Power Relationship

There was silence at the other end of the phone. Then mum replied in a more subdued voice. "All right, this was bound to happen some time. See you at my place at six." She hung up.

#

My emotions were in somewhat of a turmoil as I started on the long drive to Wellington. I had not had a serious girlfriend since my divorce. When I took the job at tech, the students tempted me terribly. The climate was warm, and the students were wearing shorts and t shirts, showing their beautifully tanned bodies, their shapely legs and their full busts.

I never went to bed with a student. I was in a power relationship and it wouldn't be right. My predominant emotion towards these women almost young enough to be my daughters was a paternal protectionism; the same as I felt towards the younger men.

I kept in touch with my students on Facebook after they graduated, but apart from occasionally commenting on their timelines, and once or twice some brief messaging on our birthdays, I had nothing more to do with them. Maxine was always one of my favourite students, bringing out both my protective and horny urges. I had no intention of sleeping with her when I contacted her to be my whanau support at the job interview, I was simply looking forward to going out to dinner with a pretty girl who admired me.

When she started her Facebook flirting I was surprised. Maxine had never been the flirty type, unlike some of the others. At the same time, during the drive to Opotane I remembered her beautiful figure, smooth cheek bones and silky honey-blonde hair. If anything developed I would not say no, but nor would I initiate anything. She was no longer my student, but the power differential was still there.

As it turned out she initiated plenty, even though at first she was diffident, frigid even. I didn't understand it. I knew it couldn't be me. I am no Adonis, but nor am I a particular turn off, and I could recognise the come-on signals. No, something else was holding her back. Since I don't like to sleep with unwilling women I was willing to wait, and spent that first night with her curled up beside me, loving the intimacy and warmth, with the tingling sexual tension enriching my dreams.

In the middle of the night she surprised me with her passion; jumping on me before I was awake. Not that I'm complaining. A pretty pair of breasts jiggling in front of me and a warm pussy massaging my cock is far better to wake up to than an alarm clock.

I had not had sex for some time so I came quickly, and I could sense that Maxine was disappointed, though she did a good job of hiding it. She got up to go to the bathroom and I knew she would be finishing herself off. The thought of her sitting cross legged on the floor, her pretty thighs wide apart, her fingers inside the wet slit as she groaned and wriggled was enough to harden me up again. No you don't, my beauty.

I grabbed her from behind, forced her down on the bed, spread her thighs and rammed myself inside her. I was still only half stiffened, but the sight of her cute arse thrust up in front of me like an offering, and the feel of her soft breasts in my hands, the scent of sexual juices mingling with her own sweet body odour were sufficient to arouse me fully. The feeling of dominance was another turn on. I was totally in control here. She tried to wriggle, wanting face to face contact, an intimate session, but I kept a firm grip on her. When I finally spilled my seed deep inside her I felt totally drained. I kissed my lover softly as we nuzzled against each other.

I went to that interview still wound up in a state of sexual excitement, so I was not concentrating too readily on what the pompous stuff-shirts were saying. I was looking at Maxine's mother Jenny, her with the same good looks as her daughter, and my thoughts strayed towards a mother daughter threesome. Now that would be kinky. But then the older stuff-shirt asked one of his banal questions, and I had to cross my legs and try to find an answer that would not make me vomit when I listened to my own voice.

I got the phone call from Boston in the time between the interview and my afternoon appointment at Maxine's flat. I was sitting in a cafe, idly thinking of Maxine and the little tricks I could use to make her groan with pleasure. It was a shame that the call had to come at this moment. Just when I had found someone who was serious about me, and who I could get to love.

As I listened to the voice on the other end tell me about the benefits and responsibilities, I realised I couldn't turn them down. I wondered whether to stall until I had heard back from Stonkins, but the American job was something I had been attempting to grab for quite some time, and I knew I would not be happy knowing I had missed my opportunity.

I should cancel the appointment with Maxine, I thought, but then I decided that maybe I could persuade her to come with me. A flimsy pretext to trifle with the feelings of a young woman who I may never see again, but in my heightened state of sexual tension it was enough.

Jenny called me as I was driving back to Wellington. Apparently she and stuff-shirt one had been pushing for me, but stuff-shirt two and the CEO thought I wouldn't fit with their 'team ethos'.. blah blah, even though they all agreed that my technical skills were first rate. It didn't matter now anyway. I was on my way to a dream job teaching what I loved at an American University. Boosting the confidence of young students who needed it was a better proposition than stroking the already swollen egos of middle aged managers.

"Thank you for the clothes," I said. "Maxine told me you were her mother."

"You're welcome," Jenny replied. "I did it for myself as much as you. I knew you would not have a show of getting approved by some of the more conservative elements in our company without a decent wardrobe, and I actually wanted you to get the job."

"Yes, well I have another job offer, so I don't need it." I hesitated and then went on.

"It caused a bit of strife between Maxine and me. Our parting was rather acrimonious. I'm sorry if I hurt her. I just wanted us to have some fun together."

"I don't know what has been going on between you and my daughter, but she's an adult and makes her own decisions. I'll be calling her soon, and will pass on your apology. Good luck for your new job."

After I hung up on Jenny I thought about our more gentle afternoon love making in Maxine's flat. Her mounting excitement as I massaged her clitoris then rubbed it with my tongue, the sharp taste of her girly juices in my mouth stimulating my own erection. I was fully erect and pulsing as I slid myself into her very wet pussy, as slowly as I could to keep myself from coming. As I moved up and down inside her, we clasped on to each other as tightly as we could, skin touching skin all over, our entire bodies acting as erogenous zones. My own excitement built up gradually and I paced myself, gratified by her raucous screams and her clawing at my back.

It was after her declarations of love to me that I told Maxine about the American job and offered for her to come with me. In hindsight I should have told her earlier, it would have saved some unpleasantness.

I didn't love Maxine; certainly not the way she loved me, but there was no doubt she was lively and passionate, intelligent, cared for the environment and was great company. And I knew we were sexually compatible. I could get to love her quite easily.

I drove the rest of the way to Wellington where I was kept busy for the next week selling my stuff, giving notice in my flat, saying goodbye to friends and all the other little tasks that you don't think about, but which come to you when you are suddenly faced with the prospect of leaving your old life.

During that time I sent off one short Facebook message to Maxine just thanking her for the good time we had, and I was surprised when I got a skype call from her the same evening. I answered with some trepidation. Was she still going to blame me for leaving her?

I was saddened by the sight that met my eyes through the camera. Maxine's beautiful blond hair was tangled and dull, and her eyes puffy and red.

"Maxine dear, what's wrong," I said. "Is it something I've done?"

"Oh Andrew, nothing to do with you. Not directly. But I had to ask mum eventually."

I waited. What she said didn't make much sense, but perhaps Maxine would clarify things.

"After I had such a good time with you, I wondered why I didn't feel the same towards any other men," she said. "And why I was so comfortable with you but not my father. So I decided I had to ask some questions. Something I had been putting off."

"Why's that?" I asked.

"Because I was frightened of the answers. But after you left I went to see my mother, and asked her straight out what father had done to me. The answer shocked me, it was so forthright. 'He raped you. Several times; starting when you were twelve.' I just stood there with my mouth opening and closing. I had no recollection of this happening at all."

"'Why didn't you do something?' I yelled. 'Instead of pretending everything is fine and we are all big happy families. Why did you torture me further by making out it was my fault I didn't like my father?'

"'You're quite right to be angry,' she said. 'I failed you as a mother. But it affected me as well. The last time it happened I surprised him at it by coming home early. You were shocked into forgetting, I was shocked into denying. But I have less excuse because I can recall what happened, and you can't.'

"She ran to give me a hug, but I spat in her face. I was incoherent with rage, and didn't trust myself even to yell at her. I ran out of the house and haven't seen her since. She's tried to contact me but I've hung up when I knew it was her. I don't want to see the cow ever again!"

I was totally out of my depth. I had no real idea what to do or say; she needed some sort of professional counselling. Then I made an effort to stop this thought process going any further. Typical male thinking. Maxine knows after all that I am not a professional counsellor, she just wants someone to listen. I felt nervous realising that she had chosen me over one of her girl friends in the role of listener. A romantic couple of days with Maxine did entail certain obligations on my part.

"I..it must have been terrible for you," I stammered. "What are you going to do now?"

"I want to go back to tech and finish my degree," she said. "Will you help me?"

"Of course," I said, relieved now I was back on familiar ground. This was the sort of assistance I could offer. "What sort of help do you need?"

"I don't know. Just if I get stuck, can I call you and ask you. You helped me before, but I don't know the other tutors. Its been a few years."

"I think its a great thing you're going back to get your degree. Do you need any financial assistance?" Easier to throw money at a problem than emotional support. I would be comfortably well off with my American salary, and had nothing much to spend it on, so no reason why an ex-girlfriend shouldn't get some of it.

"No, I can get a student allowance. Thank you Andrew."

"And, Maxine..." I tried to think of something comforting. "You'll do well at tech. You're an intelligent person - and a wonderful human being. Take care."

My visa arrived the next week and I landed at Logan International Airport three days later. The teaching was everything I hoped it would be. Stimulating, rewarding and above all fun. The students were great company, and my colleagues were friendly and open, with a genuine sense of a shared vision. My first six months passed in a busy haze of lectures, seminars, research and various social events with my colleagues.

My romantic life was not so successful. The students and fellow staff members were intelligent and outgoing, but I found American women too... intense. They seemed to see life as one great game show contest, to be filled up with screaming, clapping and whooping. I did date a fellow staff member a few times, a PhD student who was also an adjunct professor in another department. After a few evenings out she told me I needed to loosen up more, and we stopped seeing each other outside work.

I didn't hear much from Maxine, though she did send me messages occasionally. I had promised to help her with her tech studies if she needed it, but in the end, she managed fine by herself, passing, if not with distinction, at least with sufficiency. After graduation in May she got an administrative position with the city council which she said was far better than her old job at the electronics shop, but she told me she would need a Masters degree to move up out of administration into policy advice. "So get a Masters" I advised her in my message. "You're certainly capable enough." I didn't hear from her after that for several months, except for the obligatory birthday greetings.

And then came the skype exchange that changed everything.

#

To say I was gobsmacked at mum's revelations regarding my father would be an understatement. I felt like my whole jaw had been smashed in. The next day I took time off work, staying under my covers and crying. My flatmate came in during the evening and berated me for running up the electricity bill. She's an anal retentive who has one of those monitor things in her room that measures daily electricity consumption. My anger flared up at this point, competing with my self pity for dominance, as I remembered why I had kept my room so warm and the wonderful time Andrew and I had together.

All the bitterness; at my father, my mother, Andrew, my shitty job, my useless prospects, and myself - burst through my inhibitions like a dam breaking its barrier. My flatmate must have thought I was a doormat, capable of being bossed and bullied as she liked. A reasonable supposition I suppose; after all that was the way I had always behaved before.

But not this time. I leapt from my bed and pushed her down the corridor until she collapsed cowering in the chair in the lounge. "You bullying, self centred, pompous, megalomaniac, power crazed, supercilious WANKER!" I yelled at her. I was surprised at my own vocabulary - a university level education does have some advantages. Then remembering it had been Andrew who had encouraged my reading and writing, I drew my breath to offer her a second helping of my pent up rage.

"I've had to put up with your patronising put downs since I've moved in. Oh, poor Maxine, you think. What a loser. Let's offer her somewhere, but make sure she's always grateful. Don't ever let her think she's our equal. You condescending creep!"

I caught a look at myself in the mirror on the wall. My face was bright red, the veins standing out on my forehead. At the same time my eyes were red and puffy and tears were streaming down my face, collecting at my chin like a trickle of drool.

My flatmate opened her mouth to say something, but I wasn't finished yet. "I've been through absolute Hell this week. I find out my father fucked me so many times I blanked out counting, and my dear mother turned her back on me like the craven coward she turns out to be. And you really want to berate me over a few dollars of electricity. Well go ahead. Make my day - bitch!"

I had run out of things to say. I felt drained - but so very satisfied. I was pointing my finger at my flatmate, who was cowering on the chair. Wordlessly I lowered my digital aid and walked back to my room, closing the door quietly. My flatmate never disturbed me again that day.

The next morning my mobile rang about 10 o'clock while I was still in bed. I looked at the display. It was my boss. I could guess what that was about. Let it ring. I had not called in sick, so they would no doubt be 'inviting' me to a meeting with HR. I knew the script. They would be 'disappointed not angry', you have 'not only let us down you have let yourself down'. I would get a written warning and would be allowed to keep my job, after tendering a grovelling apology. I could do without this.

In the afternoon there was a tap at my door. It was Clarissa. She came in carefully, almost respectfully, treading through the cast off clothing on the floor as though it was a mine field. I sat up in bed and stared at her. I was not angry with her any more - not even disappointed, but nor did I really want to see her.

"Say your prepared speech then leave me alone," I said.

She seemed to hesitate and then she started, "Maxine, I don't know what happened to you last night, and frankly I don't care. You need to get some professional help. But I will not tolerate being threatened and bullied in my own house. I want you to leave today."

I knew it would come to this - no surprises. "I don't like you either, Clarissa. But I'm not leaving today - I have nowhere to go. Give me two weeks notice and I'll leave."

"You can always go to your mother. Anyway, it's not my problem. I'm not having you in my house a minute longer."

"In case you hadn't been listening, my mother and I are not on the best of terms. I can't go to my mother and I've got nowhere else." I thought briefly of Brian then dismissed it. "And it very much is your problem, because I'm not going anywhere tonight."

We stared at each other for almost a minute. "I'll call the police," she said.

"You do that. And when they arrive I'll tell them you're throwing me out into the cold. That's against the law. They'll let me stay. Or you could leave me alone for two weeks and I'll leave without any fuss. The choice is yours."

I waved my hand at her to leave the room. She did so without another word. I should have taken up assertiveness ages ago.

I had two more phone calls from my mother that day, and another one from work. I ignored them all and spent the day in bed. The next morning when I woke up I felt slightly better and decided I would have to give some serious consideration to my future. I called up Kayla, one of my tech friends, now working in some sort of administrative job in Rotorua.

"Maxine," she gushed. "How are things?"

"Not too good," I admitted. I debated whether to tell her everything my mother had said, let it all out of my system like a technicolour yawn, then piked out at the last minute, though remembering made me cry again.

"I don't know what to do with my life," I sobbed. "I wondered whether I should go back to tech."

"Do you think you can cope with it?" Kayla asked. "You were struggling I seem to remember. Dale and I had to help you a lot."

Not the sort of encouragement I was thinking of. "I think I could, now," I said. "Andrew always said I was better than I knew I was. I just needed confidence."

"Andrew was a very good teacher," said Kayla. "I certainly learned a lot. But do you think he was telling the truth? Encouraging us was his job after all."

I thought back to Andrew's clumsy awkwardness with my mother's colleagues, and his last stilted conversation when he admitted he was leaving me. "No I don't think he was being tactful," I said. "He doesn't know how."

"Anyway, Andrew isn't there now," my friend continued. "They got rid of a few of the better teachers. A bit of a Kremlin style purge. The old perv Don is still there, plus the young tutors who didn't know much more than we did, but the ones we liked have all left. Do you know what's happened to Andrew?"

"I saw him recently. He was in Opotane for an interview and we met for coffee."

"Do you fancy him? I can hear your voice go all funny."

Was it really so obvious to everyone? "I like him. He was the only tutor to encourage me. But he's going to America. He told me."

"Look Maxine, I have to get back to work, but it's good to hear from you. Look me up next time you're in Rotorua." Kayla seemed itching to get back to her administrative job. Maybe it wasn't as boring as my job at the shop. Or maybe I'm the boring one - even typing things into a computer and answering the phone to strangers is preferable to my company.