The Moment of Utter Weakness

Nobody talks about Carol. Not openly, at least. Sophia's sure the teachers' lounge is abuzz with the "crime of the century." Of course, there's a new vacancy that must be filled—Yasuhiro needs a new assistant principal. Sophia's name has been floating around as a possible candidate, mainly propelled by empathy for what Carol did to her. But Sophia isn't expecting anything soon. These days, she lives in some sort of daze—Brad's part in swiftly bringing the culprit to justice somehow amazed her. Even now, she hasn't told Derek about the incident at the school. It might freak him out. After all, Carol's out of her life—there's something about how Brad told her to "leave town" that feels sinister, a foreboding of bad things to come.

But ever since that incident—Brad's shining moment—Sophia's fantasies about him have intensified. When she makes love with Derek, she exclusively calls out Brad's name. On the other hand, Derek simply assumes Brad must be his wife's new favorite student, hence, her new fantasy. In the past, Sophia used fantasies once or twice—the most was three times with some "Jimmy"—and she'd shed them off like old snakeskin. But this "Brad"—he must be something really hot, because if not, Sophia wouldn't be so fixated on him. In Derek's dark moments of candor, he begins to question the wisdom of their set-up. Their sexual fetish still excites him, yes, but now there's a growing twinge of jealousy, a small voice that says "What's up with that Brad, and who in hell is he, anyway?"

And there's something different about Sophia, some new intensity. One night they watched a classic porn flick starring Tracy Lords. No biggie, just a slow, hot midweek evening that they normally spend fooling around and experimenting as if they were a couple of teenagers who have just discovered what to do with each other's naked bodies. It was the first time Sophia saw a Tracy Lords flick, and she was amazed at Tracy's on-screen enthusiasm, how she'd fuck in wild abandon, how pretty she was, how she hungrily sucked those cocks and rode them like it was her last night on earth. The movie was in its second sex scene when Derek felt his wife's hand groping his cock. They were on the couch and were having some after-dinner wine. Sophia turned to her, uncannily mimicking Tracy, and mutters, "I want you to fuck me in the mouth, Brad." He knew: "Brad" seemed the new code for a kinky round of sex.

"You'd like that, huh?"

Sophia nodded like an obedient young girl.

She worked her hand up and down Derek's shaft. She was pouting, ala-Tracy Lords. She'd lick the tip of her cock and its underside, then playfully slide it fully in her mouth, only to pull it out in less than a second. When she decided he was hard enough, she slid down and positioned her head against the edge of the couch's upholstered seat. "Your little bitch needs some mouth-fuck badly, Brad."

"Yeah, Tracy, I'll give you what you want." Derek held his cock against Sophia's glistening lips. Her mouth oh-so-slightly parted, then he smoothly slid it in, and out, then in, Sophia's muffled groaning filling the living room. She was also touching herself furiously—he couldn't remember when Sophia slid off her panties—and the rhythm told them they were coming at the same time. And they did. They finished watching the Tracy Lords flick—they had tremendous fun imitating every sex scene, with Sophia seemingly capable of fully focusing on fucking like a porn star. It was indeed a new unraveling, and it both unsettled and excited Derek. He was beginning to feel they might be heading to a direction he might just regret.

At school, however, Sophia is always on guard: she blushes, opens her mouth only when she really needs it, and tries her best in playing the decent teacher's role. Her students seem to understand; like some miracle, nobody has ever mentioned a word about the huge red dildo, like the whole thing never happened. Yet, she's not that naive—she knows people talk, even the young ones. She knows soccer moms during parent-teacher meetings exchange knowing glances, but couldn't open their mouths in fear of retaliation—the Silverstones could be quite nasty when you push the wrong buttons. And certainly, you don't ever attempt to fuck with the woman who personally tutors the young Silverstone his "correct" English. Brad's involvement in all the muck seems to have been protecting her, like an impregnable invisible shield, especially now that the small town had a sampling of what happens to you when you try to mess with anybody a Silverstone cares about.

Sophia focuses all her energies on blocking it out of her mind. She doesn't want—she hates it, even—to be at the receiving end of someone's favors, especially if that someone is the young man who has been making her life a daily battle with internal conflict. The morning after the incident, meeting Brad on the hallway on the way to her classroom, she greeted him with a curt "Good morning, Mr. Silverstone." Brad had opened his mouth to speak, but she deftly cut him off by her disarming smile that says everything is back to normal. She gave the class a long quiz, and a quick glance at the paper Brad submitted told her the young man didn't even try making the correct answers. Was he upset? Was he really expecting her to fawn over him just because he called up his father's employee to sort out that incident with the dildo? No. She could fuck him in her fantasies, but real life is different. She'd rather die than let him know about it.

In her dark moments of candor, however, she admits she relished seeing Carol's face at that precise moment the video footage showed the identity of the culprit. She admits to enjoying that moment—how long did she secretly crave to slap that bitch hard? She thinks it's just right. And with that sweet taste of justice is a deepening appreciation for the person who helped her out—and did so very swiftly and efficiently—and who made her feel so special. So between the appreciative "Oh, Brad, thank you so much!" and "Good morning, Mr. Silverstone," Sophia often chooses to stay silent, keeping it bottled up in the very depths of her soul.

Yet, desire has strange ways of bubbling over, ingeniously finding new means of expression. Sometimes, desire makes its power known by an involuntary twitch on the lips, a slip of the tongue, or the way you say, "Where's Brad Silverstone?" a pitch higher than you should when you discover, on the morning of an important exam, that Brad's seat is empty.

Her question is rhetorical as far as the class is concerned—nobody really knows anything real about Brad's life. He's there, but he really doesn't allow ordinary mortals to penetrate his affairs. He's just a walking contradiction: you can almost physically touch him, but he's really utterly unreachable—except for a fortunate few. Sophia imagines the emotional torture the girls sitting around Brad must endure: smelling his heady scent, seeing his perfection, interacting with him without really being able to connect with him on a meaningful level. Brad doesn't even remember their names.

Sophia conducts the exam absent-mindedly. She's vaguely aware that the security cameras around the room may be seeing her expression, noting the way she stares at Brad's empty seat with longing eyes. She's past those concerns now. Ever since that dildo incident, she has stopped caring too much about appearances. She'll do her job the best she could, make love with her husband, and that's it. Brad's the flavor of the month as far as her sexual fantasies are concerned but she knows she'll move on—maybe she'd find Guy Mendes a good, exciting "kinky inspiration" one of these nights. She's not entirely averse to that idea.

Driving home that afternoon, Sophia has an idea: why not make a surprise visit to her husband at his office? They'll have dinner—when was the last time they dined out? So she slammed on the brakes and turned right toward downtown. She needs to clear her mind—there's a fog in her vision she couldn't seem to shake off. She's too fixated. She's trying to look so closely that she's beginning to feel she's missing out on something vital. If you'd open up her heart, there's a tangled mess of conflicting emotions that started out so simply: she loves her husband, but due to some sexual fetishes others might find repugnant, she's allowed to openly fantasize about fucking other men while making love with Derek. Nobody thought about coming up with a "safe word," a word they might utter just in case they're overstepping the boundaries. But she's sinking. She couldn't take Brad off her mind. She loves him physically, she's so horny when he's around, yet there's something else on a deeper level, some strands of affection that she thought were forever only reserved for Derek.

Derek's bank is on the ground floor of the McCaulay Building, yet their offices are on one of the top-most floors. As it is late afternoon, there are few people left loitering in the lobby. And come to think of it: this would only be the second or third time she's visiting her husband in his office. She hopes he would be pleased, delighted to see her. She hasn't called him up ahead—for some reason, she wants to surprise him.

The elevator is empty. She presses 22. And as the door closes, a hand jams it just in time: Brad, immaculate in a black tailored suit. They're both too stunned over this coincidence. He hesitates for a moment upon seeing her, more out of surprised excitement than anything else. The way he jumps into the elevator you'd think somebody has just announced the beginning of summer vacation. Sophia is speechless; she couldn't even muster the courage to nod or smile at him. It feels so weird to meet Brad in circumstances outside the classroom. He's like a different person—and he looks heartbreakingly handsome in that suit.

He presses 23. The elevator ascends. Sophia takes note of it—she cannot help it, these details in the things that someone like Brad does in front of her. What's on the twenty-third floor, anyway?

"Meetings," Brad says, reading her mind. "Execrably boring, but a son has a duty." He smiles at her. He's so cool that he's silly.

He keeps doing this, reeling her into conversations she doesn't know how to take part in.

Should she respond with, "That's interesting! I bet you know so much about business than a billion other eighteen-year-old boys. That's so hot!" But instead, Sophia says, "I'm visiting my husband."

"Oh." Brad appears wounded.

They don't talk for eons. Glaciers grow and melt, new species appear, then become extinct. People are born, spend their entire lifetimes, and die. But the elevator ascends, ignoring everything else. There's energy in the air, a kind of heat, that Sophia feels surrounding them. One of her favorite fantasies suddenly flash in her mind: one in which she coquettishly drops to the floor every piece of her clothing, one after the other, until nothing's left but her lacy white panties, gazing directly into Brad's eyes. Sophia feels hot—she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Somewhere, in between her legs, her desire gathers critical mass. She suddenly has the acute awareness of being soaking wet.

Brad, on the other hand, is attacked with the compulsion to just grab her and ravage her glistening, pouty little mouth. His heart beats madly in his chest, telling him to seize the day. Inside his pants' pocket, he clenches and unclenches his hand—he's thinking, if he holds her hand and she relents, then he'll cross that bridge.

Then halfway up, between the 14th and 15th floors, a rattling sound whines, a deep rumbling brrrggg, and the elevator jumps and abruptly stops.

Brad catches Sophia on his arms as they both hit the floor. The light flickers and dies. Yellow emergency light turns on.

"You okay?"

Sophia looks up from Brad's chest—she's okay, of course, but something about this position that's making her deliciously languorous. She says, "Are we spinning?"

Brad stares at her. "It's best we stay seated," Brad says. "If this is a power outage, the generators might kick in any moment now."

Sophia is very aware how Brad is holding her. She mentally notes the position of Brad's arms, how her cheek rests against his chest, how his hand is merely an inch away from a breast, and savors it. She enjoys this closeness, and she's thrilled with the fact that there's nothing unnatural about it—she's a damsel in distress, letting this knight take the reins of her fate. She's sure even Derek will understand. She closes her eyes, as if she really is dizzy, and imagines Brad cuddling her like a lover. She feels something warm, wet and soft on her mouth, and her heart lurches when she realizes what it is: Brad is kissing her. Not in a fantasy, but actually kissing her, right here, right now! Gently at first, their lips touching, but slowly Brad starts nibbling, using the tip of his tongue to play with her lips, a sleek battering ram to her defenses. Sophia could not resist the need to open her mouth. When she slightly opens her lips, his tongue, with all its pent-up hunger, is instantly everywhere. Sophia responds to this with the same unfathomable thirst, lapping him up, licking, sucking. Through it all, she has not opened her eyes—unseen, in the dark, what they're doing is invisible, lying in that gray area where judgment is indefinitely suspended.

Suddenly, the elevator staggers, rumbles and continues its ascent. As Sophia squints in the restored light, she finds that shame and guilt have replaced her desire of a moment ago. She flings herself away from Brad, who is too stunned with this rebuke: how quickly her character can change, like a chameleon. She stands up, picks up her bag, fixes her hair, as if Brad is not standing there beside her.

The doors open on the 22nd floor, and Sophia ambles out into what to her is fresh mountain breeze.

Awkward. "Thank you," she chirps, and Brad nods as if he understands. As the doors close Sophia wonders what she is being thankful for. Did she just say thank you for that kiss?

A door at the end of the hall opens as the elevator doors close. A man clutching a sheaf of papers walks out and stops upon seeing her. "Oh, my God! Is that my wife?" It's Derek, looking bone-tired but instantly happy.

"Are you surprised?"

"Insanely surprised is what I am."

They both laugh, but deep inside, Sophia's an utter wreck.