Pupil: Inspired By a True Story

by Zoey Long

  I ignore her. I get comments like this all the time now. And the truth of the matter is that, yes, he is. He knows my body so well he can make me come with a glance. Well, not quite.

  I squirt out some chartreuse onto my palette and immediately think about that time in my dorm room. That was hot. No, can’t get distracted. I let the brush guide me in thick strokes, visions of myself rocking up and down on Derrick’s lap competing for my attention.

  “Ms.…Dale?”

  I look up, breath quick. My chest is clammy with sweat even though I’m just wearing a thin white T-shirt. A kid in cutoff shorts and a T-shirt walks into the studio. He’s carrying a bouquet of blues and greens, vase tied with a navy ribbon. My heart skips. Every single person in the class is staring at me, and the whispers erupt like a throng of bees.

  I raise my hand and the kid walks over, setting the bouquet down on the nearest table to my easel.

  “Just sign here.” He smirks, handing me a paper.

  “I don’t have a pen.” I sweat.

  Stephanie rummages through her bag and hands me one.

  “Thanks.” I grab it quickly and sign the paper, sending the kid on his way. He winks at me and leaves.

  “Please, class, focus,” our professor yells over the buzzing gossip.

  “Back to your work. Now.”

  My cheeks are burning hot. I look down at my gift and see that the flowers are gorgeous. I know it’s a mix of roses, blue thistle and eucalyptus. There’s a thin white envelope stuck inside the bouquet. The card reads:

  “Please join us for the opening of Atlas. You are the inspiration behind the name. You can hit me later for sending this to your classroom. I love you. Derrick.”

  I laugh to myself. What a great name for a gym.

  When I get home, the first thing I hear is glass shattering against a wall.

  “Fine. There, I broke it!” It’s my mother’s voice.

  “Great. That’s just fantastic, Amanda. I guess I’ll send the maid in to clean it up. You like having one of those, don’t you?”

  I take my flowers to my room as quietly as possible and place them on my desk. I shut the door, and it only muffles the sound of my mother and Frank having a screaming fit. There’s a knock at my door.

  “Holy fuck,” Derrick says as I answer.

  “All is not well on the home front, I suppose.”

  I trace the outline of the door with my fingers. Even in the midst of all this, I still want Derrick. The moment I see him my body responds. He pushes me into the bedroom and kisses me, and when he presses his pelvis into mine, I know the feeling is mutual.

  Before I know it I am flat on my back and we’re dry-humping each other on my bed. The sounds of our parents screaming just outside excites me, I’m ashamed to admit.

  “This… is terrible,” I whisper to Derrick, who is fiddling with my pants.

  He gets them open and slides his hand down my pants, into my underwear. He finds the spot that’s aching for his touch and presses down.

  “Ohh…fuck,” I whisper.

  “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”

  “We don’t have to have a repeat performance and traumatize your mother again.”

  “Please don’t mention her.”

  He laughs.

  “Just let me get you off.”

  His fingers circle around my clit and I clench my thighs around him. He slips his finger down and teases my opening before rubbing my clit again. His rhythm is spot-on as I grab him around the shoulders. My muscles start to get rigid with pleasure, and I close my eyes.

  “I fucking hate you!” my mother screams.

  I try to tune her out. Derrick’s touch is unrelenting, and if he keeps going just like that…

  Derrick can tell I am about to come, and he puts his palm over my mouth at just the right moment. I release into him, breathing hard against his palm, not making an audible sound. Holding all of that energy inside of me makes the orgasm so much sweeter. The pleasure ricochets up and inside of me and then down my legs. As I come down, he removes his hand from my mouth.

  “Good girl,” he says, taking his hand away. He licks his fingers.

  My pussy is tingling and I feel that I’m wet to the tops of my thighs.

  “I love making you come,” he breathes into my ear.

  He kisses me on the cheek and sits up.

  “Oh, I see you got the flowers.”

  I start laughing.

  I think because the year is almost over, Derrick is just having fun with this now. Neither of us care who knows about us anymore. It’s freeing.

  “Babe?” he asks me, looking at his card.

  I sit up and kiss his shoulders, hugging him around the torso.

  “I was thinking. You said you wanted to exhibit more. I know you’ve been sending your stuff out and that’s great, but—”

  “But what?” I ask him.

  “Let me finish. Do you think you might want to create some pieces, or even bring some of your finished pieces, to hang up for sale at Atlas? A lot of people will be at this opening. Our Facebook page has over a hundred acceptances.”

  I’m touched by his offer. It is a good idea. I could have a rotating set of pieces on sale at Atlas, and who knows who will see them or buy them?

  “I think that’s a great idea,” I say, smiling.

  Then I whisper in his ear.

  “You’ve become such a goddamn hipster.”

  I’m on my back again in a flash, but this time we’re just playing. Derrick starts tickling me by wiggling his fingers over my stomach. I let out little spurts of laughter and try to use my legs to flip him over, like I’ve seen him do so many times on the mat.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” he says.

  “If you want to take a class you might be able to execute that a little better.”

  He pins my arms and shoulders down. I can barely move a muscle. We lock eyes. It’s a mixture of sweetness and desire. I can’t believe it, but I’m turned on again.

  “Do you think they’ll split up?” Derrick asks me.

  “Well, that’s random.”

  “Not really. They’re still screaming their heads off at each other out there.”

  I realize I’ve tuned our parents out completely. When I let outside noises into my consciousness again, they are indeed still screaming.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Would that change things for you?” he asks.

  “Derrick… let me up.” I turn my head, realizing that’s the only part of my body I can actually move right now. We should incorporate more of these moves into our sex life. I don’t mind being completely at his mercy. I’ll tell him that later.

  He releases me and I sit up again, looking at him seriously.

  “Whether we are stepsiblings or not, I love you. I want to be with you. That’s it. I’m not fucking you just because it’s taboo.”

  He laughs.

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” he replies, with a deep kiss on the lips.

  “It is kinda hot, though, right?” he whispers.

  I blush and punch him in the arm.

  “You know it is.”

  By the night of the opening, everything is perfect. I’ve bought a cerulean-blue dress in the most saturated shade I’ve ever seen in a fabric, to match the Atlas branding. My entire mythology series has been delivered and hung on the walls for sale, and I’ve almost completely forgotten about the PTSD caused by my last art opening.

  I am standing in front of my bedroom mirror. I’ve had my hair done for the occasion, at a trendy downtown salon that only does blowouts. My hair falls in perfectly soft waves around my shoulders, in a way I’d never have the patience to achieve myself. I’ve chosen strappy black sandals, minimal makeup. I look beautiful. The dress is a wrap silhouette, pulled tightly around the smallest part of my waist, layers of fabric flowing out from the skirt in several shades of blue. I look
like I could have stepped out of an art magazine.

  My mother knocks on the side of the door frame. I see her reflection in the mirror. She’s dressed in a simple black pantsuit.

  “May I come in?” she asks.

  “I’ll never make that mistake again,” she adds, smiling.

  Mom stands behind me in the mirror and for maybe the first time I realize just how much alike we look. She has the same waves of chestnut hair and big, expressive eyes.

  “You look gorgeous,” she says to me.

  “Is Frank coming tonight?” I ask her.

  She stiffens, stepping away from the mirror.

  “I have no idea. Maybe. He’s still having a really hard time accepting that you and Derrick are… are…well, you know.”

  “In love?” I ask her.

  “Well. I’ll see you at the opening, dear. Oh, and before I forget. You do know art is in your blood, yes? Your grandmother was a fantastic painter. She had many shows in lower Manhattan, back in the day. She stopped pursuing it when she married, though.”

  I turn to face her. In my heels I stand just an inch taller.

  “Mom, I know Grandma was an artist and was kind of famous. I know you loved art and that you feel like you missed out on your true calling. I am exhibiting my work. It’s important to me. I won’t give it up.”

  She smiles. “Don’t. It’s not worth it. Love is great, but you have to be your own person too.”

  She kisses my cheek and turns on her heel. I do hope Frank shows tonight.

  Derrick is surrounded by the time I get to Atlas. It’s hard to believe it’s the same space he showed me before renovations. Inside it’s all reclaimed wood, exposed brick, touches of cerulean, industrial-looking “fighting pits,” a killer sound system. My pieces are strewn all across the walls of the space. There isn’t a wall in sight that doesn’t have a touch of me on it.

  As I make my way through the crowd, my nerves start to build. What if that woman is here? I know most all of the school is here. Then I realize that this is the first time Derrick and I are attending an event together, as a couple, out to everyone as such.

  I hear a microphone tap three times. I look up and see Derrick standing on a platform.

  “Hello!” he booms.

  The crowd erupts into raucous applause. His partner Dave is on stage with him as well. They’re both wearing the T-shirts I helped design. Black with a silver figure of Atlas, holding up the heavens. The logo is written in a deep cerulean blue, almost the same color as my dress.

  “It is with great pride that Dave and I welcome you to the opening of Atlas! We are so happy to be here. This space is going to offer so much. Please go to our website for a full list of classes and events. As you can see, we have state-of-the-art arenas… and…”

  He pauses.

  “Also, we are lucky enough to feature the work of a truly talented artist. All works you see in this space are for sale. I couldn’t have achieved this without her help and love and support. I love you, Madison.”

  The crowd erupts into three-quarters applause, one-quarter hushed whisper. Then there’s a light shining on me. I take a bow. More applause.

  “So get a drink, listen to the music, tip your bartender and have a great time.”

  Dave is smiling from ear to ear, saying nothing. The crowd applauds louder than ever as Derrick gets off the stage, disappearing into the crowd. I have to find him. Every time I try to get to Derrick, another person stops to congratulate me. I could get used to this. I make my way through the crowd and toward the back of the space. I see a woman’s locker room and decide to take a peek inside. I haven’t seen them finished yet.

  Derrick is standing, polishing a wooden bench.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  He looks up and smiles warmly.

  “Hey, baby. You look fantastic.”

  “In the women’s locker room again, are we?” I ask.

  I walk over to him, my heels making a sharp clicking noise on the hard floor.

  “I… needed a break for a moment. I was looking for you,” he says.

  I pull Derrick’s T-shirt toward me, encompassing his mouth in a kiss. I bite his lip slightly.

  “Mmmm… there’s my girl,” he says. “You smell good.”

  “Do you not see the irony of this?” I ask.

  He flips me around, lifting my skirt. I’m wearing an old-fashioned black garter belt.

  “Ooh, I like these,” he says, running his palms down my ass, over my calves.

  “They’re new,” I say, pushing my ass back.

  “I approve.”

  “Now, lean down over the bench.”

  I do as he tells me, placing my palms flat on the polished wooden surface.

  “You’re going to fuck me right here, right now?” I ask him, turning my head.

  He leans over me, his hard cock grazing my ass through his jeans. He whispers,

  “You didn’t seem to mind it the day we met.”

  He unzips and pulls my black thong to the side, rubbing my pussy with his fingers. He slaps me once, hard, on the ass.

  “You like that?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes,” I say, louder.

  “You’re afraid someone will come in, won’t you?”

  I am afraid. But the fear is making me even wetter as he slaps me again, prickles of pain erupting on my skin.

  “Fuck me, Derrick,” I say, loud.

  “There we go,” he says. “Good girl.”

  In an instant he’s inside of me, thrusting his cock hard into me from behind. My tits are bouncing back and forth and I grip the bench from each side, knuckles white. I try not to think about how much money my dress costs or how he has it bunched up over my waist. And in this moment I don’t really care. Anyone we know could come rushing in at any moment. I think back to that first time, how much I hated Derrick but how much I wanted him, immediately.

  “Yes, baby. Fuck me. Please,” I purr.

  He thrusts hard, holding on to my hips and pulling them back on his cock. He feels amazing. He starts rubbing my clit with one hand, and before long I am spasming on his cock, orgasming quicker and deeper than usual.

  He pulls out of me.

  “Turn around,” he orders.

  I sit down on the polished bench, my silk dress falling back around me. I open my mouth and guide his cock inside it hungrily, deep-throating him hard and fast. His warm come spurts into my mouth. I moan at the feel of it and swallow it down, not spilling a drop.

  I look up at him, eyes smoldering as he withdraws from me. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up, fixing his shirt. I take one finger and wipe my bottom lip.

  “God, you’re hot,” he says, running his hand to the back of my head and pulling me in close. I press my cheek to his waist, inhaling deeply the smell of cotton and freshly washed clothing, with a hint of his warm skin.

  We straighten ourselves up and head out of the locker room. No one is outside the door. He takes my hand.

  “Okay, ready?” he asks. And I am.

  Frank’s eyes meet mine as we turn the corner. He stops. He’s in a suit and I realize I’ve never seen him wear anything else. At all. We stop short.

  “This…” he begins. “This is really great, son.”

  Derrick smiles, gripping my hand tighter.

  “Thank you.”

  My lip is quivering. I’m trying my very best not to look like I just got fucked really hard. Frank reaches out his hand. Derrick drops mine, only for a moment, and shakes it.

  “I’m proud of you. Both,” he says. “Some paintings have sold already.”

  “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”

  w“Yes, thank you. I’m glad you’re here,” I say.

  Derrick takes my hand once again. We both look him in the eye and smile. Frank is not acknowledging that we’re holding hands and I am n
ot sure he ever will.

  He nods, turning to leave as stiffly as he approached. Once he’s out of our line of vision, Derrick and I both detonate with uproarious laughter.

  “Jesus. I’m really glad I shook his hand with my left hand,” he says with a wink.

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