A Russet Decoction Romance

It has been a loooong day. It's only been a month, and already I have ten papers due for five different professors and a quiz every week. Now, here I am listening to the one hundredth time encore kid’s bop. The kids dance and sing without getting bored or tired. Sometimes I envied those little bodies- their ability to watch the same thing over and over again and still have so much energy late in the day. Then again, they get to take naps while we tackle a mountain of other tasks. Lucky. “We are almost at Cotton Candy Island! But we need more singing power to move the boat! Can you sing louder?” the tv character asked, leading the kids. “Yeah” the kids cheered in unison. “No,” I moaned internally. “Can you sing louder?!” “Yeah,” they shouted even louder. “No,” I groaned internally. “Okay! Let’s siiiiing!” The kids followed along, raising their voices. Some of them were alright; many were wildly off-key—or just…off. I peeked over at the full time nursery teacher, Anna, who wore the same why-god-why-just-put-me-out-of-my-misery expression. We exchanged a sympathetic nod. How did we end up here? Oh yeah-because Lisa broke her ankle, Jones and Tomas are out with the flu, Jack’s in the hospital, and Shean had to fly to take care of his mother, who lives alone. He’s an only child. With so much of the staff out, we had to combine several classes. And with so many kids to take care of and doing activities with but so few of us, we’ve resorted to the tv more often than usual. It made things easier. With nothing to do but watch the kids until pick up, my mind wandered. I started wondering— why the hell did the creators of this show decide to name the place Cotton Candy Island? How does that work? Why doesn’t it dissolve in the water? Is it magical? Is it floating on some giant fish that’s always skimming the surface? What are the actual properties of this Cotton Candy Island? I’m thinking about this way too much. Peaked at my watch-3:20. Ten minutes until pick up. The kids finally reached Cotton Candy Island’. Great. Now they just have to look for the road to Rainbow Mountain. I can’t take this anymore. I need a break_ and to go to the bathroom. I glanced over at Anna once more and waved, signaling that I’d be heading to the restroom. The hallway smelled like wax and last night’s leftover pasta with tomato sauce. I won’t lie— I didn’t rush to the bathroom. Did I feel guilty about it? A little. At least the bathroom didn't smell like leftovers,though its order was not much better. The faculty’s bathroom wasn’t any better than the students’, though you could say the toilets were at least taller to accommodate adults. It was small and cramped, with white walls and a single tiny window that provided most of the light. I quickly used the toilet and washed my hands, staring at my deadpan face and tired eyes in the mirror. “Wow I look s**t,” I complimented, attempting–and failing–to make my hair look somewhat presentable. I returned to the room just in time. The program was almost over, and it was nearly pick up time. Anna must’ve been staring at the door anxiously because as soon as I walked in, she signaled me to help get things ready. “Okay, everyone, it’s clean up time!” I allied out, cupping hands around my mouth to project my voice and show I got the message. “Clean-up time?” one of the kids asked, turning to me with a kind of regretful expression. I remember this kid’s face– they always cried and wailed when their parents dropped them off. It’s funny how the kids who cry the most at drop-off are often the most reluctant to leave. “That’s right, it's clean-up time,” you know what that means,” Anna replied, breathless and tired as she hurried to pick up the little chairs and arrange them. “Time to get your coats and shoes.” I helped, picking up chairs and directing the kids to their coats, occasionally stopping to tie a shoe. “If you’ve got your coat and shoes on, take a seat!” I clapped my hands to grab the attention of the kids who were still on their sugar-free-snack high. They were like little bees, moving in a rhythmic pattern, only breaking the pattern to interact with their closest friend. Naturally, they paid no attention to me. I was more invisible than a perfectly cleaned mirror wall. Anna noticed the kids and was about to lose it– either on them or me. She shot me a look that felt like a laser to my head, silently requesting that I get them in order. I reached deep into my shallow bag of teacher tricks: ‘one, two, three, all eyes on me’, the rhythm clap thing, bunny ears, flickering the lights on and off. Digging into the last of my energy reserves, I jumped towards the kids, startling them just enough to get their attention. “Oogie boogie want to play!” I playfully shouted, squatting with my arms raised like a less dignified chimpanzee. “Oogie boogie come out and play!” the kids replied, mimicking my pose. Thank goodness they were willing to play along today. “Oogie boogie wants to dance!” I twisted and turned, twirled and shook, doing moves that could make the earth quake and a tornado pause. The kids mimicked my moves. “Good,” I thought, “this could work.” “Oogie boogie wants to walk like…” “A zombie!” one of the kids shouted out. “A zombie! Yes, Oogie Boogie wants to walk like a zombie!” I started doing a zombie shuffle. The kids followed along as I led them towards some empty tables and chairs. “Oogie boogie wants to sit in a chair and become a statue,” I grabbed a small chair, sat down and froze. The kids did the same. As soon as the last kid sat down, in less than a breath of a heartbeat Anna opened the doors, and a swarm of parents flooded in. One by one the kids were picked up, with the occasional group of parents asking about the staffing situation. We answered as best we could. What was once a chaotic symphony performed by professional and amateur performers alike reverted to a quiet, empty classroom. Anna and I quickly cleaned up, with her finishing the paperwork. We couldn’t wait to sign out, waving each other off at the entrance before heading our separate ways. The thought of all the work waiting for me at home dragged my feet, transforming them into cinder blocks. I needed to make a stop at my favorite place. There, they waited for me like I was a queen. They greeted me, wrapped me in their arms, and led me to the best spot in the house– my spot. The warmest area, with the sweetest smells and a perfect view of the window. This place does not take reservations, but it might as well have. Nobody ever sat here. Nobody but me. I’m convinced they made sure of that. Before they brought out the main attraction, they did a little dance– entertaining me, enticing me. My nose twitched as the air became consumed with the scent of bonbons and caffeine. They twisted and turned faster and faster, disappearing and reappearing, calling to me, beckoning me. “No, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t let you win,” I said, more to my weakening will than to them. But it was useless. Once again, I fell into their arms, into their pleas, their seductions. I let them touch me, starting with my lips. They licked and nibbled it. Without a second to lose, they slipped into my mouth, smooth as creamy milk. I arched my back as the sweet soothing warmth flowed down my throat and to my… well, you know. They warmed every inch of me. I could not get enough. My body reached out, yearned for more. More, give me more it screamed. They obliged, heatedly rubbing me down until I quivered. Here, in public, where everyone could see me. I should feel ashamed. Embarrassed. But I wasn’t. Why should I be? After all, everyone else here was also lost in their own little indulgences. Why shouldn’t I be? I crossed my arms, trying to stop myself from going too far. They took that as a challenge. Something they sadistically enjoyed. They tickled my feet, turning the sensation into a massage. Before I knew it, all the tension melted away. All the stress, all the worries of the day– gone. As a matter of fact, what had happened earlier? It didn’t matter. What mattered was right in front of me. Here and now. I did not want to lose the pleasure. I did not want it to end. I now clung to them as they had clung to me. “More,” I whispered, not sure anymore if I said it out loud or to myself, “just a little more.” “What?” I felt their hot, silky sweet breath whisper in my ear. “What do you want?” “This, that, anything. Just more– give me more,” I swear I almost moan. I would have, if not for my pride keeping me in check. They indulged me, but just a little more. It was light, but warm; ticklish, but delightful. “Times up,” they whispered. Before I could protest, they were gone. I looked down at my empty cup. They were right. Time was up. There was nothing left in my cup, not even a drop. This time, I did moan– out loud and in pain. “Um, would you like another cup?” a young voice asked. I looked up to see a barista, eyeing me sympathetically. I must have moaned louder than I thought. Tragic. But the offer did put a smile on my face. I lifted my empty cup. “Yes please,” I smiled pleasantly, “A cup of mocha, nothing on top.” The barista nodded and took the cup. Returning minutes later with a fresh, hot cup. And in an instant, they were back. Stroking my face, running their fingers through my hair. “Back for more?” they whispered. “Shall we continue where we left off?” “Yes, please,” I smiled indulgently.