Teach Me Dirty

Why would a man like Mr Roberts go for someone ordinary? Pretty, yeah, I guess I was pretty enough. But I was ordinary on the outside, not attractive and outgoing like Lizzie.

“Best friends forever,” she announced.

“Only friends forever,” I laughed. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She slapped my ass. “Bed time.”

Her hands found the hem of my t-shirt, as though she was taking care of me in my drunkenness, even though she was easily as gone as I was. She yanked it over my head and I took down my jeans. I unhooked my bra and grabbed my nightdress quickly, pulling it on while Lizzie’s eyes stared at me in the mirror.

“I can get the airbed?” I offered.

She pulled a face. “Since when have I ever, ever needed the airbed?”

I wrapped my arms around her neck, pulled her in for a hug. “Thanks for being my friend, even though I embarrassed myself beyond all redemption. And thanks for the vodka, too.”

“Anytime.”

We washed up in tandem in the bathroom, like we’d done a million times before, and it was comfortable, so comfortable. I was glad she was there in my hour of humiliation. Really glad. She slid into bed first, as always, and I got the lamp. I only had a single; the same white wooden frame I’d had since I was a girl who wanted to live in a princess castle, with the same doodles of butterflies in glittery felt tip. I should grow out of it, one day, but I still liked it. I slipped between the sheets and Lizzie adjusted herself at my side, resting her head against my shoulder.

“I hope we still do this at uni,” she said.

“Of course. Always.”

“Do you think you’ll really be sad, when we get there? Without him, I mean.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I lied. “Maybe there’ll be a hot weirdo arty student out there for me, after all.”

“Do you ever think it could happen? For real? You and Mr Roberts?”

I smiled into the darkness, a sad smile. “Yeah, right. As if.”

“I’m serious,” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t it? I think he looks at you, you know. Sometimes.”

“I don’t even have time to list all the reasons why it wouldn’t happen, and you’re making it up. He’s my teacher. He doesn’t feel like that.”

“You don’t know that! So, he’s your teacher, but what about when he’s not?”

“I might never even see him again. He might have a girlfriend. A stunning arty girlfriend. He’s probably got one of those. At least one of those.”

“You know that’s crap. You know the rumours.”

“If the rumours are true then I’m screwed anyway.”

“I don’t think he’s gay. I think that’s just stupid kid talk.”

“I hope not.” I took a breath. “But I could live with bi. I could live with just about anything. I’d like bi. Crap, I’m really drunk.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being bi, Hels,” she whispered. “You’d like him to be dirty, wouldn’t you? Really dirty.”

Her tone made my heart flutter. I was so glad we were in darkness.

“…just think about it. In the art block, late, you’re painting and he comes up behind you… presses against your back… his warm breath on your neck…”

The hair on my arms prickled.

“…you can feel him… his hard cock against your ass, his fingers tracing up your thigh, pulling up your school skirt… Mr Roberts’ dirty fingers between your legs…”

I shifted in bed, and she snaked an arm across my waist.

“…I think he’d be good… I think he’d know just how to touch you… I think he could make you come, standing in his arms, just like that, maybe he’d make you moan for him, make you tell him how good it felt. Maybe he’d grab your hair, hold you still while his fingers pushed their way inside. Do you think he’d be rough? I think he’d be rough… You’d like him to be rough, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes…” My voice was barely a whisper. “Yes… I’d like him to be rough… you know I’d like him to be rough…”

“I think he’d take you hard. I think he’d fuck hard and deep. I think he’s dirty, too. You can see it in his eyes, he’s so… dark… so… deep… I think he’d make you do all kinds of dirty things…”

And she had me. “Like what?” I breathed. “What do you think he’d make me do?”

Her ankle hooked around my calf. “I think he’d fuck you so hard it would hurt. I think he’d say filthy things… I think he’d call you his bad little girl... Maybe he’d tie you up… take you however he wanted… maybe he’d make you pay for your dirty thoughts… maybe he’d spank you… bend you over his knee in your school skirt and make it sting… I’ve seen those steel rulers in the art block, Hels…” She giggled against my neck. “Maybe he’d use one of those… naughty girl…”