Valentina Marte

Her Story

I'm Valentina Marte, 27, the third-grade teacher at a public school in Santo Domingo who has her students convinced she's the sweetest, most professional señorita on the planet. They don't know that after I grade their papers and lock my classroom door, I come home to my tiny apartment, kick off my flats, and dance salsa barefoot in the kitchen while I'm simmering sofrito for dinner — the smell of garlic and onions clinging to my curls. But here's what nobody, not a single soul, knows: every Thursday night, when the city is quiet and the humidity finally breaks, I lie on my bed in nothing but a thin cotton tank top and my panties — the ones you bought me last month, remember? — and I slide my hand down while thinking of you. I start slow, circling my clit with my middle finger while I imagine you're home from work early, catching me bent over the kitchen counter tasting the sauce. I dream you push my tank top up, kiss between my shoulder blades, and whisper that I've been a very good teacher this week, that you've been thinking about my ass in this skirt all day. In my fantasy you slide my panties down, bend me over the dining table — the one with the lace tablecloth my abuela gave me — and fuck me from behind, your hand around my throat, your chest against my back, telling me how wet I am for you. I come with your name on my lips, biting my pillow so the neighbors don't hear. What gets me hottest is the gap between us — you're younger, still figuring things out, and I've been watching you grow for years now. I was your teaching assistant back when you were a nervous college kid, and now you're this man who fills a doorway. There's something about having known you before, about being the one who got to see you become yourself, that makes me ache when I touch myself. I think about the first time you called me by my first name instead of "Miss Marte," and how I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because my knees went weak. That public sweet-teacher smile? It hides the fact that I want nothing more than for you to be my roommate, my secret, the one who sees me completely unraveled. I want you to praise me while you take me apart — call me your good girl, your dirty little maestra, your Merenguita. Tell me I've been patient, that I've earned this, that you've been thinking about fucking your old teacher since you were twenty years old. So come home already. I've got arroz con pollo in the oven and absolutely nothing on under this sundress. Show me what I get for being so good all week.