Stories written by Shakespeare_I._ Aint

Teacher Passes the Test, Part 7 of 10, What Have You Been Eating
Written by Shakespeare_I._ Aint

On the week-end, I scored my big drug deal. Scored big. I sold one kilo of cocaine mixed with five bags of carefully crushed rice flake, like little babies eat. I ripped the buyers off badly. Boy, did my beeper and cell phone ring. Made me kind of glad these assholes didn't know my real name or where I lived. The funniest thing about the transaction was that I had originally bought from them. Long story short, one of the foster brothers I had a few years ago was deep into the gang thing. Lived and breathed it. I dropped back into his life. Told him I wanted to be a Player. He hooked me up with some Boyz. And they hooked me up with other Boyz. When I had the right degree of separation, I started buying cocaine. By the gram, then by the ounce, then multi-ounces, then half a kilo. They were making good money off me, and they were impressed by my ability to move Product. They came to trust me. I found they were paying twelve thousand dollars a kilo to their supplier. I came to them and told them I found a supply for nine thousand a kilo; an almost impossible deal, and offered them a good taste. What they were tasting was the stuff they had sold me in the past. And they wanted in. To the tune of six kilos. I mixed their real cocaine with my real fake rice flake and sold it back to them. It passed their initial test because they always tested the same part of each bag. And the self-made gangsta's fell for it, hook, line and sinker.. They had my beeper and cell phone number. Knew what motel room I had frequented. Knew what car I had been illegally driving. Couldn't provide my name or where I lived if their lives depended on it. Stupid, stupid people.

I escaped with a thirty-five thousand dollar profit in one month. By ripping off two hard-core criminals. So I retired from the drug trade. I turned my thoughts back to my pretty little teacher and her husband, whose money had made my foray into illicit drugs possible.

On the following Friday morning, I stopped in to see my Guidance Counselor, Edwin Van Horn. He was back to work from his alleged slip and fall injury; in there shuffling papers until he saw me out in the common area of the principal's office. He ushered me in, closing the door behind him. He seemed at ease, happy, confident and in control inside his little domain. He motioned me to a seat across from his desk and waited for me to speak.

"Hello, Mr. Van Horn, are conversations in this office monitored?"

Edwin looked blank for a few seconds, then laughed. "No, Damien. We don't monitor or tape conversations here. We're here to help, remember?"

I judged that he was telling the truth. Edwin seemed very interested in my visit. And my motivations.

"Damien, you really suspected that this room might be bugged didn't you? You're that suspicious? That untrusting?"

I gave him my best impassive stare.

"Relax, Damien. Anything you say here is just between you and me. And Cindy, of course, if it pertains to her. What brings you here? What I can do for you?"

I was uncomfortable, but I had to know the status of our relationship. I had to know how they saw their status. Would they still be submissive to me? "I wanted to know the repercussions from last week. The night we whipped Cindy. You know. Any bad fall-out I should know about?"

Edwin peered over his glasses at me in a priest-confessorly way. He seemed like he wanted to at least score some macho points on me. What the hell, it was it his office after all. And his wife we had whipped and butt-fucked. "You mean the night you and Cindy had that little discussion when she drove you home?"

"Yeah, that night," I almost growled.

He paused, reflecting, then shook his large, bearded face. "No, everything's fine. Cindy and I are getting along wonderfully together.
His eyes took on a pre-emptory warning. "We've got a wedding Saturday night, and my parents are coming over Sunday. The week-end's pretty much tied up, Damien, if that's what you're getting at."

We stared at each other uncomfortably for a minute. I broke the silence. Having come to his office to talk, it was only fair that I broach the subjects.

"You guys realize that I wouldn't turn you into the cops, right?"

Edwin nodded.

"So I've really got nothing on you except for the fact that I've still got your money."

He nodded again, waiting.

"I want to know...is it the fact that I've got your money--which I've promised to return, by the way--is that what's keeping this thing going? Or is it something else?"

Edwin Van Horn's face flushed a dark red. He hemmed and hawed around before selecting a response that would seem to answer me.

"We need that money, Damien," he stated simply. "It's our life-savings. You could check. We've got almost nothing in the bank, very little equity in our house, a token amount in our retirement accounts. So yes, it's the money. I get past due bills and late notices every single week."

"You're not being entirely truthful, Edwin," I said, for the first time using his first name in his own den. "I know the money's important to you. But what are you guys getting out of this little extended perversion of mine? Cindy flat out admits that I'm her personal demon, cleansing her for a return to a happy marriage. To you. So what are you getting out of this?"

My little guidance counselor looked away, his face crimson with embarrassment. One of the last things you'd expect from a professional counselor. Then he wheeled on me.

"What about you, Damien? You told Cindy you were acting out against the parents you never had by mistreating us. What about that?," he challenged defensively.

"What about it?" I said softly, my emotions churning. "I was telling the truth. I do believe that."

"Well...shit...I don't know...," his voice trailed off as he glanced away from me again. I had touched him in a sensitive place.

We sat there quietly for about two minutes, each lost in his own thoughts and each fearing to break the soothing silence. But I never couldn't let a sleeping dog lie.

"You kind of like the submissive thing, don't you?"

My Edwin Van Horn went from red to a pasty white as the blood drained from his face. "That's not true," he muttered weakly, staring at me.

I pressed him. "Yes, it is true. I've been thinking about it, Ed. I think you don't mind these little excursions of ou
rs. I think you don't mind being submissive and letting me do your wife. I'm just asking you to admit it.".......(cont)

.......Download the entire Teacher Passes the Test, Part 7 of 10, What Have You Been Eating ....written by Shakespeare_I._ Aint.

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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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