Chapter Eight

Sitting on a park bench, Cole tried to focus on his phone and ignore the many female coeds strutting past in minimalist outfits suited for the sunny springtime weather.

The gender disparity was clearly notable as groups of young women paraded about in teensy miniskirts, ass-exposing short shorts, clingy boob tubes, sheer crop tops, skin-tight leggings, and every manner of revealing clothing.

Summer was arriving early for the student body of Von Gloot’s Private Academy of Fine Arts, and oh what fine bodies they were.

Large breasts, big behinds, hourglass silhouettes with smooth midriffs and slender limbs formed the majority. Pin-up models, centerfolds, cover girls, every one of them a walking, talking wet dream shooting glances his way as they shook their lush bundas in passing.

Cole didn’t know if all the attention was due to his appearance or a general scarcity of males. Either way, it was very distracting.

He’d just returned from breaking the good news to his parents (who’d been shocked but pleased for their son’s sudden reversal of fortune) and packing a duffel bag with his depressing few worldly possessions.

After a warm hug from Mom, handshaking and hearty back slaps from Dad, and multiple promises to call and visit regularly–despite only being a bus ride distance away–there he was on college grounds again, surging with confidence that this was the beginning of a bright new chapter.

If he could just wrap his head around how this damnable curriculum worked.

Terms like “free-form” and “student-directed” were prevalent in the documentation he’d read thus far. However, bell curves, course structures, and GPAs, which were fundamental keystones for other educational institutions, were not mentioned.

Classes were available–Cole had been sent an entire spreadsheet with timetables, subject matter and room assignments–covering every discipline imaginable, but which should he attend? How did anyone reach graduation without clear guidelines of what was expected of them?

At best, the whole setup seemed confusing and disorganized. At worst, it was unmitigated madness.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace, Cole dearly missed Krystal. She could explain the ins and outs of this headache. He had texted her after unpacking but remained unread. She was likely occupied with administrative duties, and he was **** to bother her at work.

“Hey, if it isn’t Mister Tall-Dark-And-Mysterious.” A shadow fell across Cole when a short, golden-haired coed approached him. “That’s you, isn’t it? The nudes guy from orientation?”

Rachael, he recalled from the whirlwind admissions ceremony, stood over him with hands on hips and a cheeky grin. No small feat, given her short-stack stature. She was the outspoken sculptor who had fangirled about Antonio Canova if Cole remembered correctly.

He wholeheartedly approved. Baroque Italian classicists were da bomb, as she would probably phrase it.

“Yeah. That’s me.” He smiled, pocketing his phone and standing to extend a hand in greeting. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall with more curves than a race track. “Name’s Cole, and you’re Rachael, right? Put it there, fellow freshman.”

Her grin grew wider at the friendly reply, and she grasped him in a surprisingly strong grip, shaking enthusiastically.

“Thought I recognized those broad shoulders. Where’s your winglady–Miss Lawrence, was it? Don’t tell me she dumped your ass already. That would be a shame, but Ebony and I will scoop you up in a hot second if you’re going stag.”

Rachael’s smile bordered on predatory—perfectly pearly teeth framed by cherry-red lips. Her taste in fashion hadn’t differed from their first meeting. Denim overalls with cut-off bottoms and a distressed sports bra struggled to contain all that womanly goodness, though the workman gloves and boots did give the ensemble an industrial chic flair.

She cocked an eyebrow, catching him looking without comment.

“Miss Laurier,” He corrected, “and she hasn’t dumped me. More like catch and release. How are you and Ebony getting along? She’s the street artist, yeah?”

Rachael nodded emphatically and crooked a thumb in the direction of a hand cart laden with scrap metal winding toward them along the footpath, presumably pushed by the goth welder. “She’s a hoot, actually. Spent the morning in a junkyard gathering material for our first joint project. Girl is a mad dog when it comes to haggling. Got that whole load for a song and a smile.”

Cole was drawn into the effervescent blonde’s easy-going personality, letting himself be pulled by the current. She was open and friendly, quick with a joke, and kept shooting him admiring glances as they wandered over to help push the heavy cartload.

Ebony was dainty and doll-like, bedecked in another midnight dress, all ruffles and frills, and a swooping neckline showcasing her porcelain cleavage. Her inky locks were styled into a messy updo, banded by welding goggles, and an elegant lace choker circled her throat.

She greeted and thanked Cole when he took over the task of pushing the heavy burden. Unlike her partner, she wasn’t bubbly or chatty; rather, she was more reserved but polite in her gratitude.

“Mush. Mush!” Rachael giggled, smacking him playfully on the backside. “Whoa, look at him go. You sure we can’t steal you from the teacher, dude? We could use a pack mule. Neither of our chosen mediums are lightweight.”

Clay and stone for the sculptor, metal, wood, and likely cement for the street artist—heavy indeed. Cole pushed harder and changed the topic.

“Is this collab project for a class or something? I can’t figure out how grading or course selection works around here. Kinda got dumped in the deep end and told to get swimming.”

“Oh yeah. You were a last-minute admission, weren’t ya?” Rachael remarked, walking with a gloved hand steadying the load. “Wouldn’t have heard of Von Gloot’s infamous ‘Let them learn from each other’ teaching method. It’s freakin’ wild, but to answer your question; we’ll submit the finalized piece to the appropriate faculty members for assessment when done and springboard off their feedback into any further study that could help us improve before brainstorming the next.”

“I am enrolled in a clay working workshop and two classes focusing on modernist and neoclassical sculpture,” Ebony spoke quietly, staring fixedly ahead. “So I can better understand my partner’s field of specialty and incorporate elements into my own.”

“And I bought a welding helmet. Gonna learn a transferable skill,“ The pint-sized blonde cheered. “Pops would be proud.”

Groups of bystanders stopped to watch them pass. Cole could feel dozens of female eyes inspecting him, starting to sweat from the attention instead of exertion.

“So we just produce art, and prove willing to expand our talents to progress? It can’t be that simple.” That earned him another swat on the rear and a chuckle from Rachael. Ebony maintained her steadfast deadpan.

“Honest introspection is crucial to the process.” The reserved beauty admonished with a slight frown. “If you cannot identify areas where you can improve and hone your craft, then you are destined to stagnate. Stagnation or an inability to learn at a reasonable rate will spell the end of your time at this academy. I understand you did not have to fight to earn your place here, but some of us did. Please respect that and try your best.”

The small speech and rare show of emotion startled Cole. He was readying an apology when Rachael stepped in.

“Go easy on mule boy, girl. He didn’t mean nothing by it and already said he was confused by all the newness. Can’t expect the guy to know shit after the pervwad Dean basically shanghaied him on day dot. Besides, he’s doing us a solid and how can you stay mad at a mug like that?”

A mild flush touched Ebony’s pale cheeks. She turned to look him in the face, the redness darkening as she stared and stammered. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think before–”

“No, I’m the one who should apologize.” Cole hauled the cart to a stop and bowed his head in contrition. “I should’ve realized how much of an opportunity landed at my feet. The evidence is everywhere. This campus is amazing. I didn’t intend to disparage the effort it took for you to make the cut. Please forgive me.”

Ebony blushed even harder, averting her eyes, and then his phone buzzed. Fishing it out of a pocket, Cole swiped the screen, only to be greeted by a selfie of a very naked, hyper-voluptuous brunette standing in front of his bathroom mirror with the phone obscuring her face and a text message…

Have you eaten yet?

“Oh ho!” Rachael’s head appeared at his elbow, her devilish grin set to full power. “Looks like you’ve got a lunch date, mule boy. We can take it from here. Go show the pretty lady a good time and report back to me later. I want to hear all the dirty deets.”

Cole didn’t need the last slap on his backside to get moving. It was embarrassing, but his stiffening donkey dick acted like a divining rod, leading him home.

A big thank you to the anonymous supporter who commissioned this fun tale. You know who you are. Chapters are posted on my BuyMeACoffee page weeks in advance. Supporters can read them for the price of a single cuppa joe. Cheers for reading!