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Some Girls Never Learn Ch. 01

By: brandy25



Dedicated to a college swallowed alive and its abducted students. Rage against the machine. Create despite them. 

Atlanta, Georgia. 1988. 

Emma's foot shook impatiently inside the big black boots she wore in all her waking hours. 

'If that woman says it one more time...' she gritted her teeth as the professor did indeed say it one more time. 

She wanted nothing more than to jump up and shout, "Manet! It's Manet, not Mayonnaise, you big-haired, wanna-be Southern belle!" 

She didn't do it. Munch's painting flashed in her mind as she mentally covered her ears and let out a silent scream. She smirked as the lecturer caught her eye, seeming to sense the energy that flowed from her corner of the room. 

'Would you like fries with that?' she thought, reminding herself of her alternate destiny should she lose her scholarship to the College of Art. 

Being a gathering of the almost purely artistic ilk, they were tolerant, but they wouldn't be that understanding. Candace Burnett had tenure; Emma Jones was a lowly second-semester freshman in the painting department. 

Emma alternated her attention between the thick, heavy, picture-laden textbook and the small window to the world beside her. She'd made it 'her' desk early on just for that reason. She might have to pass the history classes, but she didn't have to be attentive to them. She'd always learned what she needed to know on her own. Even she knew it was the quality that made her the most talented student in her department and the worst of pupils. 

Noah Garrity shook his head as Emma made it into his studio class just before he stood to make the announcements. The nineteen-year-old redhead gave him a variety of pains, in the head, the heart, the stomach, and, oh yes, the ass. He'd been at the school for eight years, teaching to support his lifelong art habit, and he'd never seen the kind of raw, unadulterated power her work displayed from any other student. She had more than potential. 

Emma was a tightly bundled bright ball of creative energy just waiting to find its full release. It sat right there under her always paint-stained, always black t-shirt. It weaved its way out through the rips in her Levis. It curled and twined itself around each and every one of long, red, wild curls. 

Ah, and her work, he'd catch a glimpse of it from the corner of a canvas, in the eye of a portrait, in the very visible brush stroke that strode straight from that canvas to his soul. He sighed. He knew that the big E that graced the lower right corner of each work would be famous someday. 

At thirty-five, he was bordering on no longer being one of the young, cool teachers. He knew in another five years he'd be considered one of the out-of-touch, wacky coots whose studio classes were to be avoided by all but the most adventurous and the ones who enrolled so late that they couldn't get into the hip guy's class. He felt lucky now that the combination of his good-looks, a sprinkling of successful gallery showings and a prestigious award or two maintained his status in their eyes. Well, most of their eyes.

Emma could feel his eyes on her as she maneuvered quickly to an empty corner of a worktable. The metal stool squealed as she attempted to sit, and she cringed. "Noah" as he insisted the students call him, really hated her constant tardiness. What had he said to her in his office last week? 

"Everyone knows your talented, Emma. I know it. You know it. You know it too well. You think sheer talent will carry you through life? It won't. Real art requires more...it requires discipline and commitment. Keep thumbing your nose at those things, and your talent will take you right back to the suburbs. Two kids and a Volvo...is that what you want?" 

His tirade proved to her how little he knew about her life, but she knew a not-so-veiled threat when she heard it. If he flunked her for disregarding anymore of his dumb ass assignments, the ones meant to "expand her mind, test her abilities and train her eye," blah, blah, blah, she'd lose her place in the program. Understanding as much, she reached into her large, awkward-to-carry, paper portfolio and pulled out the piece of painted cardboard. She couldn't resist a furtive glance around the room at the work the other students had produced at the behest of Noah. 

Two days earlier enough cardboard had been stacked at the corner of each table to accommodate the needs of each student. Cardboard. Pieces of old boxes. She'd hmphed at it. Six weeks into the class and they'd barely touched a real canvas.

"You may use this piece of cardboard and whatever type of paint you think best suits it. Add nothing to it but the paint. Create the sky."

Emma had watched as those around her stared in wonder. They loved the great Noah. Create the sky? She was certain he'd seen her roll her eyes, but he didn't acknowledge it. They'd jostled around her, opening the tool boxes that each lugged through the hallways of the school containing the supplies they might need that day. She'd eyed the cardboard suspiciously, grabbed a piece and then left. He didn't seem to acknowledge that either. 

Noah smiled to see her pull the assignment from her case. She'd left early, as she often did, but he took note that she took the cardboard with her. He pulled an easel to the front of the room and was momentarily tempted to call on her to present first. But, he didn't.

He did as he always did, offering up the floor to volunteers. There was never a pause, never a need to call on anyone. Each was still young and arrogant enough to believe they'd created something genuine and new and, in that same arrogant, young spirit, wanted to present it to the world for their awe and envy.

Four had been cut into the shape of a puffy childhood cloud and painted white. Two mimicked Van Gogh's Starry Night. One was awash with planets and moons and what he guessed to be far off galaxies. He had to bite his tongue at the one that appeared just as blank and brown as it had when he'd passed out the assignment. 

The longhaired boy, the one who bedded the girls quickly and easily, announced, "The sky does not reflect in the cardboard," and sat down. 

Several of the girls gasped and one guy said, "Wow, man, I never thought of that." 

Emma bit her tongue. 'That wasn't the assignment, idiot.' 

Every encounter with Vaughn had left her wondering how he ever got accepted into the program at all. She was certain that his family must have helped finance the museum's overhaul. It was the only thing that made sense. She was busy contemplating this when she felt eyes on her again, but many eyes this time. 

'Damn,' she stood quickly. 

She hated to seem like she was hesitant to present. It would only bring out the sharks and their inevitable, envious criticism. At least she told herself it was envy. That made it sting less.

She cleared her throat as she sat the thick work on the easel and readied herself to explain her thoughts, to defend her work, to not die because she had to stand in front of so many people yet again. 

It was Noah who bit his tongue when she sat the work before the class. 

"Um, it's looking up at the sky while lying under a tree." 

It was that. It was more than that. The cardboard had been sawn neatly in two, leaving a rippled background. Onto it she placed branches of a tree with the textured side up, painted to a give the illusion of curves and knots. Small green shoots of leaves appeared at intervals. Placed on a branch was an almost three-dimensional Robin, orange breasted. And, the sky itself. She manipulated the ripples into a combination of smoothness and lines to create clouds. Shadows were cast. It was a study in perspective and color. Looking at it, he could see the sky. 

Noah made no comment, and there was a long pause as he examined the work. It took him a moment to realize she'd said nothing beyond the one sentence. She shuffled her feet, appearing unbearably uncomfortable. 

Before she could grab her project and retreat to her seat or out the door, he asked, "Any thoughts?" 

A student near the back mumbled. He could see that a couple were as fascinated as he was at the intricate detail. As he scanned the eyes in front of them many looked away, unwilling to praise or put down. And, then, what always happened, happened. The most envious found their voices. 

"Is it okay that she put that tree in there? I thought this was supposed to be just the sky." The question was directed at him, not her.

Noah frowned, "No other materials. The branches are fine." 

He wanted to add that everything about the simple work exceeded his expectations, but he did not. Lavishing praise on her again would only make it worse. She had no friends. She had those who tried to ignore her, those who feared her and those who blatantly hated her. She wasn't a girl who evoked mediocre responses from people and that included both her fellow students and the college's staff. 

Emma swallowed hard and returned to her seat, trying to will her cheeks not to turn redder. No one had said a word after the tree comment, save Noah. Their coldness seemed to seep into her very bones at times. She'd done nothing to bring the ire, but she supposed she'd done nothing to prevent it. She had chosen to live in a world apart from them from the beginning. She was used to keeping to herself. She'd never fit in back home; she saw art school as no time to start.

She left as soon as he announced that he'd decided to have mercy and give them no assignment for the weekend. He rarely did that, but he was feeling generous. Carol was coming down from New York to slum with him for a couple of days; he was sure he was getting laid. It had been a while. Yep, he was feeling generous. 

When he pulled from the parking garage less than an hour later, he never expected to see her standing in the street beating an old, yellow Datsun with her fists. 

'Drive by; go home. She's fine,' his rational mind tried to assert. 

He really did try, but the part of his brain that was still preoccupied by the painted wings of her robin and how the orange breast matched the highlights the sun brought when it sifted through her hair, well, that part of him pulled up beside her.

He hit the button and rolled down the window, calling out to her, "Hey, Emma, are you okay?"

Emma jumped at hearing her name. She was very focused on how to best crush the most unreliable car in the world, the one she'd been so proud to buy only two short years earlier. Granted, there was a hole in the passenger floorboard, the rear view mirror was cracked and rust had begun to cover a generous amount of the crevices in the car's hull, but she only needed the damn thing to run, not to look pretty. And, now it was refusing to do even that. 

It took her a moment to take in the man calling her name. 

"My fucking car won't start. Other than that, I'm grand," she said with more than a hint of teenage sarcasm in her voice.

Noah smiled and answered, "Well, if I were mechanical at all, I'd help you, but..." 

Reason tried to intervene again, 'Don't do it. Don't. You have an hour to pick up your shit before Carol gets here.' 

It failed again, and he offered, "I could give you a ride home...if you want one?" 

As Emma made her way around the car, he watched the way she moved. He'd watched her before then, although he barely admitted it to himself. While she wore a uniform of t-shirts, ripped blue jeans and an old leather jacket, it didn't stop his body from taking notice of hers. The denim covered long legs. She stood almost his height. And, in the rare moments when she took off that jacket, the curve and bounce in her breasts was enough to make him hard. 

He caught himself inadvertently licking his lower lip, and his mind stepped in again, 'Would you like a ride, little girl? You pervert. She's your student. She's a teenager. You have a grown woman coming to visit you. Quit looking at this girl that way!'  

He quickly rebuked the accusation. He swore to himself that he was fascinated only by her talent, not her other attributes. He knew it wasn't entirely true, but it had to be the truth he lived with in that moment.

Emma stopped in front of the driver's side window, leaning back against her car, "Wow, you drive a Mercedes?" 

She laughed. 

He knew it wasn't a comment of admiration.

"I had no idea they paid you guys so well," she was still laughing as she added, "How very bourgeois." 

He felt a muscle in his jaw flinch as he forced a smile, "Bourgeois? Interesting thought from a suburban girl like you." 

He grinned at seeing her nostrils flare just a little bit. He knew it was a biting insult to one who viewed herself as far too sophisticated to be associated with something as mundane as a subdivision. 

He met her eye again, "Would you like a ride in my bourgeois vehicle? Or, are you going to walk? Either way, I need to get going." 

He really wasn't sure if he wanted her to accept or decline, although some part of him was infinitely curious about her destination. His mind begged answers to lots of questions. Where does she live? How does she live? Does she live with anyone? What would she do if I took her to my studio? He quickly struck that last one from the mental list he'd conjured.

Emma put aside her attitude and her pride. She wasn't relishing the idea of the walk to Little Five Points, and she was going to be late to work. Miriam would be pissed if she was late again; her band was playing at a new club tonight. The currently cool independent newspaper, ART, aka, Art Related Trash, had called her the hottest drummer in town. If Miriam was nothing else, she was hot. 

In weak moments, Emma envied her mini-skirted, big-haired, foul-mouthed sluttiness. Everyone swore she'd fucked both Axl Rose and one of the guys from Suicidal Tendencies, and that she'd done it before anyone else even knew their names. She was fairly certain she didn't envy those experiences, but there was an unashamed quality she desperately wished she possessed. With Miriam being her first cousin, Emma felt cheated of the unashamed gene. 

While she appreciated the mastery of an Eddie Van Halen as much as the next gal, she hid her real taste in music from public consumption. She pretended to enjoy Megadeth and Metallica with as much enthusiasm as everyone around her. She went to the Drivin' N Cryin'concert. She tucked her Mozart, Beethoven, Straus and Vivaldi cassettes in shoe boxes under her twin bed. Mahler was in the walkman stuffed into her backpack. She couldn't paint to metal or punk or pop or any other variation of modern music for the masses. She just couldn't. 

She was staring intently out the window as he leaned down and turned on the radio. He started to apologize as the emotion of Tosca flooded the car. 

He was shocked when she interrupted to say, "It's okay. I like Puccini." 

He looked over at her a moment and back to the street, having hit the brakes a little too hard at a red light. 

He stuttered, "You like Puccini?"

She turned to stare at him, "Yeah, I do. So, sue me." 

He glanced in her direction, then forward again and laughed. 

She gritted her teeth, "What's so damned funny? Think a suburban girl is too stupid to know who Puccini is?"

He shook his head. "No, just thought a girl who probably sleeps in her leather jacket would listen to something...louder...and more abrasive." 

"Turn here," she said frantically.

She pointed to her right and directed him to turn at the corner where a guy with an impressively long, spiked, bright blue Mohawk stood smoking a Marlboro Light. Emma threw up her hand and waved. 

She rolled down the window to yell, "Look at my ride, Stew!" 

She slapped the side of the car as Stew gave her a thumbs-up and laughed. 

Noah nodded his head in the guy's direction when she hit the button to roll up the window.

He asked, "A friend of yours?"

She sank back for a moment, then pointed and yelled, "Here! Pull over!"

Noah pulled in front of a little store with an odd window display of assorted bongs and books. 

As she opened the door and gathered her plethora of items, she answered, "Stew's a throw back to glory days of Syd and Nancy, but he's a good guy. He writes poetry." 

She started to shut the door, and then remembering stopped and said, "Thanks for the ride, Professor." 

He watched her open the door and walk inside. 

"Nice ass," he said it aloud and didn't reprimand himself. She had a nice ass. The faded shade of her tight Levis was rubbed particularly white just beneath her shapely buns. What man wouldn't notice? 

He was shocked when she turned briefly, bit her lip and smiled in his direction. Had she really done that? She had. Internally, he groaned. He was certain his cock was reading far too much into it. 

"What the hell, Emmaline?" Miriam was waiting behind the glass display cases filled with handmade book jackets, bookmarks and a variety of smoking and reading related paraphernalia. 

The girl with the bright red lipstick and black nail polish continued, "I can't fucking believe you're late again."

She muttered, "Sorry," as she laid her stuff on the ground beneath the cash register.

But, Miriam was caught up now in playing the role of her boss and wasn't done, "Look, this is getting old. Do you want this job or not? If you don't, you can just pay the rent and work somewhere..." 

Emma's mind flashed to her small studio apartment above the shop and shook her head. 

She cut her off, "No, I want the job. My god damn car died. I had to ride here with Noah, okay? I'm sorry." 

Inside, she huffed a little. Family and boss didn't mix well at times. 

Miriam raised an eyebrow, "Noah? That hot professor you hate so much?"

"I never called him hot, and I never said I hated him, not exactly," Emma responded, glaring at her. 

"Oh yes, you did call him hot!" she laughed, "You just don't remember because of the Jagermeister." 

'Quit drinking,' she added it to her mental list of things to remember right after, 'Trust no one.' 

Noah cursed when he heard the message. Carol wasn't coming; she'd been called back into work because of some unspecified emergency. The long and short of it, she wasn't coming; he wasn't cumming. 

"Dammit," he said aloud as he plopped onto the sofa. 

He took a deep breath and then sighed. He hadn't been laid in weeks, so many weeks that it had turned into months, but he refused to count them in that increment. It was too depressing. His mind immediately drifted to Emma. Had she really given him the look he was certain he'd seen?

He sank back and closed his eyes. Emma. She had great, full lips; he wondered what it would be like to have that mouth wrapped around his cock. Emma. Her breasts would bounce when she rode him. He could see her redheaded temper turning easily to a fiery passion. 

Three hours later, he knew, even as he did it, that it was a moment of sheer insanity that had him back his car and making the drive to the little, hole-in-the-wall store where he left her. She might not even be there. She might be there. He wasn't certain which would have the better outcome. His mind tried to jumble together an excuse for his return as he searched for a parking space along the street. 

Emma sat down her copy of The Feminine Mystique and tried to imagine how it must have been before feminism. Would she be married? Would she be dreaming about being a mother rather than an artist? The once radical ideas seemed so tame, even outdated. 

She was staring a display rack of Marxist writings when the little bell above the door jingled. Being the worst store clerk in the world, she generally ignored customers as they came through the door. But, this being the first in more than an hour and so close to closing time that it pissed her off a little, she glanced over towards him. Tall, dark hair, older.


Some Girls Never Learn Ch. 01



She turned her head and stared. Tall, dark-haired, older and her professor. Emma's mouth suddenly felt dry, and her heart raced. She wasn't sure why she had such an intense reaction to the unexpected sight of Noah. She tried to calm herself before she greeted him.

"What are you doing here?" Emma bit her lip. 

She sounded more unpleasant than surprised, and that wasn't her intention. She felt like someone who'd just met up with a tiger outside of the zoo. 

Noah laughed and felt a little sick at his stomach. 'Oh, good move, she's thrilled to see you...moron,' his mind taunted as he tried to remember what drove him to drive back to her. 

"I need a book," he stated it in a matter of fact manner, as if it was perfectly normal for him to need a book from what he now knew to be a radical feminist bookstore. 'And at nine o'clock at night,' he chastised himself. 

He was sure she smirked a little when she asked, "Oh yeah? Which one?" 

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, stared at the floor for a moment and then laughed. When he looked up, she looked puzzled. He knew it was a moment when he could make a lame excuse and leave, or he could say what he shouldn't say.

Before he lost his courage, he asked, "Would you like to have coffee with me?" 

He looked at the shock in her green eyes. He watched as it morphed into suspicion and reminded himself that the school would believe him, not her. He felt like a horse's ass. 

"Why?" She furrowed her eyebrows together in the untrusting manner she'd developed long before moving to the city. 

"Why?" He repeated her question and laughed again, "Why..." he asked it of himself. 

Finally, he said what popped into his head and prayed he didn't lose his job, "You're talented. You're beautiful. And, I'd like to buy you coffee." 

Emma stared at him as if he were an alien who'd just landed outside, walked in the door and asked to be taken to her leader. She swallowed, her mouth fell open a moment and she closed it again. 

Her dry mouth returned and she found herself stammering.

"Umm," it was her turn to look at the floor. 

Her heart raced. He was her professor. He was "Noah." He graded her work. He reprimanded her tardiness. He looked really damn cute in his old jeans and sweat shirt with the torn collar. Maybe she had called him sexy. 

Before she could answer, he said, a little too quickly, "Never mind, Emma. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I just..."

She interrupted him saying, in a squeaky voice that reminded her of a teenage boy whose voice was changing, "Yes." 

She closed her eyes and sighed. 'Very sexy, Emma...Oh my God, do I want him to think I'm sexy?' 

A moment of sheer panic caused her palms to sweat. The whole room seemed very warm. Very warm. Blurred. And, suddenly it all seemed to move upwards in the most surreal manner as she fell. 

Noah watched as the girl dropped to the floor. He was too stunned to move for a moment. 

Emma could feel her body being lifted as the room began to come back into focus. She was being cradled, held; she felt confused but safe. 

"Emma, honey, what happened? Are you okay?" It was Noah's voice she heard and his arms that she felt holding her. 

She sucked in her breath and began immediately to pull away.

"I'm okay," she stuttered as she moved out of his arms to sit next to him on the floor. "Please don't tell anyone. I just didn't eat today...or most of yesterday...that's all it is." 

Noah stared at the girl for a long moment. Finally, he asked, in a very adult tone, "Why aren't you eating, Emma?" 

The obvious concern in his voice embarrassed her. 

She knew the inference in his tone and corrected him quickly, "It's not like that!" She struggled to her feet, still feeling weak in the knees. "I was painting all night, then there was school, then there was work..." 

And, she thought but did not say aloud, 'Then there is the $2.57 in my checking account.' 

Buying paint and canvas on her minimum wage salary didn't afford much for food. 

He stood and reached for her hand, "Well, we're going to forget the coffee and get something to eat then." 

She had a brief moment where she wanted to pull away from the gentleness of his hand wrapped around hers. That much intimacy made her immediately uncomfortable. But, the smile in his eye didn't allow her to give into the desire to run. 

She sputtered, "Well, I don't like fast food, and that's the only thing still open." 

She frowned, 'Lame excuse.'

He grinned, "Not true, there is that deli..." 

He stopped at the frown on her face. He bit the side of his lip and continued, "Well, I have a better idea; but you're going to have to trust me." 

She cocked her head to the side. 'Trust no one,' her mind reminded her as she locked the door to the shop behind her and followed him to his car. 

He smiled watching her rearrange the salt and peppershakers on his kitchen table. The butter sizzled in the pan before he dropped the bread and cheese into the heat. He swore he heard her belly growl as the smell of the grilled cheese began to fill the room. He turned to her while he waited for the bread to turn just the right shade of golden brown.

"Well, I like to think I've made a woman or two scream in my lifetime, but I've never actually made one pass out...before tonight," he teased. 

Emma jumped first at the abruptness of his voice and then cringed at his words. Secretly, she wondered if his blue-eyed stare was what sent her body cascading, in what she imagined to be an ungraceful manner, straight to the floor. 

She scowled at the thought and answered, "Wow, what an ego!"

He laughed, "I was trying to make you laugh, kid."

She snapped back, "Don't call me kid! I'm not a kid."

He turned and flipped the sandwich as he answered, "Yeah, you are, whether you believe it or not."

Her cynical mind fired back to him, "You want to fuck me! What the hell does that make you then?"

She immediately regretted the words that spewed from her mouth. 'Did you just say that out loud?!' 

She sunk in her chair a little.

This time he was the one who said, with a smile still in his voice, "Wow, what an ego! What makes you think I'd want to fuck you?"

Everything inside of him sighed as her cheeks turned a bright, embarrassed red. He turned away, to put the sandwich on a plate and to hide the brief flare of his erection. Something about hearing the word fuck come from her mouth. Something about how the hues of her hair framed her pale skin. Something about that passionate, argumentative, artistic temper. 

'What does that make you, asshole? You said it; she is a kid,' he asked himself. 

Noah became determined to feed her and then take her home. It really was his intention as he watched her eat the sandwich so quickly it impressed him. He barely had time to open the bottle of wine. 

He poured her a glass and sat it in front of her stating, "You know I could go to jail for this, but..."

He shook his head, "When I was your age, eighteen year olds could drink. I think if they can draft you, you should be able to drink. Damn puritans." 

She lifted the glass and gulped before adding, "I think they let guys in the army drink, and I'm nineteen." 

He sipped his own glass, "Well, that's not really the point; but you may be right."

"I am right," she furrowed her eyebrows together. 

He sat his glass down and conceded despite his doubt, "Okay, you are right." 

Her eyes looked tired. 

He sighed aloud and said, "It's time for me to take you home, kid."

Emma had the sudden, sharp sensation that she had failed one of the professor's exams. The idea of being taken home filled her with regret. Maybe she did come off like a kid. 

She felt a desperate urge to correct his perception of her, "I'm not a kid, Noah." It felt so strange to call him that. 

"I'm a woman," the words felt silly and sounded like they came from someone else's mouth. 

He grinned slowly, and answered in a quieter voice than before, "I'm well aware that you're a woman. You're just a very young woman." 

Emma felt like an invisible cord pulled her from her chair to stand in front of him. With the warmth of the wine and the first full feeling in her belly in days, she was brazen. She felt as if she channeled the sexual courage of her cousin for a moment as she pulled her t-shirt over her head and unfastened her white cotton bra. She let both fall in a pile at his feet. Her nipples hardened immediately at the freedom, at the cool air and at his longing stare.

There was no hiding his erection as he watched her stand in front of him naked to the waist. Nineteen-year-old breasts. They were full, yet amazing perky, with pink upturned nipples. His only desire in life was to have one of those beautiful, tight points in his mouth. She seemed to hold her breath when he reached out and ran his hand delicately across her chest, grazing one nipple with the palm of his hand and then the other. Noah realized he hadn't touched the miracle of teenage breasts since he was a teenager himself. 

His hands continued their journey down the delicious curves of her body until he wrapped his fingers around the loops of her blue jeans and pulled her close to him. She came so easily towards him; her pliancy surprised him. But, he didn't dwell on the thought long. 

He took her left breast into his hand and massaged it gently as his mouth sucked in her other nipple. When he moved his attentions to the opposite nipple, his hands began to caress the smooth skin of her back. He alternated his suckling as she sighed and began to stroke her fingers through his hair. 

The scruff of his daylong beard and the gentle, wet movements of his mouth left Emma almost unable to stand of her own accord. As his hands roamed her back and cupped her ass, she felt as if she was being held up by some mysterious force that wasn't possibly her own legs. She was startled when she was suddenly pushed away. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes, Emma," his voice was soft but his tone...his tone almost demanded she do as told. 

Without question, she unbuckled her blue jeans, pulled them down and then remembered she still had on her boots. She felt her already lust-flushed face turn an even deeper red. She knelt down to unlace the unsexy boots and felt like a failure as a lover, even as the river of her juices leaked to her inner thighs. 

She was too ashamed to look at him and extremely grateful that he didn't laugh at her awkward position: legs still tangled in her jeans, on her rear wrestling with laces, her soaked panties so obviously wet. She sighed in relief when she was finally free of the boots. 

'So, this is why heels are sexier,' her mind wandered momentarily until he spoke. 

Before she got to her feet, he said, "Stay there." 

She looked up at him, confused. When she saw his hard cock in his hand, she understood. She bit her lip. She wasn't all that experienced at head, and she really didn't want him to know that. But, his eyes kept her on the floor even as they moved her to her knees in front of him. 

Noah took Emma's hand into his own and wrapped it around the shaft of his cock. Slowly, he stroked with her. When she looked up, the sudden look of little girl innocence made his already erect cock a rock. She leaned forward and licked the head and the small drip of juice there, all the while watching his face. 

He reached down and stroked the softness of her cheek as she licked his shaft from base to head. She seemed hesitant to take him into her mouth, and as much as he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, he didn't want to push her. He couldn't help but wonder if she'd done it before now. 

'God, she can't be a virgin?' His mind briefly questioned her experience. 

He'd never taken a girl's virginity, preferring the excitement of experienced lovers. The idea made his head swim. 

She'd tried to sound nonchalant about him wanting to fuck her; now she regretted it a little. She'd let Todd, the guitar player in Miriam's band, fuck her twice when she was drunk, but she'd done little more than undress and lay there. He didn't seem to mind. She already knew that Noah expected more than that. 

Slowly, she let his cock slip into her mouth. It felt awkward. She felt awkward, wet but awkward. His cock seemed to swell even more, and she felt a hand wrapping itself into her hair. It comforted her that he continued the gentle stroking of her face. Her heart pounded, and she quite suddenly wanted desperately to please him. She took a little more into her mouth and began to slowly move her head up and down on his cock, adjusting to the feel of it.

Noah groaned. She was obviously inexperienced, but it didn't matter. The very fact that it was Emma on her knees in front of him was almost enough to make him cum. 

He whispered encouragement, "You're doing great, baby. That's it...Oh, yeah, like that."

She pulled him out of her mouth and gasped for air. Inexperienced. He smiled at her as she looked up into his eyes again and licked the mushroom of his head. She'd been holding her breath. 

She took him into her mouth again and tried to take him deeper, to go a little faster. Her mind flashed to the times she'd seen Miriam giving head. Her cousin didn't give a shit who watched, and Emma had pretended to be equally comfortable with the other girl's displays. She knew she wasn't as good. Noah wasn't grasping the back of her head and begging her not to stop. He was still stroking her face in the same manner and whispering. She took him deeper and gagged. She felt embarrassed as she was forced to let him slide out of her mouth. 

She wiped the saliva from her face with the back of her hand and whispered, "Sorry." 

Noah gave her a compassionate but lustful smile and asked the question he had to ask, "Emma, do you want to go to the bedroom?" 

As much as he wanted her, if she hadn't had sex, he didn't want to take her too far. 

She bit her lower lip, a nervous habit of hers he'd noticed long ago. It had grabbed his heart from the first time she did it, and he worried a moment if he was the one getting in over his head. All the same, he thought, 'Thank you, God,' when she nodded her head and said, "Yes." 

He helped her to her feet; and Emma felt her stomach flip. As she stood, she was even more aware of the wetness that had graduated down her thighs. 

'He'll think I'm some sort of a freak,' She thought, realizing how she dripped, so ready for it, for him.

She almost pulled away, but couldn't. She found herself more aware of her body than even before as he took her hand and led her down a dark hallway. It made her unreasonably more comfortable to see the tangled sheets of an unmade bed. 

As she tried to crawl under the covers, he pulled them back away from her. She didn't resist his eyes on her. She watched as he removed the remainder of his clothes. His bouncing erection enthralled her. His scent on the sheets both calmed her restless mind and let her body relax into his kiss as he stretched out beside her. 

Her lips parted to meet his tongue. She still had the faint taste of grilled cheese and something about that almost made him laugh. But, as she explored his mouth with her own tongue and sighed against him, her kiss seemed the sweetest he'd had in a long, long time. He pulled away to look into her wide, excited, nervous eyes. He realized she'd had his cock in her mouth, but this was their first kiss. 

The delicate spray of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the life that burned in her eyes etched themselves into his memory. 

His hand explored the curve of her hip as they kissed again. His erection pressed against the smooth skin of her thigh, and he wanted to climb between her legs, thrust inside of her and get lost. His fingers traced the laced edges of the little, thin panties still covering her. He groaned into her mouth as he felt the soaked material. 

She lifted her hips the slightest bit, spreading her legs a little to meet the exploration of his fingers. She jumped as he pushed aside the cloth and made contact with her bare pussy. She gasped and pulled him closer when his middle finger followed the wet trail to her tight opening. He pressed inside slowly, and she whispered his name. 

He gently slipped a second finger inside of her, feeling her stretch just enough to accommodate him. 

She pulled her mouth away from his kiss again and whispered, "I've only done this a couple of times." 

He continued the slow movement of his fingers in and out as he asked, "Do you want me to stop, baby?" 

His passion rose even higher when the blush in her face and chest glowed brighter. 

She shook her head no and answered, "Please don't stop." 

The sarcastic, biting tone of his rebellious student was long gone. Now there was only the quiet, sensual voice of a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her. 

Emma closed her eyes as Noah moved his mouth to her neck. He sucked and nibbled his way to her almost painfully erect nipples. She'd never thought her breasts were very sensitive until Noah. The deeper probing of his fingers combined with the attention of tongue brought moans from her lips. It was so different from the rough, brief groping of her only other lover. 

As he kissed his way down her belly, her muscles stiffened as she realized, 'He's going to...' She grabbed his shoulder, "Noah?"

He looked up into her eyes as he continued to kiss and lick her abdomen. He didn't say anything, continuing his inch-by-inch descent. 

Her heart raced and she blurted out, "You don't have to do that." No man had ever...and the thought of it unnerved her. 

He stopped licking her and looked confused as she said, "You can just fuck me." She tried to sound more sure than she felt. 

He grinned at her and asked, "I want to taste you, Emma. Is that okay?" 

His fingers moved to press open her pink folds as she looked for a way to say no. Before she could find the words, his mouth was there, licking the place his fingers had revealed. She grabbed his head as he tongue circled her clit. 

"Oh my God!" leapt from her mouth. 

He closed his eyes as he worked his tongue around her little pert button. She even tasted sweet and innocent to him. Her juices flowed and drove him crazy. She'd be so tight, so wet. He slipped his fingers inside of her again as he continued teasing her clit. 

The warm, wet, tingling feeling of his tongue on her clit sent her fears and doubts away. She found herself trying to pull his mouth closer. She wanted more. Something more. 

She whispered, "Don't stop." 

He didn't. He knew his finger had found the right spot when she groaned loudly and tightened around him. He pressed his tongue against her clit and moved more rapidly. She bucked under him and her sounds increased. The fingers wrapped in his hair began suddenly to push him away, but he didn't move, despite her words.

"Stop! You have to..." Emma could barely speak. 

It was too intense. The feeling of it, of him. Her body moved of its own accord and was stronger willed than her frightened mind. She moaned loudly, the intensity building with the ministrations of his mouth and his fingers.

As the tingling spread, nerve-by-nerve, through her body, she gave up the battle, closed her eyes and screamed. Thoughts disappeared as her muscles stiffened, even her toes curling tight. Stress. Pain. Hunger. Fear. For a brief amazing moment there was only her body and the beautiful sensations he gave to her. She became aware of how out of control felt.

Emma was left panting, sweating, her muscles and mind weakened. He kissed his way up her belly and moved his body on top of hers. She moved her legs to let him lie between them. Emma's heart pounded again as he looked into her eyes. She responded to the fire in his eyes like the moment a rollercoaster drops after reaching its highest climb.




Some Girls Never Learn Ch. 01



As he pressed inside of her, she wanted so much to whisper the sudden, new love she felt for him. It almost hurt to hold it inside.

He groaned her name as he entered her. Tight and wet. Her slick pussy enveloped him.

"God, honey, you feel so damn good." 

He looked in her eyes, but she looked far away. He kissed her face and then began to thrust slowly. She moaned and met his movements after a moment. Her fingers dug into his back. He sped up as she began to respond. Her unintelligible words encouraged him. Noah wanted her to cum again.

The feeling of his cock inside her engorged, ready pussy overwhelmed her. The feeling was altogether new. Unlike her previous times, she wanted him there, needed him there.

She even begged, "More...don't stop..." 

He seemed to feed off of her words. His thrusts became deep and sure and fast. She spread her legs further and raised her hips to him. She wanted all of him. She kissed his shoulder as his groans rang in her ears. She ran her fingers along the muscles of his back. She never wanted it to stop. Him inside of her. Where he belonged. For the first time, her body and her heart understood one another. 

Noah held out as long as he could. Her body moved with his. The moaned whispers told him she was almost there. The presence of her beneath him, wanting it so much, was delicious. 

When her body shook under him and she called out, "Oh! Yes!" he couldn't hold off any longer and exploded inside of her, letting go of months of frustration and restraint. 

She held him tight as he came. When he collapsed on top of her, he could still feel her fingers moving along his back. 

He pulled out, and she whispered, "Wait!" 

He was already gone. After a quiet, panting moment, he kissed her face and rolled off of her. 

His sudden absence was startling to her. When he sighed loudly, grinned and kissed her on the lips, she moved to curl into his embrace. 

But, he was moving off the bed, saying, "I'll be right back, honey." 

Emma watched him disappear into the bathroom, and she wanted to cry. 

Her mind returned with a vengeance, telling her, 'you wanted to get fucked. You got fucked.' 

She felt shocked by the continuing desire to tell him her feelings. She shook it off and forced herself to sit up. 

She wasn't in the bed when he returned to the room. 

'Where the hell did she go?' Noah looked towards the door, wondering if she'd gone in search of something. 

He called out for her, "Emma?" 

When she reappeared in the hallway, already half-dressed, with her boots in hand, he felt speechless. 

He sat down at the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. "Honey, are you okay?" 

The look on her face told him that she hadn't just put on her clothes; she'd also put on her defensive attitude. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"I need to go home. Do you wanna take me or should I call a cab or something?" 

Emma straightened and stiffened her posture. The look in his eyes made her want to crawl back in the bed with him. 

'No!' her mind was insistent, determined not to made a fool. Just because he was better in bed than Todd didn't mean she meant anything more to him. 

"A cab?" He shook his head, smiling at her. 

She hated the look of pity that he gave her. She sat in the floor to lace her boots. There was no way she was getting close to his bed again. 

A mixture of feelings flooded her as he reached for his jeans and said, "Of course, I'll take you home, Emma, if that's really want you want to do." 

It was more statement than question. She bit her lip and tried not to show how disappointed she was that he didn't argue with her leaving. 

Her hair was a wild mess. The little make-up she wore was faded away. She had that beautiful, just-fucked look that made him wish he could fuck her again right then. He grinned to himself. Maybe when he was ten years younger. Maybe. 

Watching her, he could see and feel her confusion. He was old enough to know he'd done something wrong. She was upset, as much as she was trying to be tough and not let him know. He plopped down in front of her as she laced the second boot. 

"Look at me," Noah insisted. 

She avoided his eyes, jumping at his sudden appearance in front of her. Her body got warm again from his close proximity. She didn't understand why she wanted so much to cry and crawl into his arms. She bit her lip again. 

"Hey, kiddo, look up here," he sighed when she glanced briefly at him, then returned her attention to the laces she seemed to be struggling with. 

Determined to get her attention, he reached and began to unlace the boot she'd already managed to get on. 

She stopped and stared at him, "What the hell are you doing?"

He cocked his head to the side, "Just trying to get your attention."

She jumped when he reached up and stroked her cheek as softly as he'd done earlier. With the simple gesture, her heart overrode her brain again, and the tears began to fill her eyes. She scooted away from him and covered her face with her hands when she couldn't stop the sobs from shaking her body and her mind. When he stood up, she was certain that he was leaving. She knew she'd made a fool of herself.

Noah moved to sit behind her. She stiffened a moment when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back against his chest. 

"Shh...Emma, it's okay," he said in his softest voice as he pulled her close. 

She sobbed deeply and buried her head in his chest to hide her face.

She whispered, "I'm sorry," as he continued to shush her, rocking her in his arms, stroking her hair. 

The gentleness in his voice calmed her, "No, baby, if you need to cry, it's okay." 

He mentally kicked himself as he replayed the night in his mind. He was sure he'd been too aggressive, his body too needy to take her inexperience into consideration. Then, he realized, he'd abandoned her. It might only have been for a couple of minutes, but she didn't understand that. She was a kid. He knew he'd fucked up. 

When she calmed down, he stroked her hair and admitted his failure, "I'm sorry. Tonight...it probably shouldn't have happened..."

Emma pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. "You're sorry? You wish we hadn't...?" 

He pulled her unruly curls off her forehead and whispered, "No, honey, I just mean...I didn't want to make you cry. I shouldn't have pushed you..."

She shook her head at his misunderstanding, and the feeling in her chest took over the movements of her tongue as she answered, "No, no...You didn't push me. I'm not crying because..." 

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "I just feel...I think I might love you...that's all."

The words flew out and her heart stopped a moment as she looked for the response in his eyes. 

His silence confused her. He took a deep breath and answered quietly, "Oh, baby." 

To Be Continued... 



Some Girls Never Learn Ch. 02



Emma stood in the loud hallway as the other students shuffled by her and through the open door. Her heart clenched, and she glanced towards the stairwell that led to the city outside, the peace of a place away from him. But, she'd already missed four days of classes.

Thank God for Miriam and her total disregard for rules and authority figures. 

Miriam found her sitting on the curved stairway that led to their small lofts. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her eyes puffy and swollen. Her cousin sent away the guy she'd brought home to screw and took control of the situation. 

She reassured Emma with constant affirmations: "He's an asshole." "Don't worry about that old fucker. You can do better." "You were sleep-deprived and hungry, Em. Don't worry about what he thinks." 

It did little to comfort her, but it was nice to hear.

Mostly she was grateful when Miriam posed as the concerned mother she'd never had, calling the school to say how she'd shown up at home with a terrible case of the flu. Normally, the very idea of even her pretend mom dealing with a problem was reprehensible, but now it just didn't matter. She wasn't ready to face him. 

"Well, let's get this show on the road," Noah's voice echoed out the still-open door to the quieter hall. 

Her boots felt glued to the floor. It required actual effort to lift one foot and then the other. She watched her reluctant feet as they took her to the place she least wanted to be.

Noah's stomach dropped when he saw her moving slowly around the back of the classroom to an empty space. A mixture of relief and sickness stopped him in his tracks. When he realized he was staring, he quickly occupied himself with straightening the note cards he'd carried with him to the front of the classroom. 

She'd returned. He'd worried after a couple days. He knew it took courage for her to come back. In an odd way, he felt proud of her, even though she looked pale and defeated. He despised the fact that he'd done that. 

"Asshole," He didn't realize he said it aloud until one of his most attentive students asked all too loudly, "Who?"

Noah's mind traveled slowly to the boy at the front of the class and said, "Who? What?"

Benjamin cackled and asked again, "Who's the asshole?"

'Dammit,' he thought, wishing some people weren't so intent on his every word, forgetting for a moment that he was their teacher. 

He muttered, "Sorry, just thinking of the guy who cut me off in traffic this morning."

Ben nodded, "Yeah, Noah, man, it's a jungle out there." 

He smiled at the boy's look of empathy. 

She was afraid to look at him. Tears seemed to dwell just beneath her breached shell at every conceivable moment. She hated it, but it was true. His words played in her mind for the millionth time.

"Oh, baby. You don't mean that. You're just...honey...that feeling isn't...real...It's just a chemical reaction to sex. It happens to everyone, and then it fades away." 

He tried to be cool about it. But, with every passing moment, her shame and her heartbreak grew. Not real? A chemical reaction? Happens to everyone? It had never happened to her. That his every understanding, kind word left her more crushed, that was real. She tried equally hard to forget the never-ending car ride back to the store. 

He'd tried to talk music as she stared out the window. He'd tried to talk art as she stared out the window. He'd tried to touch her face again as she stared out the window. Finally, he accepted her silence and her distance and didn't say a word when she got out of the car. She shuddered again remembering the feel of his stare as he waited by the curb for her to open the door. She'd dropped the keys twice. Twice. 

His voice brought her back to the present, but she had no idea what he had said. When students started to shuffle around the room, she thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, the universe was being nice to her and that he'd dismissed class early. She began to gather her things when the realization struck her. They weren't leaving. They were pairing off. Two by two. Nineteen students. She sat alone and closed her eyes. 

It was Vaughn who tapped her on the arm. For the first time ever, she was grateful for the sight of him. 

Her sense of gratitude was fleeting as he said, "I guess you can work with Noah, huh?" 

She realized Vaughn had migrated to her table in pursuit of a thin blonde named Lacey. 

Her eyes flew open, and she stuttered, "No, I can work by myself." 

She was sure the urgency in her words sounded inappropriate and stupid. 

Vaughn shook his head and answered, "You are one strange chick. How are you going to do this assignment by yourself?"

Emma looked around the room. She couldn't answer because she hadn't heard the assignment. She saw Noah out of the corner of her eye moving through the room, between the tables, stopping at each self-selected pair to drop off a large piece of rough, cheap paper. His movements to her table were slowed by the constant tugs at his shirt; they all wanted his attention. 

'What a bunch of four-year olds,' she told herself. 

But, for the first time, she secretly understood why they wanted to tell him their ideas and see the approval in his eyes. They had no idea the things she'd seen in his eyes. 

He caught her eye as she turned to look at the door. Abject fear and pain. She looked away quickly. He swallowed hard. Of course she'd be the odd man out. Before he'd have been thrilled to be paired with her, to share a dance with her creative mind and skilled eye. Now, not only did it feel uncomfortable, he felt true pity for her. She was young, passionate, emotional.

'Asshole,' he said it again, this time silently. 

A small part of him wanted her to bolt. Most of him hoped she wouldn't. She was still his student, and he didn't want to add her failure in his class to his ever-increasing guilt. 

Emma waited and waited. She fought down the desire to run as the minutes ticked. She knew she'd have to face him sooner or later. As often as she'd considered it in the previous week, she wasn't leaving college. He'd most likely be her professor for three more years. She kicked herself for not having considered that before she got on her knees, before he moved inside of her, before she felt what she felt.

She sighed. People camped outside the night before registration to get into his upper level classes. For the juniors and seniors getting their names in his roll book was more exciting than scoring front row tickets. Her mind drifted to a land where he was a rock star and she was a groupie. 

She smirked to herself, 'Well, I should have an 'in' now.' 

It was the first time in days she'd heard the smart ass inside herself speak, and it felt good. The feeling was destined to be brief.

"Well, Emma, I guess you're stuck with me," Noah smiled and tried to sound friendly. 

In reality, fear had crept into him. She wouldn't make a scene, would she? It didn't seem her style. 

Emma stared at the paper he laid down in front of her and refused to look up when he took the stool opposite her. 

She muttered, "I didn't hear the assignment...do I have to have a partner?"

Vaughn snorted somewhere nearby, "Why do you even come to class if you're not going to pay attention?" 

His desire to humiliate her and increase Noah's respect for him was a dismal failure. Emma said nothing. 

His professor, fighting the urge to say, "Shut the fuck up!" just shot him a dirty look. 

When Noah reached to the center of the table, she took note of the large, wide bowls of paint for the first time. Primary colors. Red. Blue. Yellow. She looked from the grade school-like paper to the paints and finally to him. 

He looked her in the eye and said, "You and I will...play off one another. I put down a stroke. You put down a stroke. We create together. Yes, you have to have a partner." 

She stared. Words wouldn't come. Looking into her eyes, he wished he could walk around the table and pull her close. He wanted to apologize. He wished he'd called. But, at the time, he was afraid it would only make things worse. 

He forced himself back to the reality of the present by stating, "We're finger painting." 

"Finger painting?" Her cocked eyebrow and the hint of disgust in her voice almost made him smile. 

That was the Emma he knew. Although the two words were her only comment, he found them infinitely encouraging. He dipped his finger in the red poster paint and, without thought, drew a large red curve. Until he looked up to see the confused look in her eyes, he didn't think about its half-hearted appearance. 

She said nothing. She dipped her index finger into the blue paint and drew a dramatic, wide slash where the center of the heart would be if it were complete. 

Admiring her own gesture, she said, "Too bad we don't have black." 

He grimaced. He wanted the old Emma back; he didn't want her to despise him. 

The epitaph, 'Love and hatred, two sides of the same coin,' flashed through his mind's eye. 

'But, she doesn't really love you,' he reminded himself. 

Her presence, what radiated from her, was confusing on a many levels. He tried to focus on the work in front of him. 

Neither looked at the other for the remainder of the class. Each concentrated solely on the movement of fingers and the display of color and form. The paint dried quickly, allowing layers of expression to pile one atop another. Several students appeared at his side. Some stayed a moment. Others watched intently. He never acknowledged them and gradually each gave up and returned to his or her seat. 

Emma felt entranced. There was no particular form in their paint for the longest time. Just a free flow of lines, slashes, dots and dribbles. A few minutes into the process, she'd inadvertently added her yellow atop his blue a little too soon and created green. It was as if a light bulb went off for both of them. They were no longer bound by the presumption of rules. Red, blue and yellow became purple, orange and green and the occasional brown mistake. And, mistake or not, it added its own charm. 

The room was oddly quiet. People spoke in hushed voices and whispers. When the appointed time arrived, they milled from the room slowly, each couple hanging their creation on the wall to dry.  

They'd covered the entirety of the page and were adding details when the others left. When Vaughn not so accidentally bumped into her on his way out, she broke her concentration for the first time. She shook her mind away from the page, away from the movements of his long fingers and went to reach for a paper towel. His hand on top of hers stopped her. 

"Emma, stay," his voice was quiet. 

The room was deserted now. She looked at the blurry fingerprints he left on her skin and her breathing became more erratic. 

She bit her lip and answered, "I should go." 

Noah looked towards the door. The class was empty. No one lingered. It was a Friday. This was the last group for the day. And, he knew, it was exactly a week since the night she'd been in his bed. As he considered this, she finally looked up into his eyes. 

She whispered, "I'm sorry for what I said. Can we just pretend that night never happened?"

He stood and walked quickly across the room, closing the open door, leaving a blur of paint on the handle before he answered, "I don't want to forget it. It was wonderful, but like I said before...don't be sorry. I'm the one who needs to apologize."

Emma got her hands on the rough, brown towels that sat at the end of each table and wiped away what she could of the paint. Her face twisted into a strange expression, and he worried for a moment that she would begin crying. She didn't. 

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just..." She stopped and mimicked Miriam like a Myna bird, "I was tired and hungry, and you were probably right. It was just the sex. I'm sorry I freaked out on you." 

She seemed to have submitted herself to a sense of embarrassment. 

He watched as she stood to stretch her legs, leaning back against the table, her shoulders slumped slightly forward. 

He asked, "Want to go to my office and talk for a little while? I don't want you to feel bad about what happened." 

He was sincere in the statement.

Emma appreciated the caring tone in his voice, but on some level, she wished he truly were the asshole that her cousin proclaimed him to be. It would be easier to let go of him that way. 

Her own attachment to a man she barely knew didn't make sense to her. But, in a place inside herself that she didn't know existed before Noah, she was certain that she did know him. She wanted to ignore the idea, the feelings, but she believed with her whole heart that he just couldn't see her for who she was: his other half, his soul mate, his. 

After a few deep breaths, she answered, "It's okay. I need to get going. I have to work."

Still wanting some time to sort things through with her, for his own peace of mind, he asked, "Do you need a ride?"

Emma smiled a little as she gathered her things, "Nah, turns out Stew does more than write poetry. He got my car running again." 

He opened the door for her as she juggled the backpack and portfolio. He couldn't stop himself from standing in the hallway and watching her disappear into the stairwell. He still thought she had a gorgeous ass.

Emma glanced at the bank clock and cussed. Traffic. She was going to be late again. She started to sweat a little inside the skin of the jacket. Most people had already given up their winter coats. She clung to hers for as long as any common sense or far out excuse would allow. She thought she might have another couple of weeks. 

Sitting with the windows down, stuck three blocks from where she needed to be, not a parking space in sight, she knew she'd have to hang it up. Frustrated, she finally wrestled the damn thing off. 

To her, the pale skin of her arms glowed neon in the sunlight. There was no such thing as a tan for a redhead like her. She cringed at the idea of the coming Georgian summer sun. She occupied her thoughts with fantasies about being a brunette or living in a colder climate. Anything to not think about Noah. At last, traffic began to creep forward.

He sat on the concrete floor and stared at the oversized stretched canvas. The whiteness of it had overwhelmed him for months. He hadn't painted since the beginning of the fall semester. It had been almost two years since his last big show, and he knew he had resigned himself to his role as professor. 

He taunted himself occasionally, 'Those who can't do, teach.' 

He wasn't sure he believed it, but during the other times when he'd sat in the same spot where he sat now, he felt it.

Something was different this time. Something inside of him. He stood and moved the table with tins and tubes of paint to his side. He picked up brush after brush and ran his fingers over the smooth sable hair. He closed his eyes a moment, and the picture became very clear, vivid and alive. He willed away his doubt, and he painted. 

Emma sat Indian style at one corner of Miriam's open futon. Mary Beth sat at the opposite corner. The squat, heavy-set woman laid tarot card on top of tarot card and bade her to concentrate. Emma could kill Miriam. She concentrated on that as she glared across the room, willing her cousin to meet her eye, but Miriam knew that it would be best not to make that particular contact. 

"Oh, yes, I see a dark-haired man," Mary Beth touched a card and looked into Emma's eyes as if she'd made a particularly important discovery. 

Emma forced a smile and nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Miriam grinning as she stirred the pot of ramen noodles. The smell of the cheap spices thickened in the air. 

"Emma, ooooh, baby, oh, wow," Mary Beth tapped a card furtively, "You have to stay..."

Miriam cleared her throat loudly and chimed in, "...away from him!" 

Mary Beth turned, shaking her head, "No, no, I'm sorry, Miriam. You have to stay close to him!" 

She turned her attention again to Emma who felt surprisingly dumbfounded by the neighborhood psychic's insistence. 

She muttered, "Okay, well..."

"No, No, no 'well!' You do like I say, sweetie! You have to!" The serious glint in her eye took both girls back. 

When the ludicrously bejeweled woman left to give an evening reading for which she was actually being paid, Miriam turned quickly and said, "You know she's a fake. Fucking ignore her." 

She smiled and assured her cousin she would. At the time she meant every word of it. 

At one o'clock in the morning, still tossing in her small bed, she couldn't get that look she'd given her out of her mind. Finally, she pulled a black bound sketchpad from a shelf over the bed and dug in her backpack for the plastic pencil box where she carried her Conte crayons. 

Slowly, in a rote manner, she sketched one eye and then the other. She laid her things aside and rolled out of the bed. She dug in the desk crowded against one wall until she found a pushpin. Ripping the page from the book, she tacked the eyes at the foot of the bed. She sat and stared into them. 

She asked the universe, "Why?"

He was exhausted when he sat down in an old office chair that passed for furniture in his studio. He exhaled slowly and wheeled himself to face the product of many hours' work. It was most assuredly her, her red hair cascading across the pillow as she lounged in his bed. Despite the fact that she'd done no lounging during their one night together, it was how he saw her. And, now, how the world would see her through his eyes. He stared into her recreated green eyes and wished things had gone differently. He thought about grabbing a beer, but he couldn't seem to let go of her gaze. 

"This is ridiculous," Emma said aloud to herself, as she shivered inside her car, "Just go home." 

She looked down at the cut-off gray sweatpants concealing such a small part of her chill-bumped, ever-pale legs. She wrapped the flannel work shirt around her exposed belly. She'd forgotten how she'd pulled off the bottom three buttons when she was wrestling a large piece of plywood up the stairs. At the time, it was a tiny sacrifice to her art as the wood was to become a huge canvas. 

She reached for the paper bag in the passenger seat and took a long drink of Night Train. Cheap but effective, that's what she thought when she bought it. Happily, Junior, the night clerk who thought she was "hot," didn't card her. 

'Hot?' She couldn't see it. 

If his light had been out, leaving might have been an easier thing to do. But, it beckoned her. He was still awake. Maybe he was thinking about her, too. She closed her eyes and reminded herself that no matter the psychic's words, the feelings were entirely one-sided. 

She took another drink and reached behind the seat to retrieve the earlier discarded leather jacket. She pulled it over her body like a blanket and stared up at his light. It was a new moon, making it seem to glow even brighter. 

She closed her eyes and remembered his kiss both when it was soft and when it was deep and full of passion. She didn't realize that sleep had finally come until the loud rap at her window caused her to jump and hit her leg against the steering wheel hard enough to bruise. 

Noah almost rolled off the couch where he'd crashed when the knocks reverberated off his front door. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Four a.m. 

'Who the fuck?' he asked silently, his thoughts still blurred from sleep. 

He stumbled to the door and opened it with the chain intact. A cop? He closed the door enough to release the chain. 

When he opened the door wider, he saw her there. And, she was a sight. 

He would have laughed if it weren't for the serious, deep tone of the police officer's voice, "Does she belong to you?"




Some Girls Never Learn Ch. 02



He looked into her begging eyes with a split second of confusion. 

It was long and obvious enough for the officer to added, "She claims she lives her. She's drunk."

"I amn not, not drunk!" She said it for the third time since he'd taken her in an ungentlemanly manner from her front seat. 

Noah smiled, then cleared his throat and tried to sound serious, "Yes, sir. She belongs here. Young lady, how many times have I told you..." 

He halted his performance and returned his attention to the cop, "I appreciate you bringing her home. I will take care of this. She'll be punished." 

It was the cop who cleared his throat and suppressed an involuntary laugh, "Punished, huh?" 

He shook his head and turned to leave, laughing out loud as he reached the elevator. 

"I tolds him yous are my boyfriend, not my faaather...stupid, stupid, stuu-pidd," she leaned against the wall. She reeked of the alcohol. 

He shook his head, "You're going to sleep it off here, but if you puke, you're the one cleaning it up." 

When she started to stumble her way through the door, he put his arm around her and led her to the bedroom. As she sat on the bed, her body swayed just a bit. He shook his head and helped her out of her jacket. 

She muttered, "I'm sorwy, No-oah. I shouln be here. I..."

He pushed her gently back against the pillows. 

He leaned close and said, "We can talk in the morning. Sleep, kid. It'll keep." 

'If you remember,' he thought. 

She looked as if she might try to speak again, but then she was out. 

He sat beside her on the bed for a moment. He reached and unlaced her heavy boots and pulled them from her feet. He shook his head to see Strawberry Shortcake socks covering her feet. 

He laughed to himself and whispered, "Who dresses you?" 

He stood and stared at her. Slowly, he saw that she was as he painted her. Had her eyes been open and her clothes...well, if she were wearing only his sheet, it was the very picture he created. Noah pulled off her cut-offs and then his jeans, ignoring the voice that told him to go back to the couch. Crawling in bed beside her, he reached and touched her soft curls. He fell asleep listening to her breathe, the vision of another red-haired creation forming so effortlessly in his mind. One hand mindlessly cupped her breast. 

When she awoke, her body was a sweaty entanglement with his, his warm hand covering her exposed breast. He looked asleep, although he mumbled something incomprehensible when she pulled herself from his arms. 

As she sat up, her head swam and her stomach lurched. How she ended up in Noah's arms was unimportant as she jumped up and ran to the bathroom. She hit her knees in front of the toilet wincing from an injury she didn't remember. After a few moments passed and she didn't throw up, she rocked slowly onto her heels. How had she ended up in Noah's apartment? 

Piece by torturous piece, the night's events returned to her mind. The car. The cop. She felt sick for an altogether new reason as she wondered what the hell she might have said to him. That part of her memory refused to return clearly. 

She looked down at her open shirt. Her breasts were bare. She tried to remember...no, she hadn't worn a bra. Her pants, her shoes and one sock were missing. One sock? She groaned when she saw what she'd thrown on when she left for what was meant to be a quick trip to the liquor store. 

'Laundry,' she chided herself, 'This wouldn't happen if you did your laundry!' 

"Emma?" Noah's sleepy, concerned voice erased all thoughts about her lack of domestication. 

What would she say to him this morning? How was she going to explain...any of it? 

'Oh, no big deal, a psychic told me to sit in front of your building, get drunk and pass out. See ya in class.' 

Somehow she didn't think he'd understand that one. She got to her feet slowly, still uncertain of both her stomach and her explanation. 

He sat up in the bed, the crumpled sheet at his waist. She'd been in his bed and in his dreams. They'd been in New York City. She was sitting on a stool inside the roach-motel- sized studio where he'd lived as a graduate student. She looked so lost, but he could only stare at her beauty from a distance. There was music; he remembered that much. But, she never spoke. The dream disturbed him in an inexplicable way, but there was no time to dwell on interpreting it.

When she all but tiptoed out of the bathroom, as if light steps might make her blend into the surroundings and disappear from his eyes and his questions, she made him smile. Whatever disconcerting feelings remained from his sleep disappeared as her breasts peaked out from behind her open shirt. His cock was quick to respond. 

"There you are," he leaned forward and patted the bed beside him, "Sit your hung-over ass down here, young lady." 

He laughed when she bit her lip and slowly returned his smile. 

As she sat down, he pushed her hair to one side and whispered in her ear, "I expect you to be here when I get back." 

She turned and looked questioningly at him as he jumped up and disappeared into the bathroom. She blushed to see his obvious erection in the bright morning light. 

Once he was out of sight, she dug beneath the covers to discover her missing sock. Her missing pants lay folded beside the bed. She thought for a moment of putting them on, and then thought better of it. 

Out of nowhere, she thought, 'I've never had sex during the day.' 

She didn't see that fact being remedied until he returned and smiled at her again. 

Noah sat down next to Emma and pulled her back into the bed with him. 

He held her against his chest and whispered in her ear, "Now, what was so important that you showed up on my doorstep in the middle of the night?"

He knew he should get up, get dressed, leave her alone, but there was just something about her unbuttoned shirt and little panties that called to him. 

Emma swallowed hard, feeling his erection pressed against her again. She knew she should turn and run like she promised Miriam, but there was no way she could leave him now. 

She stuttered back, "It'll keep," as she turned and found his lips. 

Noah kissed her languidly, enjoying the moment of her assertiveness. She bit his lower lip, and he grinned, tossing her onto her back. He unbuttoned the one remaining closure of her shirt and stared at her beautiful breasts, at the slight curve of her belly and her smooth hips. 

Emma jumped when he suddenly tweaked a nipple between his teeth. He laughed, and so did she. His fingers snuck slowly under her panties. She was already soaking wet. He moved up on her, but her hands pressed him away.

"No," Emma said with a slight shove, "Let me be on top this time."

Noah smiled from ear-to-ear, sure he was about to be rejected. Instead his fantasy was melding with his reality. He rolled to his back, taking Emma with him. 

She slipped her panties to the side and positioned herself above his stiff cock. She bit her lip and looked down into his eyes, slowly rubbing against hard penis. Then, she was there, sliding him inside of her, so very deep. Emma inhaled and closed her eyes. It felt so different as she sat still on him, holding him, squeezing around him, knowing she could move how she wanted to move. 

Noah did his best not to grab her hips and slam his cock up into the heat of her pussy. It was overwhelming, the sight of her tussled hair and pert nipples, the smell of her arousal, and the little noises she made as she sank down onto him. But, he waited for her.

Slowly, Emma began to move on him, one torturous inch at a time she moved up and then down again. Her face and her chest flushed at the feeling. Her breaths came closer together as she moved a little faster, still timid. 

Noah leaned up and took one nipple into his mouth and then the other, suckling, savoring. As he lay back he raised his hips just slightly to meet her. Her breasts did bounce in the beautiful manner he had imagined. 

After as many minutes as he could stand, Noah whispered, "Can I?"

Emma looked confused, until he reached up, pulled her chest to his and plowed into her. 

She almost screamed as she answered, "Yes!"

Her nipples grazed his chest and became painful points. Her fingers touched his face briefly, and then found a home in his thick hair. She called his name again and again as he took her over the edge. 

Noah moved fast and hard inside of her. Her teasing movements had him ready. He wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her down hard, thrusting into her. She did scream as he filled her with his cock and his cum. 

He stayed inside of her as she went limp on top of him. She whimpered a little as he inevitably slid out. He pushed her hair aside and leaned down to kiss her forehead. When she raised her head, there were no tears this time. 

She smiled softly and said, "I didn't know sex could feel this good."

Not lying, he answered, "Me either, baby." 

Noah held Emma until his arm went numb. Finally, he suggested they should get out of the bed and discuss what was on her mind. 

Emma watched intently when he opened his dresser door and pulled out a pair of sweat pants. Watching him dress fascinated her almost as much as watching him undress. If he were the paint, she'd watch him dry. 

When he turned and caught her staring, he joked, "Checking me out, huh?" 

She blushed and looked to the floor. She wished a smart-ass answer would come to her mind, but there wasn't one. She couldn't help smiling, though. Yeah, she was checking him out. 

He grinned at her, "Just 'cause we had great sex and now you're sitting there looking all cute and pitiful doesn't mean you're not in trouble."

She stammered, "I can explain." 

He laughed as she searched desperately for the words. A little voice told him he should be concerned that he was the one she came to when she was in trouble, but he ignored it. 

He concentrated instead on her open shirt and long legs and little girl shyness. He couldn't quite comprehend how one night of fucking had brought about this change in her demeanor, but he couldn't deny it had happened. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

"Think you could drink some coffee?" 

He headed towards the door, knowing he needed to get them out of the bedroom before he kept them there all day. 

She nodded and followed him to the kitchen. 

As he ran the water into the glass pot, he said, "Um, honey, much as I hate to say this...but, maybe you should button your shirt."

She bit her lip at his words. She didn't even think about how she must look to him. 

She stuttered, "I should just go."

Noah flipped the little orange switch to 'on' before he turned and said, "I'll take you home, honey. Just let me get a cup of coffee in me."

She shook her head, "No, its okay, my car is out front."

She realized her mistake when his expression changed. 

His eyebrows furrowed together when he repeated her statement as a question. "Your car is out front? Of my building?" 

Emma felt hot and flushed. He didn't know she was there, wanting to see him, unable to work up the courage, sober or drunk. 

Immediately she rambled, as quickly as possible, everything she knew, "You see, Miriam had Mary Beth come over. Mary Beth has this little place at the end of the block where she reads palms and stuff. She makes a lot of money. Anyway, Miriam wanted Mary Beth to tell me that I should stay away from you..."

He stared, crossing his arms across his chest as she continued. 

"So, she does my tarot cards and tells me that we are meant to be together instead of apart. Pissed Miriam off. Then, I couldn't sleep, and Miriam was playing at some club that I couldn't remember the name of. So, I bought some Night Train from Junior, and I came here because I thought maybe we should talk since I was such an idiot last time I was here. And, I thought if I drank some of the Night Train I wouldn't be as scared to talk to you..."

He wasn't sure if he had ever heard so many words strung together in such a short span of time...in his life.

"...And your light was on, but I didn't know if you'd really want to see me. And I didn't want you to think I was stalking you or something. Because I'm not. I know you don't want me. Well, you might want me, but not want me want me." 

He smirked.

"I do know that. I just wanted to know why Mary Beth would say something like that and I thought if I came here I might know why. I think why might be the stupidest question in the world. There's some quote about that, but I can't remember who said it right now. And, anyway, I parked and drank some more of the Night Train, and I just fell asleep and all. And, then the cop saw me, and he said he was going to make me go to jail for the night. So, I told him I wasn't gonna drive cause I lived up here. And, well, you know the rest." 

She took a deep breath. 

"So, basically you came here because a psychic told you that I'm your soul mate?" He tried to repress his laugh, but he couldn't. 

She was quiet, and then answered, "Yes."

"Hmmm," he pulled two coffee cups from the cabinet and sat them on the counter as he contemplated her explanation, "So, you're not stalking me, right? Cause I might need to call that cop back if you are." 

She stared long enough for him to turn around and reveal his smile. 

She rolled her eyes then, "No...what an ego." 

He grinned again. "It's okay, Emma. As long as you don't make it a habit of having cops bring you to my door in the middle of the night, I'm cool." 

His laissez-faire attitude left her both relieved and slightly confused. 

"Noah," she asked quietly, "Do you mind if I come here without the cops?" 

He audibly inhaled and exhaled. He didn't mind. A half-naked beautiful nineteen-year old who wanted to hang out with him and who let him fuck her, too? 

He shook away the desire and answered, "It's not that I mind, I'm just not sure it's a great idea, either. Whatever the psychic said, I'm just not a relationship kinda guy, and that's not just with you, honey. It's with any woman. Really." 

He tried to make the lie sound convincing. 

She picked up the hot cup of coffee he sat in front of her and took a tentative sip. 

"You don't have to be my...boyfriend," the word sounded immature and she hated that, "We could...be friends?" 

He pulled his chair close to hers. "Friends?"

The compassionate man who would have fed her and sent her home never stood a chance in the internal battle that ensued. He was certain that fucking her had brought his painting back to life. Hell, the picture was her. 

The whole time he painted, he'd thought, 'If only...' 

He envisioned her in the studio with him. Naked. Servicing his artistic eye. Even now, he wasn't sure that he didn't need her. Her mere passed-out presence last night had him seeing a second painting. 

Finally, he spoke, partly from the unabashed lust she brought out in him and partly for the sake of his art, "Okay, then, we can do this." 

He tuned out the voice that said, yet again, 'Asshole.' 

He knew it was one of the most self-serving decisions he'd ever made, but he couldn't lose his vision again. What could it hurt? Really. He told himself he could be her mentor. She could even use a part of his studio. The idea made it all seem less questionable to him. 

He smiled at her. She tried to smile. They'd be friends. She could live with that. She thought she could. Maybe. 

After a moment, he added, "There's something I want to show you first."