I have a confession to make.

I never thought I'd be the kind of woman to write something like this. To be the kind of woman who would even have something like this to confess. But here I am, sitting in the dim glow of my laptop, my heart pounding in my chest, knowing that what I’m about to write will change the way I see myself forever.

Before I get to the confession, I need to explain how I got here. You need to understand the history, the context, the slow unraveling that led to that one night.

Tim and I met in college. He was the only Asian guy on the basketball team, and I was the only Asian girl on the cheerleading squad. It was almost like everyone expected us to be together. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Sure, he was attractive--tall, lean, driven. But he always seemed too focused, too serious about his studies and his future to let loose the way I wanted. Still, there was something about him, about the way he noticed the little things. How he’d leave a note in my textbooks before exams, or take me for walks when I was stressed. And so, somewhere between workouts and late-night study sessions, we fell in love.

For a long time, it was perfect. We both loved fitness, and our shared routines kept us connected. But then law school happened. Tim buried himself in work, and I supported him however I could. I took my first teaching job in California, bringing in a steady income while he chased his dream. I didn’t mind--not at first. I believed in him. I believed in us.

But then Tim started to change. His ambition took over everything. The small, thoughtful gestures stopped. Our conversations became about money, careers, the future. He wasn’t cruel, just distant. And every time I tried to bring us back to where we were, it felt like I was talking to a wall.

Then came New York. Tim’s firm offered him an opportunity to become the youngest partner in its history. It was everything he had ever worked for. And for me, it meant uprooting my life, leaving my job, my friends, my students--everything I had built for myself. It wasn’t really a choice. I had to support him, right? That’s what a good wife does. So I smiled, packed up our things, and followed him.

Finding a new job so close to the start of the school year was nearly impossible. The only school willing to take me was Thomas Jefferson High, an underfunded inner-city school that made my old one look like a private academy. The principal didn’t offer me the job because of my experience or my credentials--he hired me because I could teach biology and coach the girls' cheer squad. I should have been grateful. Instead, I resented it.

Those first few weeks were brutal. The students were rough around the edges, nothing like the eager kids I was used to. The resources were scarce, the faculty overworked. I came home exhausted, defeated, questioning whether I had made a huge mistake.

And then I met Coach Ken.

The principal introduced him as someone who could help me adjust. At first glance, I wasn’t impressed. He was tall--massive, really--broad-shouldered and muscular, the kind of man who looked like he could crush someone in his arms. He had this easy smile, this charm that felt almost too effortless. The students adored him, hung on his every word. And yet, to me, he seemed like a man who didn’t take anything seriously. I dismissed him immediately.

But Ken had a way of getting under my skin. He was relentless in his teasing, always throwing out some jokes, some playful remarks. I rolled my eyes at him more times than I could count. But then, little by little, I started seeing what everyone else saw. He cared. About the kids, about the school. About me, in ways I didn’t expect.

It started small. He’d stay late to help me grade papers, his broad shoulders brushing against mine as we sat side by side, the warmth of his body an unspoken comfort in the quiet of my classroom. He’d sit beside me in the teachers’ lounge when I looked stressed, nudging my arm with his own, his voice a low rumble as he teased, “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, Ling.” Then, he’d flash that cocky, knowing grin, the one that made my breath catch in my throat for just a second too long.

And when I finally threw a joke back at him, something shifted. One afternoon, as I sat in the teachers’ lounge, exhausted from a long day, he leaned in close and murmured, "I swear, Mrs. Ling, you work too hard. Maybe I should put you on the football team--make you run a few laps, get some of that stress out."

I arched a brow, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "Oh please, Coach, I’ll run drills with the football team if you squeeze into some yoga pants and show me you can actually touch your toes first."

His eyes darkened, just for a second. His laugh was richer, deeper, and his body turned toward mine with a newfound energy, as if he was waiting for me to take it further.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with amusement. "Me, squeezing into yoga pants just to give you a show."

I shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. "I mean, fair is fair, Coach. If I’m putting myself through hell with your football drills, you should have to sweat through one of my yoga cooldowns. Unless, of course, you’re afraid of getting shown up by an old lady."

Ken chuckled, shaking his head. "Old lady? Please, Mrs. Ling, if that’s what you think, you clearly haven’t seen yourself in those yoga outfits."

I scoffed, though I felt the heat creep up my neck. "Flattery isn’t going to get you out of this bet, Coach. If I’m putting myself through hell with your football drills, you should have to sweat through one of my yoga cooldowns. Unless, of course, you're afraid of getting shown up."

His eyes gleamed with amusement, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. "Tell you what, Mrs. Ling--if I survive one of your yoga sessions, you have to run warm-ups with my boys. Deal?"

From that moment on, it became our thing--this flirtatious, playful banter that made the long days easier, a secret language spoken in teasing glances and suggestive smirks. The way his gaze dipped to my lips when I spoke, the way his hand would linger on my lower back just a second longer than necessary as we passed each other in the hall--it was subtle, but it was there, growing, simmering just beneath the surface.

I told myself it was harmless. That I was just playing along. But the way my pulse quickened when he walked into a room, the way my stomach fluttered whenever he laughed at something I said--I knew better.

But then I started noticing him. Really noticing him. The way his muscles flexed when he stretched after practice. The way he smelled, this deep, masculine scent that lingered whenever he was too close. The way his eyes lingered on mine just a second too long. I knew it was dangerous, knew I shouldn’t feel the way I was starting to feel. But I was lonely. I was starving for attention, for affection. For something I hadn’t felt in years.

I told myself it was just a moment of weakness. That it didn’t mean anything.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

It meant everything.

-----------------------

The first time he joined me for a yoga session, I told myself it was just friendly competition, nothing more. But as we moved through the warm-up, I noticed the way his gaze lingered. When I arched into a slow, deliberate cat-cow stretch, his eyes drifted lower, following the curve of my back, the sway of my hips. A thrill shot through me, but I kept my expression neutral, pretending not to notice. Still, the temptation to push him just a little further was too strong to resist.

I moved into downward dog, stretching deep, feeling the tight pull in my legs as I held the position. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ken swallow hard, his jaw clenching. He shifted like he was adjusting his stance, but I knew better. Heat curled in my belly at the realization--he was watching me, really watching me, and I liked it.

"Need some help, Coach?" I teased, glancing over my shoulder with an innocent smile.

Ken huffed, shaking his head. "I think you're enjoying this way too much, Mrs. Ling."

Smirking, I straightened and stepped toward him, placing my hands lightly on his shoulders to help guide him into a better position. The moment my fingers met his skin, a spark shot through me. His muscles were solid beneath my touch, heat radiating from his body. And then, there was the contrast--the deep, rich brown of his arms against my pale fingers, the way our skin looked together. It sent a dangerous thrill through me, one I tried to ignore.

I adjusted his stance, stepping closer, using my body to guide his movements. Every small contact--my hip brushing his, the faint graze of my hands over his back--sent my heart pounding. He was warm, solid, and far too tempting. And when I glanced up, his dark eyes locked onto mine, something unreadable flickering behind them.

"You sure you're not just using this as an excuse to get your hands on me?" he murmured, his voice low, teasing, but edged with something deeper.

I smirked, refusing to let him see just how much he was affecting me. "Please, Coach. I’m just making sure you don’t embarrass yourself."

When the session finally ended, I rolled up my mat, stealing one last glance at him. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture told me everything. I wasn’t the only one feeling it. My heart pounded as I tried to steady my breath, my body still humming with the lingering sensation of his warmth, his strength, his presence. The thrill of being that close to him, of touching him under the guise of harmless adjustments, had ignited something deep inside me--something reckless, something exhilarating.

-----------------------

I was disappointed when Ken couldn’t keep up with our yoga sessions as football season ramped up, but our playful, flirtatious banter never wavered. If anything, the distance made the tension more electric, each teasing glance and lingering touch feeling heavier with unspoken desire. It was still harmless--at least, that’s what I told myself.

Then, one afternoon, the principal pulled Ken and I aside and praised how well we worked together in coordinating the football team and cheerleading squad’s joint practice activities. It was a casual compliment, but it felt like an unintentional spotlight on something I wasn’t ready to admit to myself. As a result, the principal suggested we collaborate on the upcoming Sex Ed curriculum, given that I taught Biology and Ken handled Physical Education. It made perfect sense on paper.

Ken’s expression flickered with something unreadable--hesitation, maybe even discomfort--but he nodded, agreeing to the change. I, on the other hand, felt a conflicting mix of excitement and nerves. Working so closely together, discussing something as intimate as sexual health, meant more time in each other’s orbit, more opportunities for tension to simmer between us.

To facilitate our planning, the principal also suggested I move into the coach’s office, where there was an unused desk since there was no assistant coach. It was practical, logical. But as I caught Ken’s eye, something unspoken passed between us--an awareness that from this point on, we would be in even closer proximity, a step closer to a line neither of us had dared to cross. Yet.

-----------------------

The gym office was quiet except for the rhythmic scratching of pens against paper and the faint hum of the vending machine in the corner. A stack of half-graded quizzes sat between Ken and me, most filled with misspelled answers and awkward euphemisms that made Sex Ed a uniquely painful experience to teach.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I swear, if I read one more student calling the vagina a ‘baby cave,’ I’m quitting.”

Ken snorted, tossing his pen onto the desk. “That’s better than the one I just got. Some kid called it the ‘hot pocket of life.’”

I stared at him. “Hot pocket?”

Ken spread his hands in defeat. “I don’t make the rules.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “We are failing the next generation.”

Nah.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, his biceps flexing against the fabric of his shirt. “We’re doing what we can.”

I tried not to stare. Really, I did.

But it had been weeks of this--late nights, inside jokes, an easy chemistry that was just friendly enough to ignore. I told myself I was imagining things. That the lingering glances, the way he always leaned just a little closer than necessary, were harmless.

But I wasn’t stupid.

The way his eyes dipped down to my lips when I spoke? The way his hand sometimes hovered near the small of my back when we passed in the hallway? The fact that I noticed any of it?

It wasn’t nothing.

I shifted, tugging my cardigan tighter around me. “You think we’ll finish grading these before midnight?”

Ken smirked. “What, you got a hot date waiting?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. With my pillow.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Lucky pillow.”

I froze.

It was the way he said it. Low. Rasping. Like he was testing something.

My breath caught, and suddenly, the warmth in my chest turned into a slow, curling heat that spread lower. I should have brushed it off. Just another joke. Just harmless teasing. But something about the way he was looking at me, the way my pulse was hammering in my ears, made me reckless.

So I crossed my legs. Slowly.

The movement hiked my skirt just enough to reveal the lace edge of my stockings. Just enough to see if he’d notice.

And he did.

Ken’s gaze flicked downward, his smirk faltering for just a second before something darker, heavier settled behind his eyes.

My stomach clenched. Oh.

I wasn’t imagining this.

Ken’s gaze at my legs sent a slow, deliberate shiver down my spine. "Jealous, Coach?" I teased, letting the words linger just a little too long in the space between us.

Ken exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth curving up as he leaned in, forearms bracing against the desk. "Jealous? Nah." His gaze flickered over my legs again before meeting my eyes. "I just prefer a more... hands-on approach to Sex Ed."

The air crackled.

My breath hitched, heat flaring in my chest before settling low, curling deep in my stomach. He was pushing. Testing.

So I pushed back.

I shifted slightly in my chair, just enough for my knee to brush against his. "Oh?" My voice came out softer than I intended, thick with something I wasn’t sure I could name. "Well, Coach, some students do learn better with a good demonstration."

Ken’s lips parted slightly. His grip on the pen tightened.

For a split second, I saw it--the moment where he considered closing the space between us. Where the teasing stopped being teasing, where we crossed the point of no return.

And then my eyes flickered down.

There it was.

A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants.

Heat shot through me, my thighs instinctively pressing together. God.

Ken exhaled sharply, jaw clenching like he was holding himself back. His gaze flicked back to my lips, then lower, and my stomach flipped.

The air was suffocating, electric, ready to snap.

And then--

The door creaked open.

We jerked apart.

"Late night, huh?"

The janitor, Mr. Ruiz, shuffled in, pushing his mop bucket ahead of him. He barely spared us a glance, but the moment had already shattered.

I grabbed my pen, forcing my gaze back to the papers in front of me. “Yeah, just finishing up.”

Ken cleared his throat, adjusting in his chair. “Same here.”

We didn’t look at each other for the rest of the night.

But I felt it.

And I knew he did, too.

-----------------------

The drive home felt longer than usual. The city lights blurred past, but my mind was trapped in the dim glow of the gym office, replaying every moment between Ken and me. The teasing. The looks. The way my body responded to him.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter. This is wrong. It shouldn’t have gone that far. But it had. And the worst part? I liked it.

I wanted more.

That thought made my stomach twist.

I wasn’t some naive schoolgirl with a crush. I was a married woman, a mother. Tim’s wife. And yet, when I closed my eyes, it wasn’t his touch I craved. It was Ken’s--his hands, his body, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted.

A lump formed in my throat. When was the last time Tim looked at me like that?

It wasn’t fair to compare them, but the ache in my chest told me the truth. I missed the way Tim used to touch me. I missed feeling wanted. I missed us.

I pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine, resting my forehead against the steering wheel. I needed to fix this. Before I crossed a line I couldn’t come back from.

I needed to remind Tim what we had. What we still had.

By the time I stepped into the house, I had made up my mind.

I wasn’t just going to wait around for Tim to notice me. I was going to make him notice me.

I walked straight to our bedroom, stripping off my work clothes as I went. The mirror reflected back someone I barely recognized--flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips parted just slightly. The spark of something dangerous still lingered from earlier, but I pushed it away.

I wasn’t dressing up for Ken. I was dressing up for my husband.

I opened my lingerie drawer, hesitating for only a second before pulling out the sheer black set I hadn’t worn in years. Lacy bra, barely-there thong, garter belt with stockings. A matching silk robe to drape over my shoulders.

I ran my fingers through my hair, teasing it into soft waves, then reached for my makeup. A smoky eye, a touch of gloss, just enough to make me feel sexy. Like the woman Tim used to chase across our old college apartment, desperate to get his hands on.

A small smile tugged at my lips. Yeah. That woman was still in there.

I adjusted the straps on my garter belt, giving myself one last look in the mirror before stepping out of the bedroom.

Tonight, I was going to make my husband see me.

And if he didn’t?

I wasn’t sure what I’d do.

-----------------------

The heels of my stilettos clicked softly against the hardwood as I stepped out of the bedroom, my sheer black robe trailing behind me. The dim glow of the desk lamp in Tim’s office cast a warm light down the hallway, and my heart pounded as I made my way toward him.

I had taken my time getting ready--the robe was just a tease, sheer enough to show glimpses of what lay beneath, but leaving enough to the imagination.

I wanted him to look at me. To see me.

Leaning against the doorway, I let my fingers trail over the frame. “Hey, stranger,” I purred.

Tim barely glanced up from his laptop, his fingers still tapping away at the keyboard. “Hey, babe,” he murmured, distracted. “I’ll be done soon.”

A flicker of frustration burned through me, but I kept my expression playful. Instead, I stepped further into the room, letting the robe slip from my shoulders. The cool air kissed my skin as I stood there, exposed in the soft glow of his lamp.

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. “Kerry, not now. I’m in the middle of something.”

Something inside me snapped. Not now. Not ever.

For years, I had waited for him to want me the way he used to. I had been patient, understanding. But tonight, I refused to be ignored.

If he wouldn’t come to me, I would go to him.

Slowly, I walked toward his desk, my hips swaying with purpose. “You work too hard,” I murmured, placing my hands on his shoulders. I leaned down, pressing a kiss to his neck, inhaling his familiar scent. “Let me help you relax.”

“Kerry, I said--”

But I was already moving.

Sinking to my knees, I slid my hands down his chest, my nails lightly dragging over the fabric of his dress shirt before finding the buckle of his belt.

Tim exhaled sharply. “Kerry, what are you--”

I glanced up at him, eyes heavy with intent. “Shh,” I whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

His protests died on his lips as I unzipped him, my fingers brushing against the growing evidence of his arousal. Despite himself, despite his reluctance, his body responded to me.

That should have satisfied me. It didn’t.

I wanted more.

Tim’s breath hitched as I took him into my mouth, my tongue tracing along his length, easily taking him in with room to spare. He groaned, his fingers threading through my hair--but not in the way I craved. It wasn’t out of passion or desperation. It was passive, like he was allowing this to happen rather than wanting it.

And then, far too soon, he stiffened.

I barely had time to react before he finished, his release hitting the back of my throat before spilling onto my chin. The warmth of it startled me, the suddenness leaving me stunned as he let out a final moan, his body already relaxing, his arousal fading just as quickly as it had come. The moment ended before it had even begun.

Tim let out a shaky breath, tucking himself back into his pants as if nothing had happened. He reached for a tissue, handing it to me without even looking at me. “Thanks, babe,” he muttered, already turning back to his laptop. “I really need to finish this brief.”

I knelt there for a moment, staring at him. At the man I had loved for so many years. At the man who barely saw me anymore.

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I stood, wiping myself off before gathering my robe and walking back to our bedroom without another word.

I shut the door behind me, locking it.

For a while, I just stood there, staring at my reflection in the vanity mirror. My makeup was still perfect, my lingerie still clinging to my body in all the ways that should have driven him wild.

But he hadn’t even looked at me.

A deep ache settled in my chest as I climbed onto the bed, the sheets cool against my skin. I felt empty. Unfulfilled.

And then, I thought about Ken.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought I wasn’t looking. The way his voice deepened when he teased me, the way he reacted to me in a way Tim never did anymore.

I closed my eyes, fingers ghosting over my stomach, then lower.

What if it had been Ken tonight?

What if he had been the one sitting in that chair, looking at me with hunger instead of disinterest?

A soft gasp escaped my lips as I let the fantasy take over.

And for the first time in years, I felt wanted.

Lying back against the pillows, I let out a shaky breath, my body still thrumming with frustration. The silk and lace of my lingerie clung to me, a cruel reminder of what I had hoped for tonight--what I needed. But instead of feeling desired, I was left alone, aching, unfulfilled.

I squeezed my thighs together, my body burning with something I couldn’t ignore. My fingers traced absentmindedly over the garter strap at my thigh, teasing the edge of my stocking. My mind drifted, seeking something, someone to fill the void.

Ken.

The thought alone sent a rush of heat through me. I let my eyes flutter shut, imagining the way his hands would feel against my skin--rough, strong, confident. The deep contrast of his warm brown against my pale thighs made my breath hitch. God, we’d look incredible together, our bodies blending like swirling paint, dark and light mixing into something raw and beautiful. Something I shouldn’t want this badly.

A quiet moan escaped me as my fingers dipped beneath the lace of my panties, brushing against the slick heat between my legs. What if it had been Ken tonight? What if it were his lips trailing down my body, his deep voice whispering against my skin, teasing, telling me exactly how badly he wanted me?

You wanted this, didn’t you, Mrs. Ling?

I bit my lip, my fingers moving slowly, savoring the way my body responded to the fantasy. I imagined the weight of him pressing me down, stretching me, filling me in a way I desperately craved. Ken was so much bigger than Tim--everywhere. The thought alone sent a pulse of pleasure through me.

He’d make me take every inch.

My back arched, my breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He wouldn’t just go through the motions. He’d watch me, study me, make me beg for it. My fingers worked faster, my body climbing, trembling, reaching for something only he could give me.

“Oh--” My voice broke as the pleasure surged through me, crashing over me in waves. My body shook, my free hand fisting the sheets as the orgasm rolled through me, deep and shattering, leaving me breathless and weak.

For a long moment, I lay there, my skin flushed, the lacie thong twisted around my hips. The room was silent, but in my mind, I wasn’t alone. I imagined Ken beside me, his strong arms wrapping around me, holding me close, his warmth chasing away the emptiness I had felt for so long.

For the first time in what felt like years, I felt wanted.

But as the aftershocks of pleasure faded, reality crept back in. My breath slowed, my body cooling, the weight of what I had just done pressing against my chest. I swallowed hard, blinking up at the ceiling, but the fantasy still clung to me, wrapping around my thoughts like a vice.

I had imagined Ken in so much detail--his hands, his voice, the way he would claim me--that it felt too real. Too dangerous.

Guilt curled in my stomach. I told myself it was just a fantasy. Just a fleeting moment of weakness. But deep down, I knew better.

I had wanted him. I still wanted him.

And tomorrow, when I saw him at school, would I be able to look him in the eyes without remembering this?

I drifted off to sleep like that, still in my lingerie, my body now stilled. And in the quiet darkness, with a hazy, satisfied sigh, I let his name slip from my lips.

"Ken."

-----------------------

I woke up tangled in sheets, I didn’t move at first. Didn’t want to. My skin felt flushed, warm, a phantom ache lingering between my thighs. My breath caught as the memory surfaced--Ken. His hands. His body. The way I imagined him taking me.

God.

Shame curled in my stomach, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the lingering pulse of desire.

I had crossed a line.

Thinking about him was one thing. Wanting him, touching myself to the thought of him--that was something else entirely.

I slid my legs out from under the covers, forcing myself up. It was just a mistake. A one-time slip. That’s what I told myself as I went through the motions of getting ready. But deep down, I knew better.

I felt different.

And worse? I acted different.

It started in small ways.

After school, after cheerleading practice, I always stayed behind for a short yoga cooldown. A habit I’d formed years ago, something to keep my muscles flexible, my body limber. It was supposed to be routine. But now, I noticed things--things I hadn’t paid attention to before.

Like how Ken would always linger in the gym a little longer, staying back under the pretense of checking equipment or locking up. I’d move into my stretches slower, arching into a deep cobra pose, letting my back curve, my chest push forward, my hips lift just enough to make it suggestive. And I could feel his eyes on me. The slow drag of his gaze over my body, lingering on the toned lines of my thighs, the dip of my waist. The heat of it made my skin prickle, made my breath come just a little heavier.

And I didn’t look away.

I should have. I should have. But something inside me liked knowing he was watching. Liked knowing I could affect him, just as much as he affected me. A wicked thrill ran through me when I held a stretch just a little longer, let my fingers trail over my calf, let my hips roll deeper into a seated twist.

Then there were the moments I sought him out.

The football team always left the weight room a mess after practice. Ken made them clean up, but he’d stay behind to lift once they were gone. I told myself I was just stopping by to grab my things from the coach’s office, but I knew better.

I’d pause just outside the weight room, watching through the open door. Watching him work.

His body was a study in strength--every motion deliberate, muscles flexing and tightening beneath his glistening skin. He’d strip his hoodie off halfway through, sweat-dampened tank top clinging to his torso, highlighting every inch of his carved physique. The way his biceps bulged as he curled the heavy weights, the way his chest rose and fell, breath heavy from exertion--it made my pulse race.

And then there was the moment I couldn’t ignore.

Ken stood before the mirror, his grip tightening on the bar as he powered through another set. My eyes traveled downward, drawn to the unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his shorts.

My breath caught.

It wasn’t just the sight--it was the realization. The knowledge that his body was reacting. That I wasn’t just imagining the tension between us. That my teasing, my stretching, my lingering looks--it was affecting him, the same way he had been affecting me.

I bit my lip, gripping the strap of my bag.

This was dangerous.

I knew that. And yet, I didn’t walk away.

Not immediately.

I was already in too deep.

And the worst part?

I didn’t want to stop.

-----------------------

The showers in the girls’ locker room were still busted. With the football and cheer season wrapping up, fixing them hadn’t exactly been high on the school’s priority list. So Ken and I had come up with a temporary solution--letting the girls use the boys’ locker room first while the team waited in the gym, then swapping them out so the boys could shower after. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked.

Now, the students were gone, the locker room quiet except for the distant hum of the overhead lights. I let out a breath, rolling my shoulders. The long day had left my muscles tight, and the sweat from practice clung to my skin, making my workout tank top and leggings feel suffocating.

Ken wiped his brow with his shirt before pulling it off entirely, tossing it onto the bench. My eyes flickered to the broad expanse of his chest, glistening under the fluorescent light. He caught me looking, smirking as he stretched.

"You wanna go first?" he asked, nodding toward the showers. "I'll keep an eye out in case anyone wanders in."

I hesitated for only a second before flashing a sly grin. "Well, since it’s late… we could just shower together."

The words hung in the air like a lit match in a room full of gasoline.

Ken froze. His smirk faltered, his brows lifting in surprise as his gaze locked onto mine. For the first time, I had him speechless.

I let the moment stretch just long enough for his mind to start spinning, then laughed. "Relax, Coach. Keep your mind out of the gutter. I just meant you can take the stall next to mine--saves time, right? We’re both mature adults, aren’t we?"

Ken exhaled a laugh, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from his locker. "Damn, Kerry. You almost got me there."

I winked. "Almost?"

Still chuckling, he followed me toward the showers, my heart thudding a little harder than it should have as we stepped inside our partitions.

I turned the water on, peeling off my clothes and letting the warm spray hit my skin. But as I stood there, steam curling around me, I became painfully aware of the fact that just a thin stall divider separated me from a completely naked Ken Johnson.

And that thought? That was going to get me in trouble.

The moment I stepped into the shower stall, I let out a deep breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The warm spray cascaded over my skin, washing away the sweat from the long day, but it did nothing to cool the heat curling in my belly. Not when I knew that just a few feet away, Ken was stripping out of his workout clothes, his body just as slick with sweat as mine had been.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against the cool tile.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Kerry.

I tried, I really did. But the temptation was insidious, creeping in despite my best efforts. I wasn’t just imagining him in the stall next to me. My mind conjured a different scenario, one I had no business thinking about.

What if I had forgotten my soap?

What if, with a teasing smirk, I had called out to him, and he had stepped in to share his?

My breath hitched as the fantasy took root, vivid and undeniable. I pictured him closing the short distance between us, the steam curling around his powerful frame, beads of water clinging to his dark, sweat-slicked skin. The sheer contrast of it made me shiver--his deep, rich brown against my pale, flushed flesh, the visual so striking, so forbidden, it made my stomach tighten.

His hands--large, strong, warm--would find their way to my bare shoulders, the difference in our skin tones making the moment feel even more illicit. His deep chocolate fingers gliding over the creamy expanse of my back, pressing the bar of soap into my skin, working it into a lather.

A shudder ran through me at the thought.

He’d be slow, deliberate, dragging the soap down my spine, then over the curve of my hips. The slick slide of his fingers would follow, ensuring every inch of me was covered in suds, his touch lingering just a second too long. I would gasp as his palms traced the dip of my waist, skimming lower, pausing at the swell of my thighs. I could almost feel the rough scrape of his calloused fingertips as he kneaded the tension from my body, as he turned me to face him--

I let out a small, shaky exhale, my knees weak beneath the water’s pounding rhythm.

In my mind, I wasn’t just standing in the shower anymore. I was touching him, too. My milky white hands sliding over his chiseled chest, the soap slicking my palms as I traced every hard ridge of muscle. His skin would be smooth, but firm, his body a work of strength honed over years of dedication. My fingers would wander lower, following the trail of water dripping down his abdomen, until they wrapped around the thick, solid weight of him.

A deep, guttural sound would rumble from his throat as I stroked him, feeling the heat of his arousal pulse beneath my touch. He would grow harder, thicker, and I would marvel at him--at how different he was from Tim. Ken was power incarnate, his size overwhelming, his presence consuming.

I squeezed my thighs together, swallowing hard, my heart pounding against my ribs.

It would be so easy to let my mind go further, to surrender to the fantasy completely.

To imagine his hands gripping my waist, hoisting me up against the shower wall, spreading me open for him. To picture the way our bodies would press together, the way we would fit, how perfectly he would fill me--

God, stop.

I clenched my jaw, shaking my head, forcing myself to focus on the sound of the water, the scent of the soap, the cold tile beneath my fingertips.

But the images wouldn’t leave.

The risk. The danger. The sheer wrongness of it only made the fantasy hotter.

A whisper of guilt crawled up my spine, but it was smothered by the pounding ache between my legs, the relentless need Ken had ignited without even touching me.

And then--

“Kerry?”

Ken’s voice jolted me from my haze, yanking me back to reality so fast I nearly lost my footing.

I blinked rapidly, shaking the illicit images from my mind, guilt and arousal warring in my chest.

“How much longer you gonna be?” he asked, his voice light, casual, but I swore I heard something else there. A tension mirroring my own.

I cleared my throat, desperate to compose myself. “Just--just another minute,” I called back, forcing my voice to stay steady.

I quickly rinsed off, letting the last of the suds swirl down the drain, but the heat remained, lingering under my skin, making my breath come just a little too fast. I shut off the water and reached for my towel, trying to ignore the way my hands trembled.

I had crossed another line.

And I had no idea if I wanted to step back or keep going.

I stepped out of the shower first, wrapping a towel around my body as I called out, “Alright, Ken, I’m done.” My voice was steady, but my pulse was anything but. I wanted to make sure he didn’t come out while I was still wet, still vulnerable.

As I reached for another towel to dry my hair, my eyes flicked to the large mirror above the sink, catching the reflection of the shower behind me. The glass was still foggy from the heat, but through the mist, I could see him--his broad back, muscles flexing as he ran his hands over his smooth, bald head, water beading and rolling down his skin. His strong hands traced over his scalp with a practiced ease, pushing away lingering drops of water before they streamed down the thick ridges of his shoulders.

My breath hitched slightly as my gaze roamed lower, following the rivulets of water that curved down his back and disappeared past his waist. My stomach clenched at the sheer power of him, his frame glistening under the locker room’s dim light.

Before I could get lost in the sight, Ken reached for the knob and turned off the water, his movements slow and deliberate. I should have looked away. I should have moved. But I stood frozen, my fingers gripping the edge of the sink as he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his waist in one smooth motion.

Damn it.

A tiny, shameful part of me was disappointed. I hadn’t seen enough. I wanted--no, I needed--to see more. My skin felt flushed, and I told myself it was just from the hot shower.

Ken finally turned, his eyes meeting mine through the mirror. I tensed, but he didn’t look suspicious--just observant. His gaze flicked down, noticing I was still damp, the towel clinging to every curve.

“You’re not dry yet,” he noted, his voice rougher than usual. “Take your time. I’ll hang back here until you’re done.”

The offer was polite, but something about the way he said it made me feel… exposed. He was giving me space. Giving me the chance to be comfortable. But also--giving me an opportunity.

I swallowed. “It’s fine. I’ll just change on the other side of the lockers.”

I heard the hesitation in my own voice. A beat of silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken thoughts. I felt the weight of his stare as he stood there, still damp, still wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Then Ken spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “You sure about that, Kerry?”

My stomach tightened. The way he said my name sent heat pooling low in my belly, but it also sent a sliver of panic through me. He knew. He could hear it in my voice--the crack in my resolve, the flicker of something reckless.

For a split second, I thought about it. Thought about turning, stepping toward him instead of away. Thought about testing just how far we could go before we shattered everything.

But my heart pounded too loudly in my ears. I clenched my jaw, grabbed my clothes, and spun on my heel.

“I’ll see you outside,” I said quickly, forcing a laugh that sounded too high-pitched, too fake. And then, before I could change my mind, I walked out--fast, nearly tripping over my own feet--heading straight for the women’s restroom to change.

As I shut the door behind me, pressing my back against it, I exhaled sharply. My hands were shaking. My body was still wet, my skin still burning.

And I knew, without a doubt, that I had just barely escaped something I wouldn’t be able to take back.

-----------------------

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my body still tense, my thoughts tangled in a dangerous mess.

The shower incident with Ken lingered in my mind longer than it should have. The way my pulse had pounded, the way my breath had caught when I watched him through the mirror--what the hell was wrong with me?

I needed to reset. To remember why I was here. Why I had uprooted my life for my husband’s career.

Tim.

I turned my head to look at him. He was sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop, the dim glow of the screen highlighting the sharp lines of his face. He looked tired. Stressed. I told myself that was the reason for the distance between us.

Maybe I was just being selfish. Maybe I was overthinking.

Try.

I sat up slowly, letting the silky strap of my nightgown slip down my shoulder. “Tim,” I murmured, keeping my voice soft, inviting.

“Mmm?” He didn’t look away from the screen.

I exhaled, steeling myself. “Come to bed.”

He finally glanced over, blinking as if he’d forgotten I was there. “I have to finish this contract,” he said, rubbing his temples. “It’s already past deadline.”

I bit my lip, shifting so that the covers slipped down, exposing more of my bare legs. “It can wait… just for a little while?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. A memory, maybe. Of who we used to be.

Tim sighed and closed the laptop. “Alright. Just for a little while.”

Relief spread through me. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe we just lost touch, and I let myself get too distracted.

He slid into bed beside me, reaching for my waist, his hands familiar but somehow… different. Routine. There was no hesitation, no hunger. He kissed me, and I kissed him back, willing myself to feel something more.

But then his touch faltered. I felt it--the moment when he lost interest.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against my lips, pulling away slightly. “I’m just exhausted.”

He kissed my forehead like I was some obligation he was apologizing for, then rolled onto his back, exhaling sharply. “Tomorrow?”

Tomorrow.

I swallowed against the hollow ache in my chest. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

But I already knew it was a lie.

Because tonight, I had wanted Tim to remind me who I belonged to.

And tonight, all I could think about was Ken.

-----------------------

I avoided Ken for the next few days. I couldn’t trust myself around him anymore. Not after what had happened in the locker room, not after the way my body betrayed me under the hot stream of the shower. I buried myself in work, making excuses to stay in my classroom, leaving practice early whenever I could. I told myself it was for the best. That I needed distance. That if I ignored it, it would go away.

But it didn’t. If anything, the space between us only made the tension worse. I caught him watching me during practice, his gaze lingering just a second too long before he forced himself to look away. Our conversations became clipped, careful, like we were both afraid of saying the wrong thing, of acknowledging the unspoken heat simmering beneath the surface.

But avoidance could only last so long.

The final football game of the season was coming up, and with it, the cheerleading competition. The whole school was buzzing with excitement. I had no choice but to work closely with Ken again, coordinating routines, making sure everything ran smoothly for the big night. And as much as I tried to keep things professional, I knew the moment we were alone together, the inevitable would happen.

The dam would break.

And this time, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stop it.

-----------------------

Continues on Confessions of a Teacher Part 2