifted his ass up off the seat and she tugged his jeans and underwear down past his scrotum, his penis springing free. She dipped her finger in the pre-come gathered at the tip and smeared it around.

“You have a fine looking cock.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you ever done something like this?”

“I was young once, too ... and married. I’ve done just about everything. But that was a
very
long time ago.”

“Whatever girls you’ve had, I’m not like them.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Show me.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?”

He wanted to tell her that was okay. It would be all right if she just wanted to talk. But he thought she must be playing with him. Her story had them doing some pretty sick stuff.

He didn’t say anything.

She rested her chin on his shoulder. “What if I didn’t exist? I mean, like what if I didn’t have any feelings? And what if no one was watching and you never had to answer for your actions? What if the only thing you had to worry about was your next orgasm? What if that was the only thing that existed?” She wrapped her hand around the length of his cock. “Boys my own age are kids. I get bored with them. I’m only doing this because I thought you might have enough experience and imagination to make it interesting. I’m a sick sick girl.”

He took his hand from between her legs and grabbed one of her pigtails.

“Put it in your mouth.”

She maneuvered around in her seat until sitting on her knees. She leaned over him. He focused on the road, feeling her tongue run up the length of his cock. She stuck the tip of her tongue against the opening of his penis. She opened her mouth and took the head of his penis in. He grabbed the back of her head, pushed it down until she gagged, then let go. He thought of his dick in her mouth, in her throat. She continued to bob her head up and down, slowly. He was almost shaking. He didn’t think he could reach an orgasm while he was driving and still stay on the road. The next pull off he came to, he turned the car into it and put it into park. He let his seat back and used both of his hands to press her head down on his cock. He leaned back and began pumping his hips toward her face. She gagged but made no attempt to back off. He went faster and harder, feeling his penis in her spasming throat. Then he thrust and held it while he came. She backed off, coughed, retched, and wiped some come from her bottom lip. Her eyes were watery but she smiled at him.

“See. Not so hard.” Her voice was raspy.

He grabbed her head and pulled her toward him, kissing her, tasting maybe a bit of himself on her tongue.

They both readjusted themselves and he pulled back onto the road. She asked him if it was okay if she smoked. He said sure. It really didn’t bother him. If it had, he would have told her no. He almost told her no anyway.

There was a small carry-out a few miles from the cabin. He stopped there, told her to wait in the car, and went in for some fruit, wine, beer, lunch meat, and bread. It had been a while since he’d had to worry about feeding anyone. He also paid for a couple bundles of wood for the cabin’s fireplace. Maybe it would be a good touch.

He Didn’t Want to Tell Himself It Was Guilt

It was still light when they reached the cabin. Steve didn’t think either of them had spoken since he’d come out of the carry-out. Ashley sat there beside him, and he was very aware of that, but he still felt a million miles away. There was something else inside of him too. He didn’t want to tell himself it was guilt. Not after all these years. That would have been ridiculous.

The cabin was one of many others surrounding the huge Furnace Lake. The spot was still heavily wooded and mostly invisible from the other cabins. Not that it mattered this time of year. It helped give him the illusion that Furnace Lake wasn’t one of the biggest vacation destinations of the area in the summer. Not that that really meant much in Ohio. There were maybe a couple of boat and bike rental places, the carry-out, a tiny movie theater in what consisted of Furnace Lake’s downtown. The theater, like most of the businesses in town, was only open Memorial Day through Labor Day.

He unlocked the door and opened it for Ashley. He flipped a light switch and turned the thermostat on the electric baseboard heat up. Soon the place would smell like burning dust, not a completely unpleasant smell. They put their bags on the kitchen counter and he plugged the refrigerator in and pushed it back against the wall.

“Nice,” Ashley said. “Cozy.”

“Thanks. It’s not much. Been in the family for years.”

He rinsed out a couple of coffee mugs, uncorked the wine, and poured a little in each glass. He handed her one of them. She took it with her free hand. The other hand held her phone. A slight smirk tilted her face.

“This probably isn’t the best stuff in the world,” Steve said. She dismissively nodded at him. “Uh, miss a lot of calls?”

She put the phone in a pocket in her skirt. “No one under thirty calls anyone anymore.”

“Ah, yes, texting. An art that never found me.”

“I’ve always found it interesting how reluctant bookish types are to take up texting. It seems like it was made for you.”

“Maybe it’s because of what it does to the English language. Or maybe it’s because we’re so quiet most of the time it’s occasionally more exciting to open our mouths. Probably good you have that though. In case of emergencies. I don’t have a cell phone or a landline here. Keeps it peaceful.”