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“As I was saying, you should select a part of the arrangement you feel is inspiring. See your picture. Frame it with your fingers if it helps you visualise it. And then focus on shape and colour rather than object. Focus on the play of light, and the texture and the shapes within the shapes, the negative shapes between objects. Focus on bringing your chosen piece to life.” I watched Helen unpack her sketchpads. “Everyone set?”
Silence.
“Good.”
I went to my desk as the room descended into squeaking stools and chatter, and turned my attention to my lesson plans, but all I could see was Helen. All I could feel was Helen.
Her heel tap, tapped, and her cheeks blushed, and she pushed her hair behind her ear compulsively. And then she looked at me.
Our eyes met and the chatter in the room faded beneath my rushing pulse. The room became hot, and tense, and small. Sizzling with… knowing… sizzling with the memory of her sweet little moans as she came for me over the telephone, the sight of her swollen pussy lips as she pushed those fingers inside.
I was hard, and I really shouldn’t be.
An hour’s lesson has never gone so slowly. I was parched, and my throat was scratchy and dry. I distracted myself with the class, but it didn’t help any. All the still life questions in the universe couldn’t distract me from the willowy, beautiful siren of a girl at the back of the room. Her eyes were big and filled with secrets, secrets only I knew, and they pulled at me, and twisted me up, and excited me. I could feel her gaze on me, and the tension felt like heaven and hell all rolled into one.
My heart was racing by the time the lunch bell sounded. I gathered the year sevens’ drawings and stacked them in a pile, and Helen waited and watched, quietly and curiously until the door swung closed behind the stragglers. She joined me at my desk as I put away the sketches, and I could smell her, taste her. The hint of her pale thighs tempted me from under her school skirt, and she knew it. She checked out the playground through the window over her shoulder, then angled herself so that her back was facing every possible pair of eyes out there.
And then she opened her blazer, just enough that I saw the hard little bullets of her nipples poking through her blouse.
No bra.
Lord save my soul.
“I, um… I thought you might…” She looked at me, and there was nervous Helen again. “Nobody, um… nobody can see, not when I’ve got the blazer on… but I thought you might… like it…”
I stood and checked the corridor through the door windows and there wasn’t a soul out there. “Helen, you’re going to be the ruin of me.”
She took a little step back. “Doesn’t it make you happy? You said that… you said you liked it… when I was in your shirt…”
My throat was bone dry. “It makes me very happy, but I maintain you’re going to be the ruin of me. This is more temptation than I can bear.”
“So don’t…” she whispered. “There’s nobody here. I thought you… you could… touch…”
“Christ, Helen. We’re playing with fire as it is, any more and we’ll be bathing in it.”
She smiled a beautiful, sly little smile. “I told you… I told you I was naughty… and last night, you saw me, and now I… I want to see you…”
“What?” I said. “You have no bra on under your blouse, and you want to see me?”
She nodded. “I just thought it might… make you… horny…”
The nerves in her eyes would have made me smile if my own weren’t so jangled.
“Helen, we can’t do this.”
She looked so disappointed. “But I’ll be really careful… I’ve thought this out… you can show me a book on Picasso, the one you normally show me… and we can talk… just like we’ve done before. We’ve done that before at lunchtime. Loads of times…”
“Loads of times when I wasn’t thinking about your nipples poking through your blouse, Helen. I’ll lose my job. This could spiral, and explode in my face, and I’ll be thrown out.”
Her eyes were so serious. “I would never let that happen. I’ll be so careful. I promise. I promise more than anything.”
I sighed. “What’s happening to me? Why am I even having this conversation?” I put my hands behind my head. “You should get off to lunch, and I should be a teacher, at least conserve some semblance of professional dignity.”
“You are dignified,” she smiled. “And you’re amazing, and talented, and brilliant, and enigmatic, and wonderful.” Her cheeks had a fine blush. “And hot, and the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen, and I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting this…”
