3 comments/ 5316 views/ 2 favorites Power Relationship By: charlottebraddon The customer looked confused and unhappy. An elderly woman glancing nervously at all the technological gadgetry on display. "Can I help you, madam?" It wasn't easy in my present mood, but I forced out my widest grin. The one that seldom failed to reassure the less technical customers, and made me feel proud of my justified skill in putting them at their ease. Usually they relaxed instantly and poured out their shameful feelings about their lack of technical skills, knowing they had found a kindred spirit. My bosses acknowledged that my cheerfulness and real desire to help these people gave me an edge when it came to selling to these more diffident customers. My sex helped too. There were not many women assistants in this male dominated field. The customer glared at me. This was so not what I was expecting, that I cringed. Maybe she could sense that my smile was false. "I'm looking for a smartphone with Android capability that is also compatible with Ubuntu Linux based software," she said. I didn't want to admit I had no idea what Ubuntu was, so I cleared my throat nervously preparing to ask her more questions. "You must know what Ubuntu is," she snapped. "I'm afraid..." The woman rolled her eyes and sighed. Audibly enough for a man in his thirties with a wispy moustache to look up from his stocktaking and move towards us. "What seems to be the problem, madam?" My supervisor Bob was all smiles now. Not like half an hour ago when he was yelling at me for taking too long in the toilet. "This young lady is not being very helpful." How Bob managed to combine an obsequious smile at the customer with a contemptuous dismissive gesture towards myself I had no idea, but then he is the master of the non-verbal put down. They must teach it in management school. "I'll take over from here, Maxine," he said. "Perhaps you could start packing up for the evening." I turned away, my eyes glistening. I should be used to the waspish customers, my eye rolling boss and my aching feet by now, but being snubbed so expertly by the little old lady felt like being bitten by a butterfly. On today of all days, a miserable winter afternoon where the rain was rippling in sheets outside, it was just too much. When five o'clock came round, I slunk out of the shop without saying goodbye to anyone, ran through the sheeting rain to my car, then burst into tears. When I got home I saw the dishes I had forgotten the night before. My flat mate Clarissa would growl at me I knew, but somehow I just couldn't face them. I couldn't even muster the energy to push the dirty dishes to one side while I made myself some dinner, even though that only involved chucking a few things out of the freezer and heating them up. I dragged myself into my bedroom, turned on the electric blanket - cheaper than the bar heater - huddled into bed, and howled, the more so when I remembered the embarrassing session of the previous night on that same bed. I recalled the sound of grunting, the feeling of a foreign object rubbing inside me, the bed creaking, then the smell of semen and rubber as Brian finished his business, slipped off me, made his excuses and left. He was one of a series, like serial killers, only in my case more like the serially dead. Each of them say they love me, then each of them bonk me and leave me, hurting me in the process - physically as well as emotionally. The type of parting varies. Some would loudly accuse me of being frigid, or a lesbian; then there were the nicer ones, who would be more circumlocutory, waffling about how I was a 'nice girl... not you but me... just need time to find myself...' yada, yada, but it came to the same thing in the end: I was just a lousy lay. For some reason, while I crave the intimacy of close contact, when things get hot and dirty I just tense up inside, leading to disappointment all round, an ache in my crotch, lovers' balls and recriminations. I had just started to get warm and sleepy when my phone rang. I hauled it out of my pocket and looked at the display. It was mum. I didn't want to talk to her. She loved me I know, but I just couldn't cope with her preaching at the moment. I know I'm a disappointment to my mum. She went back to work when dad left her and has done a lot more with her life than me. I let the phone ring, the trilling sound of the latest phone software lulling me back towards slumber. I could hardly afford to heat my room, but thanks to generous staff discounts and easy repayment options where I worked, I had no problem buying the latest electronic gadgetry. My phone changed its tone to a harsher beep; there was a new message for me on Facebook. I glanced at it without enthusiasm - then gave a second look. It was from Andrew, the one tutor during my tech course who had encouraged me; didn't always look at me in a way that suggested that somewhere on the planet Zog a mother was still wondering where her daughter had got to. Andrew had urged me to go back to tech and finish the courses I had missed and needed to complete my degree. If he was to be my tutor then I would have done so; but he had left the same time I did. Something about his teaching being too controversial and offending the powerful council, who had ties with the influential primary industry organisations. "The entire economy of New Zealand is based on killing," he told us in one of his classes once. Quite true when you think of it, but not the sort of thing that would endear him to the establishment. Andrew was now living in Wellington where he was doing something with the activism community. After all my friends had graduated and moved to different parts of the country, I dropped out of tech and moved back to Opotane to be near my mother, who had just started working at an environmental consultancy firm. My good friends from tech became just Facebook friends, together with Andrew, and the boyfriends, most of whom unfriended me after the first disappointing sex session. I read through Andrew's message. "Hi Maxine. I have a job interview in Opotane next Thursday. Would be great to catch up if you are available." It would be nice to see a friendly face from my past. I messaged back. "Would love to. Congrats on the interview. Do you need me to help in any other way?" I thought he may like to stay overnight if he didn't want to tackle the long drive to and from Wellington twice in one day. A reply came back almost immediately. "Can you pretend to be my GF for the interview? They allow whanau support, and they kept asking me all these questions about why I wanted to move to a small town. To be honest, it doesn't attract me that much, but as things stand I would take a job in Syria if one was offered. A local GF may help my chances." I knew that as a concession to Maori applicants, who supposedly had strong family ties and made decisions collectively, companies advertising for more senior positions allowed applicants to bring along spouses, family members or significant others to interviews. It would be considered racist to only allow this privilege to the native Maori, so many non-Maori also took advantage of this 'whanau support.' Needless to say I had never been interviewed for jobs at the level where such solicitous regard for the applicants' well being was part of the process. It was an odd request, but it put a smile on my face. Then I wondered why I had become such a sad case that even the idea of accompanying an older man as a pretend girlfriend lifted my spirits. I messaged back. "So does that mean sex LOL :)" As soon as I had sent the reply I regretted it. Andrew was my teacher for God's sake, not some acne-scarred youth I had picked up in a pub. What would he think of me? Again the reply came back straight away. I was afraid to look. But then I felt a fluttering inside me as I read it. "I wouldn't mind. You are after all very attractive. But it's not necessary :) I will shout you dinner afterwards." The message cheered me up somewhat. Not enough to get out of bed, clean the dishes, make some dinner, ring my mother or do the other chores I had to do, but enough to sit up and think of a flirtatious reply. I don't know why. I already know I'm attractive. I have silky honey coloured hair, high cheek bones, a body that is curvaceous without being plump, and at twenty four, I am at just about the right age for the male cuteness factor, especially to someone older like Andrew, who I know had a firm appreciation of his female students' bodies, though he never tried anything on. So most boys called me attractive, and most wanted to get into my knickers - until they discovered there is not much inside them. No, the reason I was pleased was because Andrew appeared to have no particular interest in scoring with me, so I knew his words were not empty flattery. I started to think about Andrew. Not in bed with me, as I had thought about most of the men I had gone out with, but in a fancy restaurant - perhaps the French one in town, the one the boys never took me to because it was 'too pretentious' as they called it; though I think it was because they were too cheap. I composed a reply, feeling a tingling in my crotch as I did so. Andrew had been an encouraging and respectful tutor and I would be glad to help him out if I could get the time off work, then later I could take him up on that offer of a meal. And I knew that realistically that would be as far as it would go with someone old enough to be my father. The very thought of my father was enough to kill any sexual feelings. "Be glad to." I wrote. "I don't work Tuesday afternoons, so no problem" Not true that. But I would be pleased to take time off from my boring routine. "Dinner sounds nice. CU then." "Great!! Looking forward to it," Andrew wrote back. "What's the place your interview is at?" I asked. When I read Andrew's reply, I got out of bed. The grease-smeared dishes were still glistening malevolently at me, but now I felt strong enough to tackle them. Later I made myself a salad with the fresh vegetables in the fridge, mixing my own dressing and cooking some potatoes and mushrooms to go with it. It took me a lot longer than my normal diet of chops with freezer-sourced mixed veges and white bread, but it was so much more satisfying. I flopped in front of the TV with an unfamiliar yet comforting eaten-well feeling. When Clarissa returned from her late shift at the hospital I actually spoke to her, instead of being my normal monosyllabic self. "Don't know what's got into you, Maxine," she said. "You're almost cheerful this evening. I think you must be in love." Spoiling the mood somewhat. I denied this vigorously and went back to bed to continue my interrupted sulk. # I met Andrew in the town centre just before the interview. I had dressed nicely in a winter dress with tights, not my usual jeans, and put on a long sleeved top that accentuated my breasts. I had combed my hair and washed it till it sparkled in the winter sun. The interview was important, and I owed it to Andrew to look my best. At least that's the excuse I gave to myself. Andrew was not bad looking in spite of his age, and he could almost pass for my older brother. Being vegetarian and keeping fit, his figure had not gone to pot, and while his arms and chest were a bit skinny for my taste, I had certainly been seen out with worse looking men. "It's good to see you," I said as I moved forward to give him a hug. I could see Andrew was diffident about touching me, a relic of his teaching days, where he would be conscious of the power relationship he had, and not wanting to abuse it. But when I initiated contact, he responded willingly enough. I felt his arms wrap around me and squeeze the soft part near my kidneys. They felt warm and comforting. Andrew seemed to leave them there a little longer than was strictly expected behaviour, then he disengaged and looked at me. "It's great you've agreed to this. Does your boyfriend mind?" "I don't have a boyfriend." I had mixed feelings as I admitted this, some of them hidden from myself. Did I want him to take a hint, I wondered. "I'm surprised at that," he said. " I thought an attractive warm hearted person like yourself would have no problem with finding young men." "Attractive maybe, but I'm just a dumb blonde." Now here I was fishing for compliments. Stink. "You're not dumb," he said. "I admit when you decided to go on and do the degree I was surprised, and I didn't think much of your chances after the way you had struggled through the diploma, but remember I had been following your progress for three years, and I was impressed with your improvement. I told you at the time if you remember." "Yes I remember, but I thought you just told everyone that so they would stay." "Why would I want to do that? I'm paid the same whether students stay or leave, and the last thing I want is a lot of dead heads in my classroom, making it harder for me and for the others. You were never one of the top students, but you worked hard and you learned enough to become an acceptable one. And remember even making it through to university study shows an uncommon level of intelligence and dedication. I don't know why you didn't stay and finish your degree." I lapsed into silence. It seemed Andrew wasn't at all set on getting into my knickers. If he was he would have come on stronger, told me I was brilliant instead of just acceptable. I wouldn't have believed him of course, but it would have given me an ego boost lasting sufficiently long for me to agree to sleep with him. I wondered why I was so disappointed. It would only end in disaster as it had with every other boy after all. By now we had walked in through the double doors of Stonkins, the environmental consultancy company where the interview was located, and Andrew was speaking to the receptionist. Within a very short time we were ushered into the interview room. There were three people on the interview panel. Two rather boring middle aged men in suits, and a pretty honey-blonde middle aged woman, who gave a start when we came into the room. Strange to think that Andrew was the same age as the other two men, because he appeared much younger. It was not just his looks; though Andrew's hair was still wavy and brown, not receding and greying like the other two, but something in his temperament that made it seem as if he was less settled in his ways and still had a lot of his life ahead of him. The interview seemed to be going well, with the three panellists smiling and nodding at everything Andrew said to them. I could understand why Andrew wanted a younger woman like myself as his escort. He was making himself out to be younger than he was, and it appeared to be working. The two men wanted someone they could patronise, not an equal who may challenge them, and the woman also seemed not averse to having a younger male colleague. I felt an irrational stab of jealousy when she started staring at Andrew more than was necessary, which allowed me to play my own part, and answer the questions about our proposed domestic life in this town quite convincingly. Andrew answered all the technical questions in a very knowledgeable manner. He had always been very clever. The best tutor in the school as far as scientific ability went. But as the interview wore on, I realised that Andrew had no idea how to ingratiate himself, especially with the men. It was obvious to me that they wanted him to ask them more about their work, and to stroke their egos. They were no different after all from the bosses where I worked. When one of them mentioned a minor administrative initiative he had made, he paused so that Andrew could tell us how clever he was. Andrew did not get the hint at all. If I did not know better I would have said he was a remarkably stupid man. "That sounds wonderful what you've done, Mr. Brown," I chipped in. "I'm sure Andrew appreciates it too." I surreptitiously poked Andrew in the side. "Yes, though it does seem rather standard. I've been using the same system myself in all my work," Andrew replied. Mr Brown, who had looked pleased and smug when I praised him, lowered his head and frowned. "We will let you know, Andrew," he said eventually. The three panellists shook Andrew's hand, then mine, and soon we were outside the doors again. "Why didn't you admire Mr Brown's achievement?" I demanded. "You must have known he wanted you to." Andrew looked at me blankly. "How was I supposed to know that? Anyway, what he was doing wasn't that clever." "That's not the point," I cried. "He wanted you to think he was." As I said that, I had a realisation. One that sent a warm stream of happiness curling through my body. Andrew was incapable of saying someone was clever when they weren't. When Andrew had told me I was an acceptable student not a brilliant one it was because exaggerated flattery was not in his nature, not because he wasn't interested in me sexually. Maybe he still felt something towards me in that direction. I put my arm around Andrew and gave him a squeeze. His naivety had made him less than perfect, but also more human, and more accessible to someone like me. "Where are you taking me?" I asked. "Well I would like to go somewhere with good vegetarian options. I looked up some places on Google and there's a nice Turkish restaurant we can go to." When Andrew had been explaining the environmental effects of animal production in our class, and his own experiences as an animal activist, I was certainly influenced by his arguments, as were a number of my classmates. Andrew was very erudite in all matters except buttering up power, and he had made a very convincing case for eschewing animal products. I must admit with some shame I had not done much to follow up on what I had learned. I had studied environmental science because I enjoyed the natural outdoor life; camping and tramping trips with my mother and older sister were the part of my childhood I looked back on with the most affection - but I did not have what it took to be an environmental zealot. When I first dropped out of tech I made a conscious effort to lower my environmental footprint, but it all became too hard. So I went back to my old habits. Taking my battered car on the two kilometre commute to work, and eating McDonalds, Kentucky Fried, sausages, chops and other greasy fatty meat - the only sort I could afford. "Turkish would be fine," I said. My disappointment at missing out on the French restaurant was more than compensated for by the prospect of spending an evening with Andrew. Impulsively I slipped my arm around him again, then disengaged hurriedly as I saw a familiar gangling figure cycling by. "Hi Maxine," he called. "Hi Brian," I replied. "Friend of yours?" asked Andrew. I thought of Brian pounding inside me on my untidy bed, and his shout more of relief than ecstasy as he had squirted his warm liquid into the condom I insisted he wore. "Sort of," I said. Then - a natural association of ideas - "Where are you staying tonight, Andrew?" "I don't have much money, and it's too far to drive back to Wellington, so I thought I would check into a backpackers. You live here, Maxine, do you know of any good places?" "You can stay at my place," I said. "That's nice of you. Do you have a couch or a spare bed I can sleep on?" "We'll arrange something." The couch was unpleasant and lumpy, but that didn't matter. Andrew was going to sleep in my bed with me. Maybe not for sex, unless I could get over my hangup. Andrew held me in high regard and I wanted it to stay that way. But it would be nice to have the comfort of snuggling up to a warm body who didn't see me simply as a bonk-bag. Andrew wanted to sit near the doorway in the restaurant, but I chose one of the darker alcoves at the back. Opotane is a small town, and it might mean too many embarrassing explanations if any more of my ex-boyfriends came round. Workmates were also a problem. There were a not inconsiderable number of workmates who compensated for the tedium at work with a prurient interest in their colleagues' love life, and I didn't want to be facing too many probing questions in the smoko room. Power Relationship We talked about the interview as we waited for the food. "The woman on the panel seemed to know you," said Andrew. "I saw her give a start when you came in." I didn't want to be giving away too much at this stage, so I just replied casually "I've been for an interview at that place myself, that's why. Not at the level you're applying at, just a technician's job. But I didn't get it. They kept asking why I had dropped out of my degree course." This led on to discussions about the work I was doing, and I felt embarrassed talking about working in an electronics store. I was expecting Andrew to tell me how disappointed he was, or how I could do better. My mother kept reminding me of this every time we met. Instead he nodded. "Times are hard," he said. "We all have to take what we can get. I'm sure you would be an asset to the store, you have always been genuinely friendly and a hard worker. I haven't been able to get a teaching position myself, though I must modestly say I am very good at it. It appears as if game playing among managers and massaging corporate egos are more important than teaching. That's why I was trying to get that consultancy job. But if what you say about my failing to make a good impression on that pompous old fart in the suit is true, then I don't fancy my chances much." "You were a very good teacher." I cringed. I could hear myself gushing. "You would be wasted at that place." "I didn't do a very good job with you. I hoped you would stay and finish your degree. Just after I had made the deal with management for the golden handshake, I got messages from so many of my students wanting me to stay. I felt I had let you all down. If I had known a few days before instead of a few days after signing the deal, I would have stayed. It would have meant facing disciplinary proceedings, but the management didn't really have anything on me - I realise that now." "We all make decisions we regret. The thing to do is move on." As soon as I had said this I realised how trite it sounded. Here I was giving advice to someone old enough to be my... well let's not go there - and who was I to preach about bad decisions anyway. My own decision to drop out of my degree, start a dead end job on minimum wage and estrange myself from the only family I had was not one that even the most tactful life coach would comment favourably on. Andrew refrained from making any sarcastic or even mildly remonstrative remarks. He just smiled and changed the subject. I take back what I thought about him having no sensitivity. In his own way he could be very perceptive, just not to nuances of power. "So have you been in touch with any of your classmates?" he asked. We spend a pleasant half hour talking about people we knew in common, some of whom had gone on to get top jobs; others like both Andrew and myself had been less fortunate. The waiter brought the menu and leered at my cleavage. I would like to have chosen a beef kebab, but in deference to Andrew, who was after all paying for the meal, I chose a vegetarian option. It went through my mind that a strict vegetarian like Andrew would not like the smell of meat on someone he is kissing. I waited for Andrew to order wine, but it never came. Whatever he had in mind for me, it appeared seduction was not part of it. If there was any seducing to be done I would be the one initiating it. Just as I thought of this, Andrew's phone rang. "I'd better take this," he said, looking at the number display on his antiquated device. "It's Stonkins, calling me back. Probably to say I haven't got the job." Andrew put his mobile on speaker phone so I could hear. It was the woman, Jenny, who was talking. "We have been discussing the role, and we can't make up our mind between you and another candidate. We wondered if you might be able to come in again tomorrow to meet our chief executive, so he can make the final decision. We will of course pay for your accommodation in Opotane to make up for the inconvenience." I gave a toothy grin and signalled the thumbs up sign. If they were still interested in Andrew after his disastrous performance with the balding man in the suit, then he was in with a good chance. Jenny at least seemed to be backing him up. "I can make it tomorrow. Would you need Maxine to be present as well?" "I should think Maxine would need to be back at work." Jenny seemed too certain for my liking. "Though it would certainly be to your advantage for her to be present. To be honest, she has far more tact in dealing with the management here than you do. You are by far the best candidate in terms of analytical ability and in my mind that is the most important consideration, but you must understand not everyone on the interview panel agrees with me. "Unfortunately," she went on, "our CEO has no interest in seeing her. I have however arranged to be present myself, and I hope I can be of some support in your application." Andrew muttered something vaguely thankful, and Jenny continued. "One more thing - get some decent clothes. It's quite obvious to me you have no fashion sense at all, and personally I don't care if you come to work in boxer shorts as long as you can do the job, but again not everyone sees things the same way." Well I would have felt totally crushed if someone had spoken to me so bluntly. But it didn't seem to bother Andrew at all. Again, strange lack of feeling. His mind was on practical considerations. "It will be hard to get a decent wardrobe by tomorrow," he was saying. "And anyway, aren't decent clothes expensive?" "Maybe Maxine could help you. She seems to have very good fashion sense. Perhaps she has some men's clothing that would fit you. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow at 11 o'clock. In the meantime I'll make a booking for you at the Central Hotel. You can make your way there at your own convenience." Jenny hung up, and Andrew turned to me. "I wonder what made her think you had some clothes that could fit?" "I don't know," I said. "But as it happens I do." I knew where I could get some at any rate. My mother's new boyfriend was about the same size as Andrew, and I knew he had an extensive wardrobe. It was a pity I couldn't get Andrew to stay at my place. But maybe there was another way. "I'll get the clothing and meet you at your hotel later," I said. A hotel would actually be better than my untidy flat, and we would be less inhibited without my nosy flatmate around. Though what excuse would I be able to offer for staying with Andrew and not going back to my drab, cheerless room. We left the restaurant and I drove to my mother's lifestyle block just out of town. I had moved out of her place soon after I had left tech, after a flaming row over father. My father had left mum for another woman while I was away studying, and then not long afterwards - and quite conveniently as far as I was concerned - he had died in a car accident. My mother had blamed herself, indulging in a theatrical display of wounded despair; a self-pitying whining session that I couldn't bear, the more so because her behaviour reminded me so strongly of my own. My refusal to go to his funeral in Auckland had been another bone of contention between us. "Pull yourself together mum," I had screamed at her one day. "It's been three years. He's not worth it. Dad was a creepy sleaze ball and we're both better off without him." My mother could not have looked so shocked if I had smacked her in the mouth. "How dare you say that about your father!" she yelled. "He was always very good to you. It was the money he left you that supported you through that tech course that you dropped out of. I can't understand why you didn't go to his funeral. He was far better to you than you deserved, you good for nothing loser!" Now it was my turn with the stunned mullet look. "Dad was a monster!" I screamed. "He was a raging creep, always looking at me with his beady eyes, smirking behind my back." Even I could sense how pathetic that sounded. But there was something about him that made my hair stand on end, that make me think of garlic, mirrors and crucifixes. I wish I knew what it was. The next day, with my typical impulsiveness, I moved straight out of my mother's house. Thereafter the series of damp flats, sullen flatmates, flatulent boyfriends and corpulent bosses with wandering hands. Until I secured my present job five months ago, which reached the level of being tolerable - just. I had not returned to my mother's place after that outburst, though our initial frosty relationship did thaw sufficiently for us to meet in town for coffee sometimes and to talk to each other on the phone. So it was with some trepidation that I entered her large open plan home, helloing nervously. I realised that Andrew had never called me a loser, in fact he seemed to have believed in me. Maybe I would finish my degree and show them all; my mother, my sarcastic boss, the pimply boyfriends - who needed them? The words of a song filled my head as I searched the house for my mum, 'a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.' The thought of a snapper saddling a ten speed brought me out in the giggles, and it was in this undignified pose that my mother found me. "Glad to see you find some things funny," was her greeting. She tossed back her blonde hair. "I suppose you want to borrow the clothes for your new boyfriend." "He's not really my boyfriend," I protested. "He's my ex-tutor. He was the only one of the tutors who believed in me and I'm returning the favour." "Whatever," my mother sniffed. "Your love life doesn't concern me in the slightest. Though I must say your tutor, for all his lack of dress sense, is a far better proposition than the detritus you usually end up with. He's a bit old for you, but not so much to be indecent, and he's all right in the looks department. "I might take a fancy to him myself if you don't want him." She raised an eyebrow at me as she said this. "Rodney is hot enough in the sack, but his company is starting to bore me somewhat." I wondered whether she realised how jealous that last statement made me feel. I covered my feelings with spite. "Well even an empty headed twit like Rodney is better than the one you spent the best years of your life with. Mind you that's not saying much." Mum glared at me, and I thought she was about to say something about father - for some reason she still seems to like the lecherous sleaze; but instead she started walking up stairs. "I'll show you the clothes. From what I can understand of your tutor, he will need some help putting them on as well." Mum handed me a suit jacket, a shirt, a tie, a pair of trousers and a pair of socks. "I don't know what size his feet are," she said. "But his own shoes should be acceptable if you get him to polish them." She added a shoe brush and some black polish to the bundle she handed to me. "Good luck," she called as I took my leave. I drove to the Central Hotel and knocked on the door of Andrew's room. Andrew opened it. He had turned on the heater and had prepared a table of snacks and nibbles. Andrew poured me a wine - aha, now we are getting somewhere - and we moved to the comfortable sofa. The room was nice and warm, and quite luxurious. Stonkins was an affluent company and had given him one of the better rooms. I glanced at the bed and noted with approval it was queen sized. Then I decided I may as well come clean, and tell Andrew that the woman who had taken an interest in him at the interview was my mother. "Did you know she would be on the panel when I asked you to accompany me?" he said. "Not totally. I guessed it though. She's done well for herself since my father left." There was an awkward pause. It seems Andrew had somehow sensed the tension at the mention of my father, or maybe there was something else on his mind. "Your mother seemed nice. Less pretentious than those two men, and far more knowledgeable. I should have seen the likeness. Both of you have beautiful soft hair." Andrew reached up and stroked mine. Just like I'm his cat, I thought, but I did have to stop myself making purring noises at his touch. We talked about my mother, and my time at the farm where I grew up, though I avoided any mention of my father. Andrew described his own career, the scholarship he had won as a young man, giving him easy access to teach at a prestigious university, but how he hated the sarcasm and snobbishness of the universities, leading him to take the job at the tech. "You must have found us disappointing after your university students," I said. "Not really. The average was certainly higher at the university, but there were some top students at tech who could hold their own at Auckland - or possibly even Oxford. And besides, students like you, with reasonable ability but lack of confidence, also deserve good teaching." By now it was getting late. There was another pause in the conversation. At this juncture most boys would have made their first fumbling moves, but Andrew just kept staring at me, cradling his wine. I would have to initiate matters. "Would you like to try on the clothes for fit?" I said. "I can put them on tomorrow before I go to the interview." Did he really not know what I wanted? Again I marvelled at the combination of extreme intelligence and sensitivity, and total brain dead lack of perception. "Tomorrow will be too late if they don't fit you. Anyway, I need to see how they look. Trust me on this one. Mum was particularly insistent that you need a dresser, and she has a good eye for fashion" Andrew shrugged and then peeled his shirt off. "You'll need to take your trousers off too," I told him. "Why?" So I can fondle you of course. I stared at his naked torso. Not that handsome or muscular, but somehow attractive and cuddly. "Because you need to put the dress trousers over your shirt tails," I said. I thought Andrew was going to step into the bathroom to get changed, but instead he gave me what I thought was a quite purposeful glance as he undid his trousers and stepped out of them, standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his boxer shorts. I walked up to him and then on an impulse clasped my arms around his body and squeezed. His chest was hard, but I felt him yielding at my touch. I looked up and Andrew kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and his breath sweet. There was none of the greasy meat smell I could detect on some of my other boyfriends. Andrew removed his mouth from mine and said to me, "You really are beautiful, Maxine." I could feel Andrew's erection digging into me as I pressed my lower body next to his, and his hands started running up my leg, ready to peel off my tights. Then to my horror I felt the familiar tightness clamp around me. I pushed Andrew away, not violently but firmly, and he stood back and stared at me. I thought he was going to get angry. I could imagine the accusations - slut, prick teaser, ball breaker; I had heard them all before. "What is it, Maxine?" he said instead. "I'm sorry," I said. "I wanted to, but now I'm just not in the mood." I could still see his erection through his shorts. He had wanted to as well. I knelt down in front of him. "I could still give you pleasure." Andrew put his hand in front of my forehead and stepped back. "No you don't. If you don't want it, nor do I. It's got to be a team effort." "Its not you - its me," I stammered. "I just can't enjoy sex .. I mean I want to, but when it comes to it..." Andrew put his finger on my lips, as a signal to be quiet. I stood up and Andrew hugged me again. I felt the tension going out of my body. "You are beautifully soft and warm," he said. "It's getting late. Shall we go to bed. Don't blame yourself. If you're not turned on by me then maybe I'm just not sexy enough. I need to make some effort." I'd like to have a shower first." I disappeared into the bathroom, quickly, so Andrew would not see my face redden. The shower was far more luxurious than the one in the flat with its little trickle of luke-warm water, and I revelled in the sensation of the hot stream massaging me all over, while I thought about what to do next. Andrew had behaved quite impeccably - just like a teacher I thought, but my embarrassment was not as easy to wash away as the day's grime. I stepped out of the shower and dried myself on the soft fluffy towels the hotel provided. My mothers' company were certainly treating Andrew well. Then I remembered I had left my bag with my overnight gear in the next room. Andrew was already in bed and I saw him look at me as I walked back into the main room, two towels draped around my body. I gazed straight at Andrew sitting up in the bed, and dropped the towels. Andrew certainly seemed to appreciate my young body if the movement of his eyes was any indication. I changed into my skimpy nightie, spent some time drying then brushing my hair, and then I got in beside him. The bed was warm from his body, a faint smell from his skin wafting into the room as I lifted the covers. Andrew put his arm around me, and I nestled against him, leaning my head on his shoulder. We kissed goodnight, but Andrew made no other move towards me, and I was not feeling confident enough to initiate anything. We fell asleep with our faces nearly touching, my dreams full of warmth and pulsing flesh. I woke up in the middle of the night, nipples tingling, a wetness between my thighs, wondering what this pleasurable sensation was that had crept stealthily through my body as I slept; then I realised. I was feeling horny. My pubic hair was glistening, and my nether regions were sending signals to my brain - put something firm inside me. I was still partly asleep and my fingers had drifted down to my labia to give them the release they craved, before I realised that I had a real live cock in easy reach; all I had to do was take it. Andrew was still asleep, though he stirred and mumbled something, his hand searching, as I moved away from his side and peeled off my nightie, feeling my nipples stiffen as the air played around them. I turned on the dim bed light, lifted the covers from his lower regions and pulled down Andrew's shorts. His penis was resting on his pubic hairs, lying on its side like an earthworm on the grass. I started stroking it, hoping it would wake up before this delicious novel feeling of wanting to stick it inside myself went away. It started to stiffen a little, like a flag in a breeze. I put it in my mouth. The first time I had ever done so; all my other trysts had been boringly conventional, Victorian even in approach. The taste was not bad; hot, salty and with only a faint trace of urine. I moved my mouth up and down the shaft, and was rewarded with a groan from Andrew, who started stirring. I shifted my body, clamping my wet thighs onto his legs while my mouth continued its rhythmical motion. Andrew struggled again but this time his lower body was held fast. I noticed small glistening droplets of pussy juice on his legs. My pubic hairs were saturated. Plenty of lubrication, and now Andrew's cock was semi-rigid. I knew it would harden up inside me. I straddled over the top of him, my pubes tickling the end of his cock, then lowered myself on him. Normally I insisted on safe sex, but in my state of tingling anticipation, the thought of taking a break to place a piece of rubber between my skin and the cock I wanted so much appeared ludicrous. As I drew myself down, Andrew became fully awake. He gave out a huge groan, snapped his eyes open, and grabbed my thighs; guiding me, pinning me, moving my body round, making sure I changed my angle as I gyrated up and down moaning all the while. He started to wriggle and squirm, and then, before I was ready, I felt the liquid squirt inside me - a new sensation, but very warming and pleasant. Power Relationship I sensed Andrew's disappointment as his penis deflated. I drew myself off him, wrapped my arms round him, and kissed him in an excess of affection. I was by no means satisfied, but I felt grateful to Andrew for being around and sharing intimacy with me. I got out of the bed, ready to go to the bathroom and finish the job with my fingers. As I was about to open the door, I felt hands around my waist as I was propelled back to the bed. Andrew held my head down then bent my knees slightly until I was stooped over the bed, my head pushed onto the mattress. I felt fingers exploring between my legs, then the hand kneading my clitoris, slipping fingers inside my still sticky pussy. I whimpered and arched my back, so my protruding buttocks stuck out still further. Then I felt something bigger and harder easing its way inside me from behind. It gave a few experimental wriggles, withdrew itself almost completely, then I was thrown onto the bed with a grunt of surprise and delight as Andrew's penis rammed itself inside me. He was kneading my buttocks, tightening the pressure on my hole, which was glistening with semen and juices, and thrusting faster and harder. Each thrust flung me into the bed, each withdrawal dragged me backwards, the better to push me forward again. I was groaning and grunting, my inside on fire with pleasure, building up to a climax of desire. In my passion I tried to twist around, grab hold of Andrew, look into his eyes and clamp our mouths together in a tight embrace, but he had got hold of my breasts, squeezing them and pinning me down. My nipples tingled and stood to attention like hard frozen boysenberries. Then I came, with a massive orgasm that shook me to the core and caused me to scream aloud. Just before I felt Andrew's ejaculation explode into me. The two of us lay where we had finished up, Andrew on top of me, panting, my face glowing red with exertion and happiness. Then Andrew got back into bed beside me and we kissed each other tenderly, totally spent, but enjoying the relaxing sensation of holding each other. "That was so neat," I mumbled, just before I dropped off to sleep again. The next thing I noticed the sun was high in the sky, its winter warmth creating patchwork patterns on the carpet as it filtered through the blinds. I shook Andrew. "Wake up," I said. "You will need to have a shower and get ready for the interview." Andrew got out of bed, had a shower, then put on a hotel dressing gown. He started to make some breakfast, muesli with soy milk, which he handed me in bed. "You're a great lover, Maxine," he said. "Very sensual. I don't know why other men don't stay with you, but if they don't appreciate you they don't deserve you." "What about you?" I said. "Do you deserve me?" "I'm almost old enough to be your father," I said, "And I thought maybe that was a problem for you." "It is a problem for me, but I don't know why. It's something I will sort out with my mother next time I see her." "Your mother is nice," said Andrew. "And I must thank her for supporting me over this interview. I hope I get the job. Then I'll be able to see more of you." Andrew and I left the hotel room together. We had arranged to meet at my flat after the interview so Andrew could return my mother's clothes. I spent the afternoon cleaning up. I had been out for a whole night, but my flatmate had not once texted to ask where I was. It was not that sort of relationship. She was presently at work, so I knew I would have Andrew to myself until the evening - and possibly longer if things work out. I started singing as I moved the vacuum cleaner around the carpets. I checked my text messages and found one from my mother. "hope u had good time with Andrew." I think she suspects something. I hope it helps him get the job, but I also knew my mother had her own work cut out with the very conservative men she works with. For the first time ever, my mother approved of one of my boyfriends. I thought of Andrew as I changed into a slinky clinging dress. The cold immediately assaulted my skin and caused goose bumps to form. Not very sexy. Sod the bill, and sod Clarissa. I turned the heater on to full. Andrew arrived at my flat at three, giving me a kiss on the lips as he came in. He handed me the clothes and stayed for tea while we snuggled on the sofa and talked about absent friends. Afterwards I took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom. We had engaged in two forceful sex bouts that morning, and this time I wanted to make love gently. I felt a tingling below as Andrew unbuttoned my dress, slipped it off my shoulders and then undid my bra strap. My breasts burst from their bonds, the nipples already hard. I groaned quietly when Andrew ran his tongue lightly over them, while I struggled to remove his trousers. Andrew stood before me in naked splendour, his penis pointed at attention, his hand rubbing my pubic mound through my knickers. A wet circle appeared on them and started to spread, and the pungent smell of sexual juices wafted into the room. Andrew yanked down my knickers and guided me to the bed. I so wanted him inside me right now, but Andrew instead was stroking the inside of my thighs, rubbing the wetness into my pubes, stimulating my clitoris so that I gave continuous whimpers of pleasure. Now he was running his tongue over my groove, and the pleasure was becoming so intense it was like a physical pain. Andrew entered me so slowly that I hardly noticed at first, and then it was like a flower blossoming as his penis swelling inside me filled my whole consciousness, and I screamed aloud. Andrew moved slowly and rhythmically, his arms clasped around me, kissing me gently. The kisses provided a different but complementary pleasure to the fire in my vitals, a glowing romantic affection, like a rhythmical counterpoint to the erotic melody playing between my legs. "I love you," I gasped, in the intervals between kisses. "I so love you, love you so much, Oh, GOD I love you." This last gasp was pushed out of my mouth as I came in a massive orgasm that caused my entire body to shake and my breath to come out in pants. As I started to relax, Andrew pushed harder, working towards his own climax. I was now in the same situation I had been with Brian, two evenings ago. I was too spent for any erotic pleasure now the orgasm had seeped from my body; I was just a bonk-bag for Andrew to discharge into. Yet the sensations could not have been more different. The feeling of Andrew inside me was pleasant and sensuous, like an affectionate hug, and when he gave his own shout of pleasure, the warm liquid seeping into me warmed me to the core. I felt a glow of happiness thinking of the pleasure I had given Andrew. The difference is I love him, I thought, as we lay side by side cuddling, and stroking each other's hair. We started to talk more about our lives, and I mentioned my outdoor camping trips with my mother and sister and how this had engendered a love for the environment. I told him how refreshing it had been to travel to tech, to study, go on field trips, social events and other excursions with my classmates, people I worked together with for three years and got to know and love. Then how it all ended when I dropped out. I had kept up with my ex-classmates on Facebook and occasionally met up with one or two of them socially but it had not been the same. I had been sad and miserable back in Opotane, and the aseptic imitation for collegiality fostered at my work place through the team 'bonding' sessions set up by HR had been no substitute at all for the genuine camaraderie of my classmates. "I know what you mean," said Andrew. "What you are missing is not so much your friends - who you can still see after all, but something holistic. All your friends together, sharing a common vision and working towards it, interacting with you, the vision and each other." "You have such a way with words," I said, "You have described it exactly." I wrapped my naked body around his in delight. "It's true what you say about your workplace too," Andrew said, though I sensed the way he hesitated a bit before speaking. "Calling a group of disparate individuals a team doesn't make them one," he continued. "True team work comes from the sort of bonding only a shared vision can inspire. And most workplaces don't have it." "Mine doesn't," I said. "My boss is not a bad person, just rather a clueless one. He does his best to pull us together, but when all of us get commission for individual sales, how can that not set up a competitive and hostile atmosphere?" "Teaching is one of the few careers that still allow scope for teamwork," said Andrew. "Part of my work was always looking at ways to help you work together and teach each other. I know what you feel about the loss of your congenial times together. I feel the same. Every time a class graduates I feel sad knowing that I will not see them in that setting again. But I'm compensated by having a new fresh group come through." Andrew paused to think again. There was definitely something worrying him. He was not usually tongue tied when discoursing on his favourite topic, and I felt his body tense beside mine. "I'm just as much a power freak as the bosses who like to see their workers jump to attention," he said eventually. "In my case the power I enjoy is being appreciated and admired. Less harmful to others but maybe just as damaging to my own soul." "I don't know what you mean," I replied. "I love you very much." I waited for the conventional reply. It never came. Andrew remained silent. In the end I had to take the conversational gambit myself. "Do you love me, Andrew? Just a little bit?" "I could get to love you," he said finally, stroked my hair. Most boys would just say yes, but I had to remember Andrew was scrupulously honest and had no idea how to stroke egos. That was as good a profession of love as I would be getting - at least for now. "But we will have plenty of time to get to know each other," I said. "Especially if you get the job with mum's company. "I'm afraid it's not that simple," said Andrew. "What do you mean?" I jerked up, my heart thudding, my boobs squashed into Andrew's chest. "Have you been seeing another woman?" "There is no other woman," Andrew said, and I relaxed. "I have had no other woman but you since my divorce four years ago. My wife and I were virgins when we married, so you're only the second woman I have slept with." Andrew lapsed into silence again, seemingly groping for the words to say to me. I extricated myself from his embrace and leaned on one elbow staring at him. "Soon after I left the interview with your mother I got a call from a new university near Boston that specialises in teaching about animals and the environment," he eventually blurted out. "I had a skype interview for that job a few weeks ago, but when I never heard back I assumed I was unsuccessful. It appears they've been unable to make an offer until now because of some sort of internal political wrangling. But now they want me to start working for them as soon as I can get to the States. Their immigration consultants are sorting out my visa, and that shouldn't take long. I could be off to the States in a fortnight." I felt a thumping in my head. Of course my dreams for a future together would be too good to be true. "So you would leave me. After I've only just found you?" "I.. This is important to me. It's a dream job, teaching what I'm passionate about." "But I'm passionate about you too." Andrew bit his lip. I stared at him, eyes wide. I noticed he avoided eye contact. "Then come with me," he said. "You can get a visitor's visa easily enough then if we find we want to stay together we can get married over there, and you'd be able to stay on my visa." Now he was frightening me. Leave Opotane? It was a boring provincial town to be sure, but it was my boring provincial town. I was familiar with its streets, buildings and a considerable number of its people. And Boston... America... it all seemed so... so foreign. It was full of brash, gum-chewing Americans, driving big cars down the sprawling streets, toting guns. And I wouldn't know anyone. Except Andrew, and he would be at work much of the time. "You could get to know people," Andrew said, when I mentioned my concerns. "I'm sure an outgoing and attractive person like you would have no difficulty making friends." "If you love me, you would stay." I was surprised how petulant I sounded. "Why not at least wait until mum calls you back about the job here. It's not a bad job, and I'm sure mum wouldn't be a bad boss. We could stay here together. Dating the boss's daughter wouldn't do your career prospects any harm." "Unless we fell out," he said. "It wouldn't work, Maxine. I don't want to leave after I've just found you either. But I could just as easily say if you loved me you would come. We both want something else more than we want each other at the moment. Can we stay friends?" I got up off the bed and started getting dressed. "Why did you sleep with me if you knew you could be leaving?" Andrew started clenching and unclenching his hands. Something I remembered he did in class on the odd occasions when he felt nervous. "I didn't know you wanted a long term committed relationship." he said. "I thought you just wanted fun. You were unhappy and wanted to enjoy yourself. Would you have behaved any differently last night and this morning if you had known?" I paused in the action of zipping up my dress. He was right. I had fallen in love with Andrew this afternoon, but last night all I had wanted was comfort, and this morning all I had wanted was sex. It was foolish to think Andrew could care enough for me for us to live the rest of our lives together. "I meant what I said about your coming with me." Andrew seemed to know what I was thinking. Surprising for someone so dense he didn't know how to tell untruth to power. "I think you're a wonderful person. Someone I would be proud to be seen with. "Just not in Opotane. I don't blame you for not coming with me, and you mustn't blame me for not staying. We've had a wonderful time. Let's remember it with affection and not leave on a sour note." "When will you start for America?" I asked. "I'll drive down to Wellington today, and sort out a few things, then I'll fly to Boston as soon as my visa comes through." Andrew was getting dressed, fumbling at his shirt buttons. "Can I take you out to dinner again to thank you for a wonderful time," he said. I shook my head and turned away so he would not see my tears. "If you're going best make it quick," I said. "In fact I'd like you to go now." "But Maxine, I don't.." Andrew bent towards me to kiss me goodbye, but I pushed him away. "Very well, then Maxine," he said. "I hope we stay in touch. My offer to come with me still stands if you change your mind." He stood by the door and looked straight at me. I turned my head. I heard the door slam and he was gone. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed; letting out the tears that I had been holding back when Andrew had been in the room. Yet unlike the blank despair I had felt before Andrew sent me his text, my tears were based on hope as well as sadness. I mourned the loss of a man I loved even as soon as I had found him, but with it there was hope and reassurance that I had the capacity to give and receive pleasure from another. Andrew had seemed cold and unemotional to me, and there was also a great deal of nervousness there. I smiled through my tears. As a teacher he had always been totally in control. It will do him good to know that love is not as predictable as his scientific models. It was not long before I had finished my cry, blown my nose, taken a shower and then thought about what I needed to do next. I had taken the whole day off work, anticipating a romantic day with Andrew, and I still had most of the day to kill. My mother would be at work, but I decided I had to see her. There were a few matters that needed sorting out. I called the operator at Stonkins and asked to speak to Jenny. The receptionist on duty knew me. "She's at a meeting with the Chief Executive, Maxine," she said. "Can I get her to call you back?" I told her that would be okay, and then, for something to do while I was waiting, I pulled my old tech notes and text books out of the book cases and started to read. The phone rang half an hour later. It was mother. She first of all told me the bad news. She and one other man had supported Andrew's application, but the chief executive had overruled them, saying he was not a "team player." "He didn't do very well at the interview, Maxine," she said. "The Chief Executive asked him if he was familiar with the nitrogen loading software we use and how much experience he had with it, and he told them one year. Our CEO then said 'that is hardly sufficient time to get to grips with it,' and Andrew said 'on the contrary, it's easy to use for someone with any knowledge of chemistry and I mastered it in six months. It's hardly rocket science.' "Which is actually true, but the CEO, who's not that bright technically, had been struggling with the software for several years and still had difficulties. Andrew could have answered the question in a more tactful manner that highlighted his own ability without showing up our CEO's inadequacies in such sharp relief." "It doesn't matter now anyway, mum. He's just received an offer for a teaching job near Boston. He left this morning. He offered to take me with him, but I refused." "You refused! You must be out of your provincial little mind. Whatever for? You finally find yourself a man who would fail an audition for the Frankenstein monster, he makes a pretty serious offer to you and you let him go? And you've never been abroad. Not even for an OE. Boston's an exciting city. Much better than anything we have round here." "Yeah, but Andrew's emotionally constipated. Colder than a fish on a slab." "Yes I got that impression too," she said. "But I think he really loves you. You could get him to open out." "What do you know about him, mum? Have you been chatting him up?" My mother laughed. "Good Lord, no. No, I spoke to him earlier. I had to, just to let him know he didn't get the job." There was a pause in the conversation. "Do you want to know what he said?" my mother continued. "Go on." "He said he was sorry if he hurt you, but he was just trying to cheer you up." "Yes he told me that too. I think he was using me." "It's a bit more complex than that. If there was any using, you were using each other. Men like Andrew, used to power relationships, like to play around with flirtation. Their female students flirt with them, and they act up a little - because they know the students are not taking them seriously." "But Andrew's never made a pass at a student. Not like some of the other tutors. He was so upright some of us said he was boring." "I never thought he had. I wouldn't be encouraging you to see him again if I did think so. But it's just because he would never try things on that his students thought it safe to flirt and laugh about it. It must have been a shock for Andrew to find someone who took him seriously" I paused. Mum had given me a bit to think about, and she was certainly more experienced than I was at sexual matters. Which reminded me of why I was calling. "Mum, I need to talk to you about dad." "I've told you about your dad. He left for a younger woman. He died five years ago and I'm disappointed you didn't go to the funeral. I don't know what you had against him, but I think..." I interrupted. "No mum, you listen. I need to have a serious talk. I want to know what went on when I was a girl. I don't remember much and I think you've been less than honest in telling me."