A Real Alpha

I’m not great at basketball, but that never stopped me. Rich and I used to play one on one once in a while. He liked jock-y pursuits – he had been a college pitcher and always competitive, whether it was on the court or at Scrabble.

I should have known Rich and I wouldn’t last. There were issues – the biggest one being that he was my junior year English teacher – that’s how we met. He was only a few years older than his students, athletic and cocky – the attraction trifecta. I was damn confident too – I was on the varsity volleyball squad and we almost got to state that year. Whenever Rich saw me walking down the hall decked out in my Calvins, wearing a Bonnie Bell smile, his chest puffed out like a peacock. To my teenaged brain, it was sexy as hell.

The next semester, after Rich gifted me a B+ in English (I deserved more like a C+), he came out to watch volleyball practice one afternoon. Afterwards, we chatted in the bleachers and then made out in the back seat of his Bronco. Rich and I had undeniable chemistry, and we weren’t going to let our “age difference” as he called it, get in the way. And the code of silence between us made things all the hotter, what they call grooming these days. Soon, I was sneaking out to meet him when my parents turned in for the night.

Rich and I would often drive to the Steak N’Shake in Maplewood after school. One time, he said, “my buddy Paul lives around here – maybe he’s got beer.” I was fine with free beer and cheeseburgers, but surprised he would let someone else in on our secret. Paul was pretty curious when we showed up, but he did have a case of Bud he was willing to share. We hung out, watching The Three Stooges on the box. He seemed like an okay guy, although he must have thought I was dense not to notice him checking me out. Rich seemed unfazed.

“How do you know Paul?” I asked after we left.

“Grad school. He’s a teacher too, brand new at CBC – man, does he have a lot to learn.”

I laughed, “You’re my favorite teacher ever, mostly because you raised my GPA with that B+.”

Rich looked over, lids at half-mast.

“You raise me up all night long, so we’re even.” Then he got to the point by fingering my nipple.

Rich talked about us making our relationship known once I graduated. He said we were like Romeo and Juliet by way of St. Louis. Funny, I never had patience for Shakespeare in high school, not even the sonnets.

One summer day, Rich said, “Let’s play racquetball – something different. CBC has a court. Paul said it was okay if we used it.”

“Paul’s gonna be there?” I asked. He nodded.

“You can watch me take him down,” he said.

Paul met us outside. I hadn’t noticed before that he towered over Rich – he was built like a brick shithouse. Rich wouldn’t stand a chance, especially since he had sloughed off his workouts and had a paunch from too much beer. He and Paul smack talked while I jogged to warm up.

“Dude, let me play Bernie first.”

“Ok– I’ll lift for a few,” Paul said. “Bern, don’t let this asshole win.” He patted me on the shoulder – I swear he was feeling around for my delt. I flexed and said, “I always win – don’t you know?” He laughed and left us to it.

Rich and I hit a few balls, when he pulled me off the court, his finger up to his lips. He led me down a hallway to an alcove. The sun streamed in through a skylight, illuminating a balcony above. Everything was silent except for the echo of my Adidas’ rubber soles scraping against the floor. Rich stood behind me, and then his pants were down, his dick pressing up against me, then inside of me. I was so surprised I didn’t know what to say. He bent me over and grunted with each thrust, the sound magnified in the empty building. Then in my peripheral vision, I saw Paul, watching us from on high – a fucked up version of R & J’s balcony scene. To this day, I’m not sure Paul knew we’d be there. I think Rich planned the whole thing, having found the perfect place to mark his territory. When it was over, Rich threw open the heavy gym doors and ushered me into his truck. He peeled out, never stopping to see if Paul came looking for us.

Soon after, Rich said things weren’t working out. He even said something obnoxious like, “I hope you have a great life.” I cried for a month. I think the humiliation over how he took advantage is what made it so terrible. But I didn’t recognize that at the time. Gradually, an impulse took hold of me and grew. Inevitably, I knocked on Paul’s door one fall afternoon.

“Wanna shoot some hoops?” I asked.

He was surprised to see me, but said, “Hey Bern – sure.”

I’m not much of a basketball player, but I threw everything I could at that game. I blocked Paul mightily; I tore at his shirt; I dove after his shots – I exerted myself in every possible way, but I was no match for him. But he was no match for me when I took my clothes off back at his place and jumped in his shower. I waited as the hot water reddened my skin, knowing he would pull the curtain, his face an open book. It was the most delicious feeling, that waiting.

After that, something changed in me. Forget Romeo and Juliet. I remembered a quote from Faust, which we also read in Rich’s class. “When Lilith winds her hair tight around young men/She doesn’t soon let go of them again.”

Lilith had the goods. True love is meaningless once you’ve gotten your first taste of blood.

Learn more about Debbie by clicking on her bio:  https://thievingmagpie.org/debbie-graber-bio/