Love Lessons

CHAPTER ONE

The class revision session went really well. Simon was easily on track for the A* grade he wanted for Maths; university was just a small step away on the other side of summer. Exams held no fear for him. He'd had a good friendly chat with Mrs Franklin about how he could score extra credit, but now he had to head home or he'd miss the bus.

As he made his way down the back stairs from the school upper level, he heard a noise - sniffing, snivelling - and paused. It sounded like crying. Not something he, as a certified introvert, wanted to have to deal with; he'd used up his coping-with-people quota for the day. He turned, as silently as he could, and started to creep back up the stairs. He could just carry on across the top landing to the other staircase, and not have to handle whatever it was going on down below.

"Hello?" called out a girl's voice.

Damn, Simon thought. They know I'm here.

Ignore them, his brain urged him. Go quickly and quietly. They won't know who you are, so they won't be able to hold it against you.

He was already turning, when she called out again, nervously: "Is there someone there?"

Guilt-laden, he started making his way back down the stairs. She sounded scared. It was late, and dark, and he guessed the school was kind-of creepy without hordes of teenagers roaming the corridors. Or maybe he'd just watched too many horror movies.

"Um, yeah, hello," he called back.

"Simon?" she replied.

He made the bottom of the stairs, looked round underneath. It was Claire. He hadn't recognised the voice because her distress, and the hollow echo of the empty corridors, had made her sound so weak - nothing at all like her usual brash confidence. Claire was one of the popular, good-looking girls in the school. If they'd had cheerleaders at this typical British comprehensive, she'd have been one of them - possibly the head girl - but that American tradition hadn't made it over to England just yet (thank goodness, he thought). Claire hung around with the other popular girls, the ones who'd incessantly tease him, call him names - gaylord, virgin - just because he didn't hit on them like the male bullies (who also went after him). He really regretted not running the other way, now. But he was here and had to make the most of it.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you okay?"

She sniffed, wiping her nose with the tissue she'd just been dabbing under her eyes. A couple of faint mascara lines trailed to her rosy cheeks. "Not really," she admitted.

Simon sighed. He was so not the person for the job of comforting a beautiful young lady in distress, but it looked like he was the only one available. And he couldn't just leave her like this - he was introverted, not heartless. He sat down beside her.

"What's the matter?"

"I can't do it!"

"Do what?" he asked.

"This! A levels! Maths, particularly, but the biology as well. It's so hard! GCSEs were so easy but this... Mrs Franklin marked me as a D for my mock in maths. D! It's not enough! How am I going to become a vet if I can't get into university?!"

Simon didn't understand. Maths was so easy - it was logical. Biology, now that was properly difficult. It wasn't a real science, like chemistry or physics. Those were sensible, precise sciences. But biology? That was messy. He didn't quite know what to say, but he knew enough not to have said any of that out loud to her.

"I ask you, a D! I've never got a D in my life!"

Well, I don't think that's true, he thought. Look at you - perfect face, perfect hair, big perky boobs, great ass, trim figure. She had, shall we say, a certain reputation; Simon was pretty sure she'd got the D plenty of times. He'd often dreamed about her, that she was working her way through all the boys in class, so one day it was bound to be his turn. Was he jealous of the others? Well, yes and no. Part of him thought he was better off out of that; the rest of him, particularly the lower parts, lusted after the chance of sex.

Yeah, if you don't bottle it, the devil whispered in his ear. Remember that girl at Sandy Shores holiday park, the one who kept touching you up in the arcade, and you freaked out? That was your chance for a bit of share-and-share-alike, but no. You didn't grab her ass or tits in response. You didn't even talk to her. You got all flustered, stormed away from the machine in a panic. Simon could still hear that girl's mocking laughter, and that of her friends, when he closed his eyes.

The silence dragged out, and he knew he had to break it...

"I could help you, if you like?"

You idiot. Why did you say that? Do you really want to spend time with her, alone? No, don't answer that either, that's not what I meant. Obviously, she wouldn't spend time with you. What were you thinking? See, this is why we should have ignored her and just gone home. Now you're gonna be the sad case that got inevitably shot down by the hottest girl in school. How clueless of you to even suggest it.

"Oh, would you? I'd be ever so grateful. This stuff makes me hopelessly lost. A bit of help with revision would be really appreciated."

"No problem," he heard himself saying. "It's a date." A beat. "Well, not a date obviously, that's ridiculous, sorry, not what I meant at all." He could feel himself blushing. "I mean, of course not. Just, um..."

She was smiling - kindly, not in a mocking way at all, like he'd expected. "I'll let you know," she said.

They walked out of the school together, chatting normally - or as normally as Simon was able to talk to a pretty girl; an event that was in itself most abnormal. At the gates they went their separate ways; her off to the posh houses, him back towards his council flat.

///

Nothing happened for a week or so. Simon assumed she had just been being polite, so he got on with his own life, resolving to forget the encounter - except perhaps in the darkness and solitude of his bedroom, where his dirty teenage brain spun an implausible fantasy out of the already unlikely scenario of Claire deeming him worth talking to.

But after class one day, out of sight of their classmates, she beckoned him aside. "Are you still up for helping me out?" she whispered.

"Sure," he said, in surprise. "When?"

"Can you make it this Saturday?"

As if he had plans for a weekend that didn't involve just playing computer games. "Yeah. Do you want to meet up at the library?"

She looked baffled. "Err, no thanks," she said. "Come to my place, say around midday?" She passed him a crumpled note. "At least we can get drinks and stuff there."

Simon was dumbstruck. A cute girl had just asked him round to her home! His mouth flapped for a bit; before he could regain control of his voice she was already gone, not wanting to be seen with him. He understood. Nobody wanted to get caught talking to the nerd.

That night, he had considerable trouble getting to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about her. About her long blonde hair, blue eyes, cute freckled face. Of the way her outfits complemented her fabulous figure - always appropriate for school, and yet fuel for the imagination of even the geekiest horny teenage boy.

He'd fancied her for years. He remembered how he used to sit beside her in Geography GCSE, being sure to sit to her left so that he could cast furtive glances at her, peeking between the buttons of her uniform blouse to catch even the slightest glimpse of a curve of round flesh held in white lace. He'd seen much more than that on the internet, of course; but that wasn't real, and more importantly it wasn't her.

Now she'd asked him round - to work, admittedly, but she could have asked anyone. Could have changed her mind and got help from anybody else. But no, she followed through, and asked him. What did it mean? Did it even mean anything?

Eventually, he gave in to the temptation, and let his hand do what it wanted. It wasn't long before the waves of guilty pleasure flooded through him, carrying him off into sleep.

///

Her house looked like one of the ones you see on TV - detached, with several rooms each side of a front door, a double garage to one side. By English standards, it was a palace. Real people couldn't afford to live in places like this, he thought. Maybe she's just playing a prank on me, sending me to some toff's house who'll call the police on me.

Nevertheless, he rang the bell, stepped back from the door, and waited. Simon was worried that - even if it was her house - Claire's parents would answer, and he'd have to explain himself. What are your intentions towards my daughter, they'd say, and he'd soil himself on the spot. But no, when the door opened, it was Claire standing there, welcoming him in. She was dressed quite conservatively by her standards; a dark bodysuit that was opaque enough not to reveal her underwear, and skinny pale blue jeans. Not flashing the flesh... but skin-tight, nevertheless. Her hair hung loosely, flowing over her shoulders to mid back.

They grabbed a drink from the kitchen and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Simon had been half-hoping they'd work in the dining room, or a home office, or something - yet also was secretly delighted that she was taking him up to her room. "My parents are out for the day, so it's just us," she said. There was no tone, nothing to hint that she'd meant anything untoward, but Simon's mind raced nonetheless. The mere thought of being left unsupervised, in her bedroom...

"Are your parents okay with me being here, alone, with you?" he asked.

Claire looked at him like he had two heads. "Why, what are you thinking of doing?" she asked, all serious, pretending to be shocked. Then she laughed. "Don't worry, they don't give a shit. I'm the youngest of three daughters, they've seen it all before and really couldn't care less what I get up to." Besides, she thought - from what mum's told me, she had a pretty wild youth of her own.

A double bed on one side, fitted wardrobes all along another. An ensuite bathroom, no less, and this wasn't even the master bedroom of the house! Such luxury. A large desk, wide enough for the two of them to comfortably sit side by side and work, covered in books and papers.

A photo frame sat prominently on the windowsill. Claire at the bottom right-hand corner, next to her two elder sisters. Behind stood the proud parents, and in front sat their three Labradors - one gold, one brown and the other black. "Elisabeth and Imogen, you know. That's my dad, Paul, and mum, Samantha," she said. Simon noticed that Claire was the very image of her mother - freckled face, button nose, cute features, and a killer rack. Not that he should think that way about a woman over twice his age. Only the hair was different; Claire was blonde while her mother was brunette.

At the end of the bed there was a large heavy wooden trunk, ornately carved, presumably filled with bedding or towels or suchlike.

"That's a nice big chest you have there," Simon said, before he'd given his brain a chance to vet the words that were escaping his mouth. Oh god, what a faux pas, he thought. Kill me now, let the ground swallow me up.

"Why thank you, kind sir," Claire fake-blushed, flapping her hands in the style of a Victorian lady, then curtseying and pressing her boobs together with her elbows as she did so. "I got that from my mother."

"What's inside?"

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

Simon laughed. "Spanish doubloons, perhaps? The lost treasures of Atlantis?"

"The bodies of my ex-boyfriends?" Claire deadpanned.

"Your porn collection?" he responded.

"Simon!" Claire exclaimed, genuinely shocked that he even knew the word, let alone dared utter it in her presence. Maybe she'd misjudged him. "I tell you what, if you can open it, you can see for yourself."

Simon looked. There was a heavy padlock with a 6-digit combination lock. He knelt in front of it. Let's see, he thought, her birthday was on 5th September, and she's 18 years old, just like me, so that makes it... he span the cylinders and gave the lock a tug. No such luck.

"Oh really, Simon, is that how little you think of me? Everybody knows my birthday, what kind of protection would that be? Wouldn't that be an... irrational... choice? Give me just a little more credit, please!"

Simon frowned. He spun the fourth cylinder back from a nine to a seven. Maybe she likes word games. Sept, seven... nope. He tried it in month-day-year too, American style, and then year-month-day just in case. No joy.

"When you've quite finished fiddling with my chest, maybe we can get on with some revision?" she teased, sitting at the table waiting for him and tapping a pencil on the A4 pad before her.

Chastised, he took a seat, and they got to work.

She actually wanted to learn, and Simon slowly warmed to the task of tutoring her. At the moment she was just another fellow student, and he almost managed to forget how insanely hot she was. And as he relaxed, his personality started to shine through.

As the afternoon wore on, Claire realised she was starting to enjoy herself. Simon was quite a good teacher, able to explain concepts to her without being condescending, patiently walking her through the material using a mixture of his own wit and fun videos he found on the internet. He was actually quite charming. By the end of the day, she felt so much more confident in her own abilities; she was buzzing.

"I think that's enough for today," she said. "My head hurts."

"Okay sure, no problem. We've got time until the real exams, maybe we can do this again sometime?"

"Sure," she agreed. She reached for a scrunchy, started sweeping her hair back off her face. Time to pay the piper. She slid off her chair onto her knees and leant over towards Simon. "Like I said, I'm most grateful for you helping me out..." She started to reach for his shorts.

"What are you doing?!" Simon was startled, not knowing how to react. Surely she wasn't going to, you know, do that?

"Thanking you," she said demurely, looking up at him with big puppy eyes.

Simon should have felt amazing, honoured, excited. Claire was on her knees before him, hands touching his dick, her boobs rising and falling as she breathed, her lips full and moist... yet the only thing he felt was terror. "No, please, that's not necessary, I..." He pushed up from the chair, trying to get away from her.

"Jesus, Simon, it's only a blowie, what's the big deal?" Claire was a bit taken back. Nobody had refused getting head from her before; the very idea was ludicrous. He'd helped her out, she was just returning the favour - a little quid pro quo is what makes the world go around.

But Simon was literally shaking, knocking stuff over on the desk as he scrambled to collect his things, panic lending a touch of mania to his actions.

"Sorry, but I think I need to be going," he spluttered, making for the door. And abruptly, there was a Simon-sized hole in the room. She really hadn't expected him to freak out like that. She did feel a little guilty, but still wasn't really sure what the fuss was about. She shrugged, and gathered up the plates and glasses they'd used, taking them down to the dishwasher.

"Sorry if I upset you," she said to Simon, who was frantically tying his laces.

"It's fine, don't worry," he flapped. "Just wasn't expecting... that. That's not why I came, not why I wanted to help you."

His pupils were still wide, his hands shaking. She'd clearly terrified him. It wasn't at all the reaction she'd anticipated. She wanted to hug him, to apologise, but realised any physical contact at this point would be counterproductive. She just had to watch him leave, confused by a teenager who was more scared than excited at the prospect of sex.

///

You fucking idiot, Simon, he thought. What the hell did you just do?

He wasn't normally one for using bad language, but this situation deserved it, so he let himself off.

All you had to do was keep your cool, and right now you'd be upstairs, and your secret crush would be sucking you off. Instead, here we are, walking home, nursing the world's hardest boner, looking ridiculous and feeling ashamed. That was probably your one chance with her, and you blew it. It's like Sandy Shores all over again. Even if she hadn't thought you were a bit weird before, she certainly does now. Idiot!

Consumed with shame and regret, he trudged the streets back home.

He thought about stopping; turning around, knocking on the door. Maybe she'd throw it open, standing in her sexy underwear, and take him right there on the hallway rug. Ha! More likely she'd slam it in his face, cursing him for the insult. Or worse, claiming he'd somehow forced her into sex, and land him right in the shit.

He knew his chance was gone forever. And yet... he couldn't stop thinking about her. About her cute button nose, splattered with freckles. Her hair, perfectly framing her face, with a gentle wave over her shoulders. Of her firm boobs, pinched waist, cute butt.

And yes, of her on her knees before him, reaching for his zipper, licking her lips. Looking straight into his eyes. Wanting him.

His hand blurred in the privacy of his bedroom, as he played the scene over and over in his mind. If he never saw her again, that moment would be enough to sustain a thousand lonely nights.

CHAPTER TWO

Claire wasn't sure if Simon was avoiding her, but it took her a while to get him on his own. She couldn't just walk up to him in the common room; if they were seen together then her friends would want to know why she was hanging out with "that loser". The truth - that she needed help with her lessons - was if anything more socially tragic than the idea of her dating the school nerd. So, she had to get him alone.

She finally collared him by the lockers early one morning. "Hey Simon, how are ya?"

"Fine thanks." Brief, polite, dismissive.

She swallowed her pride and ploughed on. "Look, I'm sorry I acted all inappropriate last week. I really didn't mean to upset you, not after how helpful you'd been."

"S'okay."

"Would you... look, this is real awkward for me to ask, but could you come back and help out again?"

Simon looked dubious.

"Please? Pretty please? I promise to be on my best behaviour. Scouts honour!" She saluted, and smiled.

Simon was lost in that smile, in the twinkling of her eyes. How could he possibly say no, turn down the opportunity to spend more time in her company?

Which is how he found himself once more kneeling on her soft bedroom floor carpet, staring in wonder at her impressive chest.

"I will NOT be defeated!" he declared, in his best comic-book villain voice.

"Oh, come on, it's eeeasy peasy!" she mocked. "Try it Simon, it's easy as pie!"

What an extraordinary thing for her to say, Simon thought. And his own thought of the word extraordinary sparked another memory... it was a terrible impression, but what she'd said was almost word for word what the Master said in that old Doctor Who anniversary special, just before the Cybermen got wiped out by the chessboard. She can't possibly have been quoting that, there's just no way she would know the reference. More likely she was just using a common phrase.

But it would be remiss of him not to at least try the sequence. 3 - 1 - 4 - 1 - 5 - 9. He gave the padlock a rattle, but nope, nothing.

"Hahaha, I knew you'd try that. You're so easy to play, Simon."

"You're not changing this when I'm gone, are you?"

"I wouldn't dream of cheating," she promised, pulling the sweetest innocent angel face, then giggling.

All the while they were going through revision - day after day, session after session - he kept trying different combinations, but to no avail. He felt a bit ashamed that she'd bested him in this, if he was being honest with himself. But he was prepared to admit there was stuff he didn't know, and he didn't always have to be the smartest person in the room. The combination's probably something stupid anyway, he said to himself. He turned his mind to the revision at hand.