I wasn’t gonna say anything, to anybody. But just in case—you know—something happens, maybe I’d better.

It was so much like The Graduate, it was scary. And it takes a lot to scare me. 

Picture The Graduate as a horror flick. And in reverse. I was “Benjamin,” but female. And not the clueless virgin you imagined he was. “ ‘Mrs.’ Robinson” was a guy: Professor Marcus Vail. Not my dad’s business “partner”, but close. They both taught English at Blakesley U. Been rivals for the chairmanship, which my dad won. There were rumors about Vail, and his weird “secret” interests. Black magic, and shit. Somehow, they became friends.

Professor “Robinson” was married, natch, but to some agoraphobic dope. And, instead of having a daughter…

“My son, Joel,” he’d said, casually. Just like in the movie, he was at our house. At some big professors’ bash. Except it was winter, and cold. This was Jersey, not Cali. His son had come, with him, in place of Wifey. “I’m sure you know each other,” he said.

Joel’s eyes widened. “No,” I lied. Smirking, Joel looked away. He was standing by our fish tank. His back to me, I couldn’t help checking out his ass, firm even in baggy jeans.

Yeah, we knew each other. He worked the campus pub. Till recently, he couldn’t draw my beers fast enough. I was famous for cutting class, so I could hang out at the pub. Pool stick in hand, I’d once cried the blues to Dr. Frisch, my Victorian Lit prof. “Got fifty on this next shot, Doc!” He’d looked flustered, but finally laughed, along with the class. Four-eyed, wannabe-stuffed shirts. Laughing at me.

Yeah, well I was smarter. I could talk my way out of anything.  Looking totally sincere. I had huge, soft, brown eyes. Without seeming obvious, I could obstruct you with my tits. But I didn’t need to trap anybody. From what I heard, I gave the best head going.

Joel had heard it, too.

That night, at my house, his dad had squeezed my arm possessively. “Then allow me to introduce you…” had a sneer behind it—a warning: And it better end there!

       I was—please don’t laugh!—“under Vail’s wing.” Supposedly it was my dad’s idea. I didn’t buy it. The whole idea stunk of Vail, like he was a cologne you couldn’t wash off. But maybe you didn’t want to get clean.

Okay, I was a rotten kid. A drunken slut. And I’d burn in hell for it. 

Poor Dad. I made him look real bad. He was always bailing me out. Thanks to him, I was still in school. And somehow, in spite of me, he’d been elected English chair! Dad was this dedicated, upright, really great guy. So where’d I come from? My mom, the bitch! It had almost killed him when she’d left us. He was lousy at sniffing out women to sleep with, and especially to love.

But even worse at picking “friends”…

*     *     *

*     *     *

Months back, all this madness had started. The plan was, I’d work for Professor Vail, and he’d keep me “out of trouble.” Teaching assistant, private sec, whatever you called it, I knew what it really meant. I was way less than half his age, but wasn’t born yesterday.

“Rebecca,” he said, while my dad was listening, “I’m eager to employ you, part-time.” Except for the accent, which was real, that British act was played out: formal lingo, salt-and-pepper hair, fancy black mustache, stiff suits. But his eyes set you straight: dark, and hungry, like you were his last meal.

“What a great idea!” Dad said. All sweaty and smiling, he’d no doubt been conned into this. “Marc, what would we do without you?”  Like Vail was my last hope. My savior.

Those wolf’s eyes gleamed. “Well?  Shall we work together?”

I looked away, shrugging. With a guy like Vail, you should never seem too anxious. Big deal, he was doing me a favor. I could care less.

“Becky?” Dad said, hopefully.

Something stopped me, from saying a word. “Live wire,” or not, I’d always been a little scared of Vail. All the kids were. An upside-down crucifix, I’d heard he had in his office. And one of those giant plants that ate meat. Maybe human meat… Supposedly he held Black Masses on witch holidays. Yeah, right! I always thought. But deep down, I didn’t doubt it.

But, scared as I was, there was just something about him.  Creepy, but at the same time…he was so sexy. 

With my dad right there, something crazy was happening to me. I was being torn away from myself, and Dad had no clue. I hadn’t smoked, or even drank anything, so it had to be Vail. My God, I thought, he does have powers!

Without even staring back at Vail, I felt myself beyond hypnotized. Sweat crawled down my neck.

And, just like in the movie…I had to believe him.

*     *     *

The first time we did it wasn’t in that sleazy motel. It was in his office.

His door clicked shut. Inside, I nearly sank to my knees in that thick carpet. My head actually swiveled around, as I checked out the place: book-lined, mahogany walls, black leather chairs. But no upside-down crucifix.

What he did have was one of those huge rubber tree plants that looked like something out of Day of the Triffids. And…sculptures! Ultra-modern shit that even I—this new century’s Rebel Without a Cause—could make no sense of. 

“My dad…” I said, feeling confused. “His office is half this size.” Vail just smirked. “And he’s the chairman, not you.”

I’d struck a nerve. He’d been by the window, but was beside me now. How he seized my shoulders, that look he gave me, told me I’d had it all wrong. My place in all this. This was beyond sex. This was revenge against my dad. 

And I felt rejected. Like Vail didn’t want me, after all. I was actually hurt. And I wanted to hurt him back.

I pulled away. “He’s the chairman,” I said, defiantly this time.  “Not you! People like him!”

Vail’s eyes widened.

“He’s a great teacher!” The adrenaline was flowing, big-time.“ All the kids I know say…you suck!”

His jaw tightened. 

I couldn’t stop myself. “When it comes to brains…you couldn’t lick Dad’s ass!”

I was fucked. Literally backed into a corner. I’d gone too far. As he crept toward me, I knew whatever he did to me, would hurt…

You'll be sacrificed, a little voice said, at his next Black Mass!

         But somehow, once he reached me, with my back up against that tree, and those rubbery leaves trapping me, something changed. I can’t explain it. Pressed against me, his hard-on was right below my tits.  That’s how tall he was. I’d never realized it before. But I didn’t feel scared. Or threatened. He’d changed. His whole…demeanor was different. 

Mostly his eyes. They seemed darker, wetter. Like black jello. As crazy as it sounds, they trembled. This was no devil-worshipper.

Or was it? Was this all an act?  

My neck ached from staring back, but I couldn’t stop. ‘Cos when I looked away…he would change back. I would have missed who he was right now: this insecure guy who needed me. And who did want me. 

If it was an act, well, I was a dope. But my heart lurched. He shut his eyes, and very gently touched my cheek. Though those rubber leaves were all around me, I didn’t feel trapped anymore. How, I asked myself, had I ever?

Was this a spell? Is that how it happened? One minute you were scared shitless, the next you were…like, in love?

Both hands held my face, lightly. He had such long, strong fingers. How easily, I bet, he could snap my neck. 

I knew he’d read my mind…

He kissed me, wildly, clutching my throat, like I’d escape, otherwise. But I wouldn’t. Each finger was sure of that.

           I was captivated. And going nowhere. ‘Cept down on that mushy carpet, with him.

And, from then on, to that hard-ass bed in the motel that rented him our special room. At a weekly rate.

*     *     *

I was doing what I do best.

Spread out on that bed, he was helpless, beneath me. At these times, I was master. Or mistress. What pleasure I gave him, and myself. I enjoyed doing him.

            My first foreign one. I’d never even seen pictures of cocks like his. With that slinky, silky skin around it. I loved it. It was for protection, I think I’d heard once. Yeah, right, I thought, smugly. Stainless steel couldn’t save him from my lips and tongue, my teeth. Revenge at its sweetest: a carnal smack in the face.

His cell. It always rang at the worst time! Groaning, he tensed up.  “Don’t say a word!” he said, like it’d never rung before. Like I was stupid.

“Marcus Vail,” he said. Then “Now what?” It had to be her. 

         He let me get up. I couldn’t speak, natch, but I could uncork that bottle of Merlot. I tiptoed around the bed. The corkscrew was on the nightstand, right by him. The scary kind, with arm-like levers, and a sharp, twisted spike. 

             For a while, he just listened. It was weird. His expression didn’t change, but suddenly, he’d lost that “ageless” look. “Is she all right?” sounded strained.

I pushed down the levers, and the cork slid up, out of the bottle.  The first splash of wine into glass sounded loud to me, but he didn’t flinch. “Well, how…many…” he said next. The drink I handed him, he didn’t want. “…Did she take?” 

           This was serious. I’d never felt so out of place. Or, despite all the guys I’d been with since high school, so dirty. 

           “Well,” he said, “How many, total?”

           Wrapped in the covers, I sat, gulping wine. Some spilled on the sheet. Looks like blood, I thought, bitterly. They’ll think someone died.  More wine dribbled, out of my mouth. I wiped it, sloppily. Then got up and refilled my glass. I re-corked the bottle, almost knocking it over.

          “But she’s…all right?” He sounded hopeful. He looked at me, but I bet without seeing me. His eyes had that “shuddery” look, like that time in his office. Why, I asked myself, did I feel so jealous? 

             He shut his eyes and sighed. “Thank God,” he said, “You were home.”

           I edged closer. I wanted to touch him, so bad. To pick up where we’d left off. Hang up, I thought, selfishly. She’s alive, okay?

          “I’m hours away.” What a liar. His hand crept under the sheet. It was ice-cold on my thigh, but I didn’t flinch. I wanted him, wanted to be first, again. “You’ll both be asleep by the time I get home.” No real guilt. The crisis had passed. 

           “My son.” He tossed his cell, grabbed me, as it struck the bottle behind him. Wine splashed all over.

He kissed me hungrily. Nearly took chunks out of me. Like he hated me. I could hardly breathe.

          Then, suddenly, I tensed up. I can’t explain. But the word, “son,” stuck in my mind, haunted me. This image of Joel, that stuck-up bartender with the cute ass, home nursing his pathetic mom, ruined it for me. Made me feel like a real brat—worse—like slime.

          He sensed the change in me, and shoved me away. "What?" he demanded.

          I didn’t answer right away. Whatever I said, would come out wrong.  I just knew it. “It’s just…”

          That look. 

          “She okay?” I said, finally. “I mean…really?”

          The silence was horrible. Like he was wracking his brain, for the foulest comeback, ever. Like if it took all night, he’d find it.

          “That,” he said, finally, “Is none of your business.”

          Never, since we’d started our “thing,” had I felt so much like crying. And that smirk infuriated me. Like that wine was dribbling all over my life. I mean it, I saw red. 

I fought dirty. 

          “He’ll tell me,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Joel and I…we’re buddies now, you know.” 

          His smirk vanished.

          “Outside the pub. Ever since…that night at my house.  ‘Member?”  How could he forget? He was hot to keep us apart. Paranoid, I’d thought, then.

           “Real…good buddies.” It was all bullshit. Joel and I would never be friends. “Know what I mean?” 

Vail’s eyes seemed twice their size. His jaw trembled. His lips moved, but nothing came out of them.

          I lay back, in this exaggerated, sexy pose. “Kinda like…me and you.”

         He mumbled something I swore I’d misunderstood.       

         Then, he said it, again, louder. “You…bleeding…whore.”

         I winced. Which was worse, I wasn’t sure. He never cursed. If I valued my life, I’d stop, now. I’d zip my “bleeding” mouth shut.

         “Call him back,” I said. “Ask him to come join….”

He lunged.

         I couldn’t breathe. That’s how bad he was squeezing my throat.  I fought back, but he just squeezed harder.

         “N-no!” I tried to say, but choked on it. Just kidding, I thought, praying he could hear me, somehow. Please lemme go! Dorothy, from The Wizard of Oz. Begging someone for mercy. The Witch? Maybe Vail was the Wicked Witch. Things were so fuzzy, I couldn’t tell. Fuzzy, but…slowly...getting…

         Suddenly, I could breathe. I was sitting up, coughing like mad.  My throat killed me, but at least the hands around it were mine. 

          He was still there, half-dressed now. Like he was dissing me, after he’d given up on killing me. Crazy, but I almost laughed. Instead, tears swelled, and finally poured down my cheeks. “I…didn’t mean it,” came out hoarsely. “Please!” Me, apologizing to him! “It was a…joke.”

         He slipped on his shirt. “Call Comedy Central.”

         I wiped my eyes. “You hurt me!” I said. “I wanted to hurt you back.” He just shrugged. “You almost killed me!” I said.

         “But I didn’t.” In the mirror, he was tying his tie. “I could have, but I stopped myself.” Finally, he turned and faced me. “Did you stop yourself from saying those…venomous things?” I looked away. “Did you?”

        I flinched, as he dropped down beside me, and seized my face.  “No, you didn’t. You kept going.” His eyes looked wild, tortured. “You didn’t want to stop hurting me.”

           “I’m…sorry.” I couldn’t believe I was saying this. Couldn’t believe this whole, crazy night. What I was feeling for him. After what he’d done to me!

            “I’m sorry, too,” he said. “That it’s over.” He got up.

           In all my life, I’d never felt this sad. Not even when my mom split.  This was different. This pain was raw. Endless. Now I knew why chicks slit their wrists over guys. The ones they…loved.

          Was I that crazy?

          Wildly, I looked around. The wine bottle! I could use that. Wasn’t it broken? Or just laying on the floor, empty. Maybe I could drink myself to death!

           He was taking his time leaving. As miserable as I was, I remembered something. You can talk your way out of it. Besides giving the world’s best head, that always kept me going. 

         “I don’t want it to be over,” I said, childishly.

          He just shrugged. Picked up his coat, but was in no hurry to put it on.

          “Can you give me a ride?”

          He was trying hard not to look at me, I could tell.             

          “Where to?”

          I snuggled down, under the covers. “Nowhere. Actually, I just wanna stay here.”

          “So stay.”

          “With you.”

          He was making me sweat it out. But he’d give in, I just knew it!  All over I felt relaxed, tingly. And so damn horny, it was scary. 

           Back on the chair went his coat. Yes!  I thought.

           He strolled over to the nightstand, picked something up. Then turned to face me, smiling strangely.

When he pounced on me, my heart leapt. 

           But this wasn’t about sex. Not even the savage kind we both loved, sometimes. No lust in how he straddled me, how his legs trapped me. No warmth in that smile, which looked painted on. His elbows dug into my ribs. I could hardly breathe. Real bad, I wanted to scream.

          In my face, he was holding it...

          The corkscrew. Slowly, he bent back the levers. Then, still smiling, he held that long, curly spike to my throat.

          “If you ever…” he said, “fuck my son…”

He didn’t have to finish.

*     *     *

I was in his office. Nude and spread-eagled, tied down to that long, mahogany desk. 'Cept now it was an altar. A black one.

The lights were out, but flames flickered crazily.  Zillions of black candles burned. Across the room, that plant was swaying back and forth, as if to music. But, except for the pounding of my heart, there was dead silence.

In a black hooded robe, he approached me. Never, not even earlier that night, when he’d held that corkscrew to my throat, had he looked so cruel. So...soulless.

Whatever this was, he was clutching it so tightly, his knuckles were white. His hands looked so old…

So old...

And shriveled, like he was a thousand years old.  Like he’d been doing this…

Like he’d been slaughtering girls, and drinking babies’ blood to stay alive since medieval times.

Whatever it was, he raised it over his head.

And smiled.

*     *     *

         Call it a death wish. Or a cry for independence. I’ve always been rebellious. Someday “DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” will be carved on my tombstone. You watch.

         Even after that crazy dream, the next day, I was at the pub.

         “Don’t fuck him,” didn’t mean “Avoid him!” But you’re not avoiding him, I told myself. You’re seeking him out. 

         It also didn’t mean, “Don’t be friendly!” But you’re not friends, that little voice didn’t have to remind me.

         Or, my favorite: “Don’t stop in for a beer on his shift!” A beer?  I was supposed to be working!

         Behind the bar, Joel was perched on the icemaker, reading Hacksaw, Blakesley’s lit magazine. It was noon, so except for Itchy, this ratty-looking guy who practically lived there, Joel was alone.

“Uh oh!” Itchy said, when I came in. Joel looked up. “Here comes trouble,” Itchy added. Lip curling, Joel looked back down at his ‘zine.

I felt hot, all over. Insulted. And confused. I didn’t even feel like drinking. So why was I really here?

“Ain’t seen you in a while,” Itchy told me. Ignoring him, I sat down at the other end of the bar. And Joel kept ignoring me.

Two minutes is a long time. Try spending it watching somebody pretend that he’s reading. How well I knew that trick. The old Vail “silent treatment.” Finally, you’d get one of those looks.

I did. My heart lurched. I’d never realized Joel had the same dark eyes. “Coors Light?” he asked me.

“S’on me,” Itchy said. For dear life, I was clutching a twenty.  Finally, I dropped it on the bar.

As he set down the beer, Joel picked up my money.

“On me!” Itchy protested.

Smirking, Joel smoothed the bill, then folded it, finally pulling it from both ends, like he wanted to tear it in half. “A nice…crisp one,” he said, then. “One of his.  Right?”

Dope that I was, I didn’t get it. I picked up my beer.

“Brand-y new. All stacked up, nice and pretty. All facing in the same direction.” Like his dad, he had those same, long fingers. “Lots of them.  Right?”

Without sipping it, I put the beer back down. My hand was shaking.

“Is that how he pays you?” he jeered. “For what you give…him?”

What’s your problem? I wanted to yell. But I kept quiet. At least only Itchy was there, shifting uncomfortably on his stool.

“After hours?”  Joel looked so proud of himself.

Real sweaty, I felt. Anxious, like I had to get out of there, fast. A big mistake, I thought, to even come here! But I couldn’t move.

“Or does he write you a check?” Right in my face, he flipped the twenty.

I just sat there. My cheek actually stung. Suddenly I hated myself as much as him. ‘Cos I’d wanted him to like me. Deep down, for a long, long time. Before I’d ever fucked his dad. The guy who owned me. And who’d choked me. My eyes burned. Furiously, I blinked back tears.

“What the fuck?” Itchy said.

The bill had fluttered to the bar. Without taking it, I got up.  Months back, the “old” Becky might’ve done something low. Like throw my beer in Joel’s face.

I didn’t know I’d run out, till I slammed into the security desk outside. And it hurt.

Outside, I sat, in the amphitheater, sobbing uncontrollably.  Students, professors, all passed me, staring at me like I was nuts. But nobody cared enough to stop.

How, I asked myself, could I have been so stupid? To think somebody could love me? Least of all, Vail. “A hole, and a mouth,” was my m.o. Respect, just a pipe dream. Was all this—Vail’s abuse, Joel’s hatred—really such a shock to me?

How long I was huddled there, with my head on my knees, I don’t know. But before long, I sensed I wasn’t alone.

Without speaking, he sat down beside me. I sneaked a peek. In his hand, my twenty was crumpled, like an old cheat-note. 

He couldn’t even look at me. Like some mean, dark cloud hung over him, his “dad’s” eyes were cast down, on the step. 

Most of Joel, I guess, looked more like his mom. Poor bitch, I thought, feeling like crying again. Pill-popping, crowd-fearing. Long, curly, chestnut hair Joel had, not like other guys at school. A baby-face, with full cheeks. I bet he worked out, to maintain that bod. I bet his mom had to watch what she ate. With that tummy overflowing with pills.

“Just be careful,” he said. The last thing I expected him to say.  “You know what I mean.”

What could I say? 

“He’s into some…weird shit.” He let that sink in, then added, “But he does it for attention. He likes when people are afraid of him.”

I shuddered, remembering that dream. If it even was a dream.  Again, I shuddered.

“He’s got…” Still, he wouldn’t look at me. “I mean, he’s selfish.  We all are, I guess. But he gets what he wants, usually. And he keeps it.  Or else.” 

It was my turn to look away.

         “Even if he doesn’t…” I could hardly hear him. “Want it…anymore.”  Inside me, something tightened.  But I knew I’d heard right. “My mom…” he said, then stopped. I guessed what was coming. “Keeps trying to escape.”

For March, it was warm out. You’d think more kids would be sitting out in this amphitheater. Not talking about suicide, revenge...

He still held my twenty. As he passed it to me, his hand felt hot, electric, like no other guy’s ever had. “I wish you could.”

My heart raced. Once again, something crazy was happening to me. And no matter what, I wouldn’t fight it.

What a smile. Shy, but at the same time, mischievous.  Manipulative, maybe. Where’d he get that from? I thought, smiling myself.

“Aw,” he said, “You know I’m…jealous.”

*     *     *

My dad wasn't home. "Boy's Night Out," he'd joked. Dinner with Vail