Keller
I am painting again.
With maddening need and an unquenchable thirst for more.
I don’t even know what it is until I stop. And see the face of the angel staring back at me. An angel
in pointes, covered in paint.
The way I envisioned her on that rooftop as I watched her dance. Watched the way her body
moved. Alive and free and covered in paint.
Before I can stop myself, I’m unzipping my pants. Fetching my cock and jerking myself off to the
image. The image of her. Of her taste and her scent which is still on my fingers.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life.
The temptation to draw her in and destroy her the way I do everything else is too much. She is
young. Pliable. Vulnerable. Looking for someone to guide her in a way that I can’t. I would only ever
corrupt her.
It doesn’t stop me from coming as I think about fucking her pretty face. As I imagine bending her
over the desk in my classroom and painting her body with my fingers.
Tasting her and pleasing her and showing her what it feels like to be with a man.
A man thirteen years older than she is.
Christ.
I wipe off my shame and cover over the painting so that I don’t have to look at it. So I can pretend
it doesn’t exist. That none of this ever happened. That I didn’t lose myself already. That I haven’t lost
control.
And that Chloe will only ever remain what she should to me now.
A student.
***
When she comes to class the next day, I expect avoidance.
What I receive instead is something else. Something I haven’t quite seen in her before.
Determination.
“Mr. Vaughn,” she greets me.