What were you doing last Saturday afternoon?
[Warning: Implied Underage Relations & Sexual Content (18+)]
The school creaked like a twisted tree in the wind at night. As micro breezes escaped between doors and windows, the school shuddered in response, the groan of lockers, lights and rubbish forming an orchestra of ambience. Part of Stan liked the noise. It made him feel like he was trapped within the pages of a horror novel, each vibration and croak hinting that perhaps there was something lurking around the corner. That and the silence that settled in between the noises bestowed a sense of true freedom and solitude.
Memories too. This wasn’t the first time after all he had been lurking on school premises after hours. Sitting behind his desk, the English teacher closed his eyes, head laying on the back of his chair akin to getting ready for a saloon wash. It came back in trickles, broken fragments of moments, each as tantalising as the last.
The way her lips had parted as if slicked with butter before she would quote from a book. The scratch of her nail when it was caught against his skin. A flash of a school skirt hiked up just far enough to border on scandalous. Oh and those doe eyes, always staring so intently towards him, beckoning him closer, asking him to explore, to prod, to pleasure.
She had been Stan’s toxic muse, a potion from which he was gladly bewitched. He stumbled through the past, traipsing through the physical delights in his mind, groaning thickly as his chair scrapped beneath him.
The noises built up, layering on top of the tenor of the empty school, his soft grasps, the echo of her whispers in his mind, the clatter of furniture at his enjoyment. It grew, like a fire within his belly, until his found himself clutching the desk edge, one hand wet while the other dug into the wood.
“Fuck.” He groaned, each letting bouncing against the walls in the high school, the only sign of life. Reaching for a tissue, he wiped himself off, glancing at the clock in the badly lit room. It ticked away, each click of the second hand like a stroke to destiny, not that Stan had any clue he was witnessing the count down the biggest event in Devil’s knot since the Silverman saga.
With the all the awareness of a blind man and the swagger of a man with far too much confidence in the idea his pleasures would be kept private, he donned his coat and moved to head back home. As he pushed open the doors of Devil’s knot Highschool, a CCTV would catch his shadowy figure entering the October gloom outside.