Teach Me Dirty(7)

“He could teach you… teach you dirty…”

“Yes… that’s what I want… God, yes…” My fingers circled my clit, slowly, trying to hide it. “I want to feel his mouth… I want him to spread me open… I want him to see me… all of me…”

“He’d suck on your naughty little *, you know that? He’d suck your clit so hard you’d come against his face…”

“Yes…”

“And then he’d take you… hard… I think he’d take your ass, too… I think he’d want that… especially if the rumours are true… shit, can you imagine taking him in your ass… that’s got to hurt…”

I had nothing but breath.

“Would you let him f*ck you there?”

I nodded into the darkness and my fingers sped up.

“Would you ask him to f*ck you there? Imagine if he made you beg for it… or maybe he’d tie you up and give you no choice… just like your pictures…”

Ragged breath, and I was squirming.

“Maybe that’s what you want… no choice… maybe you just want him to take you… however he wants… he could f*ck you so hard…”

“Yes…”

“Imagine kissing him, Helen… imagine his tongue in your mouth…”

“I want to kiss him so bad…”

“Show me… show me how you’d kiss him…” Her breath was in my face. “Pretend I’m him… show me…”

Her lips pressed to mine in the darkness and my fingers worked my clit as she pushed her tongue inside. There was shock there, deep inside, shock and nerves, and a weird ache of something I couldn’t place. The vodka made it easy, it made pretending the easiest game in the world. Her mouth became his, her soft lips so warm as her tongue circled mine. I kissed Mr Roberts like I’d always wanted to kiss him, deep and hard as my * clenched and fluttered under my fingers. I opened my mouth wide for his tongue, quivering as the pressure built between my thighs, and I was on the edge… so close.

I could feel Lizzie’s body shaking, the tension in her legs as she played with her own clit, her breath catching against my lips as she came with me, quiet and strained.

She backed away as soon as it subsided, adjusting the pillow under her head like nothing had happened.

And then she giggled. Hard.

And I was giggling, too. I didn’t even know what we were giggling about, but it was funny.

Vodka was fun. Lizzie was fun.

My mind skirted the fact that this might be awkward in the morning, but no. Not with Lizzie. It was just stupid fun.

For both of us.

Definitely.

Just a bit of stupid fun.

I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed mine.

***

“You’re seriously not going? I thought you were joking. Wow, you must be embarrassed.”

“It’s no big deal,” I lied. “I have English coursework to be doing, anyway. I need to hang in the library sometime this week, it may as well be today.”

“Yeah, like he won’t notice.” Lizzie brushed down her blazer, freeing it of the cat hair she’d accumulated in my living room that morning. I’d become a lot better at avoiding it. “Like it isn’t going to make it all the worse when you don’t rock up all day.”

“I can’t face him,” I sighed. “Not yet.”

“It’ll be way worse tomorrow, Hels. You should just walk on in there, face him head on.”

Not on her life.

I avoided the art block all day Monday, which was fine considering I didn’t have art scheduled, and on Tuesday I had a stomach upset, my first day off sick in the forever since I’d been crushing, besides a flu bug that had knocked me out for over a week in grade nine. I couldn’t face school on Wednesday, either, and stayed holed up at home doodling kinky scenes to the backdrop of daytime TV. Lizzie called and called and I didn’t answer, and I hardly slept a wink before dragging myself back to reality on Thursday.

I’d never felt so sick as I did at the thought of the inevitable confrontation, and since art class was last period I had a whole day to dwell on it.

I may have considered bailing then, too, if Lizzie hadn’t crossed my path in the corridor and practically pushed me into the art room.

I was a shaking leaf when I stepped over the threshold. I was late, just a minute, but enough that every set of eyes in the room turned in my direction, including his. I propped myself on a stool behind Kelly Merrick and looked anywhere but at him.

Despite my greatest nightmares, Mr Roberts didn’t freak out and order me from his classroom. He didn’t stare in horror, or lose his flow, in fact, he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, just talked us through our mock practical exam with the same composed tone he always used. When we broke from the discussion to work on coursework, I made sure to sit with my back to him, and his presence burned my skin the entire time until the bell sounded.

I shoved my art supplies away as quickly as I could, but he was ready. I stopped in my tracks as his voice sounded across the room.

“Helen, stay behind. I’d like to speak with you, please.”

He wiped down the whiteboard as the rest of the group left, and I stood, like a fool, with my heart in my mouth and my insides in knots. I’d thought this through, over and over, everything I’d say, how I’d brush it off, but my preparations meant nothing. I was tongue-tied and awkward, like being twelve all over again and forgetting which classroom I should be in.