Pupil: Inspired By a True Story

by Zoey Long

  She turns back around.

  “Mm hmm! It took two and a half hours, which isn’t so bad. It hurt like hell, and having a tattoo on my upper thigh means I’ve basically committed to doing lunges every day for the rest of my life, but that’s okay.” She laughs.

  “So what else has been going on with you this summer, gorgeous?” I change the subject. I’m not that interested. Come on, Derrick. This chick is begging for you. She’d get on her knees in the bathroom right now if you asked her. Get it together.

  “You know, working. Working out. Breaking hearts.” She winks.

  The bartender comes by, and his eyes light up when he sees me.

  “Bourse! Haven’t seen you around, brother. Good to see you. Your drinks are on me tonight.” He’s in dark jeans and a white button-down with suspenders. Forearm tattoos. He shakes my hand.

  “Thank you, you don’t have to…” I don’t remember his name. I know the guy, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name.

  “I insist, man,” he whispers. “The amount of pussy you bring into this place? Please. Allow me.”

  I nod, flashing a smile.

  A girl at the end of the bar keeps making eyes at me, smiling over her margarita. Black dress, brown hair. Big tits. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept with her before. I think her name is Sophie. Last summer. Sophie Big Tits. Normally I’d be working every angle at once, making eyes at Sophie Big Tits while I’m kissing up on Courtney, but I’m not interested.

  “Actually, it’s been a little bit of a crazy summer for me,” I say, turning to Courtney.

  “Frank got married.”

  “You’re kidding. Why? I never thought he’d actually get married. Just play the field. You know, you two are two sides of the same coin.”

  “He married a few times when I was a kid, but not since then. He got divorced. He found some art teacher this time. Imagine that. They’re in Europe right now on their honeymoon. Not coming back until August. I have the penthouse all to myself.”

  “Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me? We could fuck all over that huge apartment! Just like old times! I miss that pool, too. We had some good times in that pool, remember that? Is it empty right now?”

  “Well, almost to myself. His wife has a daughter. Madison. She’s twenty-one. She paints.”

  Courtney stands back and stares at me, narrowing her eyes.

  “You’ve been living with a hot twenty-one-year-old painter all summer?” She starts to laugh. “Well, that explains why you’ve been a hermit, now doesn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not like that. She’s a sweet kid.” I stare at the bar. Jesus, what is my problem? She’s just a kid. Why is she messing me up like this?

  “Uh-huh. Right. When is it ever ‘not like that’ for you, Derrick?” She chuckles.

  “Let’s dance.” Courtney slams her beer down on the bar, grabs my arm and pulls me onto the dance floor.

  The bass is pumping and she starts dancing for me. Courtney knows how to work it. She starts by grinding that rock-hard ass against my pelvis, undulating her hips into me. Then she turns around to face me, arms wrapped around my neck at first, swaying down my body. She stands before me and rolls her hips, flips her glossy hair back and forth, opens that delectable mouth. I watch her hips roll and her short dress ride up to her tanned upper thighs. The hint of her garter tattoo. She’s not wearing a bra, and I can see the outline of her nipples through her dress. I look around to see that practically all the guys on the dance floor are staring at Courtney. Of course they are. She’s supermodel gorgeous.

  “I’ve missed you, baby,” she whispers in my ear. There’s that spicy vanilla scent again. “I miss that big cock of yours.”

  My breath catches. Damn, Courtney looks good. She knows how to press most of my buttons.

  When she’s done dancing I pull her into the bathroom of the club and she’s feverishly kissing me, reaching for my cock, before I even shut the door. We’ve fucked in this bathroom before. Multiple times. I lift her onto the sink and kiss her.

  “No, I want it like this.” Courtney slides off the sink and turns around, parks her silver stiletto on the sink and bends over.

  “Come on, Derrick. Make me remember why I miss you so much,” she breathes. “Give it to me.”

  I lift up her dress and see that she’s not wearing panties. I touch her pussy with my fingers. She’s warm and wet. I tease her clit with my fingers, slide inside of her a little.

  “Mmm…yeah…that’s it. See how wet I am for you?”

  I take out my hard cock and grab her hips, enter her from behind. She screams out in pleasure. I start thrusting hard into her, wrap her long hair around my fist.

  “Oh, fuck yes. Yes, you’re so big. Give it to me. God, you’re so hot. Yes, yes, please don’t stop. Just like that.”

  I give it to her hard and fast and she starts rubbing her clit. People are knocking on the bathroom door and I feel like a dick. I never cared about that kind of thing before. I just focus on the task at hand. Okay, Courtney. If you want it so bad, I’ll give it to you. I pick up the pace while holding her hips. She loves it.

  “You gonna come, baby?” she moans after a bit. “Come for me. I want you to come for me.” People are still knocking on the door.

  “Hey, there! Hey, asshole! There’s people waiting out here!” someone yells, pounding the door.

  “Don’t you dare stop,” Courtney moans. “They can wait. They always wait.”

  I close my eyes and try to focus. It’s Madison I see when I close my eyes. Plain as day. I’ve been trying like hell to forget about her all night. But there she is. Cascading brown hair, soulful eyes. That smile. I dig my hands into Courtney’s hips and thrust into her as hard as I can. I can feel my orgasm start to build and then I empty myself of all I have to give.

  “Yes! Yes! Oh God, I’m coming!” Courtney yells, pushing herself back into me.

  I can feel her start to spasm around my cock. I close my eyes tighter and collapse over Courtney’s back, breathing hard. But it’s not her I’m thinking of.

  Chapter 3: Madison

  “That was really nice.”

  Noel is holding me in his arms and running his fingers gently through my hair. We’re lying together on his vintage Victorian-style burgundy velour couch. It has four wooden legs, a high upholstered back and wooden arms that scroll up and around in ornate circles. My dress is crumpled around my waist and he’s naked. This is a perfect scene. So romantic. Two young artists cuddling in Williamsburg in postcoital bliss. I should want this. I should want him.

  “It was,” I say.

  He props himself up on his forearms and looks at me.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  I smile at him.

  “Thank you.”

  “So, where’d you get this couch?” I ask him, laughing. It doesn’t really fit with the rest of the space.

  “Oh, ha. Yeah. It’s pretty over-the-top, I know. It was a gift from my grandmother, though. She gave it to me when I got this space. She said it would add to the nuance of the studio. Used to be hers. I needed a couch.” He laughs.

  “That’s sweet,” I say, fingering one of his plum velour accent pillows.

  “She give you these too?”

  He nods, sitting up.

  “Yep.”

  He stops to stare at me, lying on the Victorian couch.

  Suddenly, Noel jumps up and picks up his sketch pad.

  “Just stay like that,” he says, sitting naked on a pillow on his hardwood floor. He picks up a piece of charcoal and starts to draw. The piece of charcoal scratches against the paper with his feverish strokes.

  “You’re not serious,” I say.

  “Relax, it’ll be fun. Not serious.”

  Oh, man, he wants to sketch me? This is so romantic. Over-the-top romantic. I feel like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Right before the boat crashes. Except that I’m thinking about getting home to my stepbrother and kind
of want to be anywhere but here right now. I feel guilty. Why don’t I want this more? Any girl would be happy right now.

  “Lie back. Yes. Just like that.”

  “Should I… take my dress off?” I start to sit up, lift my arms.

  “No… no, it’s nice. Just stay like that, lie back down.” He smiles. “Try not to move around so much. You know how this works.”

  I laugh.

  “Haven’t you ever had your portrait drawn before?” he asks.

  “No. Not really. Well, yes. I was an art model for a figure drawing class once my freshman year at NYU, for extra cash. Never did that again.”

  “Oh, man, that’s brutal.”

  “I thought sitting for a class would be easy. You stand there. How hard can that be?” I explain.

  Noel shakes his head. “It’s really fucking hard. Holding one position for that long? I’ve sketched people in those figure drawing classes. You can see their muscles start to shake after a while. Some need to break. Other people are pros and stand like marble statues. I have no idea how they do that.”

  Noel is still scratching his charcoal against the paper, stopping to look at me every few seconds before concentrating again. My mind flashes to Leonardo DiCaprio’s eyes looking at Kate Winslet as he draws her in that fancy boudoir. I can’t help it. This should be one of the most romantic moments of my life, but it just feels forced somehow. I remember reading an article somewhere that said those weren’t really DiCaprio’s hands in that scene, that they were James Cameron’s hands. Leo couldn’t draw. It looks like one thing, but it’s something else entirely. Too bad I don’t have a huge blue diamond around my neck—that would really complete the scene.

  “Try to relax your shoulders,” he says.

  “Sorry.”

  “So how did they have you pose?” Noel asks. “Standing? Sitting? Lying down? All three? Some classes are longer than others. Did you do a full three hours?”

  “It was a full three hours. I did a warmup where I was standing at first. That was the hardest. Standing still like that with my muscles engaged. Although I had the most energy at the start of the class, of course.”

  “Did you know anyone in the class?” he asks, wiping his brow as he continues to sketch.

  “A few people. They were really professional, though. I was eighteen. I didn’t have a lot of shame.” I laugh. I was fine being naked.

  Noel smiles at me.

  “I stood for five minutes, then ten minutes. Then they had me lie on my stomach in sphinx pose for thirty minutes.”

  “Sphinx pose? That sounds complicated. Sexy, but complicated.”

  “No, sorry. Sphinx is a yoga pose. It just means you’re lying on your stomach, propped up on your forearms.” I’m about to get up and show him, but I remember I need to sit still.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says.

  “Sure.” I nod.

  “Oh, try not to move your head too much,” he reminds me.

  “Sorry.” I stop moving, try to keep myself as still as possible. It’s been a few years since I’ve sat for anyone.

  “It’s okay. My question was going to be, did you like all of those people staring at you?” He arches his eyebrow.

  I roll my eyes and give him a small smile.

  “No. Noel, you know it’s not sexual. It’s very professional. It’s a very well-respected tradition.”

  “Mmhm. Yes. Very professional. Very professionally stark naked in front of forty strangers for three whole hours.”

  “They weren’t all strangers.”

  “Even better,” he says, smiling eagerly.

  Noel looks back down at his drawing, focuses his eyes and concentrates hard. His fingers are dusty black from the charcoal. He holds a gum eraser in the other fist. He’s blending lines and looking back at me before moving his instrument again.

  I sit back and try to envision myself in that figure drawing classroom. I close my eyes and exhale deeply. I can hear Noel still sketching, and the sound transports me into the memory of the art class. I walked in in a white robe that afternoon, as I was instructed to do. The class was full, the students waiting for me in a circle with their materials at the ready. My friend Stephanie from Madison Ave Preschool was there, in that class that afternoon. That was the year we met. I see her smiling at me. Waving. Giving me a thumbs-up. She giggles a bit, but very quietly, so as to not be reprimanded.

  The teacher is male, lanky with blond hair. Older. Not as old as my father, but close. He’s very sweet and respectful. Not awkward at all.

  “You’ll be standing up here, Madison,” he says to me, gesturing to a center dais.

  “Would you like to disrobe behind here”—he points over to a Japanese-style screen—“or on the dais?”

  “I can do it on the dais,” I say.

  I see Stephanie smile. She stifles a laugh at my choice of phrase. She was a figure model the summer before our freshman year started, for extra money. It was her idea that I try this at all.

  I stand up on the platform. It’s covered with a white sheet. There’s a circle of students around me. Some are sitting at small wooden desks with sketch pads. Others are standing up at their easels. I know a few people in the class. Including a guy I had a crush on. I liked pushing the boundaries of my own comfort, especially at that age. I was fearless.

  I try not to look at anyone in particular as I move to take off my robe. I was eighteen; my body was young and toned without working at it too much. I put my hands at my sides and the students take up their instruments like a well-trained orchestra. The robe falls to the floor and I’m naked there, in front of them all.

  “Okay, class. Five-minute warmup. Go.”

  They begin feverishly drawing me, eyes all over me all at once. Some on my face, some on my breasts, some concentrating on my thighs or even directly between my legs. The sound of paper rustling, pencils and charcoal scratching on blank pages. It was exciting. I do remember being turned on. My face flushed in excitement.

  “You know, I was turned on. Really turned on, now that I think about it,” I say out loud, still sitting for Noel.

  “Tell me more,” Noel says. “You looked lost in pleasurable thought there for a minute. You were biting your lip. I almost had to put that in the drawing. Maybe I will.” He laughs.

  “Was I? That’s funny. Sorry.”

  “No, it looked great. Can I ask, what were you thinking about? And are you going to answer my question about that art class?”

  “Yes. I was thinking of how I felt that day, posing naked. You asked me if I liked all those people staring at me. I was thinking back to how it felt to disrobe like that in front of a group of people, most of whom I didn’t know. It was embarrassing at first. The guy I had a crush on was in that room.”

  “Ha. Did you know he was going to be there?” Noel asks.

  “Yeah. I may have done that on purpose.”

  “Ballsy!” he says, even more intrigued.

  “I was eighteen. More daring then than I am now. I second-guessed myself a lot less.”

  He nods. “Go on.”

  “So, only the instructor was allowed to talk to me directly. It was kind of a power trip in a weird way. The artists could look at me but not address me directly. I was standing on that center dais and, well… at first, after the initial fear subsided, it was sort of nice to be the center of attention. Naked for everyone to see. That they could all look at my naked body, stare at me as intently as they wanted, but not touch me. I had power, but their eyes were still all over me.”

  I can see Noel’s cock is starting to respond as I am talking to him. He’s not touching himself but he’s getting hard. He doesn’t stop drawing.

  “Mmhm. Then what happened?”

  “It was a really professional setting. I was nude, yes, but it wasn’t sexual. At least not directly.”

  “Of course not, I know that. I’m an artist too, remember?” he jokes.

 
“But… I did like it. I do remember being turned on. After the five-minute standing warmup I was asked to change positions. I lay down on my belly with my ass facing them all and got into sphinx pose. That was when my mind really started to go wild.”

  Noel is pretty aroused now. His breathing pattern has changed, and his cock is getting harder. It’s almost at full mast. I’m enjoying turning him on.

  “I couldn’t see any of them looking at me. I was just… on display. I wasn’t nervous or afraid of what they were looking at or ashamed of my body. I was excited.”

  “Good thing you’re not a guy,” Noel says, looking down at his hard cock. “It’s a little more difficult to hide when someone turns you on.”

  “Yes… that… you know a male friend of mine was asked to stop modeling after he got an erection in class. That’s not allowed. As a girl, though, they can’t tell if you’re turned on or not.”

  “There’s one way to tell,” he says, standing up.

  Noel turns his paper around and shows me his sketch. It’s lovely and detailed. He’s captured the nuance of my dress around my waist, the relaxed look on my face. My eyes are closed and I’m biting my lip. I look beautiful. He moves to the couch and reaches for me. He climbs on top of me, and we kiss. He wants me again, badly. I can feel that I’m wet, but not dripping. Not the way Noel wants me to be. Not the way I get when Derrick simply looks me in the eye.

  Chapter 4: Derrick

  When I get home from the club, Madison isn’t there. I walk by her bedroom. The door is cracked open. It’s well past one in the morning, but her bed is still made from before she left the house. I know she’s still out on her date. My mind starts racing, thinking about where she might be. Who is she with? Who has she met? Who is she on top of at this very moment? Was she thinking of me tonight too, despite all her attempts not to?

  Jesus, Derrick. Listen to yourself. You sound like a lovesick idiot. Why do you care? She’s just a kid. Damn, this girl really has you messed up, doesn’t she? What is it about her? You were with the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever met tonight and you could care less. What is happening to you?