Teach Me Dirty (9 page)

He took short hard drags on his cigarette until there was nothing left, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to cry like a little baby, waiting for the engine to start up. But it didn’t.

When I chanced a look at him he was staring through the windscreen, fingers gripping the steering wheel. I had a chance. One little chance to make it right.

“Just forget I said anything, ok? We don’t have to talk about it, I won’t even mention it, I promise, never again. It can be about art… just art… and maybe then you can bring me here again, and I won’t say a word about any of it, I promise. We can be friends… I want to be friends… please…” He sighed, loudly, and my tummy flipped. “Please, Mr Roberts, please pretend I never said anything… just pretend you never saw my sketchbook… we can pretend, right? Please just say we can pretend…”

His eyes were dark, and shadowy as the sun disappeared behind the trees, and they told me no. No, we couldn’t pretend.

“It’s much too late for that, Helen,” he said.

***

Mark

I could hear her breathing. A panicked little rabbit, desperate for reassurance. Her eyes on the footwell, fingers fidgeting in her lap.

I could feel her in my limbs, in my veins, in my clammy palms, in the pulse between my legs. I could smell her, that apple shampoo. I could almost taste it … taste her.

The key was in the ignition, but I couldn’t turn it.

And I couldn’t stop myself. Even though my inner voice was screaming, I couldn’t stop.

“Helen, look at me.”

It took her a moment. Her gaze crept up slowly, and it was one of resignation. Of sadness.

She was an orchid in a rainstorm. Fragile and captivating.

“I shouldn’t do this,” I said.

“Shouldn’t do what, Mr Roberts? You haven’t done anything…”

“Not yet…” Slowly, I reached to her, my fingers soft as they brushed a wisp of hair from her face.

Her eyes widened as I moved towards her, and the look of surprise on her face was breath-taking. She gasped, then stiffened, rigid in her seat as my lips pressed into hers, and they were as soft as I’d imagined. I cupped her face and held her still, my mouth tight to hers until I felt the tension leave her body. She sank into the seat, and her fingers found my arms and gripped, hard. And then the excitement seemed to find her. She squirmed, and wriggled, and made the sweetest little murmurs, her hands dithering and dancing their way up to my shoulders. Her lips yielded so eagerly to my tongue as I pushed my way inside, and hers met me there, hesitant and nervous and delicate.

I wasn’t delicate.

I was hungry for Helen Palmer’s mouth, and I consumed her.

The kiss was warm and soft and wet, and Helen squirmed all the harder for it as I broke away to suck at her lip. I swept my tongue across her mouth and then kissed the corners, and my fingertips grazed her neck until she shivered and moaned. I followed them there, my lips hungry for her skin, and her breath was warm in my ear.

“Yes… oh, please…”

“Is this what you want?” I said. “Tell me this is what you want.”

“Please…” she whimpered. “Please, Mr Roberts. I want… I want you… please. Please touch me…”

I kissed her slowly, my tongue tasting hers so gently, savouring everything. My fingers slipped inside her blazer to seek out her breasts, but all I could feel was fabric.

“I want to see,” I whispered. “Let me see you.”

I pressed my lips back to hers as my fingers worked down her blouse buttons, and she moaned against my mouth as I pulled down her bra cups and her breasts came free. I pulled away to admire the sight, and she closed her eyes and pinched her lip between her teeth.

She was wearing white, but it was padded, hiding away her most precious treasures. She had the softest creamy white skin, and her breasts were small and sweet, with the palest pink nipples, not even a handful, and I loved them.

“Beautiful,” I said. I stroked my fingers down her soft flesh, catching her nipples with just the slightest touch. “You like that?”

She nodded.

“Tell me.”

“Yes…” she murmured. “Yes… I like that…”

I teased her pretty nipples with the lightest of strokes, loving the way they puckered before my eyes, then pushed her further into her seat as I lowered my mouth, tracing a path with my tongue. She knew what was coming. She arched her back, and I sucked one into my mouth, relishing the taste of her gorgeous young flesh. I scraped my teeth so softly as I sucked, breathing on her skin as my fingers sought out her other nipple. Just a feather of a touch, but she took a breath, a ragged breath. I sucked until she could hear my mouth, hear the low grunts of pleasure from my throat, and until I felt her squirming in her seat. Her fingers found my hair and buried themselves against my scalp, and she held me there, held my hungry mouth to her breast.

“Mr Roberts…” she said. “Oh, God, Mr Roberts… please…”

I stopped sucking and pulled from her grip, just to see her face. Her lips were puffy and tender, and they wanted mine. Her tongue was waiting, seeking out more, more, more. Our mouths tasted and licked and sucked, and I squeezed at her sweet breasts, stroking her nipples with my thumbs until I felt her rocking her hips in time with her breath. She let her thighs fall open, slowly, so slowly, and I pulled away, far enough to see how her skirt had ridden. My fingers encouraged hers to show me more, and she coaxed the pleats higher, inching the fabric up her thighs until I could see her white panties and the darkening of wetness she’d soaked them with.

My God, she looked divine… her breath heavy, chest rising and falling… her blouse open, hanging limp at her sides… her little breasts resting on her bra cups, pale pink nipples taut and puckered. Her legs open… open for me.

“Please…” she said. “Please touch me…”

And fuck, how I nearly came in my pants. My cock jerked, and my balls ached with the need to come, but I couldn’t.

Helen was a beautiful siren, a beautiful young girl in my passenger seat. A beautiful girl in her school uniform.

And it was all wrong.

I’d fucked up.

I’d really fucked up.

I sat back in the seat with my hands in my hair, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. The car was full of Helen Palmer and her beautiful mouth and her beautiful little breasts. I wound down the window and lit up a cigarette, and Helen pulled her skirt back down over her knees, adjusting herself back in her seat.

“Mr Roberts…?”

“Shit, Helen. I’m sorry.”

“But… but it’s ok… I want it…”

And so did I.

But the twilight air and the nicotine and the guilt and the fear and the self-disgust won out, and I turned the key in the ignition.

The expression on Helen’s face broke my heart, sad and nervous as she buttoned her blouse with shaky fingers.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “Was I bad?”

“No,” I said. “You weren’t bad at all. You were wonderful.”

“So… what… what’s going on?” she whispered, and I could hear the tremble in her voice.

It took all of my resolve to put the car in gear.

***

Helen

Mr Roberts didn’t say a word as he drove us back towards town, and it felt horrible. My body still tingled, trapped in what had been, and I was still so excited that I could feel my heartbeat between my legs, and it fluttered and tickled down there. My tummy tickled, too, but not in a good way. I burned up at the thought of his eyes on my tiny tits and my silly plain white panties. Maybe Lizzie had been right; I should’ve been more
sexy
. I should have worn the pink frillies and one of those lacy push-up bras.

But he’d wanted me.

He’d wanted my tiny tits, and he’d wanted me in stupid white panties. I’d seen it in his eyes. I’d felt it in his kisses.

I brushed my lips with my fingers, and they felt strange. Different. I wished I could think of words to make it better, but none came. I just sat and churned and stewed until I was a nervous mess.

We arrived too quickly, and I wasn’t ready for it.

He pulled up at the back of my house and didn’t turn off the engine. I gathered my school things, and my hands were shaky, and suddenly there was a lump in my throat, as though this was it, over as soon as it had started.

I could feel him staring as I rooted around my bag, pretending to check I had everything. I knew I had everything.

“This was all my fault, Helen. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said, and my voice was a mousy squeak again. “Please don’t say that.”

“But I am.” He turned his head to check through the windows, but there was nobody around, just us and the occasional passing car on the main road, and the darkness of the alleyway. He sighed. “If you want to talk about this, not just with me, but with other people… if you want to tell people about this, I understand. You have every right.”

I smiled at the absurdity. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want.”

“Perhaps it shouldn’t be. I don’t deserve your protection, Helen.”

“Please don’t say that,” I said. “That’s not how I feel…”

“I should never have… this should never have…”

I shook my head to blank out his words, and the tears were coming. I could feel them springing up, but I didn’t want them to. I didn’t want to be such a little girl.

“Helen, this is all on me. My fault entirely.”

“And that’s it, is it? Just a mistake?” I closed my eyes, and scrambled for the door handle, but his hand was on my arm.

“Please don’t be upset…”

The contact broke me, and I unclipped my seat belt and moved to him. He recoiled for just a moment, but he had nowhere to go. The gearstick dug into my leg as I flung my arms around his shoulders and buried my face in his neck, and he had no choice but to let me.

“Please don’t hate me…” I said, and my voice was pathetic and timid. “I don’t want you to hate me… I couldn’t bear it…”

I felt him swallow, and then I felt his arms as they wrapped around me. He squeezed me, and it was warm, and safe, and I breathed him in, his lovely smell. “I could never hate you, Helen. I would never hate you.”

He pushed me away by my shoulders, and sighed as he saw my watery eyes. I tried to turn from him but he wouldn’t let me, his fingers gripped my chin, and then he brushed my tears away with his thumb.

“Please don’t cry.”

“But I wanted it, I really wanted it…”

He pressed his lips to my forehead and smoothed my hair, but it wasn’t like earlier. “You should go inside now, Helen.”

“We can still be friends? Please say we can still be friends…”

“We’re still friends, Helen, nothing’s changed.”

I wished I believed him. With a breath I opened the door and forced myself outside.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

I felt him watch me while I walked away. I hovered at the bottom of my garden, wishing he’d come after me, just to say something, anything. But he didn’t.

I heard the car rumble away, and I took long breaths, trying to steady my jelly legs before I made my way inside.

It took a long, long time.

***

Mark

Stupid, reckless, selfish, irresponsible bloody idiot.

I was disgusted with myself, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. Taking advantage of a young girl in my car, or watching her cry because of it.

I took out a cigarette as I cleared the road from hers, and there were only a couple left in the packet. I took a detour to the supermarket, keeping my head down as I grabbed another load from the kiosk. I had a feeling I’d need them.

I was almost back out through the door before I heard footsteps behind me. I flinched as a hand landed on my arm, nerves shot to hell.

“Mark! What a perfect coincidence! I’ve been meaning to catch up with you.” Jenny Monkton’s freckled face smiled up at me, and my guilty conscience made my heart thump. She blew a spiral of red hair from her eyes. “I rarely see you in the staffroom these days, I thought you’d disappeared from the face of the earth.”

Jenny’s drama room was at the opposite end of the complex, far enough away that we rarely crossed paths around school. That was partly it, anyway. The truth is that she’d asked me out for a drink in the year after Anna’s death, and I’d had neither the peace of mind nor the inclination to take her up on it. Things had never quite been the same between us since then.

“I’ve been busy,” I said. “So much marking, so little time.”

“Tell me about it.” She rearranged her shopping bags between her hands. “We had year seven’s drama evening tonight, just needed a few bits on the way home. It went well. Parents loved it. Shame you couldn’t make it, I’m sure the invite went out to everyone… maybe you didn’t get it…”

I looked at her bags. It was more than a few bits. “Are you walking?”

She nodded. “I should probably have considered that before getting carried away with the special offers.”

I held up my keys, capable of being a gentleman at least once this evening. “I’ll give you a lift.”

My stomach churned as she slid into the passenger seat, paranoid she’d smell Helen Palmer and our guilty tryst, but she smiled oblivious.

“I’ve been meaning to catch up with you,” she said again. “About the sixth form winter ball…”

“The sixth form ball?”

“Dan Freedman can’t supervise this year, the year nine history trip is on the same day.” I felt her eyes on me. “I was wondering if you’d be able to stand in.”

“At the ball? I’m not sure… I’m quite…”

“It’s only for a few hours,” she interrupted. “I’ll be there, and Janet Kingsley. It won’t just be a load of crazy teenagers.” She laughed. “Don’t look so worried, I’ll look after you.”

“I’m not sure I can make it.” I turned onto her estate, and as I did so I caught sight of her expression. More disappointment. I couldn’t stand the extra guilt. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” She pointed to her house and I pulled into her driveway. “This is me. Thanks for the lift. Let me at least make you a coffee, for the trouble.”

“It was no trouble.” I gestured to the back of the car, hoping she didn’t follow my gesture to the pile of sketchbooks that weren’t actually there. “Marking isn’t going to do itself, unfortunately.”

She smiled sadly. “Another time, then.”

She picked up her shopping from the footwell and I thought I’d escaped without committing to ball duties, but no such luck.

“We’re meeting Friday, to finalise the venue details, in the staffroom, it won’t take long. Can you make it?”

“What time?”

“Straight after school. Head up when you can.” She opened the car door and stepped outside before I could argue. “I’ll see you there.”

And my fate was sealed. Chaperoning a bunch of rowdy sixth formers as they partied the evening away. They’d be blind drunk, at least some of them. It happened every year, I’d heard enough of the stories to know. It really wasn’t my scene, I normally steered well clear of school social events.

I wondered if Helen would be there. In my head she seemed as ill-suited to the occasion as I did, but maybe she’d surprise me.

The prospect shouldn’t feel nearly as nice as it did, and the guilt attacked me all over again.

I’d started on the new cigarettes before I’d even made it home.

***

Helen

Lizzie had news of her own. She told me so the next morning, and again at break and lunch, insisting it was for after school only, where eavesdropping ears stood no chance of hearing us. She was practically exploding by the time we shut ourselves in my bedroom after teatime.

“Well?” I said.

She pulled a bottle from her bag and unscrewed the lid. “You ready?”

“For the drink or for the news?”

“The news, silly!” She pulled me down onto the bed with her, and she was grinning. “We did it, Scottie and me.”

I pulled a face. “But you did it ages ago…”

She rolled her eyes. “Not
that
, Hels. We did more than
that.
” She took a swig of cheap wine, and I heard it fizz. “Anal. We actually did it. And it was good, Hels, really fucking good. Oh my God, I can’t stop thinking about it. It was hot… like
really
hot. I mean, it hurt… it hurt like a bastard at first… but then, oh God, Hels, then it felt amazing… so dirty, and hot and… just…you
have
to try it, one day, I mean. It was intense.”

I smiled, tried to share her excitement. “That’s great… really great…”

And then she knew. “What happened? You cammed him again, didn’t you? What did he say this time?” Her eyes searched mine. “Or did you see him again? Is that why you couldn’t walk home? Oh shit, you did, didn’t you? Did he take you to the river again?”

My cheeks were roasting. “It’s nothing.”

She handed me the bottle, stared at me while I swigged some back. “Helen Palmer, don’t even think about holding out on me… We’re besties. Besties don’t keep secrets.”

And I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. But this felt different, bigger, the biggest secret I’d ever had.

“Helen! Seriously? I can read you like a book, and you’re majorly holding out. Tell little Lizzie everything.”

I sighed. “You couldn’t tell anyone… I’m serious about this… it’s important.” My tummy turned over itself at the thought. “It would be really bad if you did. I’m not joking.”

“Hey!” she said. “This is me you’re talking to. Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone.” She held up her fingers in some weird gesture. “Bestie’s honour.”

I laughed. “That’s not even a thing, you just made it up.”

“So? It is now.”

“Promise,” I said.

She tutted at me. “I, Elizabeth Thomas, do solemnly declare that I shall keep this secret, on pain of death, or a lifetime without ever having anal with Scottie Davis again, so help me Lord, amen.”

I covered my face with my hands. “He kissed me.”

I heard her take a breath, and peered out through a gap in my fingers. Her mouth was open, eyebrows high. “Roberts?! What? Like for real? Tongues and shit?”

And I smiled. Even though I still felt like a scared bag of nerves, I smiled. “Tongues and shit.”

She took the bottle from my fingers and chugged some back. “You’re going to have to take this from the top. I want to know everything.
Everything,
Helen Palmer!”

I took it from the top.

Lizzie’s face was a picture, and I got the flutters all over again. It was real. Really real.

“So, what now?” she asked. “You must have seen him since. What did he do? What did he say?”

And my smile disappeared. “He was normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yeah, but more normal than normal.” I recalled it in horror, the moment I set eyes on him again, after a night of tossing and turning and crying, and masturbating and chewing my nails and feeling like I was going to explode inside. “I walked into the art room, and he stared at me and I stared at him. And then he looked away.”