Inheritance

Chapter Eighteen. A Home Tutorial

John would surely be tempted. His lunches usually consisted of a slab of spam slapped between unbuttered slices of stale bread, and washed down with flat sasparilla; no fruit, no vegetables and never a dessert.

Her sample lunches met with his approval, and in repayment, he agreed to tutor her at home, on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. 

                                                                             ***** 

 Rachel didn't want John to be just a friend. She wanted him to find her irresistible, so attractive that he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. Other boys had succumbed to her charms, so why not John? In preparation for the first session, she bathed, washed her hair with fragrant shampoo, daubed her neck and cleavage with the latest Chanel creation, and applied a touch of makeup. She took less care with her wardrobe. She knew that casual summer wear, a tight fitting blouse and shorts, accentuated her most attractive features.  

The tutorial was supposed to start at eight, the normal bedtime for her two younger sisters. However, they were so excited at the prospect of seeing John again, that their mother gave them special permission to stay up and meet him. There was one condition; they must promise to go to bed immediately afterwards.  

Mrs. Atkinson set up a table and two chairs  in what had originally been a study. There was a direct line of sight from the main spiralling staircase, through an archway into the study. Embarrassing calls from the stairs interrupted John and Rachel as they attempted to start their first session. Two giggling rapscallions were sitting staring at them through the bars of the balustrade, and making rather lewd suggestions for girls of such a young age. Rachel called her mother, who admonished the girls and exiled them to their respective bedrooms. All to no avail. Within minutes, they were back at their observation post. This scenario was repeated, again and again, despite threatened punishments of increasing severity. Study was impossible. Finally, Mrs. Atkinson agreed to let them move to Rachel's room, but only on condition there would be no shenanigans. 

Rachel led John up to her bedroom at the top of the staircase. She needn't have worried about her choice of décor. He hardly noticed. 

"Where should we work?" he asked. 

"At my desk. You use the wooden chair that's already there and I'll bring over the other one." 

John sat down at the pine desk that had been hand made by Rachel's father. It was of a rather unique design; two hollow pedestals, containing enough space for textbooks, supported a large flat surface. The space between the pedestals was sufficient to snugly fit two wooden chairs. Rachel purposely moved in to the space on John's right. 

"So where do we start?" asked John. 

"With Trig. It's a complete mystery to me." 

"Identities?" 

"What are identities?" 

John laughed. "I think we'd better start from scratch." 

"I guess so." 

John started working on some basic problems, Rachel peering over his right shoulder. Inevitably, his hand covered the writing. "I can't see," said Rachel raising herself slightly in her seat, leaning over and brushing John's arm with her left breast. The hairs on his arm bristled. Several repetitions of this manoeuvre brought a suppressed sigh, but John didn't say a thing, nor did he ask to change places. 

When it was Rachel's turn to attempt some problems John retired to the comfort of a cushioned wicker chair in the far corner of the room. There, he purported to work on his own studies. However, there were times when glancing over her right shoulder Rachel caught him looking at her in what she interpreted as an admiring way. Their eyes met, he blushed slightly, and shyly returned his gaze to his book. 

                                                                         ****

John's thoughts were not on his work. Rachel was no longer the little schoolgirl he had befriended. She had really matured and was she ever sexy. He'd better watch himself. He could lose Sheila over this. It had happened once before.

And what would happen if Sheila found out he was shacked up with Gillian? Maybe he should call the whole thing off, and go back to those nightmarish digs.

                                                                                    *****

"I can't do this second one, John." John rose from the wicker chair, grumbled a little, and came to stand behind her right shoulder. As he leaned over to guide her, Rachel could feel his chest against her, the heartbeat was far from normal. She was elated. All the signs were there; the touching of bare legs under the desk that occurred with greater than accidental frequency, the lingering touches as they shared a pencil. It was only a matter of time.