Though her head is full of faeries and fantasy, a young girl aches to be a woman
Caroline's secret. Part 1
'Don't start your story with dialogue, Caroline! How many more times?'
'But Sir, mmmost things I read start that way.' I bit my pen top. Teased my tongue around it. He tried not to watch me too closely. 'And sssso I'm merely d d drawing on my influences.'
Mr Cole raised his eyebrows yet immobilised everything below them and gazed right through me. No, not through. Inside. He gazed inside me, pursued my Secret as she scurried to safety.
Through the ripening corn she sped. Past the line of trees into open ground. Pittered over the drawbridge. Pattered across the courtyard. A handle turned. Hinges creaked. She slipped through the heavy oaken door. Down the spiral stone steps into the kingdom's darkest cellars. Down into the dankest dungeons. Twisting and turning, she retraced her steps, sometimes appearing to pass through solid stone. She oozed through cracks; wafted through bars; slid under massive immovable doors. Deeper and deeper she ran. Another staircase. And another. Along a rough-hewn tunnel. Through a rough-hewn door. Till she reached the deepest, darkest, dankest stygian cell. She huddled into the corner. Buried herself under a pile of filthy, moulding rags. Held her breath. Heart thumping. Ears ringing. Blood coursing. She waited. And waited. And waited. Footsteps. Louder. Breathing. Closer. Slowly and carefully, one by one, the rags were picked away. A single flickering candle lit her pristine porcelain innocence. Shaking his head, her pursuer gently lifted her quivering chin and sighed at the guilty tears that filled her wide frightened eyes.
'It's okay, Caroline's Secret. I'll keep you safe in here. I'll lock you in. No one else need ever know.'
Secrets are quick and cunning creatures, and this one, my best and worst, was not going to fall for that old trick.
'There is nothing to know. I was simply playing, testing to see if you could follow me and find me.'
'Oh!' He feigned shock. 'A game is it? Ah! I see.'
'Yes. Of course. What else could it be?'
'I'm sure I cannot say. But you run fast and hide well for someone who does not in fact appear to exist.'
'Well, okay. Keep the dialogue in if you like. You're right; it's a technique often used these days, but it lacks class. It's for pulp, tries too hard to engage the reader, and comes across as desperate.' His breath warmed my throat as he leaned closer. 'You're a good writer, Caroline. You don't need to be that desperate. Okay?'
I was blushing. Only seconds ago, he'd silently promised he would keep it locked away, yet, for the briefest moment, my Secret had somehow escaped. Numbed buttocks subtly squirming in my seat alerted me to the fact that my cheap cotton knickers were wet. I stammered.
'O... okay. Thanks, Sir. I'll t t try not to be that...'
I couldn't even say the word.
Mr Cole rose slowly from where he squatted beside me and ambled down the aisle between the columns of battered desks. Alice's naked knee nudged mine. Her eyes sparkled. I knew what was coming before she did.
'Nice arse!'
The teacher stopped suddenly. Turned slowly. Narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his forehead, exactly as they teach them at teacher school.
'What did you say, girl?'
If quick with nothing else, Alice was always quick with her mouth.
'Can I arsk...' I shook my head at her insubordinate brilliance, 'if I can go to the toilet, please, Sir?'
He was emphatic.
'No!' After glancing at a non-existent watch on his wrist, he made do with the constantly tardy clock that hung slightly askew above the whiteboard. 'It's only just after break, girl.'
Alice whined as only a sixteen year-old girl can.
'But Sir! It's that time of the month and my nan says...'
Mr Cole clasped a hand to his eyes, while waving the other towards the half-glazed, half-open door. Some lads at the back sniggered. Some girls at the front did likewise. My best friend Alice had no shame at all. Still hasn't. The reddening young teacher spluttered.
'Yes, yes, of course. Just go. And be quick about it.' He glowered. 'And let's have some maturity in here, shall we?'
Her chair scraped. She bent and picked up her bulging handbag, a receptacle that hopelessly doubled as her schoolbag. No wonder she was always without the requisite books and folders, was always so ill-equipped. Across the aisle from me, an incessantly sleepy James Baldwin raised his ginger head from his heavily-graffitied desk. He opened his dried lips, bared his yellow twisted teeth and whispered.
'So you'll not be fucking me tonight then, eh, Alice?'
Again, Alice was quick off the mark. How I envied the sharpness of her coarse tongue. Still do. She slid her little finger between her plush lips then waggled it, glistening, in the air.
'No, but I might suck your little cock again, James, if I can find it, that is.'
Though barely more than a hissed whisper, the whole class heard it and there was uproar. At that moment, Mr Cole, perhaps because he was on the edge of laughter himself, chose deaf muteness as his momentary disability of choice. It was a good call. He was young and new to the school, yet it was evident to all that he was quickly going to become a very good teacher.
Read the conclusion of this torrid tale plus eleven further stories in ' The Big Bag of Sexy Allsorts', a tooth-rotting collection of concise erotica, available now exclusively on Amazon.
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