What Happens in Art Class...
Chapter 3(F)
I didn’t talk to him for a week. I was too scared of getting close. Getting hurt. I mean, after what he said how could I not be? So I started sitting in the back of the room (which angered the so-called goths) and leaving directly after class. I felt bad for abandoning the cleaning, but we started a less messy project soon anyway. This one involved carving out a soft material called linoleum so we could make stamps. Total torture.
Gerard still made a point to walk by me every so often. And he always said how good I was doing even though we both knew he was lying. I was doing my dog Sweet Pea and she looked deformed and demonic. What I also knew was that he was acting less and less like his normal self every day. He didn’t joke around with students. He didn’t defend himself or even respond when Jeremy and the rest of the jerks started throwing insults. And by Friday his face was covered in stubble.
That was what made me soften. There I was assuming he really was a creep who was only after my body and I had no idea what he was thinking. What if he was torn up by his actions? What if all he wanted was a chance to apologize and I was too busy pushing him away to realize? So I decided to talk to him after school.
As I walked toward him I was very aware of the fact that I was making either the best or worst decision of my life. I was either about to be brutally raped (doubtful) or begin an almost relationship with a gorgeous guy (more likely). Granted this guy was totally wrong for me to be with as far as legal matters go, but what’s a few years’ age difference?
“Hey,” I said softly when he didn’t seem to notice me.
He looked up, “Oh, hey Frank.”
The look on his face then was so pitiful that it stirred something in me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips gently to his. When I pulled away I stared into his eyes, “I’m sorry.” And I was. I had turned him into this mess.
A small smile found its way onto his face, “For what?”
“For avoiding you…That was stupid and immature. I was just kind of scared, you know?”
To my surprise, he nodded, “I do. I put you in an uncomfortable situation. And while I may have just been saying what was on my mind, it wasn’t the time or place to ask you for that.”
“Yeah, kind of. I mean, I’ve had one night stand deals before, but I…Was kind of hoping for more than that with you,” Saying the truth to him was so easy. It just spilled out.
“I mean, age wise I can do whatever I want with you. You’re eighteen, right?”
“Uh, not until October, no…”
He swore under his breath, “Well, okay, but we’re only four years apart. With your consent I couldn’t really go to jail. But get caught by another staff member with a student in a sexual position and I could get fired.”
What exactly was he saying? That he felt bad because he could have gotten fired? No, he looked completely genuine with his apology. He was probably just thinking out loud. I could relate. Instead of dwell on it, though, I kissed him again. That time I actually stopped to realize how gross and prickly it felt. Not a good sensation.
I pulled away giggling, “You need to shave. But what you’re saying is we can do that unless someone walks in?”
“That’s the gist of it. But what’s wrong with my whiskers?” He pulled me back, but it was a pretty fail kiss due to the fact that I couldn’t stop laughing. This caused him to start laughing too and soon we were just uncontrollable, giggly messes. I was collapsed over his desk and he was doubled over in his chair. It really felt great. That sounds weird but it did.
When we finally calmed down we kissed properly and soon we were back in the position from the week before. Only this time he made me grip his shoulders instead of his hair. I had no idea why, but it made me disappointed. I liked his hair, and it made it possible to pull him closer.
When we pulled away he had the same glint in his eye as the last time. It may have been a little softer, but the same effect was there. I was really scared. He smiled, “Don’t be scared. I won’t ask you for sex again. I want you to tell me when you’re ready. I mean, that was really only our third kiss.”
He was right, of course. He was also making it sound like I was a virgin. I was not a virgin. In either sense. I’d been fucked before. By the closet bisexual football quarterback who was a senior when I was a sophomore. But that’s another story. The point being that I wasn’t afraid of having sex with him. I really wanted to have sex with him. I just needed reassurance that he wasn’t using me, and I was pretty sure he’d just provided that.
“What if I’m ready now?” I whispered the question, searching his face for a response.
He blinked, “Not here. That would be too risky.” He scribbled something on a slip of paper, then shoved it in my hand, “That’s my address. Come if you want. Don’t if you don’t. I won’t force you either way.”
He pushed me off him and started gathering his things then. I took that as my cue to leave and scurried away. The implications of what he had just given me were running through my head. What did I want to do? I wanted to go, obviously, but how would I get away with it? I couldn’t exactly tell my mom I was going to a teacher’s house, and she knew I didn’t have any real friends. Or did she? Maybe I could fake it.
I waited a while to say anything. Then I went downstairs and approached her, “Hey, Mom can I go to a friend’s house?”
She kind of spazzed out. First she looked skeptical, then she got a grin on her face, and then she squealed, “Frankie, since when is there a friend? Tell me about him! Of course you can go! What’s his name?”
“Uh…” shit, “He…um, is a new student. His name’s…uh, Ryan and we have…similar interests?” The fact that it ended in a half-question really should have tipped her that something was up if the stuttering didn’t, but she smiled.
“Will you be spending the night?”
She bought it. I was beginning to question how safe my childhood was, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll bring clothes just in case.”
She nodded, “Good idea. I’ll see you later sweetie.”
And with that I was on my way to a night with my art teacher.
Gerard still made a point to walk by me every so often. And he always said how good I was doing even though we both knew he was lying. I was doing my dog Sweet Pea and she looked deformed and demonic. What I also knew was that he was acting less and less like his normal self every day. He didn’t joke around with students. He didn’t defend himself or even respond when Jeremy and the rest of the jerks started throwing insults. And by Friday his face was covered in stubble.
That was what made me soften. There I was assuming he really was a creep who was only after my body and I had no idea what he was thinking. What if he was torn up by his actions? What if all he wanted was a chance to apologize and I was too busy pushing him away to realize? So I decided to talk to him after school.
As I walked toward him I was very aware of the fact that I was making either the best or worst decision of my life. I was either about to be brutally raped (doubtful) or begin an almost relationship with a gorgeous guy (more likely). Granted this guy was totally wrong for me to be with as far as legal matters go, but what’s a few years’ age difference?
“Hey,” I said softly when he didn’t seem to notice me.
He looked up, “Oh, hey Frank.”
The look on his face then was so pitiful that it stirred something in me. I leaned forward and pressed my lips gently to his. When I pulled away I stared into his eyes, “I’m sorry.” And I was. I had turned him into this mess.
A small smile found its way onto his face, “For what?”
“For avoiding you…That was stupid and immature. I was just kind of scared, you know?”
To my surprise, he nodded, “I do. I put you in an uncomfortable situation. And while I may have just been saying what was on my mind, it wasn’t the time or place to ask you for that.”
“Yeah, kind of. I mean, I’ve had one night stand deals before, but I…Was kind of hoping for more than that with you,” Saying the truth to him was so easy. It just spilled out.
“I mean, age wise I can do whatever I want with you. You’re eighteen, right?”
“Uh, not until October, no…”
He swore under his breath, “Well, okay, but we’re only four years apart. With your consent I couldn’t really go to jail. But get caught by another staff member with a student in a sexual position and I could get fired.”
What exactly was he saying? That he felt bad because he could have gotten fired? No, he looked completely genuine with his apology. He was probably just thinking out loud. I could relate. Instead of dwell on it, though, I kissed him again. That time I actually stopped to realize how gross and prickly it felt. Not a good sensation.
I pulled away giggling, “You need to shave. But what you’re saying is we can do that unless someone walks in?”
“That’s the gist of it. But what’s wrong with my whiskers?” He pulled me back, but it was a pretty fail kiss due to the fact that I couldn’t stop laughing. This caused him to start laughing too and soon we were just uncontrollable, giggly messes. I was collapsed over his desk and he was doubled over in his chair. It really felt great. That sounds weird but it did.
When we finally calmed down we kissed properly and soon we were back in the position from the week before. Only this time he made me grip his shoulders instead of his hair. I had no idea why, but it made me disappointed. I liked his hair, and it made it possible to pull him closer.
When we pulled away he had the same glint in his eye as the last time. It may have been a little softer, but the same effect was there. I was really scared. He smiled, “Don’t be scared. I won’t ask you for sex again. I want you to tell me when you’re ready. I mean, that was really only our third kiss.”
He was right, of course. He was also making it sound like I was a virgin. I was not a virgin. In either sense. I’d been fucked before. By the closet bisexual football quarterback who was a senior when I was a sophomore. But that’s another story. The point being that I wasn’t afraid of having sex with him. I really wanted to have sex with him. I just needed reassurance that he wasn’t using me, and I was pretty sure he’d just provided that.
“What if I’m ready now?” I whispered the question, searching his face for a response.
He blinked, “Not here. That would be too risky.” He scribbled something on a slip of paper, then shoved it in my hand, “That’s my address. Come if you want. Don’t if you don’t. I won’t force you either way.”
He pushed me off him and started gathering his things then. I took that as my cue to leave and scurried away. The implications of what he had just given me were running through my head. What did I want to do? I wanted to go, obviously, but how would I get away with it? I couldn’t exactly tell my mom I was going to a teacher’s house, and she knew I didn’t have any real friends. Or did she? Maybe I could fake it.
I waited a while to say anything. Then I went downstairs and approached her, “Hey, Mom can I go to a friend’s house?”
She kind of spazzed out. First she looked skeptical, then she got a grin on her face, and then she squealed, “Frankie, since when is there a friend? Tell me about him! Of course you can go! What’s his name?”
“Uh…” shit, “He…um, is a new student. His name’s…uh, Ryan and we have…similar interests?” The fact that it ended in a half-question really should have tipped her that something was up if the stuttering didn’t, but she smiled.
“Will you be spending the night?”
She bought it. I was beginning to question how safe my childhood was, “I don’t know. I guess I’ll bring clothes just in case.”
She nodded, “Good idea. I’ll see you later sweetie.”
And with that I was on my way to a night with my art teacher.
@PumpkinPieMotherFucker
Sorry...I really had planned to wrap it up in a concise way, but the passion for this story just isn't in me anymore...
9/22/16