CHAPTER ONE - KYRA
Why the hell did I become a sex education teacher?
I’m the last person that should be teaching these kids about sex!
My eyes scanned the words on the page, and the text made my cheeks flushes. I swallowed as the students continued to stare. I could hear their snickers and feel their judgmental glances burning into my skin.
Oh, that’s right…it was either this, or babysitting obnoxious rich kids.
I forced myself to keep reading the words out loud, but my voice continued to stammer. “The tip of the…ahem… male’s anatomy… is the most sensitive part of his body. It is akin to a woman’s…’”
“If she can’t say ‘penis,’ she’ll never say ‘clit,” one student said.
“Miss Lancaster, are you trying to say a dude’s cockhead is like my clit?”
I whipped my head up while my eyes scanned the room. “Who asked that?”
“Me,” said the Angela Lopez, the girl at the back of the class that had it in for me the entire semester.
“Well, yes that’s what this book is trying to say,” I said.
“Nah, the book says it just fine. But you can’t even say the word ‘penis.’ How’d you get this job anyway?”
“Come on, Miss Lancaster,” another student said. “Say it. Say ‘penis.”
The children were laughing uncontrollably like something out of a nightmare. I dipped my head toward the pages of the book, not wanting to face the jeering mob.
What has my life come to?
After a college career spent learning psychology and education, this was where it got me. A sad reality spent drooling over an idiot ex-fiancé that wanted nothing to do with the real me.
Landon was much more interested in the pathetic picture of a cookie cutter wife he wanted me to fit into. I’d basically put my life and dreams on hold when I dropped everything and followed him into the city.
Months of applying for jobs resulted in mostly nanny offers, until I received a phone call from a high school in Queens. The facility was in dire need of a sex-education teacher. Rumor had it, the former teacher was let go after getting caught making out with her student in the locker room. Yuck!
The stress from the last few months of a sad relationship and a thankless job was showing - especially in my figure. I’d put on some noticeable weight around my mid-section and rear. Getting into my favorite pair of jeans became a creative process, entailing deep yoga breaths and a prayer. I seriously felt for my poor zipper which held on for dear life. I’ve always been a curvy girl, but things were beginning to get ridiculous - even by my standards.
If that wasn’t enough to stress over, I was stuck in the middle of a city I hated, and teaching children a subject I had less knowledge about then they did.
“How many sexual partners have you had, Miss Lancaster?” a girl asked.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“How many blow jobs have you given?!” a boy shouted.
“That is not an appropriate question,” I said.
“I’ve had three,” a girl said.
“Dude, me too!” another exclaimed.
“I’m still a virgin, but I’m changin’ that tonight,” someone else chimed in.
God help me. My middle school kids were more sexually experienced than I was.
“All right, everyone! Pop quiz!”
All of them groaned while I handed out the papers. Then I sat back at my desk and took out my phone. The quiz was supposed to be for tomorrow, a little parting gift before Christmas break, but I had to do something to bring the embarrassment to a halt. When I first moved to New York City, it was on the heels of my fiancé.
His entire business empire was here, and it was assumed I would follow him. When I got here, I was in desperate need of a job. Even though I moved, we weren’t living together officially, and up until a few weeks ago, I could hardly get him to nail down a wedding date. He expected me to follow him wherever he went, but he didn’t want to give me solid commitment. It was total bullshit and I was sick of playing games.
The funniest part was that he was the one that wooed me relentlessly at first. In college, he’d been romantic. He took me on random plane trips to the other side of the country and surprised me with dozens of roses after end-of-semester exams. He showered me with attention, and he was gentle when he took my virginity. He opened my mind sexually to things I never thought I would experience - and up until this job, I thought I was well-versed in the art of sex.
But clearly, I was not.
Unlike me, Landon was wild and spontaneous. He was a buyer while I was a window shopper. If there was something I even stared at long enough, he would get it without a second thought. I’ve never liked the idea of letting someone buy my affection, but he would object. He genuinely wanted to express his love, and I guess it was the best way he knew how.
But when we graduated, things changed.
Suddenly, he wanted to know what I planned to do with my life. He wondered why I wasn’t pursuing a Master’s in Business or focusing on becoming the best paid educator in the nation. Pursing money or recognition wasn’t important to me; I wanted to help people – specifically in their relationships.
I grew up in a broken household, with parents that hated each other. It eventually led to a bitter divorce, which was the worst memory of my childhood. Luckily I managed to move on with my life, but my sister, Abby, had major issues dealing. Even as an adult, she blames her troubles with commitment to my parents’ failed relationship. The girl refused to commit to a puppy, much less a man. It was hard to witness; especially knowing she was limiting her own happiness out of fear.
Growing up, I promised myself I would find a way to help others avoid the struggles that came out of poor relationships. I told Landon I wanted to build my own YouTube empire, based solely around relationship advice, and once I could work up the courage, share tactics couples could use to spice up their life.
And all Landon did was throw his head back and laugh. He told me I was coming to New York City with him after we graduated, so I followed. He proposed to me the moment we stepped off his private jet, and suddenly, all my anger melted away. He wrapped me in his arms and told me he was sorry, that he supported me in whatever decisions I wanted to make.
But the dream was short-lived.
He didn’t want to set a date for the wedding, and he still wanted to jet away on the weekends. Then there was the complete lack of support for my dreams. Whenever I tried to get my YouTube channel up and running, he always had something planned to interrupt me. A charity ball or an event that popped up out of nowhere, diverting me from what I’d sat down to do that evening after searching for jobs.
Eventually, I asked if I could move in officially instead of simply living with him temporarily. When he told me he would think about it I was honestly disappointed.
Truthfully, I was pissed. We were apparently getting married, and he was having trouble committing to shared living quarters?
I wasn’t going to pressure him into making a decision. If it wasn’t one hundred percent his choice to commit then he could take his ring back.
And, the moment he started jetting away on the weekends without me, I decided enough was enough.
He looked down on my profession and laughed my dreams.
He dragged me to cities I didn’t want to be and postponed the wedding.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was a secret life he was living behind closed doors.
We were done.
Now, I was sitting in a classroom I had no business teaching, juggling the numerous phone calls he was sending to my phone, while the students took their pop quiz. Now, the man I called my ex-fiancé was trying to get me to talk. He thought I would come crawling back to him if he sent me gifts.
But those gifts turned into surprise appearances at my apartment. And those appearances that went unanswered turned into angry text messages. And now, those unanswered text messages were turning into angry voice messages he was leaving me every single time I ignored his phone calls.
I needed a serious time out.
The children started bringing their pop quizzes up to the desk and setting them down. I only had seven more minutes until I could release them to go home, and relief cascaded throughout my body. I was ready for Christmas break. I was ready to see my father, my friends and the place I still called home, Castle Rock, Colorado. And finally, I was ready to figure out how the hell I was going to put all of this behind me and follow the dreams I’d once had pulling at my heart strings.
Just as the bell rang to release the students, text messages began to light up on my phone. I put my hand on top of the pop quizzes that were being tossed at me, while trying to ignore the snickering of the students still teasing me.
When I looked at my phone, it wasn’t my ex trying to get ahold of me this time. The Trent brothers were blowing up my phone, wondering when in the world I was coming home. Their jokes and comments had me giggling as I sat there in the quiet of my little classroom.
The Trent brothers had been our neighbors for years. My mother called them the “gaggle of gossips,” mostly because there were six boys, and all of them were prone to running their mouths. They became my solace when my mother died. A rare blood disorder essentially caused her body to turn on itself, and those six boys were my only reprieve from the horrible experience of letting my mother go, far too early.
When she passed, my father and I had troubles bonding. I was a ten-year-old girl going through hormonal fluctuations he didn’t understand, and he was a burly mountain man who chopped wood whenever he was angry. I learned how to play and watch sports in an attempt to bond with him, and in the process, I became fondly attached to the hobby. On nights that got rough, my father and I would watch the latest game he’d recorded. It didn’t matter if it was football, basketball, or even soccer. If it was a sport and people were cheering, he was into it.
That blossomed into a love for playing sports, and that was when the ‘gaggle of gossips’ really played a memorable part of my adolescence. If I got angry, I could count on them to be home to play with me. I’d run them down in football and knock softballs over the edge of the mountain before running all the bases to home. I could outrun them, out-spit them, and out-climb them. Often times, I could throw balls farther and kick balls harder than any one of them could.
What can I say? I tarnished their egos and I was exquisite at it. Lucky for me, we built a strong bond, nevertheless.
And even still, as they sent message after message through the group chat on my phone, they never ceased to make me feel welcomed and warm during a rough time in my life.
“Knock, knock.”
I looked up at my classroom door. “Carol!” I said. “Come on in.”
“Good news,” she said. “If you gave that last quiz today, you don’t need to come in tomorrow.”
“Wait, seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously. Just asked the principal.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” I said. “Is that milkshake for me?”
“Always.”
I met Carol when I started teaching at the school last year. She was a math teacher who, ironically enough, hated math. She was brilliant at it and could run calculations in her head I probably couldn’t even enter into a calculator, but she always proclaimed that numbers never held the same satisfaction that a good fuck did.
She constantly talked about wanting to change her career, because of boredom from teaching.
“Were your students as shitty as mine today?” she asked.
“ Yikes,” I said. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“Sorry, but these inner city brats don’t have a filter. And when you blow a spitball at me and then get pissed because I toss my pencil back at you, that doesn’t really make for a decent day.”
“You threw your pencil at a student?” I asked. “What did the principal say?”
She should’ve said ‘way to fucking go’.”
“But?”
“But she actually said I couldn’t do that, and that the school could’ve been sued had the kid gotten hurt.”
“What did you say?”
“That if that kid’s spit gives me herpes, I’m suing the school, too.”
I giggled as I shook my head. Carol never ceased to amaze me with the insane stories she always seemed to have at the end of her weeks. Sometimes, I even questioned if they were true, but they kept me laughing, so I kept my mouth shut.
“Any plans for the holidays?” I asked.
“Alcohol, meaningless familial conversations, then hitting up some clubs and finding a nice bad boy to keep me warm for the night.”
Before I could give a witty response, my phone rang again and I silenced it without even looking down.
“Landon still bugging you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, sighing. “I just don’t wanna talk to him.”
“You told him the engagement was off, right?”
“I finally broke things off. I couldn’t drag it out any longer.”
“Then he needs to piss off.”
“You’re telling me,” I said.
My phone rang again, and I grunted before I turned it over and took out the battery.
“That’s one way to do it,” Carol said. “I take it a chat with Landon isn’t in the books for your holidays?”
“Nope. I’m going home. Seeing my dad. Decorating for Christmas and opening presents and watching the sun rise above the trees.”
“Sounds absolutely boring,” she said. “Will there be booze?”
“There’s always booze when my father’s concerned,” I said.
“I like him already.”
I put the battery back into my phone and watched it start up. Another voicemail rushed to my phone, but so did two other messages. I opened the group chat and saw the picture the Trent brothers sent me before I threw my head back with laughter.
The six of them had painted their stomachs with the phrase “Come Home” written out in Christmas colors.
“Holy fuck, I can’t believe they’re your neighbors,” Carol said, leaning over my shoulder to see what I was laughing at. “I’d be their ‘ho ho ho’ anytime. It wouldn’t even have to be Christmas!”
“Well, they aren’t there all the time. Their childhood home sort of turned into a vacation home for when their family gets together. I don’t think any of them live there permanently, but they’ve never been the city type either. They’ve all stayed close by.”
“Sweetheart, you don’t keep those luscious beards, massive arms, and chiseled abs in the city. The mountains are a fitting back-drop for those sweet cheeks.”
“Yeah, I suppose they did sort of turn into a bunch of mountain men, huh?” I asked.
“Sort of? Kyra, Zeus himself couldn’t chisel better bodies with his lightning fists.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I’m nuts for their nuts,” she said.
“Carol!”
“Kyra, just promise me one thing. If you go home and those sexy men hit on you, do something about it. We both know you’re not experienced enough to teach a class like this. Get yourself some experience.”
“I’m not sleeping with my neighbors,” I said. “And I’m not doing this teaching gig forever. Relationship Coach, remember?”
“Isn’t it you who’s always saying that sex is an important facet of a relationship? How can you give advice on it if you don’t fucking do it?”
I sat there in silence while her words knocked the breath from me.
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I said breathlessly.
“Good. You’re open to the idea, so when you get yourself some, I want all the nasty details.”
“Wait a minute there sister, I never said I’d was going to-”
Just as I was going to object, I received another phone call from my ex, and shut my phone off again. I wasn’t going to let his negativity and abuse get to me.