“Not right now. I’ll explain everything later. In the meantime, I need to borrow some equipment from you. Actually, from your dad, but he can’t know about it.”

“Fabulous. And let me guess. You’ll explain that later too.”

“You read my thoughts like they were written on a blackboard.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to owe me big, best friend o’ mine.”

It was Sunday afternoon. Megan pressed Play for the fourth time and the clearing in the woods appeared once more. A minute passed while nothing happened. Then Mr. Davis, punctual as always, entered stage left. But it was a different Mr. Davis, hesitant and uneasy. He stopped, then turned slowly, hoping to catch a glimpse of his unknown audience. “Give it up!” Megan called to her TV. “I’m not a moron.” For a moment, Mr. Davis stared straight at her. Then his gaze moved on. He was looking for a woman, not a camcorder wedged in a tree.

Megan fast-forwarded, scanning for her absolutely favorite part. There! Mr. Davis, her teacher, had followed instructions perfectly. He stood in the middle of the clearing, half-facing the camera, his pants bunched at his knees. He was jerking off. Back and forth his hand moved, gliding slowly, almost absentmindedly. Megan stared, feeling the hypnotic pull. “Bet you wish that was my mouth,” she thought, and just like that she was ready again.

She put the remote down and leaned back in her beanbag chair, squirming to get her bottom comfortable on the vinyl. She licked her fingers. Soon she was matching the urgency of his hand with that of her own. She managed her excitement expertly, balancing on the edge of orgasm. Mr. Davis crouched forward a little. His thing, his cock, stuck straight out in the spring air. Megan knew he was getting close, knew exactly how close. She refocused on his face, slightly fuzzy yet still intensely human, serious and sad and pained and a little lost, and there were his eyes, the lids shut tight, and there, Megan was just about convinced as they came together, were his tears.

That night, Megan lay in bed. She felt completely wired. Video frames flickered endlessly through her head, like a catchy chorus she was sick of but couldn’t stop humming. It was nine hours at Disney World all over again.

What is enough?

She got up and walked to the bathroom. Sexual tension lingered in her body like a low-grade fever, but she was too tired and too tender to do anything about it. She soaked a face cloth in cold water and draped it across her neck. That was better.

What is enough?

She padded back to her room and sat at her desk. This is enough, she thought. This is enough of Mr. Davis. She clicked the switch and was suddenly silhouetted in the glow of the computer screen.

“Dear Mr. Thorndike,” Megan typed, “I would like to suck your dick.”

ERIC ALBERT