Sheila's Training Ch. 03

Something like: Sheila what a little traitor you are to Woman. Sheila what a dumb little slut you are. Sheila how I would like to hump your leg. Sheila what changed you? Sheila you've obviously degenerated into a stupid little whore like the others but I'm smarter than you and I know what to do about you.

I looked over her shoulder at Matthew, tending to that suddenly very companionable dog. I saw, too, other people, students who are thankfully not the prisoners of prunish, desiccated Stalinist ideologue academics before seven in the morning, looking on, making their own little surmises about this encounter.

She looked me in the eyes now with a gloating sort of stare that disgusted me, it was at once contemptuous and possessive. "'Love is War'," she said, "that's a fine motto for heteronormativity and women have always been drafted into men's wars to possess their identity, their creativity, their sexuality. But of course there are ways, there are ways," she repeated, her eyes staring down again at my zipper, "for Womyn to transcend the male's competitive fixation on the vertical plane and experience a-- a horizontal kind of reality, where women can create and coexist on a horizontal plane of community and shared--"

"Oh isn't that the truth," interjected Matthew cheerily, "I keep telling Sheila not to let herself be taken in by the heteronormative constructs, like fashion and make-up and-- but you see," he added in a confiding sort of stage whisper, "she is a bit of a prey to contemporary mores."

"Oh well now, I'm sure Sheila's not taken in by all that!" she protested, meaning she agreed completely.

I glowered furiously at Matthew, but all I could say was, factually enough, "I'm not wearing make-up."

"She's literal-minded, that one," Matthew added in a very queenie tone of voice. His eyes rolled dramatically. My coach and my prof shared a parental exchange of looks. Fucking jerks.

I tried to cough meaningfully but this only gained me another once-over from Dr. Lawson while Matt tried to return Shock's leash into her distracted grasp.

"I'll see you around, I'm sure. Do enroll for my seminar next term, 'Mary Wollstonecraft: Traitor to the Sex'. You will find it very enlightening, very." She was off, but reluctantly, since she was getting some glances now at the rear view. This forced me to turn in her departing direction, waving idiotic farewell.

I felt a sweaty mess. Woebegone in my whorewear, I actually buried my head against Matt's shoulder, getting a reassuring noseful of his manly musk as I implored, "Can we get going, please" when I heard the telltale metallic gasp of someone's cellphone snapping a picture.

I turned and saw a couple, guy and girl; which one had snapped the picture I don't know since they were in the midst of passing it. "Sorry," the dude muttered. A moment later the girl added goofily, "You guys are so cute!"

Yay, cute booty girl collapsing against gay trainer's chest in the morning dew. Put it on facespace, why don'tcha? Immortalize those spindly legs stretching up into those painted-on hot pants, that screaming pink camo-clad bottom with a generous dollop of its under slope completely bare to the naked eye. I could feel a sheen of sweat there, born as much of frustration and embarrassment as from jogging, cooling in the awakening light.

"Please," I whimpered again. "Come on, my ass is sweaty, what more do you want?"

Matthew softly cooed, "You don't want to miss the Dean of Studies in case he's out for a morning stroll, do you?"

"Yes, I want to miss him," I replied seriously.

"Is your ass really sweaty?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, I mean we jogged a good bit already--"

"Let me see," he said, and then to my utter surprise he enveloped me in his arms and clasped both my bottom cheeks in his strong, immaculate hands. I stiffened against him as his pinkies grazed across the exposed flesh where my ass creased into my thighs. I rested one hand on his pec and the other on his shoulder. I lifted my head up at him and met his eyes, beaming down at me like some Greek god in close-up. I heard a cellphone click. And then another. He still held me, hands gently cupped to my ass. And then he let me go.

My lips parted and trembled. I felt suddenly very heavy down in the seat of my short shorts where the seat of my bottoms was plastered onto my pussy. My body and mind reeled together, a hot vortex in which shame was still a major ingredient but not the biggest one. I think my eyes started to sparkle. I looked about me for the first time that morning, in what was recognizably the light of a new day, and for the first time noticed an elderly lady sitting on a bench some dozen feet away. She was looking at me and our eyes met, her shoulders making that kind of little shrug back and forth that old ladies seem to do for their exercise. For the first time that day I saw someone who was not looking at me with judgment or embarrassment (or aiming a goddamn camera phone). She seemed to think I was a young, pretty girl in love, and I gave her back a lovely look that said, "I am."

I straightened then and turned, one hip cocked, and looked about me appraisingly as the grass started to light up in the sunshine. People moved on, looking. I thought to myself, 'That's right, bitches. Love is War. Read my titties and weep. Be sure to read my ass on the way out.' I stretched my arms over my head like a goof, my back arched, stomach taut and on display. Matthew looked at me grinning as if to say, 'Are you done yet?' Emboldened by my sudden infusion of happiness, I performed, for just a few seconds, a little shimmy.

"Aren't you ready for some breakfast?" I implored.

"Sure. We'll go back, get you changed."

"I'll shower first."

"No shower," he said. "Why, you feeling dirty or something?"

"Yeah, kinda," I replied.

"Good." He lowered his voice and leaned back over me. "Ass sluts do get sweaty and dirty. You should get used to it. Skip the shower. Trainer's orders. We'll walk back, you can change your bottoms and we'll get breakfast."

"I've gotta get out of this top too!"

He grinned ominously. "That knot took some doing. I don't know if you can even get out of it by yourself. I think you need to keep it on for today."

"But--but--" I stammered, uneasiness and embarrassment creeping back over me like a silent tide.

"On and on about the 'butt'," he laughed. "Just relax, you'll get used to it. Just because this is ass training doesn't mean your teats have to get left out." He gave me an affectionate look that warmed me inside like scotch. "If your modesty absolutely persists, I can always tie a scarf around your abdomen, like Cary Grant does to Ingrid Bergman in 'Notorious'. Poor dear."

His words swirled inside the foamy cup of my mind, but all I could say was, "Who the hell is Ingrid Bergman?"

Matthew's face shook with surprise, and something really serious seemed to cloud his eyes. "Are you serious? My god, I have got my work cut out for me, haven't I?"

I smiled impishly, as if to confess, "Of course you have, you silly boy." This was different than the kind of impish pleasure I took in Ted, I knew, but I was in too flustered a state on account of everything to take stock of that. I cast a sideways look and saw my old lady looking on at me, as if approving and understanding, even though I was ignorant of the greatest star of her time and was dressed like a slutty mannequin.

But Matthew was leading me away now, his arm slung possessively along my bare back, hand at my waist. "We'll keep to the shadows, let your mind return to some semblance of ease. You need to collect your faculties, though. You're going to breakfast plugged."

My stomach took the elevator to hell. "Oh shit, Matt, you know I can't--"

"'Can't' isn't in your vocabulary any more, dear," he said, tightening his grip on my bare flank. "Everything will be fine. It'll be the most relaxed and pleasurable breakfast you've had all day," he said dreamily, meaning: Who knows what?