Obsessed with my married Principal

Beverly

I HAVE ALWAYS  been afraid of heights. Anytime my grandmother takes me to her office which was on the 24th floor, I cling to her, refusing to open my eyes until we had exited the elevator. For even in such an enclosed space, I had feared that the metal under my feet would give in to the pressure of the height and I would come tumbling down like Jack in my favorite nursery rhyme, "Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pale of water. Jack fell down and..." My granny would say, "Beverly you won't fall, grandma won't let it happen." I didn't believe her. Her hands were frail. How could she catch me?

Thus, I would imagine my body splattering on the ground; smashed skull, and broken bones. A gory sight for a young girl to conceive, but from a young age, I had always been the biblical Jeremiah -A messenger of doom! Hilarious that may seem, but true.

I had a playmate then, Madelyn, a little red-haired beauty whom I have no idea where she is now, but I remember how I loved her dearly like she was the sibling I never had.

She was everything I wasn't, and wanted to be; Free, playful, and courageous. It was on her insistence that I had gone on a Ferris wheel with her large family even though my grandmother had cautioned me not to. I willed to one day be as brave as Madelyn, so I had to take a leap of faith to begin. If only my inner Jeremiah had enough strength on the surface, suppressing the part of me that could do nothing but wish, I would not have been telling this story but he didn't, so here we are.

When the Ferris wheel began to spin, my heart lurched down my buttocks. I had cried more than half my life's force. That is if I was a character in my favorite Anime. I thought about it often and a smile never failed to spread across my face with the memory. Then it was anything but amusing. I never did that again. I hated the thought of plummeting so much until I met Emiliano.

Emiliano wanted me to always fall just so he could catch me. Whether it be from slipping down the stairs, or the stage, or for him. He was always there to hold me down. Soon I stopped being afraid of plunging I started to love the idea of letting go as long as he was in the abyss. As I stared down at the garden from the porch, two stories above, I had no more apprehension of falling.

The wind jigged around me, a foolhardy cortege, undecided whether to settle on my skin or surround me in a chill. I loved the taste of the night, the parabolic thirst of the moon Illuminating the earth, and explaining why God let it survive despite all atrocities. I exhaled, feeling the intensity of the wind in my bones, freezing my blood. If Emiliano was awake, he would have wrapped me in his brawny arms, and his breath on my cheek would be my fireplace where I could get all the warmth the world had to offer.

Freckles of dust decorated the dark sky, refracting from the glass below me where I rested my body. It shone into my room, Illuminating the floor. It was a beautiful night, yet nothing about it was alluring. Nothing about me was appeasing. My grandma would call the voice in my head the devil. I knew that it was anything but him. It was my voice, reminding me where I should have been. Dead.

A hand clutched at my chest as faint sobs escaped my lips at the distinct flashes of memories that beclouded my mind. I turned back and was met with double-glass doors, from ceiling to floor where my room shone in all its beauty. Perhaps it was the figure in it that made it seem irresistible. I wiped my face with the back of my palm, deciding that I was no longer going to let my past hold me back from being the wife my husband deserved. The veracity of my decision tallied with my hardened resolve.

I pushed the doors ajar and walked in. My matrimonial bedroom bore witness to residual cravings. Maybe that's why despite its warmth, it still elicited a kind of chill that only I could feel. It was spiritual. A connection to my soul's unfulfilled longing. My body's quenchless desires. The room was as huge as every part of my house. Furnished in two styles - both classical and modern, in brown and golden tones with green, beige, and orange accents. A king-size bed rested in the middle. It flourished with an orange duvet, many pillows covered in white casings, and teddy bears that Emiliano never stopped procuring. Opposite it, was a 7.5-foot LED TV. The other half was a mini-parlor with a semi-reading space at the window where I practiced my recipes on Sunday afternoons; Until whenever Emiliano got tired of reading and comes to disturb my peace.

Emiliano was a lover of art so everything was distinct and delightful. But, the best thing to me was the framed, artistic portrait of us at our wedding that was placed behind the bed. Each brush was made to correspond to the details of our love and passion on the best day of my life. In the frame, Emiliano cleaved to me as always, his hands resting on my lower back. My right leg folded over his back, close to his ass. My cheek rested on his neck, and he buried his face in my hair taking all my scent in.

The painting had a dark background giving it an erotic impression. Probably, it was the slit of my dress that stopped right on my ass that did that.

I made my way to the bed, watching Emiliano hug the pillow firmly, thinking it was me. He looked dashing even when asleep, wearing gray pants and a white tank top. As unbelievable as it sounded, he was mine. This alluring, classy, intelligent, passionate, powerful man belonged to me.

Slowly, I sank onto the bed, dulling my senses, stopping it from painting me in the same farrago I already was; blemished. I took his extensive arm which was a contrast to mine, bringing it to my firm breasts. I placed mine on his and squeezed, a soft moan escaping my lips. Pleasure, anxiety, desire, darkness, I know not which I felt more, but knew I felt all. Every emotion on my austere skin as though his hands were a trigger and my heart, the bomb. My breathing accelerated as tears sullied my eyes. I was shaking like the flowers in my garden whenever they came in contact with vehement winds. Yet, I took his hand lower down my belly.

Further down, stopping in between my thighs. Emiliano made a sound, as syncopated as it was heart mending, and then his eyes opened. I was instantly asphyxiated in the deepest seas of my clandestine lust.

When I was younger, I used to love the color black because it was the only color that could not be tainted. Black bedspread, black clothes, black underwear, anything black. Now, the color blue appeals more to me. A variety of things of such shade could have been said to have whisked new love into my heart. The clear sky, the ocean in its beauty, Emiliano's eyes. Which was the mirror of my ever-sinking soul, as they were the sea to which I submerged myself.

The first time I saw him, it was a bottomless plunge, one that persisted even after a year. He was a god through and through. The fare of the spring ushered in feelings from the bottom of my hollows I never knew existed. A breathtaking god! His prominent jaws, perfect nose, dimples that never failed to make my heart flutter anytime he smiled, his well-trimmed beard, and hair as dark as carbide night. His smooth white skin contrasted sharply with my brown skin. We were hooked; for our gazes locked as we shared in the harmony of two hearts beating as one. He broke the stare to settle his hands in between my thighs. He sat up leaning against the comforter.

"Mio Mondo." He said, with a deep sleepy voice that sent vibrations down the furthermost embers of my dichotomy. A tingle struck my heart, it began to echo, sending multiple shivers. The harmonious impulses rose to a crescendo as my eyes settled on our sheets; unable to look him in the eye when he uttered that name, which belonged exclusively to me. A name greater than all other names I have ever borne, even The Queen of hearts.

"Look at me." His still, deep voice evened out in a plea wreaked by all the powers in the world, soft as authentic silk grazing the surface of my skin, pummeling my heart with intensity. "Look at me B."

Slowly, as though time had halted and I had become the measurement of seconds. I raised my gaze to meet his. His eyes held and locked them; with so much love that nothing could compare. His love was the earth and I, the universe. It revolved around me.

"I thought you would like it," I said, with a shaky voice that matched the rhythm of my beating heart - unsteady, volatile. "I want this," I whispered, licking my lips as though They could wet the words and cause more effect. "Believe me, I do. I want you." Emiliano exhaled, his hands moving from my legs to my waist, lifting me to his thighs. "What I love, is my wife lying by my side when I'm awake. What I hate, on the other hand, is seeing her cry because of me." He whispered, wiping my cheeks. "I hate that you feel you owe me this even if I've told you a thousand times that I can wait for you. That I will wait for you. Forever, if need be."

"But..."

"When you are prepared, I will know Beverly."

I buried my head in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling, exhaling, dying. His grip on my waist became firmer. No more second-guessing. I was his. I kissed his neck, relishing the way his thumb grazed my skin; up, down, and in circles.

"I don't deserve you, my God. I'm too tainted…" He ripped me from our embrace, forcing me to delve into his eyes. Then his fingers found my lips. Caressing them, he hushed me.

 "You are not tainted," He wrapped his hands around me, placed my head on his hard chest, and yawned. "Shhh, let's sleep.