by Cy Blanca
“Huh,” Curt grunted. “I guess you do make a point.” He backed away, but his hand was still invested in the feel of fabric against Antony’s hard thigh. As he took another step back, he let his fingers dance, mapping out a merengue across the outer seam of Antony’s pants.
The damage was done. There was that shudder again, starting from someplace deep in Antony’s torso and spreading to his limbs. The quivering sigh that accompanied the tremble was more overt, less controlled.
“I….” He sucked in a bit of air at the pinch Curt placed on his hip. “It’d be a shame to waste all the planning I did, though, right?”
Curt’s grin was almost as sneaky as the fingers on Antony’s body. “So? What are you waiting for, nene? Get that ass of yours in the bathroom.”
Antony blinked slowly, then breathed in heavy, hot air. As he let the breath go, he turned and walked toward the bathroom. Just as Curt had when he walked into the room, Antony stumbled a bit. His gait seemed a bit off, and Curt had to laugh.
“What’s the matter, nene? Grow another leg in the last three seconds?” Of course he didn’t expect a response, but Antony would forgive him his teasing. It was all a part of the game.
Curt’s hands were on Antony’s waist as he followed him into the communal stall. When they squeezed into the small room, Curt closed the door behind him. He didn’t bother with the light. Sometime during the school’s construction, someone had made a mistake in the design and put a small window right where the bathroom was to be built. One of the teachers had enough foresight to place old newspapers over the window to avoid anyone peeking in, but that bit of faded light would suffice for what the two of them had in mind.
Antony leaned back on the sink, making room for Curt to fit right against him, his legs pinning Antony to the spot.
They stood there looking into each other’s faces, as if attempting to memorize every dip and curve before a long absence. Words would cheapen the moment they shared, Curt thought. He’d almost forgotten about the need that had grabbed his balls the second he saw Antony in the cafeteria. The landscape was sex, sure. But there was something glorious in the construction of Antony’s face. Something almost holy that took Curt’s breath away every single time he looked at him.
“Damn,” he whispered.
“What?” Antony said, a small smile adding nuance to that pretty mouth.
“Just…. Look at you, nene. You’re so….”
Time hadn’t changed Antony’s aversion to compliments. It was hard for Curt to keep the reverence from coloring his voice, but it hurt him to see what growing up gay in East Topeka had done to parts of Antony’s self-confidence. His dipped head, his inability to speak—Curt was having none of it. He grabbed Antony’s chin and forced him to look at him. Seeing those eyes, those lips, he was once again struck dumb with awe for his man.
Out of nervous habit, Antony licked his bottom lip, then pulled the shiny flap of skin between his teeth.
Of course, Curt saw the movement, and just like that his reason for dragging Antony into a tiny bathroom during school hours crashed down on him and he was hot with the desire to taste. He slammed his mouth on Antony’s, covering the small muffle of surprise with his lips and licking at Antony’s protest with the tip of his tongue.
ANTONY’S MOANS were soft and hungry, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. Curt’s kisses dazed him, making him forget time and space and everything concrete. He wasn’t in the unisex bathroom at Pauline Central. He was on a bed, silk sheets dragging their red Egyptian fingers across his skin and making every cell in his body tingle from sensation. He was pinned to a cloud, held safe in the warm grasp of his poet. He ran his hands up Curt’s arms, let his fingers trace up Curt’s neck to paint patterns into the deep midnight of his skin. Then a high-pitched screech came from the playground and he was thrust back to reality. For a moment he panicked. How long had they been in the workroom, anyway?
“Curt…,” Antony pushed out between licks and nips.
He had to stop this from getting out of hand. A few nibbles at his lips was one thing, but anything more—no matter how bad they both wanted it—was just stupid. They were already pushing their luck making out in the workroom during school in the first place. He wasn’t sure what had been going through his mind to make him think this was a good idea, but things were on their way down a road he really didn’t want. He pushed Curt away long enough for a few deep breaths. “Jesus, Ram. You’re as horny as a pregnant lady.”
“¡Coño! Really, babe? A pregnant lady? Way to kill my hard-on.”
Antony chuckled. “It got you to calm the fuck down, didn’t it?”
“Sorry. I just… I….”
“I know. You want me.”
“No, Ant. I need you. This week’s been so crazy, and I just…. I’ve been desperate for you.”
“God, babe. We see each other every single night. And I know our sex life isn’t that boring. What’s gotten into you?”
Curt didn’t have an answer.
“Babe?”
“I don’t know, just…. Just sometimes the job gets a little too PG, you know? When I finally work up the nerve to hand in my two weeks’, it won’t be a moment too soon.”
Antony nodded and brought his hand up to tangle his fingers in Curt’s hair, then caressed the tightly curled tresses. “You just remember what we talked about yesterday, huh?”
Curt nodded.
“Good,” Antony said as he continued to massage at Curt’s scalp. He knew sometimes the job wore on Curt’s body, his skin pinching a little too tight around his bones.
This week in particular, the kids had driven Curt almost past the point of restraint. He’d come home wound so tight he’d bypassed turning on the stereo and started ranting in Spanish. He cared for the kids, yes. But they both knew he’d never intended to teach, especially not young children. The life of a poet, no matter how skilled, didn’t yield great returns. So Antony had suggested Curt teach the third graders so he could help pay the bills. Even though Curt had had that teaching gig at Highland Park, a month-long stint as a substitute for sophomore English didn’t prepare a semisuccessful poet for the constant needs of primary schoolers.
Curt did the best he could, managing to keep a lid on his exhaustion and aggravation. He’d tell Antony how just knowing he was there got him through most days. But if Curt’s need to stuff his face with doughy pizza was any indication, it was getting harder for him to be around little kids, knowing Antony was so close yet felt so incredibly inaccessible. Just down the hall but out of kissing distance. This week had been just a little more than Curt could handle.
Curt needed Antony, and in the twelve minutes they had left, Antony would let Curt have him.
Words were useless. Curt dove at Antony’s mouth tonguefirst, and Antony could taste the honeyed skin of his lips, drinking the flavor with the release of a hot moan.
Curt moved his kisses to Antony’s neck. With a growl he undid several buttons of Antony’s shirt to reveal skin, then began suckling at his clavicle. Antony sighed, the kisses sweet and making him almost forget where they were. Another high-pitched giggle from the playground was enough to clear his mind. This was school, not a love hotel, for Christ’s sake. He savored Curt’s kisses for a moment longer, but common sense and his responsibility as a teacher of young children drew him out of the moment.
“Curt.”
“Mmm….”
“Baby, stop.”
“Don’t wanna.”
“We’re gonna get caught. Come on.”
Curt pulled away, taking Antony’s bottom lip with him. Sighing, he leaned his head on Antony’s shoulder. “Always the voice of reason.”
Antony chuckled. “One of us has to be,” Antony said, bringing his hand up to once again scratch at Curt’s scalp.
Curt leaned into Antony’s massaging hand, then shook himself once and sighed. “Yeah.”
Antony matched his exhale with one of his own, then said, “I suppose we better head back, huh?”
“Yeah,” Curt conceded. He rested his forehead on Antony’s, then bumped his nose—his way of trying to coax more kisses—but Antony moved enough just to reach for the door and push them out of the small space.
As they walked toward the door leading into the hallway—and apart from each other—Curt grabbed Antony’s wrist. “Can’t we….”
Antony turned to look at Curt, noting the bit of sadness in his eyes, then rolled his in response. “Oh, what is it, poet of mine? Can’t let me go for the forty-five minutes we have left in the day?”
“Don’t be a smartass. I just…. Can I just have one more kiss before you go?”
Antony sighed. They could risk one more kiss, right? “Come here.” He jerked his arm, tugging Curt toward him. “Fool.”
“Your fool,” Curt whispered, then swallowed Antony’s chuckle in another dance of lips and tongue.
“Ms. Weiland, Jenny took my toy cars, and I—”
The couple jerked apart, Antony gasping and Curt releasing a hushed “Coño” as they flew away from each other at the sudden interruption.
“Charlie!” Antony exclaimed. “What… what are you doing in here?”
“Ms. Weiland wasn’t on the playground, and Mr. Tumbler said she was in here.” The young child, Charlie Johannsen from Cassie’s kindergarten class, blinked slowly, hand still on the doorknob as he looked from one man to the other.
Antony knelt in front of him. “Charlie,” he said softly to get the child’s attention. “Ms. Weiland hasn’t come back from lunch yet. Can I help you with something?”
Charlie didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the spot where he’d caught two teachers… kissing. His eyes were wide and mouth agape.
“Charlie?” Antony tried again.
Charlie blinked once, then looked over at Curt. “Umm, Mr. James? Was you just kissing Mr. Ramírez?”
Antony sighed. “Well… we were… we were just talking about….” Antony looked back at Curt. With a pleading look in his eye, he begged Curt for a little assistance.
“Kissing?” Charlie asked.
“No,” Curt finally said, snapping out of his own world of shock. “No, we were… we were talking about what to do when one of the kids has a hard time breathing… what we’re supposed to do, right, Ant—Mr. Ramírez?”
“R-right.” Antony nodded, then turned back to face Charlie. “It’s called CPR. Do you know what that is?”
Charlie shook his head. Obviously his toy cars took a backseat to the revelation that saving someone involved kissing them.
“It’s when you try to get somebody to breathe again, and sometimes, if they’re really having a hard time, they have to use their mouths. What’s it called again, Mr. Ramírez?”
“Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
“Right. Can you say that?”
“Mouth-to-mouth re-su-sci-ta-tion.” Charlie smiled proudly. “Resuscitation!”
“That’s right, Charlie. I’m sure Ms. Weiland will teach you all that word at some point. It’s very important that you know what to do when there’s not a teacher around and you need to help somebody breathe, okay?”
“Okay!” Charlie said.
“Good. Now go along to class, and when Ms. Weiland comes back, you can tell her all about your toy cars, okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah!” Charlie said. “Thanks, Mr. James and Mr. Ramírez! Make sure you all practice real good so you can save all my friends, ’kay!”
Antony chuckled, while Curt just stood where he was and shook his head. “Will do, kiddo,” Antony said.
“But not that boogerface Jenny. She can turn purple for all I care!” Charlie left the room in a flurry.
Antony let go of the breath that had been battling for freedom in his lungs. “Shit,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Curt said. “You think he’ll remember all that?”
“I don’t know,” Antony said as he stood. “I hope to God he doesn’t.”
“Well, Cassie has the babies, right? Kindergarten? Those kids are all about bright colors and puppets. He’ll probably forget as soon as she turns on Sesame Street or whatever the hell it is she has them do after recess.”
Antony snorted. “Yeah, well. I guess there’s always that.”
Curt ran a hand through his hair, rubbing at the follicles as if attempting to erase any bad vibes sneaking through his mind and out into the universe. This was definitely trouble they didn’t need. Why couldn’t he just tough it out for another hour?
“You think too loud, babe.” Antony walked right up to Curt, crowding him and placing his hands on his shoulders.
“Yeah, I know. I’m just…. Damn, why couldn’t I—”
“Don’t,” Antony said, taking Curt’s hands in his. “Don’t even worry about it. Let’s just get to class and finish the day, huh?”
Taking a quick glance at the door, which enthusiastic Charlie had failed to close behind him, Curt brought Antony’s hand to his lips for a quick peck, then let it fall. “Sure. See you in a bit, then?”
Antony smiled. “See you in a bit.”
3
ANTONY AND Curt had read the e-mail earlier that morning before coming in to work. Principal Keller had gotten his own concerned e-mail from a parent of one of the students. They’d requested to meet with him, and he was extending a courtesy to Antony and Curt to be there when it happened. While Curt had seemed resigned to some sort of inevitability, Antony’s entire core heated with anxiety.
However, he refused to let fear sneak into the way he ran his class. He began that day with his kids as he began each day.
“Okay, everybody. In the seats, please.”
The little ones hurried to their desks, waiting for Antony to begin his lesson.
“Now, who are my ladies?”
Four girls raised their hands and giggled.
“And my gentlemen?”
Six small hands went up. There were only nine children in his first-grade class.
“Chloe. Are you also a gentleman today?” Antony had always given his class free rein to express themselves however they saw fit. On any given day, some of the girls would be princesses or Transformers protecting the toys and books. The boys were sometimes cowboys or ladies-in-waiting, eating all the snacks before anyone else to make sure the crackers weren’t poisoned by the kingdom in the other first-grade class.
However, that apparently wasn’t Chloe’s plan today. The young girl shook her head, her cowrie shells tinkling as her braids swung back and forth.
“Then why are you raising your hand, sweetie?”
“Mr. James, I have to go to the bathroom, please.”
Antony shook his head and chuckled. “Okay. We’ll all take a short bathroom break after I call names. Can you hold it that long?”
“Oh course.”
Antony smiled at Chloe’s attempt at the polite phrases he’d been teaching them. She hadn’t quite mastered all the sounds and nuances, but she remembered that ladies always replied with kindness, even if they thought the question was silly.
“Thank you,” he said. Turning his attention back to the boys whose hands were still raised, he said, “Gentlemen, thank you for waiting. What do we call it when you wait politely for your turn?”
“Patience!” came the enthusiastic holler of nine cherubs.
“Very good. Gentlemen, you may now put your hands down. When I call your name, please stand and say ‘Present.’ Jonas….”
As each child stood and announced their presence, in his peripheral vision Antony saw the door open quietly and Principal Keller’s assistant, Ms. Johnson, stand right inside the classroom. He waited until he’d called the last name to acknowledge her. He was putting off the inevitable, yes. But he honestly thought he had more time before the meeting. Should’ve read that damn e-mail closer. He hated surprises. The fact he’d neglected to remember what time their meeting was melted his calm and caused his anxiety to spike.
“Now, gentlemen, bow to the ladies.” Five boys leaned forward,
hands at their sides. A couple almost fell on their faces. When they righted themselves, Antony said, “Ladies, please curtsey,” and four girls crossed one leg behind the other and made a dainty dip of their hips in their attempt at the polite show of acknowledgment of their young male peers.
Once roll call was over, Antony said, “Okay, you may be seated. Please say hello to Ms. Johnson.” He turned in example and said, “Good morning, Ms. Johnson.”
“Good morning, Ms. Johnson.” Each sweet voice was laced with a laugh and a bit of mischief. If Ms. Johnson was there, that must mean someone had done something to get sent to the principal’s office.
“How may I help you, Ms. Johnson?” Antony’s politeness was put on for his students, always teaching them how to carry themselves in front of others, how to speak to their elders with courtesy and respect. When she didn’t return his warmth or his tight smile of contrived nicety, he knew she was aware of his attempts at calm in his classroom. She wasn’t impressed.
“Principal Keller would like a word, Antony.”
“Ms. Johnson!” Jonas said.
“What do we say when we want to be heard, Jonas?” Antony said in light admonishment of the outburst.
“’Scuse me,” he said, then continued without a bit of remorse. “Ms. Johnson. You called Mr. James by his first name.”
Ms. Johnson’s smile was cracked, tension pinching the seams of her mouth so tight her lipstick creased. “Mr. James,” she said, a pin’s edge sharpening her tone. “Principal Keller.”
Noting the bit of ice in her voice, Antony nodded once, then turned to the class. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m just going to the office. Please behave for Ms. Johnson.”
“Escuse me, Mr. James,” Chloe said, glancing at Jonas with a smug grin.
“Yes, Chloe dear. I remember you have to use the restroom.” Antony turned to Ms. Johnson. “Do you mind if I take a little detour, or is the matter pressing?”
