Page 62 of Man Seeking Woman

“You here that, Mr. Pink? You're staying for now.” Ella lifted him over her head and kissed his tiny nose. Placing him on the ground, she watched him trot off, rolling over every few steps to bite his tail. “Thank you, I'll bet you fall in love with him.”

“We'll see. But why Mr. Pink?”

“Mr. Pink, from Reservoir Dogs?” Shaking my head, Ella threw her head back as she let out a loud sigh. “You're telling me you've never seen Reservoir Dogs?”

“Nope.”

“Wow, were you raised under a rock?”

“Ha ha,” I said, leaning forward to poke her lightly. “I'll give you a rock.” Biting my lip, I flashed her a big grin. Ella let out a laugh and tried to block my finger.

It felt so refreshing to have a normal conversation with someone that didn't revolve around what someone said about who, or who was seen with who at some silver plate function.

We talked a little about our day. Ella told me all about how amazing the Japanese store was that Jerry had taken her to. I told her about the new restaurant opening a few blocks over that wanted to have our beers on tap. There was some discussion about our pasts, mostly school stories and horror episodes of things we wanted to forget, but couldn't.

I shared a very personal, and embarrassing moment, that no one, except the kids from Mrs. Breence's nineteen ninety-eight, seventh grade class would remember.

It started out as an innocent story, a regular story, a typical story of a young boy that had the hots for his teacher.

Who hasn't had at least one teacher you dreamed about fucking in your lifetime?

We all have one. Especially a boy who had gone through puberty, but still had no control over his cock. It was new madness that I had yet to conquer. A penis was a strange muscle, it had a mind of its own.

Mrs. Breence was an attractive teacher, one of the few. I might be wrong, and maybe she just looked really good because all the other teachers were cryptic and looked like death.

You know the ones I'm talking about, they have ashy white skin and gray hair. Their chest rested at their hips, flat as tall gym socks, and their breath smelled like old furniture.

Anyway, I was sitting at my desk, watching Mrs. Breence as she wrote on the chalk board, her tits bouncing as her hand moved erratically in long sweeps. I couldn't even tell you what it was that we were learning at the time.

I was blankly staring, not thinking about what she was saying or what I was supposed to be copying into my binder. All my thirteen year old brain could do was try to picture what her chest looked like without her shirt on.

My well of information at that time about the female anatomy was bleak. I had the cartoon image that we had gotten in health class and a dirty magazine I had stolen from a small store.

Mrs. Breence was going on and on, her voice just a blabbering Charlie Brown adult in my head. And then she called me to come up to the board. I was so surprised that she had called on me I just jumped up from my seat without thinking.

That's when I heard audible gasps and snickering. The boys were pointing, the girls were covering their eyes with open mouth disgust.

My thirteen year old body had done what any teenage boy would tell you it does without your approval or control; I had a huge hard-on. A raging, solid as a timber erection that almost took out the eye of the girl beside me as I whipped around mortified.

“For the rest of my youth, even through most of high school, I was known as Atomic Turtle.”

Ella snorted, a very light but undeniable snort when she laughed really hard. It was quick and could even be missed if you were laughing your ass off too, but I caught it. That little snort was cute as hell.

“Atomic Turtle—God that's so embarrassing. I'd die if that was me.”

“You wouldn't die.”

“Yes I would, I would literally fall flat on my face and die.”

“Well it happened to me and I'm still alive, so. . .” Drawing out my word, I rocked my head back and forth. “It didn't kill me, but it did suck my soul from my body and leave me an emotionless freak.”

“So you were one of those guys, I get it now.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Smirking, Ella pointed her fork at me. “I mean you have Prince Charming syndrome.”

“What?”

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