by Jade West
“I’ve got to go,” I said, slinging my bag onto my shoulder. “Please?”
He shrugged in defeat. “School’s over, Helen, you’re free to leave.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, and I was away, clattering into Lizzie by the whiteboard and grabbing her by the elbow. I frogmarched her out of there and didn’t dare look back.
I’d never be able to look back. Not ever.
In fact, I doubted I’d ever be able to look at him again.
***
Helen
“Whoa. Just… wow. Ok.” Lizzie’s face said it all, and mine burned all the brighter for it. She turned the sketchbook in her hands, admiring the embarrassing sketch from all angles. I wished the ground would swallow me up. “Do you really think he’s that well hung? You’ve probably flattered him, at least.”
“I don’t think flattered is the right word for it. How about mortified?”
Her eyes twinkled. “He isn’t going to be mortified by this, Hels. It’s quite something.”
“And he’s quite my teacher. He’s going to be utterly, totally, abysmally, horrifically mortified.” I pressed my palms to my cheeks and they were still hot. “How will I ever be able to look at him again?”
“It’ll take more than this to stop you looking at him,” she laughed. “Old habits die way harder than that.”
“I can’t believe you’re laughing. This is a total disaster.” She’d started flipping back through the pages before I had chance to reclaim my sketchpad, and slapped my hands away as I tried to protest.
“You may as well let me see the rest now! How much worse can they possibly be?”
Much worse.
Much, much worse.
My dirty obsession really knew no shame.
But I did. Shame and I were getting a solid introduction.
Her cute little eyebrows rose on her forehead and her mouth curved into a grin. “Dirty minx. I thought you were over all the kinky stuff?”
“Said who?”
She shrugged. “It’s been ages since we talked. You know, talked.”
“No it hasn’t,” I scoffed. “We talk.”
“Yeah, just not like we used to.” She flipped another page. “Wow.”
My stomach lurched. “He didn’t see that one. Praise Heaven for small mercies.”
“Shame.” Her smile was full of glee as she held up the page. One of my favourites. Me, bound to a bed, spread-eagled and at the mercy of the man at my feet. He was in shadow, ominous but beautiful, the outline of his tousled hair captured perfectly, even if I did say so myself. My lips were parted, eyes glazed and wanting. My back arched, my weight heavy on my shoulders as my body strained for him, powerless against the invisible call of his touch. “I think he’d have liked this one.”
“He’s not going to like any of them, Lizzie. He’ll think I’m a weirdo.” She flipped another, onto my very favourite, the one where Mr Roberts was angry, eyes burning, taking me hard over the art bench where I spent the majority of my school time. He had my hair in his fist, forcing my cheek flat to the wood, my splayed palms smearing paint over a half-finished canvas. A tumbler of water had been knocked clean over, rivers of paint-dirty water snaking away from us and dribbling into the foreground.
“I think you should drop your sketchpad more often,” she giggled. “I think you might get somewhere.”
“Yeah. Expelled.”
“Don’t be so… morbid.” She poked her tongue out. “I like them. I love them. Come on, he’s a man, right? He’d have to be turned on by these, Hels. Hell, I’m turned on by these.” Her expression turned, a sly smile creeping across her pretty face. “Draw me one.”
“Draw you one? Um, no. They’ve got me in more than enough trouble today already, thanks very much.” She shoved the sketchbook in my hands regardless, then flopped herself onto my bed and struck a pose. I giggle-snorted as she pulled the duck-face and pinched her nipples through her school blouse. “I’m not drawing that.”
“But I’m so pwetty.”
I groaned, but I was already reaching for my pencil case.
She fist-pumped the air. “She shoots, she scores! Make it hot please. Really hot!”
“Yeah, yeah. What do you want? You fucking Emo-boy over his guitar amps? What’s his coming face like? No, don’t tell me… I won’t be able to forget it.”
“His coming face is just fine, actually.” She gave me the finger, then shook her head. “I don’t want you to draw me with Scottie, I want you to draw me with Mr Roberts.” Her eyes twinkled with deviance. “You can be in it, too, it you like.”
My stomach churned. “You and Mr Roberts?”
She nodded. “Come on, Hels, it’s only a game! It’ll be fun!”
“You want me to draw dirty sketches of you and the love of my entire measly, miserable, weirdo teenage existence? Why? I’m not even drunk. You’re not even drunk.”
“Because it will be fun! And, we’re not drunk yet.” She reached for her overnight bag, and dug out a bottle. “Tada! A quality beverage from the cabinet of the delightful Ray.”
I took it from her. Cheap vodka. Nasty. I tutted but reached for our cola-filled tumblers regardless.
“Bad influence, Lizzie Thomas, you’re a very bad influence.”
She held out her glass for a toast, and I clinked it with a sigh. “To Mr Roberts,” she said. “And the magnificent cock you picture him with. May it be true to life. Amen.” She downed hers then pulled a face at the burn. “Now draw me,” she ordered. “And don’t skimp on the detail, I want everything, Helen Palmer, your very finest work.”
Nights like this were exactly why Lizzie Thomas and I were born to be best friends. A couple of vodkas took the edge off, and a couple more had me feeling just fine. The giddiness and the giggles numbed my shame in a way that felt nice and warm and tingly. Talking about the incident felt easier, lighter. Talking about him became dirtier, and Lizzie talked, too. She talked of sex, and boys, and all the hot things waiting for us at university that I had no interest in whatsoever, and all the while I drew her. And him. And me.
I drew all three of us, and it was hot, and wrong, and quite ridiculous, but what the hell. I had to slam the sketchpad closed as Mum poked her head around the door to say her goodnights, and only just managed to clear it from view in time. The damned thing was on a mission to embarrass me completely and utterly, like it hadn’t done enough already. Lizzie collapsed in giggles once the coast was clear, pointing at my cheeks as they re-bloomed to beetroot.
“Shut up,” I protested. “Just shut up, Lizzie. You’re so bad. Look what you’ve made me do!”
I held up the picture and her laughter stopped. Her eyes focused, and she reached out for it, holding it close for viewing. “You see me like this?”
“You are like this.” I giggled, warm. “You’re so pretty, Lizzie. Of course I see you like this.”
The girl in the drawing had Lizzie’s perfect smile, her twinkling eyes. She was mischievous and dramatic, and alive. In the picture I was holding her hand, both of us naked, on our knees, as Mr Roberts stood tall, his cock proud and ruler in his hand, about to land with a tap against his palm.
“I love it,” she said. “You are so cool, Hels. Sooo cool.”
She downed the last of her drink before pulling out her night clothes. I smiled at the faded cat print on her camisole. She’d been wearing that since we were in primary, only once it had been a nightdress. She undressed in front of me without the slightest awkwardness, brazen and bold, as though the picture itself had come to life. Through tipsy eyes I admired the girl I’d been drawing so accurately. Her tits were bigger than mine, her nipples darker against pale skin. Hers were perky, and bounced when she ran, unlike my little teenager breasts that I bulked out with padding. Her hips were curvy and her ass was cute, and the dark hair between her legs was so much more tame these days. Boys had seen to that. Namely one boy. Emo boy. Scottie Davis.
She pulled up a pair of frilly white panties, and checked her
self out in my dressing table mirror.
“Height of fashion,” she smirked. “Check me out, Hels. Aren’t I a hottie?”
“I am checking you out.” I smiled. “You look cute.”
“You’re the cute one,” she said. “Nobody would ever guess what a dirty little cow you are.” She tapped her lips. “My secret. Promise.”
She offered out a hand and pulled me to my feet, wrapping her arm around my waist and making me stand beside her. Our reflections stared out at us, and in the lamplight I looked so much more innocent than her with her edgy little pigtails and smoky eyes.
“I’m boring next to you.”
“No way,” she said. “Don’t be a crazy bitch. You’re so beautiful, Helen.”
She brushed the hair from my face, chocolate brown tendrils of standard shoulder-length hair. My eyes were hazel, not bright blue like hers, and my mouth was not nearly so pouty or dramatic. I had a nice nose, and a cute enough face, and my eyebrows were thick and naturally shaped without the crazy plucking routine Lizzie endured, but she was dramatic, and hot, and different, and I was, well, Helen. Just Helen.
Why would a man like Mr Roberts go for someone ordinary? Pretty, yeah, I guess I was pretty enough. But I was ordinary on the outside, not attractive and outgoing like Lizzie.
“Best friends forever,” she announced.
“Only friends forever,” I laughed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She slapped my ass. “Bed time.”
Her hands found the hem of my t-shirt, as though she was taking care of me in my drunkenness, even though she was easily as gone as I was. She yanked it over my head and I took down my jeans. I unhooked my bra and grabbed my nightdress quickly, pulling it on while Lizzie’s eyes stared at me in the mirror.
“I can get the airbed?” I offered.
She pulled a face. “Since when have I ever, ever needed the airbed?”
I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulled her in for a hug. “Thanks for being my friend, even though I embarrassed myself beyond all redemption. And thanks for the vodka, too.”
“Anytime.”
We washed up in tandem in the bathroom, like we’d done a million times before, and it was comfortable, so comfortable. I was glad she was there in my hour of humiliation. Really glad. She slid into bed first, as always, and I got the lamp. I only had a single; the same white wooden frame I’d had since I was a girl who wanted to live in a princess castle, with the same doodles of butterflies in glittery felt tip. I should grow out of it, one day, but I still liked it. I slipped between the sheets and Lizzie adjusted herself at my side, resting her head against my shoulder.
“I hope we still do this at uni,” she said.
“Of course. Always.”
“Do you think you’ll really be sad, when we get there? Without him, I mean.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I lied. “Maybe there’ll be a hot weirdo arty student out there for me, after all.”
“Do you ever think it could happen? For real? You and Mr Roberts?”
I smiled into the darkness, a sad smile. “Yeah, right. As if.”
“I’m serious,” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t it? I think he looks at you, you know. Sometimes.”
“I don’t even have time to list all the reasons why it wouldn’t happen, and you’re making it up. He’s my teacher. He doesn’t feel like that.”
“You don’t know that! So, he’s your teacher, but what about when he’s not?”
“I might never even see him again. He might have a girlfriend. A stunning arty girlfriend. He’s probably got one of those. At least one of those.”
“You know that’s crap. You know the rumours.”
“If the rumours are true then I’m screwed anyway.”
“I don’t think he’s gay. I think that’s just stupid kid talk.”
“I hope not.” I took a breath. “But I could live with bi. I could live with just about anything. I’d like bi. Crap, I’m really drunk.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being bi, Hels,” she whispered. “You’d like him to be dirty, wouldn’t you? Really dirty.”
Her tone made my heart flutter. I was so glad we were in darkness.
“…just think about it. In the art block, late, you’re painting and he comes up behind you… presses against your back… his warm breath on your neck…”
The hair on my arms prickled.
“…you can feel him… his hard cock against your ass, his fingers tracing up your thigh, pulling up your school skirt… Mr Roberts’ dirty fingers between your legs…”
I shifted in bed, and she snaked an arm across my waist.
“…I think he’d be good… I think he’d know just how to touch you… I think he could make you come, standing in his arms, just like that, maybe he’d make you moan for him, make you tell him how good it felt. Maybe he’d grab your hair, hold you still while his fingers pushed their way inside. Do you think he’d be rough? I think he’d be rough… You’d like him to be rough, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes…” My voice was barely a whisper. “Yes… I’d like him to be rough… you know I’d like him to be rough…”
“I think he’d take you hard. I think he’d fuck hard and deep. I think he’s dirty, too. You can see it in his eyes, he’s so… dark… so… deep… I think he’d make you do all kinds of dirty things…”
And she had me. “Like what?” I breathed. “What do you think he’d make me do?”
Her ankle hooked around my calf. “I think he’d fuck you so hard it would hurt. I think he’d say filthy things… I think he’d call you his bad little girl... Maybe he’d tie you up… take you however he wanted… maybe he’d make you pay for your dirty thoughts… maybe he’d spank you… bend you over his knee in your school skirt and make it sting… I’ve seen those steel rulers in the art block, Hels…” She giggled against my neck. “Maybe he’d use one of those… naughty girl…”
My breath hitched, and the giggles in my throat disappeared, vanished into nothing.
“I know you’d like that… I know you’d like to be over his knee… I know you’d like him to tell you how much of a naughty girl you are…”
“I am bad…” I rasped. “I am dirty…”
“You like it,” she teased, and her leg coaxed mine open. “You’ve always been dirty… I think he’d like that…”
“Oh God, Lizzie, I want him. I want him to make me bad…”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know what you want…”
“I’m so crazy about him I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the thought of never touching him, of never feeling him touch me…”
“Imagine his mouth… imagine his tongue… shit, Helen, can you imagine his hot lips around your nipples? His tongue flicking at you…” She giggled as her palm gazed my breast, but it wasn’t funny. “It’s ok,” she whispered. “Touch yourself, I don’t mind. We’re best friends forever, Hels, we can share anything. Anything, I promise.” A little giggle, coaxing me. “Tell me what you want him to do to you…”
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But my hand was already between my legs, slipping inside my panties.
“Oh God, Lizzie, I want him to fuck me…”
“Yes…”
“I want him to be rough… I want him to lose control… I want him to tie me up, until I can’t move… I want to beg him to take me… I want to hear him come… I want to hear him moan… I want to taste him…”
“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 pussy, 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 th
e 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 fuck you there?”
I nodded into the darkness and my fingers sped up.
“Would you ask him to fuck 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 fuck 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 pussy 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.