Counterpoint by Sleepyvalentina.pdf

Counterpoint by Sleepyvalentina

Recapitulation

Three years ago, my father gave me a stack of Playboys so I could “take care of things,”

but they never really did it for me. The articles may have been surprisingly well-written,

but the glossy, airbrushed photographs among them seemed far too artificial to be

stimulating. I asked him if there was anything out there that was a bit more realistic, and

we soon progressed to Hustler. These women were a bit more life-like, but they were also

a bit more—for lack of a better word—coarse. I tried a few other magazines, but they

were all similarly disappointing. I now had a parentally-provided porn stash that would

make any guy jealous, but I never actually used it for its intended purpose. None of it

aroused me as much as my fantasies involving a certain teacher.

Isabella Swan taught freshman English at my high school, and physically she was my

ideal. I’d seen her around the halls, but I’d lacked a sufficient reason to approach her. I

never thought I would run into her outside of school, but the longer I watched the

stunning brunette standing on the other side of the Art Museum’s Great Stair Hall, the

more convinced I became that it had to be her.

Maybe I was making a generalization based on appearances, but she didn’t look like the

kind of girl who would hang out in a museum, nor did she resemble the kind of girl

who’d be out alone on a weekend. In all fairness to her body, she didn’t look like a girl at

all. Her fitted jeans and sweater left none of her curves to the imagination. Miss Swan

was definitely a woman. And for whatever reason she was here –by herself at a museum

on a Friday night standing less than twenty feet away from me. She looked more

beautiful than I would have thought possible, and I spent a great deal of time thinking

about Miss Swan. In my mind we were intimately acquainted, and I had an extremely

vivid imagination.

At school she dressed modestly and professionally. Up until now I’d never seen Miss

Swan wearing jeans, nor had I ever seen her with her hair down. I hadn’t realized it was

so long and I imagined how it would look against her bare skin. It would probably cover

most of her breasts, leaving only their undersides exposed. Her nipples would peek

through her curls…

I became a bit uncomfortable and excused myself to the men’s room where I quickly took

care of business. I also used the facilities, knowing I would hate to tear myself away

again from the vision of Miss Swan’s ass in those jeans. When I returned to the Great

Stair Hall, the musicians were between sets. I scanned the room, fearful she had left. She

stood just where she’d been before, holding a glass of white wine.

“You seem distracted.”

My father’s voice brought me back to reality. His eyes followed my gaze to the object of

my preoccupation.

“Oh,” he said knowingly. “She’s very pretty. You should go talk to her.”

“I’m not in the mood to be humiliated, Dad.”

“What makes you think it will go badly?”

“She doesn’t strike me as the type of woman who lacks male attention. And she’s

older…”

“She doesn’t look any older than twenty-one, maybe twenty-two. She’s probably an art

history student. You have nothing to lose by trying.”

Little did he know.

“Actually Dad, she teaches at my school.”

“You never told me you had a thing for one of your teachers.”

I blushed. “She isn’t one of my teachers; I’ve just seen her around. She’s kind of hard to

miss…”

“Hang on a second. “My father walked over to the bar and returned with two glasses, one

of which he handed to me. “I guessed which wine she’s drinking. Why don’t you bring

this over to her?”

“And say what? ‘My dad bought you wine so you’d talk to me? Cheers!’”

“Edward, trust me on this. You’ll find most women will be polite to you if you treat them

respectfully. I can’t promise you she’ll return your advances. Given the fact she teaches

at your school, I’m fairly sure she won’t. But the more you put yourself out there, the

easier it will become for you. I know you’re not very accustomed to the concept, but most

people are not born with skills. Just because you have never had to work at anything,

doesn’t mean you won’t in the future. There are things that require practice, Edward,

even for someone of your intelligence. Interacting with the opposite sex is one of them.”

“I get that, Dad.”

I couldn’t tell him that I had no desire to hone my pick-up skills on Miss Swan. I craved

her attention, but not to ‘practice’ on her, and certainly not if she was only seeking to

placate me. I wanted desperately for her to like me and to see me as an equal. Then again,

I knew I couldn’t approach her at school where she would surely disregard me. I may

never get a chance like this again, and I needed to talk to her. If we had nothing in

common, my obsession would resolve itself.

I walked across the Great Hall, pausing when I was directly behind her. I took a deep

breath and inhaled her scent. Miraculously, I found my voice.

“Would you care for another glass?”

“Excuse me?” she said.

I faced her and smiled, replacing her empty glass with the full one my father had given

me. When she stared up at me, she said nothing, and her face was blank.

“Do you always react this way when a man buys you a drink?” I asked.

The half-smile she gave me was incredibly sexy. “That depends. Is the man in question

old enough to legally consume the aforementioned beverage?”

She was teasing me, and I loved it.

“Touchè,” I replied.

“Thank you for this.” I studied her full lips as she sipped her wine.

“You’re welcome, Miss Swan.”

Her demeanor immediately shifted. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“I’m Edward. Edward Cullen. And I don’t believe we’ve ever formally met.”

I nervously held out my hand. She shook it, but then quickly pulled away. My cheeks

heated up at the touch of her hand, and I silently urged my cock to heel.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I was just excited to see a somewhat familiar

face here. I thought maybe until the music started again you might want to walk through

some of the collections with me, but it seems like it may have been a bad idea. In which

case, I’m sorry if you think I’ve behaved inappropriately. Enjoy the rest of your evening,

and maybe I’ll see you around school next week. Goodnight, Miss Swan.”

I turned to leave when I heard her call out after me.

“Ms.”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“Ms. Swan. I find ‘miss’ outdated and borderline offensive. Tell me, Edward, would you

like to be verbally defined solely by your marital status?”

I shook my head, unable to wrap my mind around the fact she was still speaking to me.

“Then I’m sure you can imagine why I would feel the same way. Now, which collections

did you have in mind?”

I suggested European, and she began to walk in the direction of that gallery. I lingered

behind in disbelief. She gestured for me to join her, and with one large step I was at her

side.

“So, come here often?”

I laughed nervously, questioning the meaning behind her usage of a clic√©d pick -up

line as a conversation starter. As we settled into light banter, I studied her closely. Up

close she was exquisite, far more so than even I had imagined. She would bite her lip and

push her hair behind her ear while she listened to me speak and I briefly entertained the

notion that perhaps she was as nervous as I was. I soon felt completely at ease talking to

her. I wanted more…

When she mentioned she was looking for a piano teacher, I seized the opportunity.

“I would be happy to give you lessons.”

I could see her weekly and impress her with the agility of my hands. Eventually, she may

let me try them out on something other than the piano keyboard. I would still be sitting

next to her on a tiny piano bench, and touching her would be inevitable.

God, I wanted to touch her.

“Edward, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You aren’t asking me,” I insisted. “I’m offering.”

“Don’t you have enough going on with all of your classes and extra-curriculars and

whatnot?”

I laughed. “You really have no idea, do you?”

I hoped she wasn’t seeing me as an asexual wonder boy.

“Why don’t I put this another way—there is nothing I would rather do.”

“Would your parents mind?” she asked.

Highly unlikely, considering my father just talked me into hitting on you.

“Um, no.”

We spent the rest of the intermission discussing each painting as we passed it. She was

surprisingly articulate and well-educated. I didn’t have to dumb myself down for her.

This increased her appeal exponentially.

“They’ve started again,” she said, as the jazz quartet’s quiet wail followed us into the

gallery. “We should go back before you miss the rest of the performance.”

I hated the thought that my time with her was ending.

“If that’s what you’d like,” I said, dejectedly.

Somehow, I enticed her to stay with me. We sat on a bench and continued talking.

“How are things for you, Edward?”

I hated that my loneliness was palpable.

I sighed. “It’s better than it was. I’ve never felt all that comfortable around my peers.

When I was in grade school it wasn’t too bad. And then when I went straight to tenth

grade from junior high school, I was fourteen years old. I was little and I was different. It

was terrifying. I was so sure I’d end up stuffed in a locker that I started spending hours

each afternoon lifting weights. I still do. Now one ever harasses me, but no one talks to

me, either. It’s like I’m not even there. My parents are great though. My father is the best

friend I could ever ask for, and my mother has never been anything but supportive. It

more than makes up for everything else. At least, I tell myself it does. Besides, I don’t

feel like I’m missing anything. None of the whole high school thing holds any appeal to

me. I kind of pity the people who claim these are the best years of their lives. For me, it’s

been purgatory at best and the third circle of Dante’s Inferno at worst.”

She giggled. “Don’t knock the third circle. Cerberus makes one hell of a house pet.”

“Well, I only have four months left and then I’m on to hopefully better things.”

Like you. I want to get on you.

“You know, this isolation and feeling in limbo is just temporary. No one of any substance

actually enjoys high school.”

Interesting. Here I thought she was a former Homecoming Queen.

“Is that why you decided to spend your entire life there?” I teased.

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