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“It’s just fun,” she said. “Lighten up. Show me what he did to you, I want to see.”
“You’re drunk.”
“A little,” she giggled back. “But so what? So are you.” She lowered her face to my tits and looked up at me, and she was doing that sexy thing again. My skin prickled. “Did he do this, Hels?”
I gasped as she flicked her tongue over my nipple.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m just playing…” Her breath was on me, and it made me shudder. “I bet he loved your cute tits, Hels.”
She was still giggling as she sucked on me, and her fingers reached up to tease my other nipple, just like Mr Roberts had done. Suddenly I was back in his passenger seat, nervous and hot and needy. I let out a strange little moan, and I wanted to rock my hips, wanted to touch where the tingles were.
“Lizzie… this is… this is weird…”
But she didn’t answer me.
“Lizzie… this feels…”
She sucked harder and it made me squirm. I could feel Mr Roberts’ hair under my fingers, remembered the way I’d held him to me. Lizzie’s fingers were rougher, they pinched and flicked and she used her teeth to nip me.
“Lizzie… wait… stop…”
But I was already rocking, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. And it was easy then, so easy to pretend it was him. I shifted position, until I was sitting on my heel, and rocking felt so good.
“Oh God, Lizzie, I want him to touch me again…” I whispered. “Oh please, please, let him touch me again…”
I heard her moan, and it felt so nice against my skin.
“I want to touch him, Lizzie… I want to see him… I want to suck him… I want to know how he tastes…” I rocked harder. “I want him inside me… Lizzie, oh God, I want him to fuck me… I need him to fuck me… he’s all I want… I want Mr Roberts…”
But she wasn’t Mr Roberts.
She was Lizzie.
“Stop…” I said. “Lizzie, stop, this is… just… weird.”
I pushed her away by her shoulders and she pulled a face when I pulled my bra back into place. “You said you’d do what I said! Jeez, Hels.”
“I just… I want Mark…”
“Oh, so he’s Mark now, is he?” She smiled but for a second her eyes didn’t. “I bet you didn’t tell Mark it was weird when he played with your tits, did you?”
I didn’t even have an answer. She was still giggly, but her shoulders were tense.
“You’re no fun tonight, Helen Palmer.” She poked her tongue out.
And then there was a knock. A loud knock. And I leapt from the bed like a rocket, eyes wide as I flung myself against the door. The handle turned down, and the door bounced open just a bit before my weight pushed it shut again.
Another loud knock. “Helen?” Mum’s voice sounded through. “Your dad will take Lizzie home now, you have school tomorrow…”
Lizzie rolled around on the bed, stifling giggles, but I wasn’t sure it was so funny.
“Ok, Mum… We’ll be right down.”
My heart was racing and I felt all screwed up. I did my buttons up quickly, but I stayed in position until I heard Mum heading back downstairs.
Lizzie was still laughing, as though this was the funniest thing in the whole universe.
And I laughed, too.
I laughed because it was just a silly game. Just silly practice for Mr Roberts. That’s all.
She got her bag and hugged me tight and she was back to normal.
“You need to think about going on the pill, Hels.”
“The pill?” I laughed. “He doesn’t even want to see me again.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Oh, but he will. He will do it again.”
I hoped so. How I hoped so.
“Oh, and you should shave,” she grinned. “Your pussy, I mean. I did it last week, Scottie went mad for it. Roberts will love it, too.”
“He will?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, he will. Definitely.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Trust me, Helen, I know what I’m talking about.” She planted a wet kiss on my cheek, complete with smacking noise. “Catch you tomorrow, bestie.”
I walked her downstairs and waved her off from the front door, and she blew me a kiss as Dad drove her home.
And then I felt weird. And nervous. And alone.
Really alone.
I considered firing up the cam diary, but decided against it.
Alone would just have to do for now.
I stared after the car.
Was she right?
Would he really want to touch me again?
***
Mark
I wasn’t waiting for her. Wasn’t watching the clock as the lessons ticked by, wondering where she was, and if she was ok, and if she was thinking about me. I wasn’t preoccupied with Helen Palmer, because teachers don’t get fixated on their teenage students.
I’d always been a poor liar, especially to myself.
My mind could ramble through any rationalisations it wanted, but the truth of the matter was in my gut.
