“Well, I’ll see you on Monday,” I mutter quickly, before I get trapped in a conversation with The Douche Bag. I slam the door behind me on the way out. Because again, it’s all I have.
And it won’t keepme safe.
I leavework and text my best friend about what happened. She’s a therapist, and she’s been trying to get me to start “loving myself” and stop “giving everything to a job that is obviously trying to kill me”. I would never say those things on my own. Maybe she has a point.
Zayna: Brooks and Grant threatened to rape me today… School did nothing.
Tazara: SUE. THEM.
If I can’t affordmy hospital bills, where does her ass think I’m getting money for a retainer? Doing just about anything in this country costs money, especially getting justice. Teachers who can barely keep a roof over their head don’t get justice. They just switch schools and move on. But this is my third school in three years.
I’m stuck somewhere between not sure how much more of it I can take and committed to the students who aren’t terrorists, the consistent income, and the fact that I thought teachers were supposed to save the world. I don’t have the power to save the world and I don’t even have the power to save myself from debt, or any other inconvenience.
Zayna: They at least gave me a sick day.
Tazara: Such bullshit! Should I come over?
Zayna: Nah. I’m good.
But I’m not good.The worse these little freaks escalating attacks get, the more I think about what would happen if I had to defend myself. I drive home in my beat to hell white Toyota Camry and park right in front of my apartment, like I always do. I live in Unit #105 on the ground floor. Maybe that’s why all my situationships keep escaping out the window.
Because let me tell you, dating as a black woman in Massachusetts is barely dating. It’s more like getting used by guys who want to taste the rainbow and don’t care about anything beyond the color of your skin. Nothing could be worse than going back to Curtis. Even dating guys that don’t care that my favorite author is Toni Morrison, or that I dream of a little log cabin out in the country where me and my tall, strapping man can curl up by the fireplace in warm fuzzy socks reading Thoreau…
Today,walking into my apartment feels like entering a prison block. I’m just stuck in this cycle of my life. Going to a place Ihate every day and then… the humiliation. The second I open my apartment door, the numbness I buried all day in that private school that was supposed to be different spills out.
My chest catches with a startled sob.
Where else inAmerica can a woman go to work and face multiple people threatening to assault her, and they just get away with it? It feels wrong. And no matter how much I tell myself that I’m doing it “for the kids”… I don’t think these kids give a fuck.
If I can just finishthis semester… I’ll quit for good. I have to do something before this gets out of hand.
Chapter Twelve
Ruger
My hand slides purposefully over the length of my dick. I want to cum staring into this woman’s eyes. I need her to know how I feel about her. Talking won’t work. She’ll just find some way to call it racist. Touching her will scare the shit out of her, so this is what I have left to me. Touching myself and thinking about her.
She has lips that look like big, soft pillows. I could have them if I wanted to. If my hand were around her neck instead of around my dick.
“You’re really going to do that?” she asks, trying to turn me off by sounding grossed out.
“Keep talking. That’s really working for me.”
I pump my hand on my dick faster.
“You’re so disgusting,” Zayna says, but she can’t keep her eyes off my dick as I jack myself off in the shower in front of her. I let the water wash the soap away as I keep pumping my cock and staring straight at her. Zayna’s squirming almost makes me cum right there on the spot.
“What?” I tease her, hoping she gets all mad so the cum can shoot out of my dick faster. “You’re not gonna do it for me.”
She bites her lips shut. Not hard to work out what she means with that little piece of body language. She can bite those lips, but she can’t stop me from thinking about them. Her lips are perfect. They look like kissable soft pillows when they're closed... The more I stare at Zayna, the more I find myself curious about her. Fascinated by how fucking different she is. I want to touch her. I want to be with her. Those thoughts are enough to keep my dick solid as I stroke the length of my shaft, deeply enjoying every part of my fantasy.
Zayna parts her lips slightly, considering the risk she runs expressing her disapproval. Knowingly, her lips close again. I keep staring at her, pumping my dick harder to watch her squirm. Her face tightens with disapproval, but her gaze doesn't dare move away from my dick.
No disgust. No desire. Maybe it's the same fascination and curiosity from before. My body tightens, each muscle pulsing with awareness as I push myself towards a pretty fucking easy orgasm. Watching her is more than enough to get me going -- especially when the last woman I was confined with was Darlene.
"You're so fucking hot..."
I don't mean to say it. The words just jump out of my mouth as my dick jerks, sending a false alarm of adrenaline pulsing through me. Not yet. I'm close to a climax but... not yet. Zayna breathes slowly, her body tense and incredibly wary of my presence.