CHAPTER 1 - IT ALL STARTS SOMEWHERE
“It’s always the male history teacher, huh?” I thought to myself trying to poke fun at the predicament that fell upon me. What predicament? Oh, just tightly bound in my before mentioned teacher’s car trunk-so not much.
And, since it seems like this man lives at the other side of the planet (or just drives really fricking slow) I have all the time I need to untie the knot to the story that brought me here- probably the only thing that will be untied tonight:
Mr. Chase was a very well-kept man for his age of 43: beard precisely cut, always in costume, muscles and veins not so discreetly covered, perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect face... Just an all-around Spanish soap opera main character without the cringe or the general name of Juan Carlos.
So, knowing that, everything was just natural when he’d post something like this:
on his Facebook page from another car trip to the dry, yet very Pinterest material, desert bordering our city to the south .
After the first and second of these posts, it would also be deemed natural to just see him next day at school full suit and tie like he didn’t just manage to show off all the muscles of the human body in one picture. It would also be deemed natural for his female students to stutter when he asked them something or to blush when he’d come near their desks.
But what wasn’t deemed natural was for one of his male students to display those same symptoms to the lusty plague he brought with him whenever he entered the class. And that’s where I come in play...
I’ve had the biggest crush on him ever since he started teaching our class two years ago! That was two years of me having to learn how to act composed whenever he was within eyes reach of me. And let me tell you- It. Was. Hell! I had to learn how to hide every erection, quickly find an excuse for every sudden blush attack, as I’ve grown to call them. Finding just the right moment to stare, to mark how hot he is on every last page of my notebooks or make a fast and daring doodle on a sheet of paper that would later become an entire shrine!
It took a lot of time, practice and an instance or two when I was almost caught, but it all built up to a masterful tactic which I was sure would safely carry me through this obsession.
He was in my thoughts at all times and in all places, living rent free in my head.
In the times when I was sitting by myself in my room, which were many, I thought about him, but also about myself. “Was this normal? Was I normal?”” Why didn’t I have a crush on a Miss Jane, for example, like all the other boys in my class?” There were many a times before her class when all everyone talked about was her huge ahem...buttocks... and every time I felt...nothing! I couldn’t care less about all her small waist, uncovered breasts or intoxicating red velvet lips (all quotes from how many have described her) yet when Mr. Chase even slightly looked towards my general direction I would melt internally. “Was I gay?” Was another question that stayed anchored to the back of my thoughts for those whole two years. I wanted to laugh at myself for doubting my heterosexuality, yet I couldn’t deny the strangeness of my conduct whenever the bell rang for history class...
Thankfully, these heavy thoughts never affected my general school performance and throughout those years I still remained a straight A student. History was no exception, and with hard felt efforts I did submit every test flawlessly, talked about every presentation as one normally would and even managed to stay composed whenever my hulk of a teacher asked my questions directly. Doing it, of course, without ever making eye contact because I knew that if my poor green eyes intertwined with his I would become a babbling mess!
I was his top student; we both knew it. But that didn’t make things easier for me at all!
There were countless times when he asked me to co-teach a lesson with him and I had to come with a bs excuse for why I could never do it. I think that three of my inexistent dogs, my already dead grandma and a great uncle have all tragically passed away overnight in order for me to get out of at best, a nosebleed or a worst, a fainting. Their efforts will not be missed!
I don’t know if he actually believed me half of the times, but he never said anything to tumble my already very weak excuses...
And his understating of these things really surprised me, as he was generally a strict, no slacking, no bullshit, hands on type of man. He went through his day-to-day life fulfilling his duties very formally and simply imposed respect: from his towering heigh to the earlier mentioned structured way he dressed he just carried himself with more dignity then 10 royal knights. And he expected the same from us! Hence, the only time he ever commented something negatively about me was four months ago when a decided I wanted to start growing out my hair
Me
“Mr. Leath!” (He always called us by our family names...) “you ought to consider investing in a barber!” A blush attack that I quickly managed to hide and an awkward laugh were the only responses I could muster to his request for ‘properly’ cut hair. But that’s off topic...
So, after this very long 900-word introduction, I think you already know everything, and a little bit more, of what is required to understand the ACTUAL story:
It was the last day of school before summer vacation. For me it was a day like all the others, but for the rest it apparently was National Tissue Shortage Day as they all cried and cried like the place will be exploding tomorrow, yet who am I to judge these future poets to be? One last time to go on the same route and take the same bus to the same building. How. Exciting... (and that’s why I don’t cry on those days),
The weird chilliness of that summer’s day made me opt for my brown overcoat as the outer layer of my outfit. And I have to say, if Mr. Chase impacted me directly with at least one thing over the years it would be fashion. I didn’t particularly like suits as much as he did since I considered them more fit for a funeral than school, but with the before mentioned coat thrust over my black turtleneck and pants, I considered myself well-dressed enough to go. Not quite as elegant as my teacher, but slowly stepping into in footsteps.
After enduring the walk and stepping out alive from the crowded bus I got to the dreaded institution...
If by some magical force I’d have known what were to happen between the four walls of one of the classrooms there I would have sprinted out!
But since I’m neither a Harry, nor do I wear round glasses; magic had better things to do that faithful day...
