Sometimes It's Not So Easy - To Be The Teacher's Pet

 I have never liked the term "Daddy issues." There are a few reasons why the phrase just sits wrong with me, but sometimes I have a hard time converting my thoughts into words, so I got lazy and now I'm going to let Google do the explanation: The problem with the term "daddy issues" is that it's often used in a reductive and dismissive way, typically towards women, to describe complex emotional issues stemming from a strained relationship with their father, potentially minimizing the real pain and impact of those experiences, and often implying blame on the individual rather than acknowledging the role of the father figure; it can also be considered gendered and insensitive as it primarily focuses on the female experience with a father, neglecting the possibility of similar issues in men.

I've never found my own phrase to cover what I can only describe as a complex understanding of, and relationship with, my father. But from the age of 12, I became an unknowing pedophile attractant, and this continued through my life until I reached the age where I could legally consent to the pedophiles. Sometimes, it worked out - sometimes the appeal of a person who can legally consent isn't so high up on the pedophile desire checklist.

Being a literal magnet for pedophiles isn't the main point I'm trying to drive home - though it does tie into my story. The point is - I loved them. Every single one of them. The older the better, in my eyes. When I was 14, I dated a 29 year old married person. When I was 15, I dated a 22 year old. When I was 18, I dated a 48 year old. And when I was 19, I briefly "dated" and by dated, I mean fucked around with, someone in their early 60s. There was something deeply taboo about the relationships I fostered, and I fostered them with full knowledge that they'd be supported by nobody. Older men treated me with attention, they showered me with things (not gifts, necessarily - but something different). All the affection, attention, physical touch, and rough "call me daddy" sex I could ask for. But mostly, they gave me the validation I have desperately sought out throughout my life. 

I don't know if this stemmed from an inner desire to have my father chase one of them out of the house with a shot gun - to give me the attention and structure I felt like I needed, but knew I wasn't receiving. The attention that I was too embarrassed to ask for. But if I thought, somewhere in the back of my "need my daddy" teenage heart, that my dad would do this - I was sorely wrong. I've never felt entitled to the frustration, anger, disappointment, and aching sadness I've carried about the fact that he didn't chase these men away. In fact, there was one time when the 29 year old married guitar teacher "boyfriend" was crawling through my window when my dad caught him. My dad's response was to say "HEY TONY! HOW ARE YOU? WANT TO COME IN AND HAVE A BEER?" So my dad and my pedophile sat with a beer and discussed music for a few hours while I seethed in my bedroom, alone.

It's not a surprise for me that the absolute hottest partner I have ever had in my life is probably one that I should have never had to begin with.

Full disclosure that I never actually touched this person with my hands. Additional disclosure that, given the opportunity, I would not pass it up regardless of the consequences. It's unfortunate, but hindsight has never been my forte, and neither has not being a person who acts on impulse... a lot.

I remember the first time I saw this person. He was sitting at the front of the classroom and I, of course, was planted firmly in the back - wearing my faux leather pants, black Doc Martens, and a black velvet tank top. He had a guitar near his desk, and a VHS of Wallace and Gromet near the classroom television. His room was cluttered and he had messy hair was slightly nerdy, slightly overweight, and carried around a slightly "I don't want to be here" attitude. 

His name was Brendon Flynn. He was not attractive. He was not empathetic, or kind, or even all that interesting. But man, did I want that guy. Big time.

I spent my entire middle school existence being obnoxiously flirtatious with him and trying, at any and every opportunity, to get him to notice me more than he already did. I'm sure he picked up on it - I'm sure he knew. He was married at the time, and seemed to be devoted to his family. But he always picked me to be in his plays, he always had a space for me in his class... and, when I graduated 8th grade, he hired me to be a counselor at his Summer Camp. My teenage brain told me that this was because he wanted to keep in touch with me, that he was grooming me, that he didn't want to let me go. Only part of that is probably true - the keeping in touch part - because keep in touch we did. Until VERY recently, actually. 

I worked for him that entire Summer and he paid me in cash, under the table. I wish that was as sexy as it sounds, but it was literally just cash, and he never held it under the table for me. Then, in high school, I did my required community service hours by assisting him with his middle school drama class. When I turned 16, I got a part time job at a local guitar shop. After I was hired there, he would come into my work to buy guitar strings and pay me a visit.

Some time around 2007, I joined Facebook - and he was on Facebook, and we became Facebook friends.

It was around this time that I noticed Mr. Flynn (call me Brendon, I'm not your teacher anymore) had a drinking problem. There were frequent alcohol induced rants that were posted on social media, and - at one point - one of those rants was about his wife fucking a P.E. teacher and leaving him. My immediate thought was not "oh wow, that sucks, poor Mr. Flynn - I mean, Brendon"... my immediate thought was "Brendon is now single. Maybe I should reach out and be like 'so sorry to hear about your marriage, please let me know if you need to talk about anything, I'm here for you!'" Then almost IMMEDIATELY followed by a total thirst trap picture posted to my timeline (not directly to him, but to my timeline, which he would definitely see). So, I guess an important question here is - who was grooming who?

I kept in frequent touch with Brendon. There were times that he would reach out to me, and times that I would reach out to him. But either way, we were in communication at least 2 to 3 times per month and our conversations would last HOURS. They would cover books, music, travel, movies, and many times - drunken hilarities. 

Some time around 2021, when my marriage was in shambles and I had let my husband know that I wanted to separate, the conversations between Brendon and I became more intense. I talked about the stuff going on at home - but I spoke about them with the air of "Whatever, man, I don't give a shit. Fuck my life for the last 15 years, not important." These statements I made were not exactly accurate - I did care, and I was hurting, and I was scared - and he was the perfect distraction. One I had had my eye on for ... 20 years?

We frequently had discussions about meeting each other in Asheville - which was a place he loved and was thinking about moving to. We talked about meeting in St. Augustine - because I loved it there and was willing to make the drive to see him. We talked about what we would do when we got there - which often included meeting up in some remote log cabin, lighting a fire and getting out the last (for me) 20 years of sexual frustration surrounding him. For him, at least according to what he would say, it wasn't 20 years - but maybe from the time I was in my early 20s and admitted to him in the guitar shop parking lot that I had always had a crush on him. Something he absolutely had to already know - unless he was fucking stupid. Or naïve. Or oblivious.

During one of our drunken messaging sessions, we decided it would be a good idea to have a naked reading of Kurt Vonnegut's Galapagos. I was slightly younger - the last 4 years I have really started to feel like I can see age creeping in, but back then it was still game on for my confidence. We decided we would do this with all of the books we loved... naked readings. We'd read to each other, but we'd be naked. That might sound silly, or strange, or dumb - but, to me, it was one of the hottest experiences of my life. I also remember recommending Lolita to him. I remember it was very late one night, and he was already very drunk, and I was also very drunk, and I said "you know, I've always looooved Nabokov's Lolita." To which he giggled stupidly and went "can't imagine why."

The problematic thing is that I think we both knew why I loved it. It encapsulated my life  perfectly - minus the psychopath murdering my mother and stealing me away. Instead of reading that book and thinking "man, this dude is FUCKED and this shit is FUCKED and this guy needs to stay away from children," my brain translated it to "THIS IS ABOUT ME. I'M THE NYMPHET HE'S REFERRING TO!" And my warped brain turned that into something less grotesque, more taboo, and mind blowingly hot.

We never did read Lolita - naked, or clothed. Some time shortly after our last conversation, where Brendon professed in all caps that he felt like he was falling in love with me and he thought I was pure magic wrapped up in a blanket of sin - he disappeared from my life. Again. This usually happens when he realizes he has a drinking problem, and he tries to stop. It also happens when he gets a girlfriend and then, when they break up, he comes back and our conversations go through the birthing process and mature into sexy adults within the span of however long it will take him to ghost me.

I never got over the crush I had on Brendon. He's one of the people who has just become hotter to me, the worse off and the grosser he is. The older he gets, and the more he uses me to pass his time, the more I want him. But I have to wonder if the reason why he's the hottest sex partner I've ever had maybe stems from the fact that I've never actually had him, and I probably never will, and the more I can't have things, and the more I shouldn't have them, the more I want them and the more tempting they become.