‘Poor, poor! Your Head ‘Needs Improvement!’’ The Ofsted inspector had her legs wrapped around his face. ‘Good! Good! Oh, outstanding!’ she screamed, and as she stepped off, Natalia screamed, to see him laying unconscious with his face all bruised, as she tried to dab it away with concealer and poke a fag in his mouth whilst kissing him back to life.
Neill, Neill! I wouldn’t crush you, she cried, I weigh a bag of sugar! I adore you! I love you! She climbed on top of him and his twitching crotch flooded her vulva with the most beautiful feeling, a gorgeous deep throbbing. Oh, was this sex? Oh it wasn’t bad! Bonus, she would no longer be a virgin!
Her eyes fluttered open to her bedroom ceiling. A wet dream - thought only boys had those - she put her hand down to finish the orgasm, surprised to find her clit was asleep. A probing finger chased it, but it had gone. Commiseration clit then, as she mentally dragged back each detail of her dream, and within ten minutes was smiling, and then frowning as she stood in the bathroom brushing her teeth, thinking of that deep throb, that mysterious visitor she’d never felt before.
From throb to knob. Darren was down in the kitchen in just his fluorescent underpants.
‘Aye up Nat,’ he chirruped by the kettle.
‘God where’s your clothes,’ she blinked away.
‘I’ll be wearing me besties in a minute,’ he chortled. ‘Your mam’s sending me down the Jobcentre. I said she should come with me!’
‘Hmph. Good luck.’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDLMiqsDO4H
School was so calm it felt as though there were barely any pupils in it. In Yoga that morning as Natalia flexed into a Downward Dog, she wondered what it would be like to have a face licking down there, as did even the audacious sixty-odd year old Mrs Salisbury, avenging her daughter by whipping off her knickers with Neillian confidence and sitting on Neill’s face whether he liked it or not.
‘Bottoms to the heavens!’ cried Miss Barnes, another of Neill’s orgasmers. That’s if he got as far into her tight buttocks to find her throb.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlDLvFvTG8F
Coming out of the toilets on the way to the changing rooms, Natalia met with Ryan dishevelled from the football pitch.
‘Whew,’ his eyes fell to her tight pants. ‘You look hot.’
‘Literally?’ she laughed, feign-sniffing her armpit in modesty.
‘And perky,’ he grinned, as his gaze climbed her body.
‘Well you seem very perky since knocking ten bells out of Adam.’
‘Guess what,’ he stepped closer, smelling of mud. ‘Neill’s not even suspending me.’
‘He said that today?’
‘Nah he told me yesterday. He’s not in today, he’s off sick for the rest of the week, Mr Winterbrook just said.’
‘Oh.’
Neill, sick? Sick from the Ofsted woman’s old drain cunt? What if he dies from foof poisoning! She’ll sue Ofsted!
‘I keep laughing thinking of Adam conked out,’ Ryan smirked. ‘You’re so clever getting him out!’
‘I was lucky,’ she smiled. ‘I can’t believe we got away with it either.’
‘Brains and beauty. I think that’s why Neill always calls you up like his girlfriend!’
‘Don’t be daft. He just grabbed the first person he saw. He was like a headless chicken, thanks to you!’ She whacked his arm. ‘So, are you free Saturday? I’ve got fags,’ she winked.
‘Depends if Auntie Jackie’s looking after mum.’
‘Oh, ok. See you round.’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLfhVGOJb9U
Natalia felt hollow as she got changed. Two school days of Neilllessness before a Neillless weekend? She needed to wipe through her malaise with the fragrant dishcloth of Ryan or she’ll straddle his mum’s face and polish her off herself!
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4AWqCuMcEX
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡatrOwc8uWj
*
After school, laid on-bed, she hoped Neill might call like the last two days. Hello, Tremble, stop wanking and come pull a sickie with me. She wanted to text him, but didn’t feel it was her place. Was he taking a staff inset day to teach Joan how to swallow?
Oh, but a quick sweet word from him would be better than another bag of crisps right now! Spending the next half hour collating every sweet and impertinent thing he’d ever said to her, she mustered the courage in her fingers to finally type and send:
‘Heard you’re sick…. Hope you’re ok and recovering from Ofsted! X’
A reply came twenty minutes later:
‘Hello darling! I’m ok. Having some time off - you should too! Back Monday x’
Permission from the Head to have a day off? Well she didn’t need to go into Friday’s Assembly to feel even greyer upon the sight of Dinkey presenting. Pain feign time!
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVea5huiPn2
‘Stomach ache again?’ sniffed her mum the next morning. ‘Probably got IBS like Debbie. She can’t even go down the chippie without sitting on the bog for three hours first! —That perfumed tea won’t help.’
‘I’ve just used the last of the milk.’
‘I’m off down Aldi. Better use these vouchers up.’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrkYKRX4gDm
Back upstairs, Natalia texted Neill:
‘Having a day off then ;)’
- ‘Bad girl… I mean, good girl!’
‘I’m having the Earl Grey with lavender & vanilla from Borough :)’
- ‘Best one! Hope you’ve got food too?! x’
‘All good, she’s off shopping x’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUFdA82Vfkd
Ah, even insipid conversation with her kindred tea-drinking spirit made her moist. She got out the graphic novel of Jane Eyre Neill had bought her in Haworth, and laughed at the pages where Jane was sponging the blood of the wounded Mason, just like she did Adam. Bitten by Ryan, the mad Bertha! Neill as the brooding Rochester, and whilst ‘master was away,’ she would be forlorn Jane dutifully awaiting his galloping return on Monday… and meanwhile text Bertha instead:
‘So when are we resuming our meet? ;)’
Twenty minutes and no reply. Was he looking up the word ‘resume’? Or let her guess, it depends on his stupid Aunt Jackie and his sick mum?
‘Sorry, depends if Auntie Jackie’s free. Mum quite sick atm’
How does she officially block those words coming up?
‘Oh I’m sorry x’
- ‘R u ok? Didn’t see u in skool 2day?’
‘Yeah, had a bit of stomach ache. Better now.’
- ‘Not that u need to worry about missing work. Being super clever!’
‘Spoff, you mean ;)’
- ‘Haha no. You kno I like u a lot! Since Yr 7!’
‘What, when I was like a mouse hiding behind my fringe!’
- ‘Yes. I always av. I was 2 shy 2 say ;)’
‘Aw… that’s really nice x’
- ‘I remember u wrote the best poem in the english comp that time. Do u still write?’
‘Yeah I do… I’m writing a novel. Well, on pause at the moment whilst I revise for exams!’
- ‘Wow, sweet! I’d luv 2 read one day!’
‘Thanks ;) Well I hope I get to see you tomorrow.’
- ‘You will. Goodnight beautiful x’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQcLK9t5Az5
Ah, that word. Rather grand from him. Her tear duct tickled to know he’d watched her since that first year she’d arrived all sad and surly that the sweet days of primary school were over. Only took him five years to say anything, but:
‘Goodnight Ryan xxx’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡd9GE7P7suz
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbNhX7CmVTB
*
‘Can’t come out. Auntie Jackie’s in Newcastle’
Oh you stupid ginger twat, fuck off, then fuck off some more, you absolute predictable fuckwit.
She dumped her phone with a bounce on the mattress. What was the point of having washed her red dress and tied up her hair in pigtails for six hours to make it mermaid-wavy?
Her phone buzzed again:
‘Where r u? In bed yet?’
- ‘Sorry you can’t come out. Yep I’m on my way to bed… x’
‘Aww.. what are you wearing’
She sat up. This was a bit more interesting.
‘Nothing, if you must know ;)’
- ‘Ahhhh. I’d like to see that’
‘Haha. You wish.’
- ‘I can show u me rn’
Rn? Oh, right now. She didn’t know what to type back. Did she really want to see him in his Adidas pyjamas?
A photo came up. It was from his point of view, laying down; a bulge in his grey pyjama pants, his full and boyish fingers parked upon the hem.
Hmm. She smiled. What the next stage of the twitch looks like.
‘Ahhaha. Very nice. Sweet dreams already? x’
- ‘Sweet dreams of u beautiful… send me one’
She hiked up her red dress, swivelled her hips into coquettish undulation and sent him a bronzed hip bone.
‘Woww u have a gorgeous body. And sexy knickers ;)’
- ‘My knickers say thanks’
‘Lol. I’ll kiss them back’
Ah, her ‘naughty parts’ as Neill declared them, getting some effortless recognition right from her bedcovers. Good job neither Neill nor Ryan could hear the five-second fart she just did.
‘Once your mum is better [or dead, she thought] would you take me out to dinner?’
- ‘Course… I’d love to x’
‘I’d love to sit in your lap and have you kiss me…’
- ‘I’ll kiss u all down ur neck. And squeeze u all evening cos ur so cute’
‘Ahhh :)))’
- ‘What do you like to drink’
She assumed she shouldn’t put Earl Grey. What tipple did she least hate, or even ever had?
‘Malibu & coke’
- ‘Cool u can have one with me ;)’
‘How do you like girls to be?’
- ‘How do u mean?’
‘Do you like to be… dominant? Do you.. have a girl do as you say ;)’
- ‘I cud do if u wanted’
Hmph. Come on, give me something. Give me that hollow pelvic prickle.
‘I liked it when you held my hand when we went out’
- ‘Oh yeah. That’s what boyfs & girlfs do honey xxx’
‘I love it x’
- ‘Dya want another photo?’
Er…
‘Ok’
A picture flashed up. She stared. His bottoms and pants were at his knees, his pale cock in his hand, flanked by ginger pubes, white-knuckle squeezed like he was strangling a chicken.
Oh good God. What a twitch looks like developed and exposed. Before she could figure out what to say, he wrote:
‘Dya want a video?’
She was just getting over the photo. But…
‘Sure’
A video came up. She pressed play with caution.
It was four seconds of him wanking his flopping penis like a piece of perpendicular dough, stiffening upwards as his thumb and finger rubbed his glistening helmet like an XBox joystick.
She bit her lip, and pressed a heart on both picture and video.
‘Ha… so naughty’
It would be rude to say the obvious about the rudely obvious, wouldn’t it? Like, why do I want to see a photo, then a video, of your cock? Still, cock curiosity kept her eyes glued to the screen.
‘Send me yours now sexy’
I haven’t got a cock, she thought was too facetious a reply. There’s clearly a lingo here; a sexting etiquette she’s somehow arrived at like coming out of an elevator at the wrong floor, but still, she’s the blushing woman - she can hesitate in sext.
‘Oh haaa… I dunno ;-)’
- ‘Please… I’d love to see your beautiful tits’
And that was male chivalry in sext. Did she really want to send a photo of her intimate parts to Ryan Welsh, or anyone? Staring at his words, there was an air of safety, sweetness in this chat together, even despite her private grimaces and smirks at its novelty, there felt no question she should worry that what she sends him will go any further than the appreciated fulfilment of his own boyish appetite in this moment.
She took off her dress and turned on the back-mode camera. Good Lord, that was unflattering. One giant nipple in the camera. She re-angled it. Ah, her breast looks bigger. Like a feeding baby’s eye view. Was he going to imagine sucking on it? Oh dear. Why did boys want something so detached and cut off from the rest of the body?
She pressed send, just as she felt a stab of fear: his mum has breast cancer! What if this triggers him!
Instantly a heart came up on the image. He liked it, thank god, her tit was approved into the sexting club. She didn’t understand why, it was just a tit floating in space. It could be anyone’s tit.
‘Omg you are sooo sexy’
Mmm, she drunk that in. The instant approval of her body was exciting, especially with the 50% bleach-contrast she’d put on it before sending.
‘Thank u’
- ‘What would u like 2 c next of me?’
Your face, she sighed in thought. Your hair, neck, your hands, your chest, your thighs?
‘Show me your body ;)’
He sent back a photo from chest to legs, centred by his knob looking even redder at the end, his hand gripping it as though it was his last bastion of hope.
It said:
‘That’s how horny ur pic makes me rn’
Oh, that’s nice. Makes you rn, not run, thankfully.
‘Send me more sexy’
Send him more sexy? Guess punctuation goes awol in sexting. What should she send him, the other breast?
‘I want to see your delicious cunt’
Goodness how forward. But he uses the word cunt just like Neill. He must be alright.
Her first thought was, there’s no way she could do that. She put the camera down between her legs just to see how bad it would look.
Jesus, this was even worse than the tit pic. Some kind of gynaecologist’s view; kaleidoscope of oyster flesh blinking over the screen. Did he really want this? She put her hand to it. That made it look remotely poetic; her slender fingers falling over her unflattering flaps. Or rather, it hid them. Should she arrange her fingers so they casually slipped inside? That looked worse, like she’d lost a quid up there.
Wasn’t he a virgin too? She suddenly hoped he’d watched shedloads of porn so she wouldn’t terrify him with My First Vagina. But if he did watch hairless porn, should she shave it a bit before she terrifies him with What a Vagina Really Looks Like?
She took ten attempts before she had one that looked sufficiently like a cunt, and sufficiently not like a cunt.
‘R u there?’ prompted the cunt inspector.
Definitely no time to shave.
‘Yes… this is for you…’
She pressed send. There was a moment of heart-wrenching regret before a heart popped up. She sighed with relief. He was typing back. Hurry up, you cunt.
‘Omg I want to eat’
Did that mean he was being called to dinner?
‘I sooo want to eat u. Mmmmm’
At least he was showing more interest in cunnilingus than Neill did. What should she write back? I’d love to quiver on your nose like an old shipwreck? Or bob against it like a nifty young speedboat?
She put a heart back, and wrote a quick ‘mmm.’ It didn’t seem to matter what she wrote as his next message was:
‘Oh god I’m gonna cum’
Please don’t show me. And dodge your screen.
A video flashed up. It was three seconds of milky liquid flying up from his now super-swollen red-ended white cock whilst ginger hairy knees bicycled with relief in the background.
She watched through one eye. Oh Lord that looked gross. And boys were happy enough to subject a girl to that sight as easily as a bus pass to a driver?
‘Do you like that babe’
- ‘There was… so much cum’
‘Yeahhh x’
His ‘online’ status disappeared a few seconds later, as she pondered that strange experience whilst going down to open the fridge.
‘Make yourself a sandwich with the ham and egg mayo over there,’ came her mum’s voice behind her.
‘I’ll skip the egg mayo. You’re quiet for a Saturday night?’
‘Probably cos I’ve sent Daz home. There’s at least ten paid jobs he could be doing and he’d rather cadge off my fridge. It’s like having another of you!’
‘Well I wouldn’t mind another of you. The fridge is empty again.’
‘Cheeky cow.’
‘Give me some money, I’ll go shopping?’
‘Give you my money! Now you are like Darren.’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSsQcsQMNRq
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPq3a3DINYO
*
Sunday evening, sipping tea, she saw Ryan back online.
‘What u doin babe x’
- ‘Getting into bed ;)’
‘Gotta let me see x’
She sent a photo of her knickered hips.
‘Oh yeah… take those off. Would love to see u rubbing ur clit x’
Her sexy knickers were old news. And just because she hadn’t blocked him or said anything negative, was taken as a presumption she wants another photo, this time stood at his bedroom mirror, his semi-erect penis hanging from the crotch of his sports bottoms with the top button still done up. As if she wanted to see his frozen sausage just casually dangling as though he’d forgotten to stuff it back into his fly after going to the toilet, a passing waft of anger narrowed her eyes all the while she gawked at it.
Neill’s forwardness excited her, so this should too? She couldn’t help feeling it made Neill seem gentlemanly by comparison. A generational thing? Would Neill sext a woman like this? There was something irritatingly impersonal, like she could pass her phone to her mum and have her continue the conversation and the only way he’d know a difference was a slightly more underwrinkled areola that you could possibly sheen away with the camera’s skin effects. Her mum would even talk his lingo better, babe!
She put her phone on flight mode and dumped it on the top shelf.
Returning to it ten minutes later with a guiltier tail between her legs than his, she wrote:
‘Sorry… not feeling too good tonight hon. X’
‘Aw are you ok’
Not even a question mark, can’t care that much. She didn’t want to be his nightly wank-aid. She wanted to go back to talking about what a misunderstood wunderkind she was in Year 7 or how sexy she is in knickers in Year 11. Did this mean she really wasn’t ready for sex? Or was it just this conversation?
‘See how I feel in an hour x’
After writing in her journal for an hour about the idiocy of sexting, she typed:
‘Hey, still up? Guess what, think I’m gonna start writing my novel again ;)’
His reply:
‘I have my cock in my hand. I want u to tell me exactly wot u want me to do’
Jeez. She had absolutely no idea what she wanted him to do. Up, down, squeeze? Give him a tutorial for what he did last night? How about you tell me what you want to do with your own cock, you cocky cock? Or how about not? For you just ignored me, and ignoring me will lead to seeing absolutely nothing of my delicious cunt, you officious twat!
‘Not feeling up to that tonight xx’
- ‘Oh…ok… sumthin wrong?’
‘I just don’t want to do that… you know’
- ‘U can’t get preg over a fone Nat’ - with a laughing face.
‘Gee thanks for pointing that out’
- ‘You were into it last nite’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyLl4WoImdQ
The conversation was left hanging like his dopey dick. Was she inconsistent? But weren’t women allowed to be? Even her mum sent lazy bastard Darren home when she’s a lazy bastard herself.
She turned off her phone and dumped it back on the shelf. Her period was starting a dull ache and she didn’t care to hear from anyone or fantasise about anything right now, not even for food appearing in the fridge.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHmP0k0lsAU
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFuDBiCbut1
*
There was his car, and there was Rochester, back from his four-day weekend and a tonic for the eyes even at a distance. Already two teachers round him like wasps; one was Mrs Clayton - she could tell from her distinct shriek of laughter bouncing across concrete - and after two nights of frowning, Natalia felt the envious urge to sit and laugh with Neill again about something. Anything.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡI98XOtRXiy
Whilst Williams popped out to collect French textbooks, Natalia gazed at the blackboard thinking of Neill’s stockinged teacher’s ‘nails down a chalkboard’ laugh, wondering whether her laugh was nicer, just as a snigger came across the room that certainly wasn’t. It was Bernard, sitting next to Ryan, whom she’d avoided looking at all through morning form since the soured Sunday sext.
She glanced to see them looking down into their hands, where their phones must be. Ryan’s cheeks were roundening like red apples; Bernard grinning now too, and then, as Ryan drew his phone back, Adam turned from the seat in front.
‘What’s that! Gay porn?’
‘A hot girl fingering herself!’ answered Bernard, as Adam leaned over and snatched it, and Ryan lunged at him.
‘Give that back or I’ll knock you out again!’
All the heads in the room turned.
‘Guys!’ Jennifer warned. ‘Miss is gonna be back any second!’
Adam held away the phone, tapping on it with Bernard grinning over his shoulder, and just as Ryan stepped up and yanked it out of his hands, Adam was cawing:
‘He’s been sexting Natalia! I saw her name on the chat! It’s her tits! It’s Natalia fingering herself! And you said she was hot Bernard!’
‘Nah I din’t—!’
The only face not turned on Natalia right now was Ryan, who sat back down red-faced, whilst Natalia felt as though she’d been plunged into an ice bath.
Just then the door opened and Mrs Williams waddled in.
‘Well I say! All so silent and ready to work!’
‘Fingers on lips, miss,’ someone muttered, followed by more sniggers that Natalia could barely hear right now. She couldn’t even look up from her lap. As the lesson proceeded, she was as mute a mouse as in Year 7 and suddenly wished she had a fringe again to hide behind.
‘Natalia?’ repeated Mrs Williams. ‘The verb to go?’
‘She wants to go alright,’ someone whispered.
‘She knows the verb to come!’
Natalia gulped. ‘Sorry miss, I, I… can I go to the toilet please?’
‘She wants to crack one out now…’
‘Silence, boys! Yes, you may go, Natalia.’
Natalia slipped away her pencil case, pulled up her bag and coat, and as she scraped her chair legs back, Williams’ eyes shot up.
‘Why are you taking your coat?’ she frowned.
‘I need it. It’s cold in there.’
All the class laughed as Natalia blustered out of the room.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFpZzLGXkVz
She wanted to walk straight out of the school like the last time she felt this awful. That was when Neill had rescued her, declaring she didn’t have to go anywhere! But this debacle? Being identified in a picture touching herself, when Neill teases her about touching herself? He’ll find it hilarious or tragic! And imagine trying to get hold of him on a busy Monday, to tell him about photos of her cunt that are probably across the whole school by now!
If she had a dad, she would go to him right now - or ‘rn’ as stupid Ryan would write - but she did have Mr RN, who professed to be her daddy - come to me for anything, he’d said… that earnest look in his eye, she saw it now… and turned, rocketing down Neill’s corridor without the usual cautionary glance.
Please be in, please be free…
She almost ran into Mrs Coleman coming round the corner.
‘Oh! …Natalia!’
‘Sorry—’
‘Are you… are you ok?’ Coleman added softly, upon noticing her face of despair.
‘No, I’m not,’ Natalia stepped around her. ‘I need to talk to Neill—’
She was barred by an arm of lilac linen. ‘Neill is busy at the moment, I just tried him. What’s happened? If you’re hurt, you need to go to Recep—’
‘I’ll try Neill—’ She pushed past Coleman’s arm.
‘Natalia! I said he’s busy!’
‘He’ll talk to me—’
‘Why? Why Neill?’
Natalia’s face distorted as her tongue tumbled. ‘Because Neill is the only one in this stupid school who cares! The one who actually recognises when someone does something wrong instead of blaming the victim! When boys were saying shitty things to Ryan Welsh about his sick mum, he didn’t give Ryan the old sticks and stones line like Neary would! So I’m off to talk to Neill about something because I know he will actually care!’
Coleman sighed. ‘Neill’s not a counsellor, Natalia.’
‘Oh no. He’s better. He’s human.’
Natalia marched off to Neill’s door and almost fell into it as she knocked.
‘I told you I’m busy!’ came Neill’s voice within.
‘Neill, it’s me—’
There were footsteps and a muttering of ‘I need to get a camera on this d—’ as the door opened in her face, and his hands shot out to steady Natalia’s crumbling stance.
‘Goodness! What happened?’
‘Can I, can I c—’
‘In, in—’
He ushered her to the other side of his closing door just as a wide-eyed Coleman was appearing.
‘I’m sorry Neill, I couldn’t stop her—’
‘It’s fine, Kate, I finished my call and I’ll deal with it.’
‘I can take her to Recep—’
‘I said I’ll deal with it.’
The door fell on Coleman as Neill turned to Natalia, who had slumped at his desk with her face buried in her arms.
‘Natalia! Darling! What’s wrong?’
Coleman’s footsteps were heard walking away, as Natalia let out a long muffled moan, her body screwed into a ball. Neill’s hand came to the hump of her back.
‘That Monday feeling?’
Another long moan.
‘Period?’
‘Yeah… and…’
‘And?’
She was silent.
‘Natalia.’ He jostled her back. ‘Sit up, Quasimodo. Do you need a hug?’
She stayed motionless.
He sighed and walked round to sit with a creak into his chair.
‘Tea?’
Her buried head shook a no. She popped up her face to breathe.
‘Something… something terrible’s happened,’ she croaked.
‘What?!’
‘It’s really awful, and embarrassing…’ Her inflamed eyes shut fast.
He reached to stroke a lock her hair from her face. ‘Tell me,’ he said softly. ‘Who’s upset you?’
‘It’s Ryan.’
There was a pause. He drew his hand away. ‘What?’ he said in a low tone. ‘What has he done?’
‘He’s got… he’s got a picture of me.’
He paused. ‘I don’t understand, darling.’
‘We were, we were sexting…’
‘You were what-ting?’
‘Sext—’
‘You had sex?’ he said quietly.
‘No—’
‘Natalia, sit up and talk to me properly—’
‘Sexting,’ she sat up and shook her hair back. ‘You of all people must know what sexting is.’
‘Sex texting? Sex, over text?’ he squinted.
‘Yeah…’
She smirked faintly at his confused face, feeling a pinprick of surprised gladness that she was the first one to find humour in this.
‘When people take their clothes off over the phone to someone?’
‘Well, kind of. You take pictures of your… you know… and send them…’
‘What, you’re a sort of live porn without the money?’
‘One way to put it.’
‘What is it with kids these days?’ he muttered. ‘So he photographed his penis and texted it to you?’
She mused. ‘Yeah, if you want to say it like that.’
‘And you reciprocated?’
‘Yeah. My naughty parts,’ as she rested her face sideways on one arm, her cheek smooshed upwards, her hand reaching to distractedly stroke a fingertip on the escape key of his keyboard, groaning. ‘And this is the naughtier part. The other boys have seen them.’
‘When? Just now?’
‘Yeah, in French,’ as she fiddled with his mouse.
‘Which boys? Stop fidgeting with that—’
‘Bernard and Adam.’
‘So Ryan Welsh, Bernard Wright, and Adam Letchworth? Just those three? Sit up, darling.’
She sat up. ‘Yeah.’
‘No-one else?’
‘No.’
‘And the photos are on Ryan’s phone?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did he send them to anyone?’
‘Just on Ryan’s I think. I saw him showing them to Bernard, then Adam snatched it and they were all looking.’
He sighed heavily, as his eyes wandered round the room and she looked down, waiting for him to speak.
He gave a sharp inhale, and she looked up.
‘Ok. You know I’m going to sort this, don’t you?’
She nodded.
‘All three of them will be dealt with.’
‘But wh-what…’ she blinked, ‘will you expel them?’
‘No. But it won’t be pretty. You need to be brave for this one.’
‘Oh… are you… will you…’
‘They will be given a good drubbing, yes.’
‘Drabbing?’
‘Thrashed. Beaten. Pounded. But not like that—’
‘Oh?’ She blinked repeatedly. ‘But how will, will you—’
‘Not by me,’ he drew a breath and arose from his chair. ‘Although I’d like to.’
‘Will they… be ok?’
‘Yes, Natalia, they’ll live,’ as he stood looking out of the window. ‘But Ryan’s phone will be destroyed and the other two boys’ phones just to be sure.’
She stared. ‘You won’t let them know I’ve, I’ve—’
‘Irrelevant. Just keep your head down.’ He turned to her. ‘Stay off school tomorrow. And I’m sure you know not to say a word. Now are you going to leave me to sort it?’
He leaned his hands down on the desk, looking intently into her face.
She nodded rapidly.
‘Yes?’
‘Yes sir,’ she added hurriedly.
‘Now let me tell you what’s going to happen next. You’re going straight home in a taxi,’ as he drew out his phone like a gun from his jacket. ‘Has your mother been shopping?’ came the next line of the mafia man.
‘Nope. There’s no food at home right now.’
‘Thought so, from those absurdly loud stomach gurgles,’ as he frowned into his phone. ‘The taxi will take you via the nearest shop,’ he tapped, ‘which is…’
‘Aldi or Tesco down Roundhay Road would be the—’
‘No, no… your nearest decent one. Ah, Marks & Sparks, two miles. The taxi will take you there first.’ He drew out a fifty pound note from his wallet.
‘A fifty quid note?! That will look super dodgy—’
‘Ok, ok. Two twenties. At M&S that should just about cover lunch and dinner.’
She was about to open her mouth when he motioned a finger to his lips, phone at his ear. ‘Yes, hello. May I have a cab from Thornwood High School on Norman Road…’
She sat in silence watching him.
‘You’ll be here in ten. Ok perfect.’
He set the phone down and raised the cash as she duly rose from the chair in tandem.
He drew the notes away and raised his finger.
‘Most importantly, when you’re in M&S, take a bag for your shopping but don’t scan it. They’ll charge you 60p. What a rip off!’
‘Er, ok—’
‘The chicken Caesar salads should still be good at this time. You might even be in time for the sushi before the edges of the salmon curl. But just remember!’ - he stared earnestly - ‘the wraps don’t count as part of the lunch deal! They caught me out twice with that one—’
‘Er, right…’
‘And do NOT’ - she jumped and stared - ‘be fooled by the Innocent Smoothies claiming to be chockful of kale, spirulina - or the bile of tortured bear cubs - they’re 90% apple juice! What a swizz! Half an hour should be ample time to read the ingredients before the cab fucks off again.’
He finally put the money into her hand.
‘Now run along darling without another word and I’ll sign you out myself.’
‘Crazy. Absolutely crazy,’ as she went to turn the keys. ‘By the way, sir,’ as he glanced back up to her, ‘call Coleman up before she gets, er, jealous.’
He nodded.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUMHQzn89Hp
Back down on the ground floor, Mrs Williams was standing by the toilets, open-mouthed.
‘Natalia! Where have you been!’
‘Reception. They’ve signed me out sick.’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiCGKlLehG8
She walked out of school, into the cab and through the aisles of Marks & Spencer like she was in a dream. So pleasurable was the peaceful strata of middle-class living that she almost maxed the time and the money, picking up Gastro Greens and Chicken Forestière and King Prawn Paella. Damn, that fifty note could have nabbed her another couple of bags of Percy Pigs. For her protector was swooping in to thrash those pigs, Ryan included! Oh god, what if his mum gets worse after this? Oh god, but Red Berry and White Chocolate Buche? Sounds nice, whatever that is. Jamie Oliver’s face grinning on a packet of sausages, like sextraitor Ryan flicking his phone screen to Bernard. Urgh. Yes sir. Drub him! Teach that cunt who c’unt keep a cunt to himself a lesson!
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡItXsZbWbJC
Soon she was unpacking her goods from three carrier bags - all unscanned, for she’d better do what Headthrasher said - home alone, cooking up paella at leisure, texting Neill:
‘Home, fed… thank you…again x’
- ‘You’re welcome, again x’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwYJ7tfbZcj
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡs6Cm313cnC
*
‘You were right,’ Natalia groaned mid-turd to her mum from the toilet. ‘It must be IBS, from paella and perfumed tea!’
‘Bloody Sarah buying you poncey Sparksies food! I always knew it were no better than Lidl!’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZZNXBdQuW1
She flushed the toilet smiling, then lay in bed with thoughts like an M25 traffic jam. She’d never had her woes so taken care of, and so rebelliously, so dangerously! On the Embankment his glinting eye asked, how bad do you like badboys to be? He risked everything in recklessly protecting her, and who on earth was he getting to do it? How injured would they be? But it was good, so good!
She lay and laughed, laughed, and laughed, shrinking that nagging little finger-waving policeman in her head. She turned on Relax in her earphones. Hit, hit, snarl, huu-arrh! Take that, you three apes of idleness! She’d smoke one of Neill’s fags out of her bedroom window till a text buzzed in at 6 from Neill himself:
‘All done x’
- ‘What? x’
‘The matter is done’
- ‘Thank you… genie… ass… kicker… x’
‘I’m in the pub… sounded like you needed a jinn and tonic…’
She wanted to write a clever response. Two minutes searching drink names on Google.
‘More like… tequila slammer or a Bloody Mary’
- ‘I was hoping for a Transfusion. Highball drink. How apt!’
‘Well no more three jeers here.’
- ‘Nazdorovie, you Russian bird!’
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpzZAxmuTCK
There were voices at the front door. Scrapes of feet on doormat; the laugh of a woman and deep tone of more than Darren. Ah, so mum’s brought some friends. Good on her, she supposes, even if it’s midweek. She locked her bedroom door with one hand, the other hand ensconced down her period knickers; a reflex action after the intelligent turn-on of texting with the man who’d gifted her with Roxana, the Daniel Defoe book she laid back down with.
Trying not to red-fingerprint the three pages she managed to read before the sight of her bloody hand - looking exactly as Bernard’s face would right now, another of Neill’s gifts! - made her push her hand back down; they will get a good drubbing! Pounded, but not like that, Natalia! Oh yes like that - I have a mind worse than yours - and oh! …in its private, unphotographed, red raw cave it red-roared harder than she could possibly imagine it ever doing over text to Jamie Oliver’s sausage. Four thrashes later, I can hear your stomach gurgling from here! She fancied that Chicken Forestière.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6ykyqM2NAE
Padding down the stairs and past the lounge of cackling riot, she saw somebody had already fancied it. Dumped on the side of the oven was the cardboard Sparks sleeve that now sparked her wrath to peep into the living room. Mum was draped around Darren’s shoulders; another wrinkly blonde woman sitting smoking next to her, and two other men flicking through the TV.
Darren’s eyes, glazed by lager, caught on hers.
‘Aye up, young Nat! Wanna join us?’
Her stare shifted to the M&S buche packaging on the table.
‘Oh! I see you’ve been satiated!’
‘Say-she-what?’
Natalia stepped into the lounge, pointing at the table. ‘You nicked my grub!’
‘Aww! Soz—’
‘Who’s…?’
‘It’s Mary’s girl—’
‘Here’s a tenner love, pop down to Maccie D’s!’
‘We could get kebabs. I’m still hungry—’
‘Are you kidding?’ Natalia glared. ‘That was my food from M&S!’
‘Ooh aye, not just any food!’
‘Saved you a stomach ache, love.’
‘We’re having a celebration here, Trouble! Give your mam a break!’ cawed Darren.
‘A break from what?’ Natalia spat. ‘Celebration of what? That you managed to get down to the Jobcentre?’
The large-bellied man wheezed with laughter and the blonde woman cackled.
‘Oh, you cheeky cow!’ glared Mary.
‘He’s done alright, the lad!’ laughed the large man.
‘I’ve never even won a tenner on a scratchcard,’ the woman chimed in, as Darren pulled out his phone:
‘I’ll order those kebabs—’
‘You got the app on there already?’
‘Nah I’ll just ring ‘em.’
‘Give it to Tiny, he’s a technophone!’
Beer breath wafted over Natalia as ‘Tiny,’ the big-bellied ‘technophone’ crossed over to Darren.
Turning and slamming the lounge door, Natalia ran to gather her remaining yoghurts and ham from the fridge; slammed her bedroom door, then slammed The Doors into her ears. Stripping to her underwear under her covers, annoyed she didn’t get to find out what a Forestière or a Buche actually was, she relished that at least her body was her own, and that the pictures she’d sent to Ryan were as destroyed as their faces, and whilst the noise continued downstairs, she smooshed a chocolate bar into her lips, falling into a dream she was in Borough Market with her mum, running along the motorway with Neill, then Ed offered her mum a cigarette to which Natalia protested, and pulled away the lighter as it exploded with a big bang.
She woke startled. Her clock glowed 12.15am.
Another bang - right on her door. Shrieking laughter and loud thumping music; it sounded like a crowd of drunks was falling down the stairs. Tying her gown girdle, she rushed over to check her door was locked. Just as she reached it, another crack on it from the other side made her almost jump out of her skin.
‘Nat, Nat, you wanna join us!’
It was the voice of Darren-but-not-Darren; an unknown number of beers into the Un-Darren, whilst her Un-Mum in the background tittered and berated and yelped all at once.
Her heart beat nine to the dozen. She didn’t know whether to shout back or stay quiet. Feet thudding on stairs, followed by laughter and shrieks.
‘You’ve not ordered a stripper! Flamin’ Nora!’
‘That her name?’
‘Well you wun’t get your tits out!’
‘He can only afford twenty minutes!’
‘That’s thirty eight more than he normally needs!’
‘Can’t even do Maths yer so pissed!’
Merriment that belonged in a slapstick comedy, mixed with aggressive grunts and bangs of a brutal drama made Natalia’s neck prickle. Her stomach stabs with a memory of being afraid. What if they broke her lock? Asked her to get her tits out? Tormented or drubbed her? And her mother would do… nothing? Miss Unable, drunk in charge?
She sank to her knees at her bedside table and took her phone into her shaking hands.
Without overthinking it, she rang Neill. It went straight to Vodafone voicemail.
The voices downstairs were merging into the bump-bump of the music din. If she wanted to leave the house, how would she even get out? She would have to go down and walk through them, and that could make things even worse.
She barricaded her door with a chair, then her bedside table in front of that. Squinting through the dark window she knew she could drop from her ledge to the kitchen roof if she was brave enough. But where would she even go? The police? Implicate her mother, have her taken away, and then what? Would social services put a 16-year old into care?
Jittery fingers typed into Google as her eyes jumped about a government webpage, catching that at 16 she was ‘still a dependent,’ and if she left home, her mum could ‘apply through the courts’ to bring her back. Her mum couldn’t call a plumber to fix the tap, let alone set up a court order to bring back the kid she can’t feed! Where would she even go, right now, or rn?… run, to RN; oh, she’d live in Neill’s shed like he said, and keep it as messy as her sexual tragicomedy of a life right now!
With the weight of her thoughts - now wandering to what the neighbours were going to say about the music - her eyes eventually fell closed and brain creaked into troubled sleep and didn’t wake till her alarm went off at 7am.
Her eyes fell upon the door, still safely barricaded. She turned her alarm off hurriedly, then saw a text from The Mafia Man:
‘You called me at 1am?’
- ‘Sorry…’
‘Are you ok?!’
- ‘Yes.. and no… could I see you?’
Neill’s number flashed up calling.
‘Hi…’ she croaked, mouth at pillow.
‘Natalia! Not so good morning?’ His lively voice was like cleansing drops in both her eyes and ears. ‘What’s happened now?’
‘I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to—’
‘Darling stop apologising. The boys have been taken care of. Did something else happen, did anyone say—?’
‘No, no, nothing to do with all that. Something happened at home…’
‘Are you ok?’
‘I’m fine, I just… I, I need to get out of here and talk to someone, I’m sorry, I mean… not sorry—’
‘It’s fine, fine. Listen, I would come grab you right now, but I’ve just got out of Joan’s. All that talk of drubbing and not being able to drub those boys myself I had to go drub something else. Tried my damned best to leave last night but fell asleep marinating in her floral eiderdown and I have to go home and deflower myself by scrubbing this frightful scented stink from my very soul—’
‘It’s ok, I understand, I—’ She paused. Shit, the violence turned him on too.
‘Make your way to school and I can see you there… oh, bouncing bollocks! Wonky Wank’s hogging my office this morning, can you come up at break?’
She moaned. Rn, she thought, rn… as her mouth took over and spoke her thoughts:
‘I need to see you right now.’
‘Alright. Meet me in room 19 on the third floor at 8.30.’
Fortune favours the bold-as-bouncing-bollocks.
‘Thank you.’
Legs feeling lighter, she slipped on her gown, removed the barricade and opened the door cautiously. They surely have all gone home by now, but a grunt from the living room, and the resent of last night’s fear ringing like nausea up her nose, had her skip both shower and breakfast, get dressed at super speed and leave.
27Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWgOihuYoOK
*
A liberation to go to school, now that’s novel, as the cool morning air of freedom hit her face. Her breath softened every minute the bus took her closer to Room 19. Had she been in that room before?
The room’s door had no window pane on it.A disused activity room she’d once seen decked out for Open Day. The door was locked, but she heard a jangle of keys. Scrubbed, deflowered Neill must be approaching; the familiar step and breath of his navy suit was suddenly, wordlessly at her side; a mist of de-Joaned cologne and fags that made her light-headed as a tingle spiralled up her solar plexus, and with that guiding grunt of his hand on her shoulder with which he’d navigated her round the London Underground, they were inside.
His hand stayed on her as he locked the door from the inside, her skin bristling now from this surreptitious meet she’d instigated, as though his hand was the firm clamp of her own undoing; but as she looked up to his earnest eyes, she felt as dear as the lamb her coat once was, beckoned by her tailor-suited shepherd to two plastic chairs he scraped into position facing each other, as he motioned them both down into it like a private canoe where four knees knocked together and her hands were gathered into his.
‘So, what’s happened at home? Do you want a hug?’
She didn’t want to miss this one. Her eyes jumped to his.
‘I, I haven’t had a shower—’
He scooped her straight into the sweet aroma of the real Neill deal; bum onto his thighs and head into his chest, limpening into pretend-GF pose within his enveloping arms just where she wanted to be, and she permitted herself to let out all the sobs about everything in life, now whilst she had the chance, as quietly as she could, for she soon sensed his ‘shushes’ weren’t just to placate her but were timed with his intermittent head cocks to the door. For even Mr Mafia Man had nerves as well as nerve. She awaited and relished that gentle brush of a kiss on her hair, which signalled he cared more for her than the mutter of staff down the corridor, for which she showed her appreciation by curtailing her sobs quicker; his warm hands pressing round her now in silence where she could hear his breath, feel his strong heartbeat in her ear through his shirt, as one slow steady hand closed around the back of her neck and she shivered at a kiss he now planted on the skin of her temple.
‘Talk to me. Was the food not so much M&S food?’
‘They nicked a load of it.’
‘Damn and blast! Who? …Sit,’ as he planted her back onto her chair, regaining distance to converse, as she stared dazed round the room for a moment, now blinking at the sight of Neill’s body packed onto the pupil’s plastic chair, suddenly wondering how she got to a place where it was normal to lock a door and sit, cry and be kissed in the Headmaster’s lap as he whispered the M&S slogan into her ear.
‘Last night, for the first time in my life I felt unsafe in my own home. In my own room…’
‘Oh, dear?’
‘My mum had an army of drunkards round in the middle of the night. Loud music, loads of shouting…’
‘Oh?’
‘Then they started banging on my door. Well one of them did. Shouting my name and saying they want to see me, or something. And my mum, being clearly just as inebriated as her company, by what I could hear did nothing to defend me. What little responsibility she normally takes for me, was gone. It was awful.’
‘Oh sweetheart.’ He leant forward and squeezed all her ten fingers in one hand. ‘Shit school life, shit home life?’
She sighed. ‘My mum is really going off the rails.’
He drew away and sat back again, folding his arms. ‘Your mum would get into serious trouble. Abuse, neglect, unsafe environment. Social services would be all over it.’
‘But where would that leave me, at 16?’
‘You’d get taken into care. They might put you with a relative, but they’d take you in first before they scope it out. Is there really no-one else in the family you could talk to?’
She shook her head. ‘Uncle Andy, but he’s in Manchester. Used to be a drunk himself,’ she groaned. ‘I’d rather be alone than under his charge.’
He sighed. ‘That would be very difficult. You’re still a dependent.’
‘Yeah. I looked it up.’
There was silence as she stared at the floor.
‘And your mum isn’t shopping, I take it, just eating yours?’ he asked.
‘Yep. Oh and sorry I, er… called you in the middle of the night, I was in a panic,’ she blinked.
‘Oh, I have it off at night. And my phone too.’
She smiled.
He leant forward. ‘Otherwise, I’d have come and rescued you.’
‘But you were with Joan—’
‘Your wake-up call was what I needed.’
Natalia smiled faintly. ‘Well, getting out through those people could have been sticky.’
‘Damn well it would have been, girl, as I’d rescue you from your window, Rapunzel style… your red dress, stretching like the stickiest bubblegum you’ve ever seen.’
She giggled.
He sighed and sat back again. ‘So you have no suitable relatives to go to. And you need to lay low to let mad mum simmer down. And we can’t have you going hungry and I can’t exactly bung you in the Premier Inn all alone.’
He looked up at the clock, then down at his watch like a well-heeled psychiatrist, and said:
‘We have no choice. I’ll have to take you back to mine.’
Her heart jumped into her throat and pelvis at the same time.
‘Yours?’ came out in a little croak.
‘At hometime, you’ll come back with me. I’ll make you dinner and we’ll talk about what we’re going to do with you.’
She stared, willing her wiggling mouth corners to stay put, as he pulled out his phone and was tapping it, frowning.
‘Erm, but you said, er, you don’t…’ She cleared her throat. She was going to say ‘have women in your house,’ but suddenly it seemed an inappropriate question.
‘Don’t what? Goodness, Dink-Wonk’s called five times.’ He glanced up. ‘Are you going to be ok for the rest of the day? As you can not go home. You can always go sit in the sick room—’
‘I’ll, I’ll be ok,’ she said in forced coolness. Seeing him now occupied, muttering holding his phone to his ear, she arose hesitatingly with ‘I’ll see you then,’ but he arose and stalled her with a grip on her arm.
‘Steve? Where’s the mouse? I take it you’re not talking about Miss Doris?’
‘Oh! Your computer mouse?’ Natalia blinked.
‘Shhh!— Oh, wait Steve—’ He covered the phone. ‘What?’
‘I hid your mouse behind your keyboard sorry, when I was fiddling at your desk—’
‘It’s behind the keyboard, Steve,’ Neill frowned back into his phone. ‘…Yep, I’ll be right up,’ as he slipped his phone away, still gripping Natalia, and stepping around her toward the door.
‘Such a nuisance you are,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Pick you up 3.15, the usual place,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’ll have to go first - for Wonky Wank. Not like that,’ he frowned. ‘Wait a few minutes after I leave.’
She nodded, as he unlocked the door and left, her face now free to upturn into the biggest gleeful smile since the London invite. Better, even? To go to Neill’s house? Her heaviness whipped into lightness like a whisk into double cream. A shitstorm into a rainbow! I’ll have to take you back to mine! Not, will you come back to mine? Or, do you want to come back to mine? Er er er er, yes sir, no sir, three unscanned Sparksies bags full, sir! No question, no doubt, no fear! Shameless fucking presumption alright, that this mouse wants no fringe or keyboard to hide behind but Mr Mafia Man himself!
She’d tremble-nuisanced her way into Fairy Fucking Cottage, the Brontë bachelor pad where no woman goes! It was worth the obstacle course of Darren, Coleman and her hairy selfie, for all three cunts won her the Wonka-Wanker golden ticket, from cock pic to cockpit of the Wankavator itself… I’ll have to take you back to mine! Oh, they were her favourite words he’d ever spoken.
Follow The Headmaster's Flame on Instagram at @headmastersflame
ns 15.158.61.55da2
