Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  I would be that teacher.

  Just a teacher.

  But a good teacher. A great teacher. The teacher an exquisite soul like Helen Palmer deserved.

  I turned Jagger back on and poured myself another wine.

  ***

  Helen

  You’re not alone.

  My heart was pounding with the need to tell Lizzie, but I was scared to. The words felt fragile, a quiet sentiment in the stillness that I feared would shrivel into nothing if spoken aloud. Speculation would be dangerous, a simple scoff from Lizzie could crush my flutter of hope, and yet the opposite was so much more dangerous. The what ifs could pound me into putty.

  I held those words tight inside.

  You’re not alone.

  One little utterance on my chat window had picked me up from the floor. And I was going to paint the panto set. Go Mum and her powers of Dad persuasion.

  Maybe I wasn’t so alone after all.

  “So, what did you say to him?” Lizzie jabbed me in the arm, smiling her pretty little face off. “I so know you cammed for him last night. Don’t go holding out on me.”

  I kept walking, focused on the cloud of my breath in the frosty morning. “Just stuff… art stuff.”

  “Oh come onnnnnnn. Seriously?! That’s all you’ve got for me?!”

  I shrugged. “It’s a coaching video, what did you expect me to say to him?”

  She grabbed me so hard her satchel swung around to thump me on the ass, and her mouth was at my neck, warm against cold skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Mr R, let’s play school, I’ll be the naughty little girl, you can be big bad teacher man.” Her mock kisses were squelchy, they tickled.

  I pushed her away. “Yeah, right.”

  She groaned. “You need to up your game if you’re going to land him anytime in the next lifetime, Hels.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “This isn’t a game. I’m not playing at anything, I’m just… talking.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Are you for real? You have the best opportunity in like, forever, and you’re going to be all puritan about it?”

  “I’m not being a puritan, I just don’t want to wreck it.” The thought of blowing it all made me feel sick. I resumed walking. “Being an idiot slut on webcam could ruin everything.”

  She matched her pace to mine. “I wasn’t being serious about the teacher game, Hels, I just mean you should seize the moment. Seduce him.”

  “Seduce him?” I laughed at the absurdity. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. How the hell could I seduce him? He’s a man. An actual proper man. He’s not Scottie, Lizzie, he’s not going to go all goggle-eyed over a little bit of cleavage and some dirty words.” I looked down at my chest and smiled. “Just as well, too.”

  “You have cute tits, Helen Palmer. More than enough to get a man like Roberts all steamy.”

  “Thanks… I think.” I squeezed her elbow. “I appreciate the vote of confidence.” We halted our conversation as a couple of year seven lads came charging past. Their blazers were too big, and they were still playing at being army soldiers on their way to school. How could I ever seduce a man like Mr Roberts while I was dressed like every other kid in town? I waited until the lads were out of earshot. “How is he ever going to want me when I’m dressed like a child every time he sees me? Why do we have to live in the most backwater place on the planet? Most sixth forms don’t even have uniform anymore.”

  She smirked. “But you look so cute in it. Maybe you should get some white socks, put your hair up in pigtails… get some sweet little Lolita shoes… maybe that will get his interest.”

  “Can you even imagine the abuse I’d get from the Jennings’ posse? She’d never ever ever ever ever stop laughing at me.”

  “Fuck Sarah Jennings and her bitch brigade.”

  “It wouldn’t even work anyway.”

  We reached the end of Oakfield alley, and Lizzie grabbed my arm to hold me back. She pulled out her cigarettes and sparked one up. “The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

  Sarah Jennings’ bitchy smirk flashed before my eyes. “You can say that again.”

  “I mean you, not Sarah bitch-face Jennings.” She offered me her cigarette but I waved it away. “Think about the siren myths, mermaids tempting sailors to their doom and all that. The sailors always go. They totally fall for that shit, every time. You need to be the siren, you need to call him out to you, he’ll totally go for that kind of thing. I mean he’s an arty type, all deep and mysterious and… I dunno…”

  “And totally not interested?” I folded my arms. “I can’t be a siren. I’m just a crazy weirdo.”

  “You’re no weirdo, Hels.” She took a couple of long drags then stubbed out the remnants with her shoe. “And he totally is interested. How many other teachers do you think are cam-buddying all cosy with their students?”

  “Coaching.”

  Her eyes dug into mine. “Why are you being so utterly defeatist? You told the guy you love him! He saw your dirty pictures! Shit, Helen, he took you for a cosy ride to his special spot and now he’s watching you spill your quirky little guts over webcam! If that’s not interested, I don’t know what is.” She tutted at me. “You should be happy. This is progress beyond epic progress.”

  I turned away, staring at the stragglers in the distance making their way through the school gates. “I’m scared.”

  “Scared? Of what?”

  “Scared of everything. Of getting carried away, of getting my hopes up. Scared of making an idiot of myself and watching every dream I’ve had in this place fall away from me.” I shrugged. “Scared of thinking this could ever be more and being shot down. I couldn’t stand it, Lizzie. I’d rather never know.”

  “So, what? You just do nothing? Defeated?”

  “No!” I shook my head at her. “I’m doing everything! You can’t say I haven’t been brave. I told the man I loved him. I actually said it.” My cheeks burned at the memory.

  She swung an arm around my waist as we walked on. “You are brave, and cool, and cute, and smart, and quirky as hell. And you have super-dirty pics in your sketchbook. What’s not to love? Believe me, Helen Palmer, you can totally siren the guy in. Trust me, I’m one hundred million percent sure about that.”

  I smiled. “I wish I was so sure.”

  “You should be.” We passed through the gates, officially on school turf, and my stomach lurched at the sight of his car in the corner of the car park. “I’ll help you,” she grinned. “I know this stuff, I used it on Scottie.”

  “What stuff?”

  “The art of seduction,” she whispered. “I have secret ways.”

  I laughed aloud. “Now this I have to see.”

  “Mock all you like,” she smirked. “It’s in my Romany bloodline.” We separated at the entrance to the English block and she blew me a kiss goodbye. “Trust me, Hels, the man is all yours.”

  Tingles ran through me at her words.

  ***

  I finally found my voice, but it came out more mousy than I’d intended. A pathetic little squeak, hardly a siren calling.

  “I’m not keeping you, am I? I can go…”

  Mr Roberts looked up from the paperwork he was reading, and then he took his glasses off. I liked his glasses, he didn’t wear them very often, but when he did they made me a bit giddy. They suited him, made him look like an art professor, geeky and creative and, well, hot.

  “No, you’re not keeping me. I have plenty to be getting on with.”

  I looked at the clock above his head. Thirty minutes since the end bell had sounded, and I’d dawdled, hovering around my painting even longer than usual. I’d already sent Lizzie a message saying I’d give walking home with her a miss. In truth I didn’t know quite what I was waiting for. The picture in front of me was all but finished, I was tweaking tweaks I’d already made, adding scratchy little lines of nothing. The river was already perfect, its grey-brown water babbling and playing across the canvas, reflectin
g the rainclouds overhead.

  Mr Roberts dropped his paperwork and got to his feet. My hands started shaking.

  He propped himself against the art bench beside me, and his palm landed on the corner of my sketchpad. My secret sketchpad. I tore my eyes away and loaded my brush up with paint. I could smell him, the woody fragrance of his aftershave, only he hadn’t shaved. His jaw was dark with the shadow of stubble, working with the dark curls of his hair to make him appear more mysterious than usual. Deeper. Darker. Sexier.

  “I’m glad you stayed late. I wanted to talk to you. I meant to add more comments last night, before we were disconnected.”

  My pulse sped up. “It was my mum… they never wait, they just knock and come in. It’s not even a proper knock, it’s like a tap and boom, they’re in there. It’s not privacy, it’s more like a cursory announcement.” I gripped the brush to still my shaking hand then painted over the brown of the soil with the exact same brown. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, I just…”

  “It’s ok, Helen. It’s fine.”

  I daren’t meet his eyes. I was too afraid of seeing something bad, something dismissive, or apologetic, or patronising. He smoothed his tie. It was his green one, dark, like a forest.

  “It’s hard, being different, being creative. Finding your feet in a world of normality, feeling the pressure of people around you. You’re right, I do get it.”

  Self-consciousness battered me, made me shy. “I was just, talking, I was… I felt… alone. I felt alone then. But I’m fine now.” I smiled a fake happy smile. “I’m totally fine, I don’t always feel like that. I’m good, I mean.”

  “You didn’t sound fine.” I could feel his eyes on me.

  “I’m fine now. It’s just… family, life, stuff. Sometimes it feels hard.”

  “Sometimes it is hard.”

  His tone. So strong, so… safe.

  I made myself breathe. “Sometimes.”

  He moved, appeared at my shoulder, staring at my canvas and my skin prickled at his closeness. “You’ve captured it well. I guess it made an impression. I’m glad.” I could hear his smile in his voice. “It’s nice to find someone who appreciates the beauty in the things I find beautiful.” His fingers traced one of the trees. “I love the twist of these branches. I’ve spent a lot of time admiring them.”

  “It looks like a hand,” I said. I raised my own hand instinctively, gesturing at the curve of the branch I’d considered a thumb, and for the briefest moment my fingers collided with his, skin against skin, and it sparked and jolted me. My fingers jumped away but his followed, curling around mine. His hand was warm, his grip strong.

  “You aren’t alone, Helen, not even when it feels that way.” His voice was low and kind. I couldn’t even breathe evenly, couldn’t think of anything but the heat of his touch. “Creative spirits will always find their own, and you have your own place in this world, I promise. You’ll find your own kind, you’ll find where you belong, and in the meantime you can always talk, if you need to.” He let go of my hand, and my fingers dithered, lost. “I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Mr Roberts, I…” No words would come.

  He saved me the awkwardness. “You’re right, it does look like a hand. I’ve often thought so. It’s a shame it lost its leaves early this year, you’d have loved the colours.”

  And I was sad I’d missed it. I forced my attention back to my art. “Autumn colours are my favourite. It’s like the world is doing a farewell dance before winter takes its breath. One final explosion, a celebration of life before the world turns grey.”

  “I like that. Your analogy makes perfect sense. I like the way you see things, Helen.”

  “That’s because you see the same things.” The words came out unbidden. My eyes flitted to his for just a moment, and my cheeks burned. “An artist’s eye.”

  “That, too, makes perfect sense, but I think it’s more than that.”

  My little heart beat like a drum. “You do?”

  He made to speak, his lips poised in expression, but the creak and clank of the door opening stopped him in his tracks. He stepped away from me, recoiling as though he shouldn’t be at my side, and the space felt like a chasm, the mood broken. A cleaner backed through the open door, uncurling a bin liner and shaking it until it billowed wide. It took her a moment to realise the room wasn’t empty.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll come back.”

  “No need, we were just wrapping up.” His voice was back in teacher mode, self-assured and calm, without a hint of fluster. “Are you ready to go, Helen?”

  I nodded, grabbed my palette to empty into the sink but he took it from my hands and gestured instead to my scattering of art supplies. He washed up my palette as I packed, and my heart wouldn’t stop thumping.

  I’d missed a moment, and I knew it.

  The cleaner emptied the bins, then began wiping down the surfaces, and Mr Roberts finished up at the sink and then grabbed his bag ­— a well-worn satchel like Lizzie’s minus the glitter. He waited in the doorway until I was done packing my things. I followed him out into the dim corridor, and further still, stepping through the main entrance and into the outside air. It was a bright but chilly afternoon, a gust of wind chasing leaves around my shoes, but it was nice. He took a few steps in the direction of his car, easy to see now that the car park was virtually empty.

  I held up a hand as I set off in the opposite direction. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Good evening, Helen.”

  He took his car keys from his pocket, and I heard them jangle as I walked away.

  His voice caught me off guard. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

  I turned on the spot. “Sorry?”

  “Are you on a schedule? Do you need to be home?”

  I shrugged, then realised how stupid a gesture that was. “I have dinner, at six… Mum’s cooking pork…” I smiled. “No, I don’t have anywhere to be. Not yet.”

  He smiled back. “Then let me show you something else I find beautiful.”

  ***

  Mark

  I tried to convince myself that this was innocent, but I felt like a condemned man from the moment Helen slipped into the passenger seat. I daren’t drive through town, innocent or not, so I took the long route, weaving through a maze of country lanes only to circle wide and head back towards Deerton Heath and home turf. Helen didn’t ask where we were headed. She just stared through the window at the blur of hedgerows, fingers tapping her bare knees compulsively, nervously, a gentle smile on her lips.

  A straggly drift of cloud cleared, and the late afternoon sun found the car. She relaxed into the seat, eyes narrowed against the glare, eyelashes fluttering. The light kissed her hair, and the brown wisps around her face turned auburn, glowing like embers. She dared a glance in my direction, and her eyes caught mine staring back. She looked away in a heartbeat, but her smile widened and a thrill ran through me. I had to drag my attention back to the road.

  I steered the car off the beaten track, and we rumbled our way across the cattle grid, where the hedgerows turned wild, with trees that stretched overhead. When the track turned to nothing but grassy dirt, I pulled the car onto the verge, parking up in my usual spot. I unclipped my seat belt and Helen mirrored me, stepping out into the country air with a cute little bounce.

  She looked almost out of place here. The starkness of school uniform, pleated skirt and black socks. A taboo alone in the countryside. Her enticing loveliness heightened by nature itself.

  I gestured to the fence and she accompanied meekly, her steps light.

  I made easy work of the fence. A leg up and over in a flash before I beckoned Helen to follow. She looked at me from the other side, then looked down at her bare legs and the precarious modesty the pleats of her skirt offered. I felt the twitch in my groin and savoured the sight of her. A beautiful thing.

  “I’ve got you,” I encouraged, and my arms were alre
ady out for her, coaxing her across.

  She stepped up onto the middle rung and swung a nervous foot over, pinching the top rail between her thighs. I wanted to believe that I was only interested in steadying her as my hands reached for her waist. I wanted to believe that my body pressed itself against hers purely to ensure she didn’t lose her footing on the dismount. I wanted to believe I didn’t take a breath of her soft hair and didn’t thrill at the way she smelled of apple shampoo and innocence. I wanted to believe I wasn’t getting hard.

  Her feet landed with a gentle thump, setting her onto solid ground without a hitch, but I remained still, glued to the spot with Helen’s back against my chest.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “Steady?” I asked, and the question was entirely redundant, an excuse to snake my hungry fingers further around her waist. Her flesh was firm, her belly just the slightest little curve under my splayed hand.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” she said, and her tone was so soft, so oblivious.

  I didn’t take my hands from her, not even when she turned in my arms. Her movement made it so easy for my fingers slip inside her blazer, tight against the small of her back with nothing but her flimsy school blouse separating skin from skin. She looked up at me, and I felt her shiver. She took a little breath, and her eyes were full of nerves, her cheeks flushed.

  “I… um… this place is amazing, Mr Roberts…”

  So innocent.

  An innocent little girl with a sketchbook full of fantasies.

  “We’re not there yet,” I said, and my voice had a tremor to it. “There’s a brook, amongst the trees. Just a little walk.”

  “Great.” She flashed me a sweet smile and I couldn’t take my eyes from her perfect mouth. “I can’t wait.”

  But she didn’t move, and neither did I.

  Here, in this place, Mr Roberts the teacher was nowhere to be seen, here I was only Mr Roberts the man, and that man was wanting.

  Wanting the clammy heat between Helen Palmer’s tender thighs, wanting the hard nubs of her nipples against my palms. Wanting her tight, young pussy, the feel of her tongue around my cock. Wanting to hear her gasp, and whimper, and come under my fingers, the way I’d listened to her come under hers.