3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Ken
“ F ive little monkeys swinging in the tree,” I sang, the children’s voices repeating alongside mine. The familiar tune filled the classroom with an energetic hum. As I moved to the window, my gaze drifted outside. There stood Marc Mendez, shirtless, the afternoon sun highlighting every contour of his muscular frame.
I blinked— what was he doing there? My breath caught in my chest, until a sound caught my attention, and I turned back at my students.
Little eyes stared back, expectant, innocent. “Mr. Parker?” one kid asked, snapping me back to reality.
I glanced outside again. Marc was stripping now, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on mine as he unbuckled his belt and slid his pants slowly down his legs. His hand palmed the bulge outlining his cock, his head hanging back as his fingers dipped inside the waistband of his briefs.
My breath hitched, and the classroom seemed to narrow, the innocent chatter of the children fading into the background.
“Kendall, what are you doing?” My father’s voice cut through the dream like a knife. I turned around. There he was, in a dark gray business suit, standing at my desk in the front of the classroom. His face twisted in disgust as he stared at my computer screen. “How could you watch this filth?”
How could you? The words hung in the air. Panic surged through me, and I woke with a start, my sheets tangled around my legs.
I sat up and took several deep breaths. The dream clung to me like a second skin, leaving me shaken and uneasy. What if someone found out about Marc’s website? What if they found out that I knew about it?
I had to unsubscribe. I had to focus on Mia and my job.
Yet here I was, Mia’s teacher, still indulging in her father’s videos. Hell, just last night I lay in bed, pleasuring myself to an old favorite video of mine—Magic Marco, stretched out on a leather sofa, stroking himself to completion with an earth-shattering roar.
Shame churned in my gut, a constant reminder of the thin line I was walking, and a sense of hypocrisy filled me.
The very man I needed to forget was the one I couldn’t stop thinking about.
The one who I couldn’t get away from.
***
At lunchtime, the scent of seasoned meat and fried potatoes mingled with the roar of chattering children as I stood with them in line, corralling my kids with a practiced eye. Sliding my tray along the metal rails like my students, I stopped and pointed at the sloppy joe. “And a double helping of the tater tots, please.”
Rosa, one of the lunch ladies, fixed me with a disapproving look. A hairnet wrapped so tightly around her hair that not a single strand escaped, giving her an air of no-nonsense authority. “I don’t see any vegetables on your tray, Mr. Parker,” she chided, her voice carrying over the din of the cafeteria.
I flashed her a grin, the same one that my students used to get out of trouble. “You caught me, Miss Rosa,” I said, my tone light and playful. “I’ll start on those leafy greens tomorrow, I promise.”
Her lips pursed in mock disapproval, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought back a smile. But then, her attention shifted past me, her eyes widening with interest. Following her gaze, a wave of heat flushed my face as Marc Mendez stepped into the cafeteria with Mia, a bag of fast food in hand.
My mouth went dry, thoughts scattering as images from his videos flashed through my mind—Marc’s intense gaze at the camera, stretched out on his bed, those big hands at work pleasuring himself. Here, in the mundane setting of a school cafeteria, even in his work clothes, he seemed almost otherworldly, striding with a confidence that I’d never possess.
Embarrassed and oddly jealous, a hot flush crept up my neck.
Marc spotted me in line and gave me a little wave, his smile sending a flutter through my chest. He settled down at a table close to where I stood, Mia climbing onto the seat across from him. Her tiny legs kicked happily as she unwrapped her chicken nuggets and fries, her pigtails bouncing with each movement. Marc bent his head, listening as Mia animated her story with wild gestures, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
I stared at them—I couldn’t help it—my eyes drinking in the sight of them together. There was something so natural, so effortless about the way they interacted, the love between them obvious even from a distance. Looking at them, a strange ache of longing settled in my chest.
A voice behind me caught my attention. Rosa leaned over to whisper something in Spanish to her coworker, who had emerged from the kitchen, her hair tucked beneath a matching hairnet. Rosa’s coworker glanced at Marc, her eyes widening appreciatively, and let out a soft chuckle, nodding in agreement.
I didn’t need to understand Spanish to get that they were commenting on Marc’s looks—their shared glance and the tilt of their heads said it all. It was like watching birds admire a particularly striking peacock strutting through their garden, their eyes following his every move with undisguised appreciation.
Ridiculous as it was, I was jealous.
I walked into the teacher’s lunchroom, with the door swinging shut behind me and muffling the din of the cafeteria. Stella Brooks sat at one of the circular tables, her brown curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, and jabbed her fork into a Tupperware container. She glanced up as I approached, her bright blue eyes widening at the sight of my tray. “Really, Ken? That’s just…wrong on so many levels.”
Stella and I had been best friends ever since I started teaching at Blanco Springs Elementary five years ago. Having her across the hall from me, with her own group of kindergarteners, felt like I always had someone in my corner. Sliding into the chair opposite her, I popped a tater tot into my mouth with an exaggerated moan of pleasure. “Don’t hate, appreciate. These little nuggets of joy are a culinary delight.”
She wrinkled her nose, unmoved by my performance. “If by ‘delight’ you mean ‘heart attack waiting to happen.’” Stabbing another forkful of what looked like reheated chicken and broccoli, she gestured at my tray with her free hand. “How do you have the energy to keep up with those munchkins after eating like that?”
“I have the metabolism of a teenager,” I said with a smirk. “And I run laps around the playground during recess, chasing down any runners.”
Stella snorted a laugh, nearly choking on her food. After clearing her throat, she set her container aside and leveled me with a serious look. “Speaking of the little ones, how’s the morning reading assignment going with your class? My kids are struggling with the rhyming portion.”
I took a bite of my sloppy joe, considering Stella’s question as I chewed. Swallowing, I said, “Not too bad. A few of them are having trouble with the tongue twisters, but overall, they seem to pick it up.”
From where we sat, I peered out into the cafeteria, and I spotted Marc again. His head bent as he listened intently to whatever Mia was animatedly describing, her small hands gesturing wildly. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that way that made my stomach flip ever so slightly, a flutter of warmth spreading through my chest.
Marc was sexy, yes, but damn it, why did he have to be so adorable?
Stella must have followed my gaze because she cleared her throat pointedly, the sound cutting through my reverie like a knife. “Ahem. Earth to Ken?” Her voice was laced with amusement, a teasing lilt that made me wince.
A flush crept up my neck as I turned back toward Stella. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
She smirked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “I was asking if you’ve had a chance to talk to the new hottie dad yet?” Her eyebrows waggled suggestively, her grin widening at my obvious discomfort.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t quite suppress my grin, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards despite myself. “Stella, please. That’s my student’s father you’re objectifying.” I tried to inject a note of disapproval into my voice, but it fell flat, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears.
“Oh, don’t act all prim and proper with me, Mr. Parker,” she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand, her bracelets jangling with the movement. “Like you haven’t checked out that perfect jawline and those bedroom eyes.”
Heat flooded my cheeks as images from Marc’s PrivatelyYours flashed through my mind—the curve of his ass as he arched his back, the taut muscles rippling beneath tanned skin, the smoldering intensity of his gaze as he looked directly into the camera while stroking his thick cock.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry.
Firmly pushing those thoughts aside, I shot Stella a warning look. “We’ve talked a few times, about Mia’s epilepsy and how she’s doing in class, that’s all.” I paused before adding, “He seems…guarded.”
“Well, no surprise there,” Stella said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. She leaned forward in her chair, the plastic creaking beneath her weight. “I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is divorced. From a man.” She quirked a brow. “Looks like you might have a better shot than the rest of us, huh?” She nudged my arm with her elbow, her touch light and playful, but heat rose in my face.
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter of excitement that stirred in my stomach at the thought of me being with someone so physically perfect. “Stella, that’s ridiculous. And even if it were true, it changes nothing.”
Yes, I already knew Marc Mendez was gay. My mind flashed with intimate images of him—how his eyes screwed shut as deep tremors of pleasure rippled through his body. Those soft grunts and gasps he made as he shot his load all over his hands.
A nervous twinge knotted in my stomach, the vivid memories almost paralyzing me.
This was so wrong. Magic Marco wasn’t some nameless internet stranger to me anymore. He was the parent of my student, and that made me no better than some perverted voyeur peeking inside his bedroom. If Marc Mendez would be interested in someone like me, how could I possibly pursue a relationship with someone when I held such intimate knowledge of their private life—and kept that from him?
This secret gnawed at me, but I could never tell anyone this—not even Stella, my closest friend.
“Oh, please,” she continued, leaning back in her chair, her arms crossed over her chest. “I see the way you look at him, Kenny. You’re as smitten as the rest of us.”
Heat crept up my neck, spreading across my face like wildfire, and I suddenly found my sloppy joe incredibly fascinating. “I am not smitten,” I muttered, picking at the bread with my fork. “He’s just…interesting, that’s all.”
Stella snorted, unconvinced.
I sighed, setting down my sandwich and meeting her gaze, my eyes pleading for understanding. “Look, if I were interested—which I’m not saying I am—it wouldn’t matter. He’s Mia’s dad, Stella. That’s a line I can’t cross.” My voice was firm, but that longing tugged at my heart, the ache of wanting something just out of my reach.
Stella’s eyes softened, the mischief fading into concern, replaced by a gentle warmth. She reached across the table to pat my hand. “I know, I know. I’m teasing you, Ken. But for what it’s worth, I think you two would be cute together.” Stella’s grin widened. “I’ve seen how he looks at you too, Ken, in the pickup line. He’s interested, if you ask me.”
I shook my head, my stomach churning with a mix of excitement and dread. “No, Stella, it’s not like that. He’s a parent, for God’s sake. And the way people in this town gossip? Can you imagine if people found out I was seeing one of my student’s dads?” My voice was low, barely above a whisper.
If we were straight, there might be some grace at least, some tender nods at the Hallmark movie-ness of it all.
But two men? Absolutely not.
The weight of Stella’s gaze pressed heavily on me, the sympathy and understanding radiating from her like a physical force. She clasped my hand, her touch gentle but firm, anchoring me in the moment. “I get that it’s tough, being gay in a place like this. But you can’t let that stop you from finding happiness. If you and Marc have a connection, you owe it to yourself to explore that. It’s hard enough to find anyone fun and open-minded in this town, but even harder for you.” She returned to her meal. “Mia won’t be your student forever.”
Marc’s smile lingered in my mind, the way his eyes fixed on mine each day at the pickup line.
Was Stella right?
Was I letting my fear and insecurities hold me back from something that might be truly special?
“Oh hey, that reminds me.” Stella dug into her purse and pulled out two small rainbow desk flags, each of them about nine inches tall. She handed one to me with a wide grin. “I picked these up last time I went to the city. One for me and one for you.”
I took the flag and waved it in front of her with a grin. It was a small gesture, but it meant more than I could express. “It’s cute. Thanks.” I wasn’t sure if having a pride flag in my classroom was a good idea—I could almost see the face of my father, his eyes rolling in the back of his head in embarrassment. “Y’all don’t need to rub everyone’s face in it, Kendall,” was one of his favorite lines anytime anything remotely queer entered his sphere and disturbed his perfectly hetero-normative lifestyle.
The memory of those words, dripping with disdain, still stung even now, when we didn’t even talk that often. I guess no matter how much time passed, I still craved some sense of validation from him.
But I appreciated Stella’s gift. It meant a lot to have friends around that cared about me.
As Stella and I continued our discussion, I unconsciously glanced back toward the cafeteria, my gaze drawn to the table where Marc and Mia sat. I could already hear the whispers and snickers of the town gossips if they ever caught wind of my crush on Marc—the handsome, divorced GAY father of one of my students.
And God forbid if they discovered his website.
It was the kind of salacious, life-changing scandal that would have tongues wagging for months.
Then again… maybe Stella was right. Maybe it was time to take a chance, to let myself dream of a future where I wasn’t alone, where I had someone to share my life with.
Fuck, I wasn’t sure what to think. “So, have you heard anything about the funding for the art supplies we requested?” I asked, steering the conversation away from Marc Mendez and my befuddled thoughts.
“Last I heard, Mrs. Hawkins was going to ask the PTA for help,” Stella answered, her tone measured and even, her eyes softening with understanding. She was taking the bait, moving on from the topic of Marc.
“Good, those kids deserve some creative outlets.” I shifted in my seat, trying to project an air of nonchalance. As we continued discussing the various happenings at Blanco Springs Elementary, I tried to bury my growing feelings for Marc beneath layers of professionalism and friendly banter.
But every mention of Marc’s name made my stomach flutter, making it increasingly difficult to keep my secret—and Marc’s—from spilling out into the open.