My breasts were teasingly visible, and my nipples tingled, advertising my arousal. I hung my head in embarrassment and shame. He licked his lips. “Put your jacket on, and we’ll go over to my house,” he said. “Please,” I begged. Then, in a small voice I said, “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.” I shrugged apologetically. “But I really, really need to pass,” I implored. He kept insisting, and I started crying. I hated myself. Finally, he got up and came toward me. I shrank from him, but he walked past me and locked the door. “Take it off, and bend over the desk,” he said. I kneeled and got a condom out of my jacket and held it up, pleadingly. He sighed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless,” he said disgustedly. He took off his trousers and shorts, cleared his desk, lay on it, and he fished my breasts out of my nightgown, so he could see and maul them. He lay down with his legs spread. “Suck me off!” he ordered. “And you’d better do a good job or you’ll be getting the F you deserve.. Yet I sense that powerful brutality lurking beneath his benign facade; a brutality I instinctively know I must evade.“How much longer do I have to be here?” I ask tonight. Thinking about all of this has renewed my fear. It terrifies me I don’t have as much interest in fleeing from this bedroom anymore.He starts, almost as if he’s surprised by the question. “Until you’re no longer needed.”“How much have you made off of me by now? A hundred grand? Two?”He gives nothing away, but I’d bet it’s even more than that.“It’s time for bed.” He waits until I’m in bed and under the covers before he flips the lights off.Before I can say goodnight with sarcasm, he’s locked me in. How macabre this little pantomime of ours is--he all but tucks me into bed, his little prisoner.And I can’t deny that I play it all over and over again in my mind until morning.I lose privacy privileges again a few days later. I smashed the mirror in the bathroom and cut a wrist with a shard.I’m not suicidal, but I do have.
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