Forbidden Lessons

by Noël Cades

  Laura laughed. "He’s so creepy. I can’t believe so many Sixth Form girls have fallen for him in the past."

  Susie shuddered. "More fool them. Any St Duncan’s boy would be better than that."

  "Don’t you worry at all about getting found out?" Laura asked Susie. "If you got caught with Darius I mean, and expelled."

  "No, not really."

  "Wouldn’t your parents be mad?"

  "No madder than before. They’d send me somewhere else again, and I’d see how I liked it," Susie said.

  "My parents would be devastated." With the euphoria wearing off, Laura was starting to worry.

  "You can stop you know, if it’s more stress than it’s worth."

  Could she? Laura felt she was a different person now. She couldn’t undo what was done. The funny thing was that she also felt more like her old self than she had done in weeks. Since she first saw him. He had changed her into something new, and yet part of her had been changed back.

  * * *

  Margery lay in her bed, desperately unhappy. She had been woken by the sounds of Laura and Susie creeping out. She had no idea where they were going. Charlotte was fast asleep.

  She felt lonelier than ever. All the others seemed to think what Laura was doing was fascinating and wonderful, but it worried her sick. It didn’t help that her own father was a teacher, and a languages teacher as well. Somehow she felt it to be a personal wrong.

  Then there was this awful dance in a couple of weeks’ time. Her dread at the thought of it was growing. If there was any way she could have escaped it she would have done so. If only it was on the Friday night she could have got her father to pick her up early for half-term.

  But the Lower School dance was on the Thursday night, so she had no choice but to endure it. And endure the next day of gossiping and post mortems which in many ways would be even worse.

  Could she pretend to be ill? She had foresight enough to know that Grace Grant would smell a rat at the timing, and practically force her to go.

  She hadn’t managed to buy anything more suitable to wear at the weekend. And she couldn’t explain it to her father because he would just say that she had lots of clothes. The thought of the rah-rah skirt, hanging in the wardrobe, hung even more heavily on her heart. She would be a laughing stock.

  * * *

  Laura had deliberately not showered that evening so the memory of Mr Rydell would still be all over her skin for one more night. Still chilled from the cold night air she hugged herself under the blankets, wishing she was with him. They hadn’t made any concrete plans of when and where to meet next.

  Her diary had been sadly neglected but it had fulfilled its purpose. Its pages were no good to her anymore now her fantasies had risen off them.

  It was also far too dangerous to write anything down.

  She lay there, her body yearning for him. He had flicked a switch on that she couldn’t turn off. She burned for him, his company as well as his touch. It had only been a few hours since she had left him but it already felt like days.

  16. Stolen moments

  When Laura walked into the German classroom Mr Rydell caught her eye and smiled. It was very brief but it was enough. They were good. They were a "they".

  The whole lesson felt electric to her. She had this huge secret that almost no one else knew anything about. The man at the blackboard was no longer merely her German teacher. He had chosen her. She knew what he looked like naked, how it felt to be kissed by him, how his body felt against hers.

  Looking at him, tall and authoritative, explaining some elements of German grammar, she wanted to be with him so badly it hurt.

  It was impossible to put these thoughts out of her mind, but Laura was still just about able to concentrate on the lesson. It would have helped if Charlotte hadn’t kept nudging her every other minute.

  At the end of the lesson he asked her to stay behind.

  "I know I have to avoid singling you out, but I couldn’t let you go today without making sure you were okay," he said.

  She told him she was fine.

  "The weekend was amazing. You were amazing. I spent most of the lesson wishing I could dismiss the class and take you away for a repeat performance."

  She saw the heat in his eyes. He didn’t risk touching her as there would be people walking past the classroom at this time.

  "Half term is just another couple of weeks away. Can you come back a couple of days early - say you’re staying with a friend - and stay with me? If I can even hold out that long."

  Laura smiled at him. She loved that he wanted her so much. "I’ll manage it."

  "Great. I can pick you up from wherever you need. And you have my number."

  She had memorised it by heart.

  "You’d better run to your next class. If I can figure out something for this week, I will."

  Her heart singing, she hurried off.

  * * *

  Charlotte was waiting for her around the corner. "Everything okay?"

  "All good."

  "That’s a relief. I wasn’t sure if he was going to change his mind on you again. I was watching for smouldering glances but he seemed very well controlled."

  "He wants me to stay with him at the end of half-term," Laura told her. "I can’t use Margery again though."

  "I think she’d still agree, but it is awkward. I wish I could help. What about Susie?"

  "I’ll ask her. She said earlier it should be ok."

  They walked onto the next class which was Maths. Susie had bagsed them desks on the back row. She was eager to find out how German had gone with Laura seeing Mr Rydell again.

  "You must really regret picking Geography instead," Charlotte said.

  "Yes and no. Geography has its charms."

  Charlotte could think of few things less charming than Mrs Ayers.

  "She is a problem," Susie agreed.

  The maths lesson started, and they were forced to stop talking.

  * * *

  Margery was sitting in the Michaelmas Lower School common room with her sewing basket and the dreaded rah-rah skirt, trying to find some way to make it look more presentable for the dance. She was close to despair.

  Pride held her back from asking the others for help. A wall had gone up since her disapproval of Laura’s relationship with Mr Rydell. It was a wall entirely built by Margery because the others didn’t mind that Margery minded. Laura actually felt bad that Margery was upset about it. But Margery struggled with it, and the distance grew.

  It was here that Teresa Hubert chanced upon her. "Mending something?" She noticed that Margery had some sequins and guessed what was up. "You’re not going to wear that to the dance, are you? You really can’t wear that. Didn’t you find a dress on exeat?"

  Margery heart slumped further with misery.

  Teresa saw her opportunity. "I’m sure we can find you a dress. Andrea has two. She’s still deciding which to wear. I’m sure you’ll fit the other."

  Teresa had two henchwomen, one small, one large and lumpen. This latter was Andrea. Margery was mortified to be put in a size bracket with her. Teresa herself was thin in a spindly way.

  But the offer of a dress was a lifeline in a storm. "She wouldn’t mind?" Margery asked. She had no idea what the dress would be like, but anything was better than a knee-length rah-rah skirt. Even a fourth former wouldn’t want to wear that.

  "She’d only be too happy." What Teresa meant was that she would only be too happy for Andrea to lend the dress, so Teresa would finally have some leverage over Margery. Andrea wouldn’t be given any choice over whether she lent it or not.

  * * *

  There were a few stolen moments. The art room, which was usually left open but was frequently unoccupied, was nearby the Modern Languages block. They met there a couple of times during break.

  It was too risky to go the whole way in broad daylight with the chance that Mr Lanaway might flit in on a whim. But the need for restraint only increased their need for one another.<
br />
  Even making out fully clothed Mr Rydell could bring Laura to orgasm, and often quickly. His lips on hers, his hand between her thighs, taking control of her body. She was totally at his mercy.

  He knew that when he spoke to her and told her to do things that it pushed her to the edge. And he liked commanding her.

  He would tell her that she had to wait, and remove the pressure of his fingers, and she would push back desperately against him to regain it. "I can’t wait, don’t make me wait," she begged him.

  And he would keep embracing her, caressing her through her uniform, but avoiding the point of pleasure that she so urgently craved.

  "What do you want from me, Laura? Tell me what you want?"

  She found it hard at first to tell him, but desire overtook her inhibitions.

  "I want you to touch me."

  "Where?"

  "There." She pushed his hand where she wanted it, pressing towards him as he teased her with his lips on her neck, on the skin that was bare to him above the collar of her blouse.

  "Tell me exactly where. And exactly what you want."

  "Please, touch my clit." She found it unbearable to say at first, but he wouldn’t give her what she wanted unless she asked for it.

  "Like this?"

  "Yes, and don’t stop. Please don’t stop." And she would collapse in his arms, dizzy yet still not satiated because she ached to have him fully inside her.

  And then they would have to part, taking it in turns to leave first as they couldn’t be seen leaving together, and each time she felt it like a physical pain.

  * * *

  Mr Peters was still hankering after Susie Clarke. He had reshuffled his casting for The Merchant of Venice, and Susie was now reading Portia while he had recast himself as Antonio.

  He was also planning for the class to read some non-curriculum scenes of his own choosing as a little treat for the end of term. Or perhaps he could squeeze them in just before half term? After all it would be helpful for the girls to be better acquainted with other works of Shakespeare, such as Romeo and Juliet, so they had a better appreciation of the play when they watched the Sixth Form production later on. Susanna would read Juliet so perfectly.

  The Head of English had no idea what an absurd figure he was to the class. In private he imagined her on his couch, as he seduced her with the sonnets of the Bard. How to get her there was the issue. He lacked no confidence in his charms if he could only lure her to his flat. If only there was some kind of extra tuition that could be offered, but frustratingly Susie excelled easily at English.

  Perhaps he might offer some one-on-one coaching for Miss Wingrove’s poetry recital. The woman could hardly obstruct this. After all, he was the Head of Department. He wondered what Susie had chosen to read. Perhaps he might introduce her to some of the metaphysical poets.

  He imagined declaiming Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress to the girl. He would enjoy her inevitable blushes at "long preserv’d virginity" and "tear our pleasures".

  * * *

  Susie had moved into the second phase of her campaign against Mrs Ayers. Things started disappearing from the Geography teacher’s classroom, or showing up in unusual places. Her chalk didn’t work properly, or snapped. The board eraser had grease all over it. There were always drawing pins turning up, sometimes she stepped on them, other times she reached for something and had one pricking her. One day her chair leg collapsed as she sat down in front of the class. When she demanded that Jenkins inspect it, he found nothing except a loose screw that he suggested may have happened by itself.

  Foul smells started to emanate, eventually causing the classroom to be evacuated. The odour was finally traced to the curtains, but there was no obvious trace of anything inside them. Mrs Grayson herself checked the hems. If anything had been put there, it had long since been removed.

  They were petty, puerile tricks, but it was the volume and constancy of them that had a devastating impact. Mrs Ayers’ fury and paranoia grew simultaneously. She was certain Susie was behind them, but could never catch her.

  The two them remained deadlocked in loathing: Mrs Ayers lashing out with demerits and detentions and sending Susie out of the class for imaginary offences such as dabbing her nose with a tissue, or closing her pencil box "deliberately loudly", and Susie continuing her irreproachable schoolwork and secret campaign of torment.

  * * *

  Charlotte was finally trying out for the senior squad. It was a while since a Lower School girl had done so but Miss Partridge handled it in a deliberately low key manner. She simply called her to practice with the squad one afternoon. "I’d like you to come to play with the seniors on Wednesday."

  Charlotte knew this was it. She was searing with determination. Nothing else mattered. Yet she had to make sure her schoolwork was perfect so there couldn’t be any excuse, any obstacle, for not letting her play.

  "You’re getting more studious than Margery these days," Laura said. "First Latin, then all the running, now this."

  "I don’t have a choice. It’s all or nothing."

  She had to be careful she didn’t burn herself out.

  * * *

  If truth be told Susie was a little bored and tired. The warfare with Mrs Ayers was draining, along with losing her freedom every Saturday afternoon. But it needed to be sustained for a while longer.

  Mr Peters’ incessant lechery was also a drag, nothing she couldn’t deal with, but it would have to come to a head at some point. Somehow she would need to turn that to her advantage.

  Exeat had been amusing with the boys at St Duncan’s and now there was this dance that everyone was so excited about, but it wasn’t Susie’s idea of fun. Unfortunately her options for entertainment were limited.

  Susie didn’t want to be at school. She wanted to go and work for her uncle in the family business, but her father wouldn’t hear of it until she turned eighteen. That was years away. She wouldn’t even be sixteen until the second half of term.

  So she figured if she couldn’t do anything for herself, she may as well help the others. Laura’s fling with the German teacher amused her. Surprised her even. Not so much that Laura had been bowled over - who wouldn’t be in her shoes? - but that Mr Rydell had yielded. He really didn’t seem the type. He was no Mr Peters, certainly.

  What were his motives? she wondered. Susie couldn’t conceive of people not having motives even if they were unaware of them themselves.

  If they got caught, and to her mind it was inevitable that unless this thing burned out quickly they would, his career would be over and Laura would be expelled. He was a grown man, he’d survive, but she wasn’t sure if Laura would. Having mutually agreed to leave several schools herself - they’d never quite termed it expulsion - she knew what Laura was in for. And Laura wasn’t like her. It would break her.

  17. Slow dance

  "I need you to create a diversion so I can get inside," Susie said.

  "What are you talking about? You passed the dress inspection." It was the night of the Lower School dance and they were all glammed up and ready to party.

  But Susie had seen Mrs Ayers by the door. Even had she dressed in a burqa the Axe would have found fault enough to bar her.

  "Trust me. She will never let me in. Scream, faint, anything. Just get the Axe away from the door."

  Laura was puzzled. She knew Susie had some feud with the Axe, but she could hardly imagine things were this bad. She did what she could. "Mrs Ayers, I don’t want to be a tattletale, but I think I smelt someone smoking in the bushes."

  Mrs Ayers stormed off, rage mixing with grim pleasure at the prospect of apprehending the culprit. The chance to excoriate some girl took priority over holding her own secondary dress inspection at the door. She had suspected Grace Grant would let her girls get away with murder.

  Susie saw her chance and slipped in.

  * * *

  Grace Grant had in fact wrestled with herself over Susie’s attire. It wasn’t that there was anything about it that
broke the rules; in fact it was arguably more modest than many of the other girls’ dresses. It was just… so sophisticated. So suggestive. The housemistress wasn’t closely across the latest fashion on the catwalks of Milan but she suspected that Susie’s frock wasn’t long off them.

  It was black, clearly designer, and even more clearly designed for a woman at least ten years older than Susie. Unfortunately Susie filled it admirably well, with the result that even with minimal make up she looked about twenty-five.

  "That dress will rewrite the rules," Grace Grant thought, predicting even more draconian guidelines for future non-uniform events.

  She felt proud of most of the girls and happy for them. Even the plain Janes were glowing tonight. Margery was wearing Andrea’s slightly-too-roomy velvet cast-off, but was so relieved not to be in her dreaded rah-rah that she was lit up. In a quiet way she was a pretty girl, particularly with the cross-country running having burned off some of her puppy fat.

  Charlotte looked spectacular in emerald taffeta. She was the tallest girl in the year and recently seemed to have embraced her height.

  And Laura. Grace Grant didn’t know what to make of Laura. She was in midnight blue and black and looked exceptionally pretty. Beautiful, even. But there was something more. The only way that the housemistress could describe it was that Laura reminded her of Susie.

  * * *