How To Be a Good Mentor

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The ride home was subdued and even anticlimactic; that's what happens when two out of five of your carpool mates hook up and the other three don't. Not that Audrey was interested; her husband Andy sounded like a great guy, and of course Shannon had her guy too. Leo? Leon? Something like that. And then me, of course; I'm not a guy who hooks up in bars, never had been. But at least it meant I got the front seat this time.

"So, Gina." Audrey seemed to need to fill silences; it was her thing. "It's like she's not even married."

Shannon shook her head. "I don't ask. Either he's a very understanding guy, or he's just oblivious." She shrugged. "They've got a kid, too. It's weird."

"Wow." Audrey was staring out the window. "I've never understood why I'm friends with her. She fucks everything in sight and doesn't even seem to care. I'm just not sure how anyone can be like that." She sighed heavily. "It's weird, is all."

Shannon glanced at me, then I saw her grin wryly at Audrey through the rearview mirror. "You should keep her away from Andy, then."

"I know, right?" She tapped me on the shoulder. "I mean, she's not even all that hot, is she Dave?"

"No!" It probably came out more harshly than intended, but what the hell? I'd had an emotional evening. "I guess I can see how she's sort of sexy, but I don't find her attractive at all."

"Good for you!" She sat back. "You're a good guy, Dave. What's your type? Want me to set you up with anyone?"

Of course, Shannon looked instinctively over at me, but I was careful to stare straight out the front window. "Nah, I'm good. Thanks, though."

"I'm taking you home, right?" Shannon was talking to the rearview mirror again. "Not back to school?"

"Yup." Audrey wasn't quite wasted, but she was close. Andy would be going to the school to pick up her car tomorrow, no doubt. "Thanks, hon. I owe you."

"Sure." The Temples lived in a quiet suburb a few miles inland, and I insisted on walking the poor swaying counselor to her own doorway. "Whoops," she tittered as she dropped her keys. "Guess I need to sit down awhile."

"It was a fun night," I said diplomatically. "Thanks for letting me come out with you guys."

"Anytime, sweetie. You're fun to have around." She aimed the key carefully at the lock, and scored a hit on the second try. "See you Monday."

And then there was nothing left but a stilted, awkward ride, alone with Shannon, as she took me... where? Three beers in, I'd probably be okay to drive back from school, but it wasn't worth the risk: first-year teachers can't get caught with even a whiff of a DUI, not if they want to become second-year teachers.

I was about to ask Shannon to just take me back to my place when she looked over at me, smiling. "So, Dave," she began lightly, "you never answered Audrey's question. What is your type?"

I gazed levelly back, trying to figure out whether she was serious. The normal me would have passed the question off with an embarrassed joke, flushed, and finished the ride in silence. But after what had happened on that banquette at the bar? "Teachers who have boyfriends."

Her tongue poked out at me, lizardlike. "You're no fun." She was plugging her phone into the sound system, firing up her playlist. "Audrey hates my taste in music, but you seem more polite than she does." Satisfied, she hit PLAY and darted a quick glance back up at me. "Or maybe you just like the same music I do."

"What are the odds?" I muttered, then cringed slightly as the song started. More synthesizers. "It's great!" I lied.

"Liar." She flicked the smelly little car into drive and headed off, her head bopping placidly along to OMD or Erasure or whatever this was. I gave her a few minutes to ask me where she should take me, then cleared my throat.

"I'm over on Third Avenue, by the way."

"I know where you live," she replied calmly, sweeping along in the wrong direction. "Can you stay out awhile longer, though? Or do you have a better date to get home to?"

I thought about it, the night rushing past outside as we descended toward the shore. "Don't you?"

"I told you," she shrugged absently. "Leon's away for work. I think he's on some oil platform off the coast of the Maldives, or somewhere." She seemed totally at ease with whatever it was that was going on. "I like to get to know my mentees better outside of work, though, and this seems like a golden opportunity." She finally looked back over at me, her eyes sly. "But I feel like I know you pretty well already."

I blinked. "I mean, well, what happened in the bar..."

"What happened in the bar happened," she interrupted firmly. "And it's out there now, and you can't take it back. And I wouldn't want you to, anyway."

"No?"

"No," and the playful smile was back now. "Girls like being told they're pretty, even indirectly." She put a hand to her hair, raking it back, and then let her mouth fall open. "That was what you meant, wasn't it? That awkward silence of yours? You meant you thought I was pretty back then, and that you still do?"

I thought about trying to walk it back, but why bother? 'No," I said, just slightly bitter. "Not pretty. Gorgeous."

"Ooh!" She shook her head and paused for a stop sign. "I like where this is going."

"Where is this going?" I asked her, point-blank. I was no kind of flirt, after all. Her dark eyes glittered back out of the blue glow from the dashboard.

"You just go ahead and keep complimenting me," she winked. "Then you'll see."

"No, I mean, where are we going?"

"Don't you know?" She turned down a quiet street, toward the marshes. "I told you, I like to drink with my mentees. I couldn't drink at the bar, so..." It was a nice neighborhood, quiet, filled with small houses that had lots of windows. She took a final right turn, the inky night ahead full of sawgrass. "I'm taking you to my house, Dave."

I swallowed, excited and vaguely frightened. "Oh." There seemed little more to say.

"You can compliment me some more, we can have some laughs... watch a hockey game..." She shrugged with exaggerated carelessness. "You might just find me complimenting you back, too."

"Why?" For some reason that struck her as funny; Shannon was laughing as she pulled up to a little grey place with no garage. It backed up to the marsh, near a path where we used to do our cross-country runs.

"Here we are," she announced, stepping delicately over a pile of mail on the floor. The place was incredibly tidy, and very beachy. It was the home of a sophisticated and mature woman, and I had no idea what I was doing there. "Make yourself at home, Dave. I'm dying to get these shoes off; mind waiting while I change?"

"No, uh, not at all." She turned on the TV for me, then grinned at me as I sank awkwardly onto a loveseat. I was left to watch her ass again as it retreated into the gloom of the unlit house, toward some stairs in the corner. The place was all pale wood and pieces of coral arranged on little tables, the carpet a dingy beige; walls in light blue.

This was going to an unexpected place. There was no way in hell, I believed firmly, that it would be anything more than a friendly but firm conversation about boundaries. Shannon was an incredibly nice lady, far too kind to make me feel bad, so she'd tell me gently but earnestly that, while it was very flattering that I'd had a crush on her back in high school, it wouldn't be appropriate now, and that we really should just be friends. Then we'd wait to get sober, she'd drive me back to pick up my car at the school, and I'd be left with copious regrets and what would obviously wind up as a furious masturbation session.

The game came on, some Canadian team she cared about against some American team she didn't. I fidgeted as I heard her shuffling around up there, slamming a closet door. There was a rush of water in the walls as she flushed. It was a few minutes more before I heard her skipping easily down the stairs to emerge from the darkness of the living room; the only lights she'd turned on were the ones in the kitchen. I forced myself into a studied casualness as I turned my head to see what she'd changed into: yoga pants and a sweatshirt. Pink bunny slippers. Her hair was frizzed by its trip through the sweatshirt.

"Much better," she announced as she slipped into the kitchen. "Feel free to take your tie off, Dave. I was surprised you left it on in the bar, actually."

"Me too," I admitted. Truthfully, I'd forgotten I had it until it was too late. I frowned, thinking of a witty comment, then gave it a try. "When you look as good as I do, you've got to maintain a certain standard."

"That's true," she replied, sucking at her lower lip as she peered into a cabinet. "You always look nice. What'll you have? I warn you, I'm a bartender who tends to err on the side of too much fuckin' booze." She laughed.

"Well then. Rum and Coke?"

"Coming right up, sir." She busied herself with two large bottles. "You can never have too much rum." Unsure whether she expected a response, I turned and watched the American team score a goal. She was over in another minute with two large glasses. "Nor too much gin, actually," she mused, curling down into the seat beside me. She drew her legs up under her, moving with a feline gracefulness, and held out my drink. "Feel free to tip your wait staff," she grinned.

"I don't think I've got anything smaller than a twenty," I replied; she'd been taking my other minor flirtations pretty well, incredibly enough. Might as well keep it up. Shannon was making me feel very comfortable.

"I'd take a twenty," she giggled. "Or two."

"Forty dollars? For one drink?" I gave a dry laugh. "That'll be the day."

She fixed me with an odd stare as she slowly took a sip of her gin and tonic. "You haven't tried it yet," she pointed out quietly. "Besides, we're a full-service establishment. I can do more than just make cocktails."

"I'll keep that in mind." The drink was powerful, the rum washing straight into my stomach at about twice the volume I was used to. She was grinning at me as I brought the glass down.

"See?" She winked. "Told you so." She had seen the little grimace cross my face. "Just let me know if you want more Coke," she said dismissively.

I put my glass down on the table, carefully landing it on a coaster. "I think you're just trying to get me drunk, Shannon."

She knocked back another sip, still staring intently. "And what would be so wrong with that?" she asked quietly. "You're over 21. You're a big boy." She set her own glass down, then arched her back. "Nothing like getting out of your work clothes at the end of a long week," she mused, then looked quickly up and down my body. "If you want, I could find some of Leon's stuff for you. A shirt definitely, a pair of sweats?"

"No, I'm fine." I made myself take another sip. "Wouldn't want you to have to do any more laundry than usual."

"You don't really care how much laundry I have to do," she pointed out confidently. "You're just not sure how far to go here."

I looked at her for a long moment, trying to focus. "How far to go in what way?"

"In any way," she said quietly. "In every way." She glanced at the TV. "You're not watching the game, are you?"

"Not really." She smiled again, playful once more.

"Can I make a confession?" she said suddenly, winding thick hair around her finger. She didn't wait for me to nod. "I liked dancing with you at Texas Vinny's. And I felt pretty comfortable sitting with you afterward." She leaned forward a little. "And then you went and ruined it all by telling me you were into me."

"Well." I managed another sip, a bigger one than I'd meant. "I wouldn't say that's exactly how I put it."

"No," she agreed, "but that's what you meant." We both knew she was right, so I just looked at her some more. She hadn't taken off her makeup, but then she never really wore much anyway: just enough color on her lips and eyelids to emphasize how full her mouth was, how large her eyes were. She was a woman who knew how to make herself attractive. "I meant what I said, though. I wouldn't ever want you to take any of it back."

"Good," I babbled before I could think anything else through. "Because I don't want to."

And then she smiled, a full and uninhibited smile that made her skin crinkle alongside her eyes. "Why, Davey Dole!" she chided. "I do believe that was another compliment."

I tried to think quickly, to be witty. "No," I tried. "It's actually just the same one as before."

"True, I guess. You could always try a new one." Her eyes were dancing now, the drinks forgotten on the table. The Canadians either scored a goal or took a penalty; neither of us was paying any attention.

"You first." This was becoming easier, the alcohol and the effect of her vibrant personality pummeling my self-consciousness. Almost without realizing it, I reached up and undid my tie.

"Well then." She pushed her lower lip prettily out, looking sideways into the darkened living room. Her whole body was relaxed, the slender legs still drawn up underneath her, and I noticed she didn't seem to have left her bra on, though it was hard to tell with the baggy sweatshirt. I felt myself tremble slightly. "Okay," she went on slowly. "How about this. You're an easy guy to cuddle up with on a restaurant bench." I felt myself raise my eyebrows, and then for some reason I nudged things further. This whole situation seemed completely surreal.

"Just on a restaurant bench?" Greatly daring, I rested my arm casually across the back of the loveseat and wondered if she was sending the message I was beginning to hope she was. "Or other places too?"

"How should I know?" She stopped playing with her hair. "I'd have to try other places." Her smile grew broader as I nodded casually toward my raised arm, and she giggled as she launched herself across the loveseat toward me. Her movements were completely fluid, totally under control; her strong legs flipped her whole body around, and next thing I knew there was a firm, yoga-panted butt wedged solidly in next to my right hip, her sleek body settling comfortably into my chest. I held myself still as she adjusted herself, giving little jerks and wiggles until she was calm, and then she nodded to herself. "Good." A pause, then she reached impulsively up for my arm, pulling it down until my hand rested back on her shoulder, dangerously close to where her right breast had to be waiting beneath the shapeless sweatshirt.

"Better. If you want your drink, I'm happy to grab it for you, Dave."

I was already struggling to keep myself under control. "Is that part of your forty-dollar full service?"

"My!" Her body shook slightly as she chuckled. "This is a side I'd never have suspected from shy little Davey in my history class." She stretched her neck, looking up at me. "So. I think it's your turn again."

By now, even a guy as socially awkward as I was could glimpse where this seemed to be going. I couldn't believe my luck, but I figured I should just go with it. I had no idea what she wanted; I thought she would maybe, just possibly, let me give her a slight kiss whenever she dropped me off. But, regardless, coming up with compliments for her was easy. I'd been thinking of them for six years now. "Every single time I see you," I said quietly, "it makes my day better."

"Ooh!" she squealed softly. "I like that." She nestled more deeply. "I like that a lot, actually."

"And this? Right here?" I took a deep breath, then let it out. "It's everything I wished for when I was in your class."

I thought I might have gone too far then, for she said nothing. But then I heard the sigh, and her hand was back on my knee, and her breathing seemed to quicken. After awhile, she spoke up. "You know how teachers get a little bit attracted to students," she said, not asking. "Well, I won't lie. I always felt just a wee bit disappointed whenever you were absent." She squeezed. "I liked seeing you in class."

My erection was swift and sure, exploding to life with a mind of its own, snaking through my pants until my boxers restrained it. I gasped. "Something the matter?" she asked innocently. "I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable here..."

"Oh, no. It's fine." I could smell her, that rich smell of shampoo and body wash and a long day in front of the classroom, with the gin on her breath rising thinly above the rest.

"Because, I'm pretty sure," she went on, turning so that her left breast came to rest on my shirt, her beautiful face now just a couple of inches away from mine, "that if I wasn't your mentor, this kind of situation would be slightly inappropriate." Her hand ran from my knee, up my leg, past my dick and onto my chest. She gave no sign that she could tell I was hard, but Shannon was a grown woman with plenty of experience: she had to know. "As it is," she added, "it's just... good mentorship."

"Excellent mentorship," I agreed, my thumb stroking her shoulder. I sought a distraction. "You looked amazing today. That dress..."

"Shit, that thing was tight," she sighed, stretching out her neck. "I almost had to call you upstairs to help me unzip." A finger found its way into my shirt front.

"No thanks," I said immediately. "Isn't that Leon's job?"

"Yes," she agreed smoothly, "but he's not here. You are. What, is the idea of unzipping my dress all that horrible?"

Decidedly not. "Actually, I think it's something I could get used to," I started to say, but by that time her smiling face was closing the distance, and her generous lips were opening just a bit, and holy fucking crap, Shannon Boyle was kissing me.

It had never really occurred to me to think seriously about what it would be like to kiss her; there had never been any possibility of it happening, I thought, so the sensation overwhelmed me. She tasted like gin and coffee, her lips just the right combination of softness and firmness as she gave a small, squeaking moan and bore into me, tipping her head sideways to get her little nose past mine. Go! screamed my brain, and without a second thought I stuck my tongue between my lips and licked softly at hers; she opened wide immediately, and without further ado we sucked each other in, tongues flailing, saliva lashing into each other's mouths.

Holy shit. She wasted no time steering her body up and over mine, her legs bunching and flexing as they brought her around and against me. I found my hands guiding her smoothly in, resting along her sides as she maneuvered onto my lap; one of them had already found a route underneath the shapeless sweatshirt, gripping at the firm pale flesh beneath as our tongues continued to wrestle.

At some point I grew aware she was gasping, or maybe it was me, feverishly trying to get some air as we made out with a desperation that, I think, surprised us both. She ended up kneeling on the cushions, her tight lovely body bridging over mine as she straddled me, sitting along the tops of my thighs; my hands found themselves up under her sweatshirt, running over the rolling muscles of her back as she slurped backward, a string of spit connecting us before she sat up and looked down at me. There was passion in her eyes, but not just that; I saw there warmth, and sweetness, and a gentleness that made my heart melt.

"So," she said, needing to clear her throat twice before she got it out, "did you wish for that, too, Dave? When you were sitting in my class?" She moved calm, lazy fingers toward my buttons. "Or was it just snuggling you were after? Because, you know, we could just as easily sit here and cuddle and finish the hockey game." She had two buttons undone, her other hand moving inexorably into the gap, playing with my chest hair. "I do like seeing my team win..."

But she was grinning again, looking exhilarated as I pulled her back down, holding her sweet, sweet body tight against mine as I devoured her again, and her mouth opened wet and willing around mine. Some part of my brain was still wondering why: why was she doing this? With me? But the other part of my brain, the urgent red part, was too busy playing with her, my tongue running into and out of her mouth with a forceful rhythm, my hands kneading her skin beneath the sweatshirt as my hips bucked subconsciously up toward her. And when she felt that, she gave another breathless little squeak into my mouth.