Mohican Parts 1-3

This is parts 1-3 of a story that started nearly a year ago and was continued last week. For this to work it needed parts 1 and 2 included. There is no recording with this story for obvious reasons. This story carries a light red warning.

She looked over the balcony at the floor below and watched him talking with his friends. Animated, aggressive, forceful he sat low in his chair, legs akimbo. His Mohican hair a statement, his eyes burned a ‘don't mess with me’ look. He twirled a pen in his fingers as he spoke, the notebook in front of him chocka with ideas. Louise felt her knees go weak as she watched his alpha-male display. She tried to remain in the conversation with her friends but it was easier said than done as a small blush of excitement ran down her spine as it always did whenever she saw him. She doubted he had ever even noticed her, and if he had only in an aggressive class warfare type way.  She was just a pretty little rich kid, porcelain features, perfect hair, perfect teeth. She had seen the contempt with which he had looked at her ‘crowd’; she'd seen that look 100 times before from 100 different working class heroes; first one up against the wall come the revolution. She hated the cliched nature of it, a posh girl's desire for a bit of rough, that something that was always just that little bit out of reach. It was so Bronte. But she couldn't help herself. She wondered what James would think if he knew that every time she let his metrosexual hands wander on her skin she closed her eyes and thought of Mohican. She didn't make love to James any more, he was just the conduit for her fantasy, but when she opened her eyes she was always disappointed to see his floppy Ivy League haircut and not a rough and ready tuff of hair. The conversation went on around her but she was lost in her thoughts. As he looked up at her, she realised her furtive glances had turned into obvious stares. He caught her looking, curled his top lip and displayed his middle finger. ‘Such an oik’ said James who'd seen the display of working-class machismo. ‘Let's go.’ ‘Yes’ said Louise picking up her bag and trying to sound like the unfurling finger had not just stabbed her in the heart. God what would Jemima and Johanna think if they knew what Louise was thinking? Maybe they were thinking the same thing, did all posh girls crave a bit of rough. Did rough boys crave a bit of posh?  Maybe they did, but no, not this Marxist Mohican rabble rouser. He wasn’t interested in anything she could offer, all he wanted to do was see her destruction. He’d made up his mind long ago. She felt James put his long arms around her. Louise smiled at her James and forgot all about Mohican.	He’d seen the contempt in her eyes as she’d looked down at him, appraised him, dismissed him for what she thought he was not for who he was. Typical fucking upper-middle behaviour, judging a book by its cover, sticking to their own. Every time he saw her stare at him like that he wanted to … wanted to what? With her aristocratic roots and her public school education she’d be first up against the wall come the revolution. She was the enemy but he knew, god he knew that every time he saw her stare at him like that he wanted to kiss her, touch her, cherish her. He wanted to breath her in, explore her, satisfy her. Not that she’d want him to, god no. Sure posh ones like her probably fantasised about the gardener’s prowess but in reality they always hooked up with Tarquin, their second cousin once removed. He looked at her and unfurled his middle finger and enjoyed the look on her boyfriend’s face as he did so. He hated that floppy hipster hairstyle and those skinny jeans, what a wanker. But again Tony knew that that deep down that hatred was mostly jealousy. Jealous that that weed had managed to get the most beautiful girl in Uni. That was unfair. Kirsty was just as beautiful, and Tony loved her. But that posh girl was so sexy whereas sometimes Kirsty forgot she was a woman. Everything was so ‘right-on’ with her that she had managed to almost desexualise herself. She had the curves and she had the looks and boy under the bed clothes she had the moves but to get to them you had to strip of the metaphorical layers of ideology and the literal layers of baggy shapeless clothes. Tony was conflicted, he knew the sexualisation of women was the exploitation of women but he loved to admire those posh stocking clad legs in those black high-heels. God what would this crowd of raggle-taggles and hangers on think if they could read his thoughts? They’d disown him, send him to Coventry, call him a traitor. It was stupid really, him and his group rallied against sexism, racism, homophobia but they were quite willing to discriminate on the grounds of class. Bloody hypocrites they were.  Tony ran his hand through his Mohican and returned his thoughts to the conversation going on around him. The posh girl was just a pipe dream, a fantasy, she’d never give him the time of day. She’d made up her mind about him long ago. Lets face it was never going to happen and, he smiled at Kirsty, he didn’t really want it to.
A new semester, new subjects. Louise felt both excited and nervous. She’d purposely signed up for courses that the rest of the gang were not doing. She felt she needed to break out from the clique a little bit. But it was easy to be brave when choosing courses. In the cold realism of the new dawn, that bravery had dissipated and now she was wracked with trepidation as she looked around the seminar room and realised she didn’t know a soul. Eyes observed her with a mixture of suspicion and contempt. The room was full of what James would call working class oiks, she stood out like a Londoner in a village pub.  But worse was to come, she scanned the room and realised that the only free seat was next to Mohican boy, the object of her desires for most of the first term. She was going to  have to sit next to him. Louise only realised she hadn’t asked if the seat was free after she sat down. She was already feeling incredibly self-conscious, and that made it worse. Was she blushing? She wasn’t sure. She could smell Mohican’s aftershave, it smelt good. He blanked her completely. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend he wasn’t there. But she couldn’t do it. He was there, big and strong and very close. Fuck it, she wasn’t going to sit here for an hour feeling uncomfortable. She was going to talk to him. Challenge him. ‘You don’t like me very much do you?’ She hadn’t expected him to be quite so brutally honest. ‘But you don’t know me.’ ‘And what’s that?’ Louise was surprised at how angry she felt. Louise wanted to be offended but it was true. She did come from a privileged background. ‘But that doesn’t define me as a person.’ Why was he being so aggressive? And why was she so turned on? ‘I don’t understand you, but I won’t judge you on your background.’ She could see that that comment had hit home.	Tony sat slumped in his seat wishing he hadn’t indulged quite so much the night before. His head felt heavy, his eyes dry and his stomach fragile.  The rest of the gang didn’t seem to be as badly affected but Tony felt rough as. He flopped into a corner seat  hoping no one would take the seat next to him. He was in no fit state to converse with anyone. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes, a bottle of coke untouched on the desk in front of him. The sweet, fizzy nectar had the potential to cure but also to flip his stomach over. But if he was going to make it through the seminar he badly needed the caffeine and sugar rush. As he opened the coke he saw her, little miss Posh, scanning the room, looking for a place to sit. God he didn’t want her sitting next to him, not in this state. Little Miss Posh didn’t even ask if she could sit down. Typical,   they think they own the bloody world, Tony thought. But Tony felt self-conscious, could she smell the alcohol seeping from his pores? Look at her, he thought, ignoring me, probably thinks I’m beneath her. He tried to hate her but he couldn’t do it, she was beautiful and fragrant and sexy and very close. Christ if he didn’t feel as bad as he did, he would talk to her find out how she ticked. ‘No not really.’ He didn’t really know why he’d said that. He liked her a lot. ‘I know your type.’ Tony was surprised at how bolshie she sounded. ‘Rich, spoilt, selfish, privileged, never done a days work in your life.’ Perhaps he’d gone a bit over the top. This was not the best chat up line he’d ever used. ‘Of course it does.’ Why was he being so aggressive when all he wanted to do was kiss her? ‘Anyway you don’t like me, I’ve seen the way you look at me.’ Ouch that hurt. Too close to home, too near the bone.
‘Settle down now, So new, semester, new course. Where shall we start?
Perfect timing. Now he’d have to sit and stew, reflect on her comment. He hadn’t had time to hit back. She could tell he was thinking about it. He wasn’t making notes as the lecturer spoke. She smiled to herself, she’d got through to him, her words were like an unfurling finger stabbing him in the heart. He spoke before she could. She looked at him for the first time. He was gorgeous.  ‘Yes’ She liked that smile. ‘No.’ The frown amused her. ‘Buy me a beer, tonight. Away from here, away from your clique or mine.’ Looking at him now he looked a little worse for wear. ‘Okay’ ‘Gosh I had to sit next to that oik with the Mohican,’ Louise said as soon as she got back to her friends. ‘What an arsehole he is.’	Damn, that was not the time for the lecture to start, Tony thought. He wanted to be able to come back at her. But now he might never get the chance. He thought about what she said. He hated it but he knew she was right. Her words were like an unfurling finger stabbing his brain. ‘Okay maybe I’ve judged a book by the cover.’ He’d spoken as soon as the lecture was over.   'Can I buy you coffee?’ He looked at her, she really was very  beautiful. He smiled. Was she playing games? The last thing he wanted to think about was alcohol. But he smiled at her. ‘Okay.’ he said. You know the Farmer’s Arms? Outside there at 7? ‘Fucking hell what a snob’ Tony said to his mates who’d seen him talking to little miss Posh. ‘Hope I never have to speak to her again. ‘
If Louise was perfectly honest, she would have to say she was disappointed. How churlish was that? She’d just had the best sex in her life and she was disappointed. The drinks had been unbearable, Tony really was an oaf, a monster, he came from a different planet, but there was obviously a sexual tension and she just had to get this oik into bed. She’d expected rough and ready but she got tender and caring but that didn’t fit the narrative. She was little miss posh girl sleeping with the gardener. He was meant to take what he wanted and leave her to go back to the tender caresses of Mr Darcy. But Tony had put her Mr Darcy in the shade. James treated foreplay as a necessary chore but Tony obviously viewed it as an art; caressing her body, teasing her, tormenting her. Whereas James always seemed to be in a rush, for Tony time was not important, he took her to places she’d never been. But that wasn’t in the script.  Afterwards he didn’t turn the TV on to watch the rugger or pick up his phone to boast to his mates, he held her in his strong arms, stroking her neck and whispered in her ear. Why had she done it? She hated Tony as a person, he hadn’t given her what she’d dreamt of, he’d satisfied her body but not her mind. But knew she’d find herself in his bed again at the first opportunity.	If Tony was perfectly honest, he would have to say he was disappointed. How churlish was that? He’d just had sex with the sexiest looking woman in uni and he was still disappointed. The pub had been hard work,  he’d said he knew her type and he’d been right, she didn’t have a clue how the real world worked. But there was sexual tension that he just had to explore. When she ‘accidently’ gave him a flash of her stocking tops he knew there was no turning back. But he’d learnt a lesson;   just because someone dressed like a high class hooker doesn’t mean they act like one. He’d expected her to take the initiative, to ‘entertain’ him but she had been shy and passive, wanting Tony to take the lead. His Kirsty was much more sexually liberated, she understood sex was the coming together of two people, that is was about mutually beneficial actions, for Louise it was more about her laying back and letting Tony do the work.He hadn’t expected that. She looked almost surprised when she orgasmed.  Afterwards she was meek and romantic, wanting cuddles and strokes whereas his Kirsty talked dirty to him, bit his ear, tried to get him ready to go again. Why had he done it? He'd hated her personality, didn’t enjoy the sex, felt guilty but he knew that Louise would only have to flash her stockings at him again and he’d jump into her bed.