Fashionably Late

SCANDALEUX

One of my friends suggested that I visit a poetry reading at a local bar in order to take my mind off the stress of school work. I'm always a bit stressed from school, but having Mr. Taylor in the classroom has heightened this feeling. I know I should be grading assignments right now so that I can eliminate the source of my stress, but somehow I feel that this is more beneficial. This way my life won't completely revolve around school.

The event started at six o'clock in the evening, so when I arrive at around six fifteen, the event is already in a smooth flow. There's a young man on the stage, definitely drunk, shouting words with unmatched passion. I'm not sure if the crowd likes it or is a tad intimidated by it. I only give him one glance before I make my way over to the bar to get a drink. I don't usually turn to alcohol to solve my problems, but it's only natural to indulge once in a while.

"Skin as smooth and golden as butterscotch, and boy would I love to suck him. And that dick! I worship it. I haven't ever witnessed it, but the whole point of religion is to worship things you can't see. What church is holier than the temple of his body? What religion can compare? How can I act as a teaching assistant to a god? I'm not ready to be Moses. I love that professor, but damn that professor."

I came here to forget about my wretch of a teaching assistant, but instead I am met with another reminder of him thanks to this apparent poet. I throw another glance to the man over my shoulder and find that he owns a familiar face, the face of my own teaching assistant. Fuck. How is it that he thinks all these things about me? He torments me constantly, so there is no way in hell he actually likes me. What the fuck is going on? I turn back to my drink, shakened by this discovery.

"Mr. Webb!" Mr. Taylor greets me, having ambled off the stage and decided to make my night the worst it can be. He leans on my back, unable to stand on his own.

I shift him into a position where I can face him while still supporting him. "Mr. Taylor, you're beyond drunk, and I don't think you'll be making too many good decisions tonight, so I believe it would be best if I took you back to my place for the night. As terrible as you are at teaching, I want you to be safe."

"Oh how considerate of you," he slurs with a sleazy smile on his greased up face. "I knew I was working with Jesus. I'm sure you heard from my poem."

Yeah, and I wish I didn't, but I don't control the universe. That much is obvious.

~~~~~

Mr. Taylor was babbling about nothing in particular all throughout the car ride home. I put him in the back row to ensure that he wouldn't press any buttons on a drunken impulse and somehow crash the car. I'm sure he's very talented like that, but I don't wish to see a real life demonstration. Then, to prevent any further destruction to himself or to my or the neighbor's property, I carried him into my home and sat him on the couch, providing him with a blanket and a pillow from the linen closet.

"You know, Mr. Webb, I really appreciate all you do for me," Mr. Taylor chatters as I unfold another blanket for him. "I've learned a lot from you, and you're now out here saving me from death."

I pat the couch for him to sit down and smile that generic smile that white people often do when they make eye contact with each other in traffic. "That's very nice of you, but you need to get some rest."

"Hey," he murmurs, ignoring my advice and waving his hand from me to him to signal that I should lean in towards him. I do so, and he steals a kiss -- and I don't even retract my mouth immediately. I stay there in our shared rhythm for a few seconds before realizing the implications of this kiss. The atmosphere turns to panic.

"Mr. Taylor, this is unprofessional."

Surprisingly, Mr. Taylor hasn't completely relinquished his full emotional capacity, which is made evident by the look of disappointment that flashes briefly across his face. He says nothing in response, only settles into the blankets, a nonverbal representation of "goodnight". In order to spare the both of us from any more turmoil, I accept this and retreat to my own room until the morning.

~~~~~

A/N: this entire thing was such a scandal omfg

~Dakotass