Faye Bones Up (Her Studies)

Faye glances at her reflection in the mirror as the gravity of the last’s events night sinks in. The staring seems to last forever. But as she lets the image burn into her eyes, she blinks, not quite believing herself. Did she really go through with it? Granted, she’s a tough, cynical Goth girl. But even this seems a little **** even for her.

No, she assures herself as she hikes up her dress. It must’ve been a dream. But all
she has to do is take a peek at the soiled underwear in the hamper and know the truth. A wave of fear washes over her. She isn’t pregnant, is she? Her mom might not mind, but what about her future? What would the kids at school think?

For the first time in her life, the arrogant teen gives a damn how others might feel about her. It’s so unlike her. She could always confide in her mother but that sounds so…cliché. She has to take care of this herself. It’s the only way.

She picks up the cell phone on her nightstand and calls the doctor. Maybe the receptionist can schedule an appointment next month. It’ll be a rough few days, but all she could do is get a note from her physician saying she has the flu or a stomach ache or something. Not like they need to know.

She thinks about the previous night, how the man who annoyed her nearly brought her to tears with his expertise. She’d experienced pleasure before, but not with a man like him. Only her finger and her vibrator rival Mr. Doe in terms of his intensity.

Not to mention the joy that came from making him fight for it. She licks her lips just thinking of the entire ordeal.

Besides, his entire modus operandi of going about it was so, well, compassionate in a weird way. Compared to the other teachers who ignored or dismissed her—never mind propositioning her—he didn’t see her as a lost cause, or just another rich girl gone bad. Whatever he saw in her, it was definitely not the loser she portrayed herself to be in front of strangers.

Not to mention those gentle kisses of his. She always thought of foreplay as antiquarian, but for once in her life she actually considered it worthy of the term romantic, and that’s not a phrase she uses often. “Romance” is often for bumbling teenagers and grey-hairs with Viagra. What he did to her was nothing sort of awesome.

The pregnancy scare is definitely a drag, but maybe not the worst of all possible worlds. She slams the receiver and splays on the bed in her pajamas, glancing at the skull and crossbones on her knees and thighs. Too bad she can’t touch herself—that would be bad for the kid, right? That is, If there even is a kid.

Fortunately, her fears are unfounded. Upon learning that her mystery fetus is only imaginary, she returns back to her usual lifestyle, albeit with a twist. Slowly her Gothic appearance becomes more muted, plain black skirts taking the place of corsets. The outrageous bodice is supplanted by a similarly simple (but still morbid) dark blouse that is no less sexy. Faye even toys with dying her hair a more natural color—but the pale makeup stays.

Other changes are less noticeable. Whereas once she might have snuck out of school to smoke or go to a concert or whatever struck her fancy, day by day her moody novels are slowly taken over by…textbook. English, History, Biology (she loves dissection!). Within weeks, the few cool kids she has known dump her in favor of someone more misanthropic and douchey than she was.

But she doesn’t care—what’s the point in being a rebel if you have to let others boss you around?

Mr. Doe is surprised by the change, more so than he thinks he would be. After one particularly animated discussion in sixth period, he approaches her as the other students file out.

“You’ve really changed.”

“Huh?” She scribbles in her notebook.

“I said, you’ve really changed.”

“Mr. Doe!” The teacher’s voice takes her by surprise. “I didn’t notice you!”

“I guess you tamed me.” She chuckles.

“I wouldn’t say that. What are you writing? Another one of your dark poems?”

“No.” Her voice is surprisingly sweet. “Just some notes for me to study after class.”

Mr. Doe creeps toward her, sniffing the perfume on her neck.

“Decided when to do that second session?” His voice drips with sex.

A thrill sparks through Faye’s spine. She’d give anything to drop anything and jump his bones, just not now.

“Not today.” She pushes his hand aside.

“Aww, and just when I pegged you to be a cynical perv.”

“I thought you thought I had potential.”

“I do.” He nibbles her ear.

“Oh Gooodddd….” She moans. “You’re killing me.”

“If I recall, you’re the one who said you wanted to be destroyed.” Mr. Doe grins.

She grips her pen tightly, fighting the urge to give in.

“I can’t do it today.” She summons her molasses voice. “Maybe some other time?”

“I don’t want to do it some other time.” The instructor kisses her on the neck. “I want to do it now.”

Awkward, Faye thinks. Though she’s more street-wise than many of her
contemporaries, she’s never been in the position of having to turn down such a juicy offer. The grip on the pen grows ever tighter as the frustration builds. Between her lover’s touch and her newfound duties to her studies, she feels caught between two rocks.

Who knew a girl could get blue balls?

“All work and no play make Jack a dull boy...” Mr. Doe coos.

“I can’t…”

He massages her knee. Faye’s skin flashes. Flesh or brains. Which would prevail?

Decisions, decisions.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain check.” Her voice quivers. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“I…I…got to go.” She stammers as she gathers her belongings.

“Very well. Have a nice day.”

The drive home is nerve wracking. All she can think of is her instructor’s rough hands exploring her. Faye grips the steering wheel, doing everything she can not to let her imagination wander too far. It’s not long before her panties drip with unfulfilled ambition. Faye runs into the townhouse, climbing swiftly up the stairs towards her bedroom.

“You okay?” Her mom calls out.

Faye locks the door behind her, stripping her clothes, her cave aching with need. She pumps her slippery sex vigorously, smothering her cries with a pillow as she cries out.

“Ohhh Mr. Doe…”

Her extracurricular activities are interrupted by a rapping at the door.

“Honey, are you okay? You got the flu?”

“I’m fine mom.”

“You sure?”

“POSITIVE!”

She lingers for a while, her mind flies in a million different directions. She resumes her self-pleasure, regretting her decision not to partake of her lover’s fruit.