Personal Studies

Personal Study

The car kicked as Paula forced it into first and eased into the street. She spotted David round about the same time as he saw her. He raised a hand to wave his acknowledgment and smiled. Three of his mates were lurking around with him, and they half turned their backs as she stopped the car beside them.

He nodded a muted ‘bye’ to them and stubbed his cigarette out on the brickwork behind him. “Gotta go….” He laughed, and with one easy movement hoisted himself into the open top Ka.

She gunned the engine, listening to the whoops of the guys, and pushed out into the steady traffic. Her blonde hair was caught in the breeze and played gently round her shoulders.

He took a strand of it in his hand and twisted it round his fingers. “Where are we going for lunch then?”

She concentrated hard on the dashboard and the traffic, checking the rear view mirror regularly until they had left the street far behind. “We could have some sandwiches at my place for a change.”

He withdrew his hand quickly, then cautiously replaced it on her shoulders.

“Will there be pot?”

“There could be.”

“Then sandwiches sound good.”

She briefly touched his hand with her neck and then drew her own across the front of his shirt, pushing the tie to the side. His body was slim, hard, toned. His free hand reached over and slid her fingers through the gap between the buttons. She forced herself to pull free and grip the wheel again as she guided the car expertly through the traffic.

“How far?” David asked. “I can stretch to an hour and a half, but after that I’ll be missed. And I’m getting very peckish…”

Five minutes later, they were pulling in to a reserved space outside a block of newly built flats on the west of the city.

David again left the car without using the door. Showing off, she reckoned, but she swirled her keys and he fell into line just behind her, like a faithful puppy.

Her flat was modern, trendy. There were not many large pieces of furniture around but he liked it. The walls were pale, perhaps magnolia, and the surrounds were white. It looked clean, functional but homely. He decided that he could live here, and settled on to the settee. Paula was in the compact kitchen. He could hear the clink of glasses. She called out to him, ‘red wine or white?”

He wasn’t sure. “White I think.”

“Great,” she answered. “The pot is in the jar by the TV. Help yourself to a joint. Don’t be greedy though. We both have to get back to work this afternoon.”

“Cool,” he said, and had a look for the biggest one he could find. He spotted the matches in a long glass dish by the side of the gas fire and lit one. He drew the perfumed smoke down into his lungs, held it for as long as he could, then exhaled, too quickly, and ended the moment with a racking cough.

“Shit, this is good...shit!” he gasped.

Paula swung through from the kitchen, her hips sleek in the silky robe she’d slipped in to.

“Wow!” he said, taking the glass of wine and handing her the joint. “Fuck me!”

“Oh, I intend to,” she oozed, and snaked her free arm round his supple waist. She smiled as she felt the smooth skin under her palm. “Get undressed.”

He tore his jacket off and was about to undo his tie when she stopped him. “Keep the tie, I like it.” She took both ends of it and pulled him towards her. “It could come in useful.” Then, before he could protest, she began to kiss him, his face, his body. She felt her nipples harden with excitement and anticipation.

He wasn’t sure how he got out of his shirt with her hand still gripping his tie, but he managed. It fell in a crisp, white heap onto the pale brown carpet.

Her hand was tearing at the buttons on his trousers now, and he took another suck at the heady dope. His head began to swim and he laughed at the effect. He could feel himself stiffening as she slid her hand round the back of his buttocks and pulled his body towards her.

He grabbed her hair in his free hand and thrust her head towards his groin. Sensing his thoughts, she pushed him onto the settee and as he flapped, trying to regain some balance, she went down on him, stroking him with her tongue, fondling him with practiced fingers until she could feel he was almost ready.

He was groaning with pleasure and trying to hold her head down, but she held his hands off her and slid onto him, clenching and holding to maximise her pleasure.

As they came, she yelled and collapsed forward onto him. He was laughing now and holding her body, touching her breasts carefully and slowly, until she was moaning and purring beside him.

“Shit, that was good…well everything.” He gasped.

“Oh yeah,” she said, and nuzzled the small curls behind his ears. “And we’ve still got 40 minutes left before I have to get you back.”

He glanced at his wristwatch. She was right.

The joint was nearly gone. “Can I have more? Pretty please?” he asked, holding up the stump.

“No,” she said. “It’s too strong. You’d be caught. But have some more wine. I hate opening a bottle and not finishing it.”

He drank the cold wine, sipping the sharp, pale yellow liquid. He realised he was still nearly naked, and pulled a fluffy cushion over himself to cover the remnants of his erection.

“Have you got any music?” he asked, looking for a diversion so he could pull his trousers back up.

“Of course. What do you think I am? Some ancient old bag who doesn’t know her Red Hot Chilli Peppers from her Coldplay?”

“Coldplay. They’re a bit lame.” He said, and saw her face drop. “Of course, I quite like them.”

He reckoned he’d covered that one quite well…

She rooted through her CD collection until she found the one she wanted. He watched her as she slipped the CD into the Bose player. Her feet were flattish and she had a bunion coming at the base of her big toes. He’d read that wearing high heels for too long could do that to a woman’s feet, but he hadn’t seen it before. The slight misshape fascinated him, and he found he was barely listening to Coldplay as they sang ‘Violet Hill’.

“What else have you got there?” he asked, walking over behind her and stroking her rump through the silk.

Before she could stop him he’d reached past her, his long, lithe arm snaking over her shoulder to the case.

“Blondie,” he read. “Depeche Mode. Who the fuck is that?” He couldn’t help laughing at the weird names. He wasn’t even sure if he was saying them right, what with all the drugs and the booze.

She pushed him away roughly, and poured the last of the wine into his glass.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Why not just listen to the fucking music?”

He got the distinct impression he’d messed up. He grabbed for her arm, but she pulled free and slammed the door to the hall behind her.

‘Come on, “ he yelled at the door. “I was just kidding. I know them. They did that one about the aeroplane, the one that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima. Noel Gray. That one.”

He sat down hard on the couch and drank more of the wine. It didn’t taste so nasty now, he noticed. He thought he should maybe get dressed and grabbed his shirt up from the floor. He slipped his tie off and pulled the shirt over his shoulders.  His left one was itchy today. He’d need to get some of that cream for the spots again. He tucked the shirt in as he fastened the grey trousers and put the tie round his neck. He tried three times to do up the Windsor knot before he gave up. It had always given him issues and now with the plonk and the pot, the simple task was well beyond him. He looked around the flat once more, taking in the photographs for the first time.

He wandered over to the unit they were on and peered at the happy, smiley faces looking back at him.

A young girl of about nine, her smile a bit gappy, but the hair the same, unmistakable shade of blonde.  And a boy, about 14 years old, smiling beside her. His hair was dark.

Must have taken after his Dad, David thought. Wonder where they are now?

He was aware the door to the room was opening, and guiltily jumped back over to the couch again. She came in, fully dressed.

She had been crying, her face puffed and her make up slightly blurred.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “I overreacted.”

“I’m sorry too,” he said, leaning over and wiping a tiny clump of mascara from her cheek. It made a small black streak along her skin.

She smiled up at him. “And by the way you ass, it was Enola Gay, not whatever you said.”

They giggled together, the pot still in their systems, and sat back down on the settee.

“I guess we don’t have any more time left.” He said. He looked at his watch again. “I really have to be going.”

“I know,” she said. “But we had a good time, didn’t we?”

“Sure did,” he replied. “But I need to get back.”

“Don’t keep saying that,” she replied, irritated. “You’re like a broken record.”

“Vinyl,” he said. “It’s vinyl now.”

“If you carry on like this you can walk back.” She snarled, and she grabbed her coat off the back of the door. “Get your jacket on.”

He picked it off the back of the chair where he’d thrown it as they came in, and brushed a long hair off the crest on the pocket.

“Aren’t you going to do up your tie then?” she asked, noticing the long ends swinging against his shirt.

“Can’t,” he mumbled, and hung his head. “My mum usually does it for me.”

“You cretin,” she said, and grabbed him, pulling him towards her and roughly tugging the material into the required shape. She patted it once it was done.

Together, they walked out of the flat into the stairwell, her heels clicking on the shiny stone, and made their way in silence down the stairs and back out to where the little red car still sat.

This time David waited until she’d put the key in the lock and opened the door, before sliding into the passenger side and doing up the seat belt over his body.

She drove without speaking, her face harder in the glare of the sun and she squinted from time to time, trying to see properly. He could see lines and maybe even some wrinkles he hadn’t noticed before.

“Under the dash, there – my dark glasses.” He took them out of their case and handed them to her obediently. She snapped them on.

“You kids,” she said. “You’re all the same. Hot bodies, teasing all the time. Looking for action. And when you get action you don’t know what to do with it. Asses.”

The words peppered him like grape shot. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, unsure what the correct come back should be in this situation.

She pulled up at the wide iron gates again. This time there was no one about. Classes were in.

“Well thanks, I guess.” He said, looking over at the school and making sure he wouldn’t be seen. So far he’d only missed personal study, but math started in ten minutes and his absence would be noticed there. After that was a break, and his mates would be keen to get all the gory details. Sure she was a bit older than he’d prefer – but hey, she had pot, booze, and she was just giving it away.

She waited until he was standing on the pavement again, his hands in his pockets as he scuffed his foot against the kerb. She kept the engine turning over in case a warden appeared. She was idling on the zig-zags after all.

She looked at him again. He was a fine looking kid, maybe 16. Maybe not. In a couple of years time he’d be a great catch.

She’d been harsh. She needed to let him know she was still available. He’d been a great ride after all.

“The pleasure was all mine.” She said. “But if you wait for me again tomorrow, maybe we’ll take it a little slower next time.”

He nodded and turned towards the gates. She watched until he slipped inside the glass doors before driving away.

“First love.” She said to no one in particular. “What a bitch.”