Love is Strange: A Taboo Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  “You've been around quite a bit I see.” She states. I can tell by the tone in her voice that she doesn’t want a response. “Well, first things first. We don’t take kindly to little rebels like you around here. We help raise well-rounded students and help mold the children of the future. One slip up of any kind from you and you are gone. And I can guarantee that no school within a two-state radius will take you once you have been booted from here. Do you understand?”

  I suck my teeth, looking at her like I couldn’t care less. “I understand you sound a bit wound up. I can help with that, if you’re up for it?” I say, grabbing my groin.

  For the first time in the past five minutes of me being in her presence, she smiles. It’s a tight one, but it’s there, wrinkling her face.

  “Strike one.” She gets to her feet and walks around her desk toward the door, my class schedule in her hand. “You’re free to leave now. Be on your best behavior, or I will happily toss you to the side to make room for someone more appreciative.”

  Rolling my eyes, I get to my feet and snatch the paper from her hand. Looking down at it, I scoff. “Hold up, dance? Is this a joke?”

  “Only if you make it into one, and I’m sure you will find a way to make that happen. Good luck, Mister Styles.”

  The door closes, and I’m left in the front office with the student volunteers staring at me from behind the desk. I smirk at the blonde who looks to be a freshman and blow her a kiss, causing her pale cheeks to turn bright red. The giggle she lets out hit my ears before I even leave.

  I look down at my schedule again and shake my head. This must be some sort of cruel fucking joke. Out of all the extra-curricular classes they offer, they put me in fucking dance class. At least my moment to get booted will come sooner rather than later. There is no way in hell I’m prancing around with a bunch of preppy ass people in tights just to get an extra credit to graduate.

  If I even graduate at all, I think to myself.

  I sigh. You know what? Fuck it! Let's see what kind of shit storm I can brew up.

  T W O

  Most of my day has been spent skipping my classes and roaming the boring halls of Grand Valley Prep. I’ve done most of the stupidest shit I could think of, just to get some kind of rise out of the wanna-be hard ass Mrs. Welch.

  After all, that is my end goal at this point. Piss her off and get kicked the fuck out so I have nowhere else to go but away. I have four months until I turn eighteen and then I can get the fuck out of dodge. If I leave now and get caught, I’ll be sent back to my parents as a runaway. If I bide my time until I’m legal, then they can’t take me somewhere I legally don’t have to be anymore. Although I’m sure they won’t appreciate me vegging out on their couch until the time comes for me to vamoose.

  “Mister Styles. How nice it is to see you.” The counselor says, her heel clicking against the tile floor. The sound is like venom to my ears, making them burn. Her voice, not the heels smacking the floor like they are trying to crack the earth open and swallow her into the pits of hell. “Are you going to class? I’m impressed you managed to skip the other five today without getting caught.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t plan on it, Mrs. Welch.” I tell her, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

  “Too bad, son. Let’s go.”

  “I’m not taking dance. There is no way in he—”

  “Mister Styles. I advise you to not only watch your language but for you to go to class. You have two warnings left, we wouldn’t want you to strike out on your first day.”

  She grabs my elbow gently and pulls me along next to her like I’m her puppy in training. I snatch my arm away but follow her anyway. She said I had to go to class, she didn’t say I had to do anything. If it gets her away from me, then I’m all for it. I can always use the excuse of having to piss to get out of class and skip.

  “Have you ever thought about your future?” Mrs. Welch says, causing me to chuckle.

  “I think about getting out of this town, away from my parents, and away from people who think they can tell me how shitty my future is going to be if I don’t ‘straighten up’ now.” I tell her gruffly.

  She can hear the sincerity in my voice, the pained honesty and the strained emotion. I can tell because for a split second, her hardened eyes look down on me and soften. We come to a stop in front of a door that says Dance Hall.

  “I went over your records after you left my office this morning. I’m not trying to sound like some sort of authority figure giving you false hope, but…” She pauses, chewing on the inside of her mouth for a moment before she continues. “You have potential. You just have to use it. Stop hating the world before it really chews you up and spits you out.”

  Rolling my eyes, I step past her and open the door, “Sorry, Mrs. Welch, but to sound like the punk kid, it’s not gonna fucking happen.”

  The door closes louder than expected, causing the class to turn their stares toward me. There are some people stretching, some are standing around, and a few were dancing. I just look at them the same way they’re looking at me, with disdain and disgust. I shake my head and walk over the wall that has a floor to ceiling mirror on it and sit down, putting my legs out in front of me. Reaching into my barren backpack, I grab my phone. Plugging in my headphones, I put on Pandora and turn the volume on blast.

  My black ripped jeans are my view for the next forty minutes while everyone else snickers and whispers whatever they please about the new kid who looks like he came from the projects. Funny thing is, I came from the same block as most of them. I just act different and dress different because if I were to be a carbon copy of my parents, like they are to theirs, I wouldn’t be the class act I am today.

  I can feel my earphones being pulled from my ears, causing me to open my eyes. A tall figure stands before me with black hair, ominous blue eyes, and an hour-glass figure that instantly grabs ahold of my attention. I smirk before getting to my feet.

  “May I ask what you’re still doing in my class?” She asks, her voice smooth like silk.

  “Sitting.” I reply, leaning back against the wall, “Was there something else I was supposed to be doing? Or someone, perhaps?”

  She smiles, “Aren’t you cute? You must be Ryan?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, thank you for gracing us with your presences, but class is over now.” She states, looking around at the now empty room.

  I take a brief moment to really take in her beauty. Her skin is flawless and milk white. Her legs seem to go on for miles until they come to a very sudden halt against her wide hips and slender waist. Her tits are perky, sitting perfectly against her chest. When I get to her heart-shaped face, I can see her cheeks are flushed but her eyes are giving me a death glare. I smirk unapologetically.

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t look at me like that,” she says, standing a bit taller. That does nothing to help her height as I stand at six-foot-two. She looks to be about five-foot-four, give or take an inch. “I will see you tomorrow, Ryan. I do expect you to actually participate, though, if you want to pass my class. Even if you don’t, you still have to do something besides sit there and act like you are better than everyone else.”

  I would be lying if I said her words didn’t bite, but I ignore the small sting they left and move toward her. She coils back, like a snake getting ready to strike. I stop right in front of her, my chest brushing against hers as she stares up at me.

  “Maybe tomorrow I can be doing someone, if I have to do something.” I whisper, using my finger to push a stray hair out of her face. I can hear the faint intake of air as she steps back.

  “Or maybe I can have you expelled for harassment.” She says, looking at me with a deadly serious stare. “Bring something appropriate and comfortable. I have a lot for you to learn.”

  With that, she turns on her heel and heads toward a door off in the corner of the room, her hips swaying the entire time, then slams the door. I groan, going against my better judgement and actually thinki
ng maybe this won’t be so fucking bad after all. That is if I can ease her out of that leotard and ease her onto my dick.

  T H R E E

  EMILY

  There are some days I have to wonder how it was exactly I wound up as a dance instructor. My dream was not to be teaching teenagers how to curtsey or plié. I had a plan all mapped out in front of me and then—and then I settled for way less than what I set out for.

  I guess my job isn't all bad, though. I get to help kids chase their dreams and show them the true art form of dance that was taught to me by some amazing teachers. A few of these kids don't need my help and others are simply a lost cause. I guess that’s why I’m here, really. If I want to look at the bigger picture—I’m here to help the lost cause find some kind of direction.

  I let out a soft sigh as I stand up and stretch. Class doesn’t start for another five minutes and I like to be fully prepared for when those rowdy kids walk into my dance hall. I've worked at Grand Valley Prep for over ten years now and have seen so many faces come and go. A lot of my students get scholarships to amazing schools like Julliard or Fordham University. Then there are some who simply join for the extra credit.

  And then you have students like Ryan, who are tossed in here to fend for themselves because life hasn't been unfair enough. That boy is something else. Never in my entire time of working here have I had to deal with someone so heinous as him. Yesterday pissed me off entirely, yet after he left I found myself feeling sorry for him. I was warned about him and how he acts from Mrs. Welch, but I didn't think it was going to be that bad.

  He has this swag about him, this no-fucks-given exterior. Like he is trying to hide something. In the few short minutes I had with him, I could tell he was going to be trouble if something—or someone—didn’t help him find his way.

  He is one of those lost causes I was talking about. No sense of direction because he has never had anyone to guide him. Who knows, I could be completely wrong, and he could very well just be this little asshole who deserves to be taught some real manners. I have a feeling it’s not the latter, though.

  Just as I turn around to walk over to the door and open it, I run into a hard body.

  His hard body.

  “Jesus. You scared me!” I blurt out loudly, pushing myself off him “What are you doing here?”

  “Class starts in one minute.” He replies with a smirk on his face. “I wanted to get a good view before all the young ones come piling in and steal you away from me.”

  I swallow hard, my chest becoming heavy with the weight of his words. Standing tall, I shake my head and scold him. “If you’re going to be in my class, Ryan, you will respect me.” I tell him. “Excuse me, I have to open the door for the other students.”

  Stepping around him, I walk toward the door and attempt to steady my heart rate that seems to have quickened. His words were forceful, hitting all the wrong spots and making me feel so many things I shouldn’t toward a student. Mostly anger, because his is so damn disrespectful. But deep down in the pit of my stomach, those same words that piss me off, conjure up a familiar burn that only my husband has been able to stir up. That’s right—I said husband. As in married. As in a teenager should not be able to make me feel things my HUSBAND makes me feel.

  The cold air from the hallway swarms me as I open the door just as the bell rings. Students fill the hall as they head to their next class. My focus for the day will be to help Maria with her stance and Kira with her plié. Everyone else has their own routines to practice for the winter’s formal performance. My seniors have worked hard for this formal and I know they are going to kill it when the time comes.

  “I like this black leotard on you.” Ryan says from behind me, his chest brushing against my back.

  “I will give you one more—HEY!” I spin around and slap his hand away when I feel it grab my lower thigh, right under my butt cheek. “Are you trying to get kicked out here? You’ve been here all of two days!”

  “Eh, if it happens, it happens. But for the time being, my sights are set on something better than being tossed out on my ass like the trash I am.”

  His last remark makes my heart sting, but when he smirks, that stings turns sour and I scowl at him. “Get in there, change into whatever clothes you brought—if you brought any—and sit down. Wait for my instructions. And do not touch me again.”

  His laugh resonates through the empty room and vibrates me to my core. I try to keep the scowl on my face, but I find it hard with him looking at me the way he is. He has dimples. And light brown eyes like Brandy, so intoxicating I could get drunk off them with a simple stolen glance. Shaking my head, I move by him quickly and mentally kick myself for taking him in like that. I am his superior, I should not do things like that.

  Soon after the bell rings, the once empty dance hall has my sixteen students inside, plus Ryan who is sitting in the same spot he was yesterday listening to music. I will leave him be for today, seeing how he has already gotten himself into deep shit with me from the encounter earlier.

  Just get though today, I think to myself, just get through the day.

  F O U R

  The aroma of dinner hits my nose the second I walk into my home. One of the many amazing qualities my husband has is he can cook. He owns one of the biggest restaurants in town and is working with a few people on possibly franchising.

  I met my husband in high school when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. We’ve been together ever since. High school sweethearts if you will, that old cliché. I love him, though, cliché or not. We have been through many ups and many downs, but we always seem to find the one we feel in love with, no matter how we evolve over the years.

  “Hey, babe. You’re home early!” He says when he sees me, then turns around quickly toward the stove.

  “Yeah, I didn’t stay after today. What are you doing?” I ask him, trying to peek around him. He brushes me off, laughing at my poor attempt to see around his tall frame.

  “You’ll see after dinner.” He says, using his butt to push me back, “Go clean up so we can eat.”

  I use my foot to kick him on the backside before I turn around and walk toward our bedroom. My fingers glide against the beige painted walls, my feet crush against the beige carpet and for the life of me, I can’t remember when I started to hate this color. Right this second, though, I’m not very fond of it. Maybe I’ll paint it this weekend, I think to myself as I begin to strip out of my black leotard.

  “I like this black leotard on you.”

  His words cross my mind, but just as quickly fade as I push them out. How is that, even at home, he can get under my skin? That boy is nothing but trouble, but it’s not in my nature to turn away someone who obviously has no one. Or so it seems—again, I could be way off about him because I’ve only been around him twice. And in those times, I’ve either berated him like a child or he was off in his own world with his headphones in, ignoring any and all human interaction.

  “Emily?” Dan says, scaring me. “What are you doing? I’ve been calling you for ten minutes.”

  “I—I’m sorry, I was distracted.” I tell him, stuffing my clothes into the hamper.

  “You were smelling your leotard.” He says, scrunching his face.

  “Was I?” I say, my voice going up an octave or two. “Is dinner finished?” I ask, changing the subject before I have to figure out how to answer whatever question he throws at me next. I hadn’t even realized I was smelling my clothes, and to be honest, I don’t know why I was. I’ve never done that before.

  “Yeah, hurry up before it gets cold.” Dan says, then walks out of the room.

  Quickly, I change into some pajamas before I head into the bathroom to brush my hair and wash my face. Maybe a little cold water will bring my nerves back down to plant earth.

  Once I’m finished cleaning up for dinner, I head for the kitchen. My stomach begins to growl the closer I get—whatever he cooked is assaulting my nose. I can smell a hint of garlic and maybe basil. Over the
years, I have learned quite a bit about spices, their smells, and what pairs well with what. One of the many perks of having a chef for a husband.

  As I enter the kitchen, a loud pop meets my ears. Dan smiles brightly as wine mists up from the bottle he just opened.

  “What’s going on?” I ask him curiously. The smile on his face is infectious, causing one of my own to spread across my face.

  “I signed with Cobeck to franchise the restaurant today!” He says excitedly.

  “Oh—oh my God! Dan! That’s amazing!” I screech before wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’m so proud of you!”

  Dan leans down, then kisses me gently. A soft moan slips between my lips as he deepens it. Reaching up, my fingers curl into his shaggy brown hair. I feel his hands slide down my back, then wrap around my legs as he lifts me up and begins to carry me out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. I guess dinner can wait a little while longer.

  Dan pushes the door open with his foot, then walks briskly over to the bed before laying me down and dropping to his knees. His hands work my pajama bottoms off, then my panties.

  “Dan,” I whisper breathlessly into the silent air as he kisses my inner thigh. My head rolls to the side and my gaze falls on the hamper.

  “I like this black leotard on you.”

  I close my eyes, trying to rid my head of the echo. Focusing on my husband, I wrap my fingers into his hair again as he feasts on me like I’m his last meal. My chest rises and falls heavily as I breath; inhaling desire, exhaling the fire that’s growing inside of me. When I open my eyes, I look at the hamper again and the echo of his smooth voice fills my head, causing that familiar build in the pit of my stomach to come faster than normal. Ryan's face crosses my mind. His dimples and intoxicating brandy colored eyes. His scent fills my senses even though he is nowhere near me.