With the school year now behind me, I sat at my desk and organized the contents of each drawer. My transistor radio played at low volume in order to fill the classroom's silence.

I was humming along to a song by The Carpenters when a soft knock sounded on the half-open door. Looking up, I smiled to see Bradley lingering just outside. 

"Bradley, what are you still doing here?" A glance at the wall clock let me know it was a few minutes past four.

He took a tentative step into the room, his own smile sheepish. "I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for all you've done to help me, Miss M."

He'd called me that since the beginning of the year, when he was a new student in my English class. Now, I was quick to beckon him closer. It wasn't like him to be so hesitant. How many afternoons had he showed up after the final bell, asking if he could do his homework here while I graded papers? I couldn't begin to count.

I'd grown fond of the eighteen-year-old, especially after he confided that his house was chaotic at the best of times and he was better able to concentrate in my classroom. Occasionally, he would look up from his assigned reading to ask a question. Do you think McMurphy really was crazy for not realizing what Nurse Ratched might do to him? Or, Don't you think Arthur Dimmesdale was more of a sinner than Hester? He was supposed to be a godly man, after all.

I enjoyed discussing the novels with him, and he always listened attentively when I delved into their underlying themes. More than once, I'd tried to convince him to apply to the community college just an hour away, but he already had a job lined up far from this place. I knew from our talks that he saw this town as a kind of prison, one he was eager to escape.

That afternoon, I noticed he was dressed nicer than usual. His polo shirt looked practically new, and the hole in his jeans had been patched. He'd been to the barbershop; his light brown hair was neatly cut and combed. 

As he approached my desk, his stride grew a bit more confident. He was tall and lanky, slightly buck-toothed. I'd never seen him talking to any of the girls in class. Mostly, he kept to himself, opening up only after school in the quiet of this room.

Rising from my chair, I tossed my long hair over my shoulders. I'd pinned it back with barrettes to keep it out of my face. The strands were ruler-straight and darker than Bradley's. Just that morning, I'd spotted a wiry gray one sticking out like an antenna.

"Congratulations!" I told Bradley, holding out my arms. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by my offer of a hug. "You're not my student anymore," I reminded him. 

He was quick to embrace me, and as I patted his back, I caught the scent of clean laundry. 

"I'm very proud of you," I said.

When I started to withdraw, he held me fast. I couldn't help but be aware of how his body felt pressed against mine. 

"You're the reason I kept showing up every day," he revealed in a low voice. "So many times, I wanted to quit."

"I'm really happy you didn't." My own voice quavered with emotion. Though Bradley had become one of my favorite students, I'd never realized just how much I meant to him. "You're a bright young man, with so much potential. If you ever decide you want to go to college..."

Now he did pull away. "I'd never make it there. Not unless I had you as a tutor."

"I'd be happy to tutor you, Bradley. We could meet at the library on the weekends."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. Looking down at his feet, he asked, "Can I talk to you about something, Miss M?"

"Of course." Our eyes again met, and I noticed his cheeks were flushed. The heat had spread across the bridge of his nose, which had a smattering of freckles. 

"I'm gonna close the door, if that's okay."

I nodded, figuring he might want to tell me something about his home life, something that required privacy.

The radio continued playing on my desk; just then, Barry Manilow was singing about Mandy. I wondered if I should turn it off, but before I could, Bradley returned. His hazel eyes were wide and solemn. I suddenly feared he was about to relay some terrible news.

Instead, he stepped closer until I was eye-level with his chest. I had to tilt my head back to see his face. 

"You've helped me in so many ways, Miss M. I'm..." He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. "I'm going to miss you. A lot."

I had to blink away tears. It wasn't like me to become emotional over a student leaving, but Bradley was different than all my other pupils. 

"I will certainly miss seeing you in my classroom," I said.

"Can I show you? How much you mean to me?" Bradley gently grasped my upper arms. At first, I thought he planned to pull me to him for another hug. His intention became clear only when he started lowering his mouth toward mine.

"Bradley!" In my shock, I barked out his name, making it sound like a reprimand. "We can't do this."

His expression grew wounded. "Why not? Don't you care about me?"

"Of course, but I'm far too old for you!" At thirty-six, I had to be around his mother's age. "And I'm married."

He smiled and shook his head. "I don't think you're too old. I think you're perfect. And I don't care if you're married."

Though my own face now burned, I didn't move to put more distance between me and my former student. His hands slid down my arms, then even lower until they rested on my hips. I could feel the warmth of his palms seeping through my dress.

"Nobody needs to know, if that's what you're worried about." Bradley ducked his head, determined to catch my stare. "Let me show you," he murmured. "Please."

His nearness made it difficult for me to think straight. If I could have just a moment to gather my wits, to make it clear why this wasn't possible...

"The door has a window in it, Bradley," I managed to say. "We can't risk being seen."

"No one else is around. The school's practically empty." Glancing around the room, he added, "If we move into that corner, we can't be seen from the door."

"We shouldn't!"

But I let him take my hand and lead me to that corner. I let him wedge me between the wall and a small bookcase.

And I let him shelter me with his own body as he pressed his lips to my neck. 

"I think about you all the time, Miss M." His breath was hot on my skin. "When I'm in bed at night, I imagine us together. I dream about touching you, kissing you..."

Closing my eyes, I released a whimper. This was wrong on every level. This was crossing a boundary I'd never once been tempted to violate. 

That knowledge didn't stop me from sliding my arms around Bradley. I wove my fingers through his hair as his mouth inched toward mine. 

The kiss deepened once I relaxed into it. My muscles lost their rigidity, and I sank against Bradley, unresisting as he held me tighter. His tongue darted between my lips, retreating before he made a bolder attempt. This time, I moaned and slid my tongue over his.

Reluctantly, he withdrew to catch his breath. Pressing my hands to his chest, I started to nudge him back, but he wouldn't budge. 

"If this is my only chance, then let me show you," he pleaded.

I stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as he fumbled with the button of his jeans. "Bradley, you can't! Not here."

His hands were shaking, yet he quickly succeeded in lowering the jean's zipper. I bit back a cry when he freed his penis from his underwear. In his grasp, it was fully hard, the tip flushed a purple hue. 

"This is what you do to me." He began stroking himself, his breaths halting as they caught in his throat. 

Despite my alarm, I couldn't resist watching. His earlier kiss had made me wet between my thighs, and I now felt an insistent pulse in my sex.

It was almost punishing, the way he pleasured himself. His low grunts gave the act an air of desperation.

"Miss M, look at me!"

I forced my gaze upward, away from his cock and to his face. The tendons in his neck strained as his teeth clenched. 

"Let me come for you," he begged. "Please, Miss M. I won't unless you say I can!"

His pleas, along with his large, submissive eyes, caused me to shudder from my own need. Why did it excite me to see this young man debase himself in such a way? 

My hand drifted to my right breast as I said, "Come, Bradley. I want to see it."

He turned to the side, offering me a view of his profile. His erection was now aimed at the other wall; its painted cinderblock bore smudges of grime which had accumulated over the years.

I stared, mesmerized by the sight of Bradley masturbating. My muscles tensed, as if ready to spring. All the while, I teased my nipple, resenting the barrier of dress and bra. 

Bradley gasped when he looked over. In humiliation, I dropped my hand.

"Don't stop," he panted. "Play with your titties for me!"

I should have recoiled at his crude language. Should have put an end to all of this. But I couldn't bear to. Not when my arousal had grown to match his.

Cupping my breasts, I groaned. My hips moved with their own sensual rhythm.

"Gonna come for you!" Bradley's hand pumped furiously at his cock.

Seconds later, an arch of semen issued forth to strike the wall. Another followed almost immediately. The final spurts were weaker, spattering the floor at Bradley's feet.

I watched it all, trembling as if I'd been the one to climax. Bradley let his head fall back. He was slack-jawed, his eyes heavy-lidded. I could easily imagine the satisfaction he felt after such an intense release. 

When he turned to me, I held up my hands. "You need to go," I said in my sternest voice. "Right now."

He let go of his cock, which remained stubbornly hard. "Miss M, I'm sorry."

Shaking my head, I darted past him toward my desk. "I mean it, Bradley. You can't stay here any longer."

"But the mess—"

"I'll clean it up!" I snapped. With my back to him, I tried to slow my breathing. Tried to stop my quivering. I pressed my palms to the desktop and closed my eyes, praying Bradley would do as I said.

I heard the shuffle of his clothes, and then his footsteps as he approached me. 

Standing at my side, he placed a hand on my shoulder. I couldn't bring myself to shrug off his touch.

"I never meant to upset you," he said. "I hope you can forgive what I did."

Though I straightened up to my full height, I avoided his stare. "It's not your fault, Bradley." My voice sounded like I was forcing the words through a passage far narrower than my throat. "I let things go too far, and that was wrong of me."

"It wasn't," he quietly insisted. "Do you know how happy I was with you just now?" 

My resolve weakened yet again. "This isn't appropriate. You need to focus your attention on girls your own age."

"I don't care about girls my own age!" Bradley said loud enough to make me startle. Turning toward him, I saw the anger and distress in his face. 

"Bradley—"

"Girls my age?" His laugh was bitter. "They treat me like I'm nobody. Like I'm trash. But you always saw me as more!"

Without thinking, I reached for him. "Of course I do!"

He seized my hand in both of his and gave it a squeeze. "Then don't turn your back on me, Miss M."

Tears threatened to flood my eyes again. "I could never do that."

He lifted my hand to his lips and planted a kiss on my palm. "I'll see you at graduation?"

"Absolutely." I managed to give him a bright smile as I nodded.

Satisfied, Bradley headed toward the door. Glancing over his shoulder at me, he said, "I really should clean up the mess I made. I'm sorry about that."

I waved at him dismissively. "It's fine. I'll take care of it."

Once he was gone, I sank into my chair and cradled my head in my hands. How could I have done such a thing? What had gotten into me?

The fear that someone else might pop into my classroom to wish me a nice summer was what pulled me to my feet. In my newly organized desk drawer, I found an old handkerchief, faded but clean. 

As the radio taunted me with the song "I'm Not in Love," I wiped up all evidence of what Bradley and I had done. By the time I finished, the handkerchief was damp with semen. 

Staring down at the soiled fabric, I considered tossing it in the trash. Instead, I folded it into a neat square and slipped it into the side pocket of my handbag. I told myself I was simply being careful, leaving behind no trace of my wrongdoing. 

But the truth was, I couldn't part with such an intimate reminder. Nothing else would happen between me and my former student, so what harm would it do to keep the handkerchief? At least for a little while.

On the drive home, I realized I was still trembling. I wondered if I'd ever stop. Though I'd given up smoking years ago, I was tempted to stop by the store for a pack of cigarettes, if only to calm my nerves.

Yet there was another need pulling at me, one even stronger than my past addiction. When I reached my small house on the outskirts of town, I darted inside. My husband was still at work.

While stepping out of my low heels, I hurried to take off my clothes. I retrieved the handkerchief from my bag before rushing down the hall.

In my bedroom, with its window air conditioning unit humming, I lay down and spread my legs. Despite the coolness of the sheets, I felt flushed and sweaty. 

Unfolding the handkerchief, I draped it across my belly. The fabric was stiff from its coat of semen.

With my right hand, I reached between my thighs and thrust two fingers into my entrance. With my left hand, I swept the handkerchief over my hard nipples.

It felt wrong, dirty. But when I closed my eyes, I could feel the warmth of Bradley's lips on mine. I could hear his fervent grunts. My fingers worked faster, pumping in and out of my opening until I knew I'd be sore later.

Finally, I rubbed my clitoris, for I'd grown desperate to come. And just before I did, I grabbed the handkerchief and stuffed it into my mouth.

I tasted Bradley while I screamed.