“The pros of power”
Her hands race up the seams of the inner thigh of my jeans as she straddles my lap anxiously. My fingers play with the small plastic buttons of her dress as I let my mouth find hers, the music of the party plays in the background as a subtle soundtrack to my life.
‘Tell me you love me.’ She purrs in my ear, as my fingers finally free the dress from her drunken body.
What’s her name again? My mind travels through the many female names stored there. You need to get this one right. We can’t have a mishap like last time. Remember, remember, remember –
‘I love you Scarlet.’ I pant, hoping that the name is correct, as my hands explore her almost naked skin. My body grows tense and excited with every movement of her body against mine.
She giggles and plants a smile against my lips. Relieved, I know I have her name right and that the night is mine, I Fumble with the button on my jeans. Scarlet, noticing that my I’m struggling to get my pants undone, drops to her knees. My body jerks upon awaiting the pleasure. But her fingers hesitate, as the noise of footsteps closing in towards the store room door grow louder. Scarlet’s eyes grow wide, and not from my erect cock. I can’t help but laugh. She hushes me, but it’s too late. We’re about to be caught in the act. A stern knock on the door sees Scarlet scurrying to put her dress on whilst I lazily button my shirt back up.
‘Shit.’ Scarlet swallows with a drunk sway as the door flings open and the light is switched on.
‘Mr Wallace. Can’t say I’m surprised.’ The Principal of Augustine’s Preparatory School announces, arms sternly crossed and foot tapping impatiently. ‘When I was told by the hall monitor that my Head Boy was busy receiving, and I quote, head from young Miss Holland over, I would have loved nothing more than to have ignored what I would have thought an exaggeration of facts. But to put it simply Mr Wallace, this is the third time in a month I have caught you fraternising with semi-naked women in public places and only God knows what’s been happening in your dorm room.’
A slap to my face from Scarlet, sees her leaving the store room with a flash of fake tan and pink chiffon.
‘Scarlet.’ I laugh holding my face. ‘It’s not like we were exclusive. We just hooked up a couple of times. It was just a bit of fun.’
‘Just a bit of fun that may strip you of your title as Head Boy of Augustine’s. Perhaps even a suspension is in order?’ Ms Corvetz our heavily busted, black suited, principal lets out with a satisfied smile. She’s a stickler for the military approach, a kind of tough love, which I detest. School uniforms are neat and tidy, the kind you always find at a traditional catholic school, female dorms are on the opposite side of the grounds to the male dorms, classes run like clockwork and punishment is regularly enforced. I’d avoided Ms Corvetz enforced punishment previously due to two factors. That I am Head Boy, containing much of the student bodies power, and that my parents are famed for their sums of money. You might like to say my parents are patriots of the school, who regularly part with their money when problems arise, problems specifically concerning me. Not that I call them my parents. Glenda and Keith, as I prefer to call them, had shipped my off to boarding school from the age of eight and had only popped into school to make their reputation a continuously sound one.
Ms Corvetz gives me one of her smuggest looks, ‘I’ve always wondered how dear mummy and daddy Wallace would react when you towed the line too far. Perhaps they’ll extend the lap pool. What some will do to keep their name clean?’
‘Nah.’ I cock with sarcasm, ‘A pool would just be another place for me to desecrate.’
Ms Corvetz hides a burst of laughter. ‘After you,’ she gestures.
I stalk after her flicking the store room door closed with a quick flash from my fingers. We make our way through the school’s main hall way, Ms Corvetz busting several lightly fraternising students out the front of the hall. One must “leave room for the Holy Spirit to move between” after all. Despite my festivities being cut short, the school dance is still fully in swing, if you call regulation music and the promenade a real rave?
We continue towards her office before she removes a fist full of keys from her pocket and unlocks the door to her office.
‘Take a seat Mr Wallace.’ Ms Corvetz says as she engages herself with the task of calling Glenda and Keith. ‘Ah Mr Wallace, Katherine Corvetz here – yes Principal of Augustine’s Preparatory School – Yes, I know it’s late but we have -’
I make no attempt to hide my smile. Keith and Glenda are lazy posh people who like their beauty sleep. So, I sit, amused as I watch Ms Corvetz try and express her distaste for my behaviour to Keith.
‘Thank you, Mr Wallace – Yes enjoy your sleep too.’ Ms Corvetz breathes in a sigh as she hangs up the phone. ‘What an arrogant bastard. Apples never fall far from the tree.’ She utters before turning to me with a fake smile. ‘Your parents will be here around two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. You will come here then and join us for the meeting. Until then you’ll be confined to your room. No more partying for you tonight Thomas. I’ll send Snapper up to make sure you are there. Take this as your first and only warning.’ She ushers me towards the door, hastily wanting to end our conversation, ‘You’ll also continue classes under supervision. Though I don’t think you’ll need it as I’m sure Scarlet Holland has a reputation of her own, spreading vicious rumours to save her catholic reputation and what-not.’
‘Ah your words ring true with wisdom Ms Corvetz. Though aren’t we all doing something to save a reputation?’ I imply reply as she closes the door.
‘Just remember Thomas that hell has no fury like a woman scorned. Keep scorching your fingers and you’ll end up a creature no woman will want to touch.’ She echoes down the hall way to me as I head off towards the male dorms and she back toward the school dance.
The light sneaks in from between my blinds and dances on my arms. It makes me sick with its warmth for it reminds me off things I was told that I would forget.
Replace the memories then? My conscience begs with a smile, hands sliding down my naked torso. Memories of my many women and their “love” etching their way into me. With the heat of excitement, my hands motor, up and down, up and down. Old memories replaced with a sweat based dream.
‘Tom?’ Dimiti rushes into my room. She wears her usual black skinny jeans, sparkly red Nikes, and Augustine’s crested white shirt and maroon girl’s blazer. Her neck tie is rutted and her tanned skin a faint white. I can tell that she’d been drinking it up big last night.
Dimiti’s my oldest friend. We’d met when I was roughly eight. I’d only been living with the Wallace’s for a couple of months and begrudgingly tagged along to all their functions. It was at one of her parent’s rendezvous that I met little Miss Singh and her younger brother Achir. Her thick black hair was tied up into two buns and even at eight her face showed hidden mischief. It wasn’t until two years later when Achir died that Dimiti and I became close and several years after that when Dimiti became close friends with alcohol. She’s always blamed herself for Achir’s death and her parents had done nothing to discourage those thoughts. From that point on, I’d fought to stay by Dimiti’s side.
‘Morning Dimiti my dear.’ I yawn smugly to my closest friend, making no attempt to hide my boner.
‘For fucks sake Tom.’ Dimiti groans at my current state of arousal, bending to toss me my boxer shorts before turning her back. She waits for me to haul my body out of bed and into some trousers.
‘Dim.’ I mumble as I search my room for clean clothing, a white school shirt appearing to be in a sanitary state. ‘You know better than to walk into my room without an answer. This could have been the whole Flexible Fiona debacle again.’
‘If you are disgustingly referring to the positions I walked in on you and Fiona Delaware procreating in, my eyes are forever burned.’
I smirk at Dimiti’s face of pure disgust as I concentrate on recollecting the many movements across my room that Fiona, a graduated senior, and I had fought with raw, flexible passion. Dimiti throws a pillow at my face. ‘Ew! You’re thinking about it again. You’re fucked in the head, you know that right?’
‘Yes, Dim.’ I say ushering her out of my room as I toss on my own crested blazer, navy for the males, and straighten my tie. ‘Why’d you rush in all frantic and shit, if you’d learnt your lesson from the flexible Fiona debacle?’
‘Because I heard along the grapevine that Scarlet and you got caught fraternising last night by Corvetz. No surprises there, she was bound to catch you eventually. That’s a grounding to your dorm room at least. Therefore, you had to have spent the night alone.’ Dim sighs, as we amble down stairs and across the paved courtyard to the food hall. ‘But that’s beside the point, I’m here because I need know if you nicked my flask last night.’
‘I knew you smelled extra fresh this morning, heavy night?’ I escort Dim to our usual table, several students moving out of our way. She doesn’t reply. So, I continue, ‘No I don’t have it. Nor did I see it last night. I was barely at the dance. Why’d you need it so badly? Being sober getting difficult?’
‘I’m not an alcoholic Tom. Just freaking out about my flasks whereabouts. I’m just hoping that, that fucker, Christopher hasn’t intercepted it. It has Dimiti engraved on it. Not many Dimiti’s in this school Tom. Already pushing it with my fashion code, I don’t think my parents have as much sway as yours when it comes to serious rule breaking, such as underage drinking!’ Dimiti rants as we serve ourselves our usual breakfast.
‘Dearest Dimple,’ Owen joins us, ‘Stop fretting. Your flask is in safe hands.’
He pats the breast pocket of his blazer with a satisfied expression. Dimiti relaxes her fine framed body as Owen pulls up a seat his sandy hair neatly combed back, his uniform worn with fake pride with his glasses riding high upon his nose with nerdy intentions. Owen looked the least hungover out of all three of us. Not that his weapon is alcohol. If you looked closely at his eyes or the way his hands shook, you’d know that Owen is into the glitter filled world of drugs. Not just the simple, social ones, but the hard core, shreds your life apart kinds too.
I’d met Owen in grade seven, it was Dimiti who’d first introduced us. Which is hilarious, because even though the two are friends I’m pretty sure if Dimiti had her way she’d have chosen to introduce me to someone more – behaved? You see, I was somewhat removed from social interactions in my adolescent years, I only ever talked openly to Dimiti, and my psychiatrist. Everyone else, including Keith and Glenda, received simple phrases and gestures. Understandably Dimiti was concerned and therefore sought out another friend for me, a male friend, someone I could bond with and do “bro” stuff with as I went through puberty. That clean cut, high achieving, kid she’d selected to be my “bro” would turn out to be the son of a widower, that had been replaced by a cuter and younger baby step-brother and had found comfort in hard drugs. Nether-the-less Owen makes me happy, and that makes Dimiti happy. And thanks be to him, as with his assistance I broke free of my social awkwardness and by senior year was awarded the title of Head Boy.
‘Oh, Head Boy, perfect Mr Wallace. You mighty man, you legend.’ Owen chants patting me on the square of my back. ‘So close to bedding Scarlet the Harlot. Every man’s catholic-school-girl wet dream. I always knew she was more than a tease with lips like that.’
‘She’s got some wicked good skills, I’ll give her that.’ I yawn, the sun irritating me with its luminous rays of head pounding joy. ‘Pity I never got to see all the skills she had to offer.’
‘Fucking Christopher.’ Owen and I exchange glances.
‘Still, good job Thomas Wallace, my mentor, my master. Closest man to slay that celibate beast disguised as a Goddess.’
We exchange high fives.
‘No wonder neither of you can keep a stable woman in your lives.’ Dim grumbles as she sips at her freshly squeezed orange juice, her tongue adjusting to the taste of something not tainted with the sting of alcohol. ‘Owen, no woman wants a man who calls them derogative terms; and Tom, you need to think with your brains for once and not your dick. Women have feelings too. We’re emotional beings.’
‘Oh shut up lesbian. Go have your period somewhere else.’ Owen jeers with a broad grin at Dim, whose face blushes pink before she quickly regains composure and retorts with an equally immature jeer. The banter between friends forces my lips into a grin.
‘Mr Wallace.’ Ms Corvetz bares down on the back of my chair like an eagle on prey.
I finish smiling to myself, my bickering friends hushed into silence. ‘Ah, Ms Corvetz, lovely morning, isn’t it?’
Ms Corvetz ignores my cheery greeting. ‘Miss Singh and Mr Phelps, I honestly cannot stress how important it is that you make sure your comrade makes it to my office by two p.m. If he is not there on time, you two will also suffer the consequences.’
‘Yes ma’am.’ Owen says with a flicking a cadet’s greeting.
‘Very well then, on with your breakfast.’ Ms Corvetz mutters as she resumes her rounds of the dining hall.
‘I can’t see how she allows you to wear the title of head boy.’ Dimiti breathes through her cereal with a feral smile.
‘I can’t believe she allows you to wear those things you call clothes.’ I snigger with a playful push. ‘Deep down Corvetz respects me.’ I cock my head to the side with a perfectly straight toothed smile.
‘That or she pities you.’ Owen grunts over his toast.
Both I agree to myself.
The three of us finish off our breakfast in a timely fashion, cutting it close with only thirty minutes to spare before the start of class. The kitchens closed upon our leave with the majority of students already showered and ready for the day ahead, many of which take extracurricular morning activities. The Augustine’s also supplies afternoon extracurricular activities – all the sports teams a school could possible offer and clubs dedicated to the arts, sciences, literature and general geekiness. I’m afraid to say that the extent of my extracurricular activities include jerking off, getting wasted and abusing my privileges as Head Boy.
‘See you both at English.’ Dimiti announces to Owen and me as she leaves us outside of the male washrooms.
‘Later Dim.’ I wave her off as we enter into the stench and heat of the male washrooms. Upon entering, Owen and I go our respectable ways in a search to find our own empty shower cubicles. All are engaged apart from two, clearly we aren’t the only two cutting it close to bell time.
‘See you on the other side my brother.’ Owen salutes theatrically as he locks his cubical behind him. I step into my cubical. It’s a little worse for wear, soap residue and several curly hairs litter the floor.
Despite the state of the shower I strip off my clothing, yank on the taps and slide under the slightly icy down pour of the shower head. Ms Corvetz likes showers that wake her students as it readies them for class work. The temperature is usually more warm then hot, but today the pipes have decided otherwise, so I make quick work of my showering time. As I rinse off the lather of soap, my body shudders at the waters choice of temperature. Taps off, I step out of the shower recess and into the changing end of the cubical, I towel myself dry and then dress in my school wear once again. Unlocking my cubical I venture out into the vast bathroom. All other cubicles are empty now. Annoying the teachers here is our speciality, lucky thing we are ‘A’ grade students and have rich families with the rich kind of sway.
I walk towards one of the basins, discarding my shower gear on a bench, before running the water and prepare to razor away my morning shade. I can’t help but stare at the man I have developed into. I look like them. Well the memories I have of them. The eyes that stare back at me aren’t just my own. They are my mother’s too, a captivating green. I have his smile, my fathers. I remember him all that well, but I know it is his smile that I wear. As for my curly blonde hair, though cut short, looks like his.
How am I supposed to forget, when I all I see in the mirror is fragments of them? I splash water at the mirror as Owen emerges from his cubical triumphantly.
‘Corvetz must be in a good mood.’ He seems delighted by the cold showers, his sarcasm bared through a solid jaw. ‘Better light one up and make this day go faster.’
Owen retrieves a joint out of his blazer pocket followed by his lighter in the shape of a naked woman. Taking a drag Owen goes to continue as he pampers himself in the mirror, hesitating as the doors to the bathroom are flung open and Christopher Barker enters, hall monitor sash neatly slung over his right shoulder and across his chest. Upon seeing us Christopher recoils, instantly relinquishing his entrance.
‘Come on lads.’ Christopher says fumbling for the door handle which has suddenly locked itself. ‘I was just doing my duty as hall monitor. The school has a reputation we must keep sound.’
Christopher’s white complexion breaks out into a wave of sweat as he loosens the tie around his neck.
‘Come on, Thomas, you should know better.’ Christopher turns to me loosening his top button with a gulp, faking brave. ‘Shouldn’t you be more concerned with enforcing the strict religious codes and conducts that the school’s foundations have been constructed around, you are Head Boy after all!’ He draws in a ragged breath and forces a smile. I advance on him even closer, taking his shoulders in loosely in my fingertips. I stoop down to his level, levelling my eyes to his. His glasses fog with panic.
‘Christopher, chum of mine. We all know I take my role of head boy seriously. Don’t I Owen?’ I smile back at my compadre, who nods out a wicked smile before taking another drag of his joint. ‘And we all know that you do a great job as hall monitor, but let’s cut this banter, you have an issue with me, don’t you?’
‘That’s not true.’ Christopher retorts.
‘Lies make baby Jesus cry.’ Owen exhales smoke into Christopher’s face.
I laugh, cocking my head to the side, ‘See Christopher we just don’t believe that. None of the other hall monitors seemed to give a flying fuck about my shenanigans last night. No, it was just you who had an issue with my actions and just you who ratted me out. And it’s got me wondering why? Come to think of it the president of the social committee didn’t seem to mind as she took my jeans off and gave me h –’
‘You’re a perverted pig.’ Christopher clambers out, his eyes closed and body flinched upright, waiting for me to do something. His eyes flutter open when I don’t hit him.
‘You know what Christopher, you’re right.’ I smile mischievously, my grin growing, worry wrinkling his forehead. ‘There is no denying my perversions but the thing is, I’m not sure how I should phrase this, I know what gets you hard. Should I tell Scarlet or is that too intrusive of me?’
Christopher lets out a whimper as I slap the timber frame of the door, before pretending to inspect the grain of the frame with the palm of my hand. With a shake of his head Christopher gives.
‘Good boy.’ I patronise, cupping the side of his face and giving it a light tap. I open the door, its lock now functional, and I push past him out into the hall, holding the door ajar so that Owen can follow. ‘Meddle with me and my pleasures again and I swear bad things will happen to you!’
I end the dispute, with a false threat, as Christopher rushes into a cubical; a wet patch on the crotch of his pant, urine making stains down the leg. Owen puts out his joint, and grabbing our gear follows after me.