Unteachable (Leah Raeder) by Leah Raeder

Author:Leah Raeder
Language: eng
Format: epub

October was the longest month. Not in days, but in the way

the hours dragged as we tilted farther away from the sun,

the shadows stretching longer and longer, curving thin blue

fingers over the earth. There was an Indian summer, a

blush of heat and a warm wind stirring the gold foil

leaves. One hot afternoon I jumped into Wesley’s pool

with all my clothes on, the water deliciously cool beneath

the skin of sunlight on the surface. He took his shirt off and

jumped in after me, particolored leaves swirling around us

like kaleidoscope pieces. Siobhan stopped by to laugh and

offer towels. Wesley tried to pull her in, and she casually

threatened to remove him from her will. When we climbed

out there was the obligatory pause when we saw each

other soaking wet, his long hairless torso glazed with

water, my shirt molded to my boobs. I smiled; he didn’t.

Siobhan helped dry my hair and caught my hand, raising

the ring to the falling sun. I couldn’t read the look she gave

me. It seemed deeply knowing.

At first Evan and I were careful, saving everything for

the weekends. No making out between classes. No trysts

in motels. He called every night, and when I wasn’t talking

to him I sent him the absolute filthiest texts I’d ever sent in

my life. That second weekend at the loft, we only ventured

outdoors once. We spent two days straight having sex and

watching movies and talking and laughing and kissing in a

hazy, dreamy montage, until finally we stumbled out into

the indigo twilight, delirious and exhausted, blinking at the

lights and cars and the speed of life as if we’d just come

out of a hundred-year sleep. We bought Italian ice and

walked along the riverfront, watching the boat lights drift

like floating candles, marveling at the bridges stretching

across that thick, strong vein of water. The Mississippi

was calm but the calm was snake-like, a vast power

momentarily relaxed.

October 19th was Evan’s birthday. The night he turned

thirty-three, we ate sushi at a place near the Cathedral

Basilica. The cathedral looked like an illustration from a

storybook, almost every inch of it lined with mosaic tiles

scintillating in the candlelight. I wore the sundress he’d

seen in that shop window, and eyeshadow, and flat little-

girl shoes, refusing to be pigeonholed into an age group.

He wore his pinstripe shirt and tie, looking more like Mr.

Wilke than Evan. It was the first time I’d had sushi, and

the only real conclusion I drew was that it was very

sensual. Like eating something still alive. When we

staggered into the haunted elevator later, tipsy on sake, I

did something else for the first time: I gave him a blowjob.

His body melted in my hands, his fingers running through

my hair softly, so softly, every part of him boyish and

submissive except for the hard dick in my mouth. Another

experience that was purely sensual. I swallowed when he

came, warm saltiness in the back of my throat, the faint

taste of the sea. He pulled me up and kissed me, and I

said, “Happy birthday, Mr. Wilke.”

I told Wesley I wanted to work on my own project for

Film Studies, and he agreed. But we shot

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