About Art After 5...

A year ago I took this down because I didn't like the idea of it being out of my control. But my removing it has caused more consternation for both me and my readers in the long run, and the best way to combat those who might want to share it out of malice is for me to share it freely myself. I might publish this someday. What I won't do is self-publish and market it to those who've already read it. The editing will be extensive; the final product will look nothing like this. Given this is nothing more than a loose first draft, I see no reason not to make it available again.



"Please, Bella?" Edward looked at me, his green eyes bright with curiosity.


"But I told you mine!"

And just like that—with his juvenile intonation—the reality that my lover was only seventeen came crashing down on me.

"Silly, Edward. We both know you had nothing to tell." I rolled away from him, and clutching the sheet against my bare breasts, I stepped out of the bed and into the sunlight. I stood in front of the window and closed my eyes, letting the afternoon sun warm my face.


Thankfully, most of the time we were together, it was easy to forget exactly how young he was. I could never be intimate with him while dwelling on his age. During moments when such acknowledgment was unavoidable, I emotionally withdrew—a fact I'm fairly sure was not lost on him.

The sheet suddenly pulled away from my chest, and there was Edward naked in my bed, holding its other end.

"I do, now," he said, smiling.

I joined him in bed, pushing the thoughts that weighed so heavily on me away from my consciousness.

"Oh, really?"

He nodded.

"Perhaps we should start over then." I put my hands on his chest and climbed on top of him, straddling his pelvis. "So..." I looked down at him and brushed my thumbs across his nipples. "How many sexual partners have you had?"

He closed his eyes as I ground my hips against his; I was willing to play along, but I wasn't about to make this easy for him.

"One." His voice was not much louder than a whisper.


"Yes. Exactly one. I'd watched her for months."

"Why didn't you approach her?" I asked, pressing into him.

"She was forbidden."

"My, my." I trailed a fingertip down his chest to the patch of hair below his navel. "Why did you decide to pursue her?"

"She did. I ran into her at the Art Museum on a Friday night. There was a jazz quartet playing, and she was stunning. She stood alone and swayed to the music. When I noticed her glass of wine was empty, I brought her another and struck up a conversation with her. She didn't talk down to me like other teachers did, and she didn't treat me as if I were a freak like I was used to from my so-called peers. She was human, and treated me as if I were the same. Only my family had ever done that..."

"I was never your teacher, Edward."

"No, you weren't. Well, not that way."

He reached up and pinched my nipple. I gasped, he hardened, and before I could even verbalize my need, he entered me. As he began to move, I remembered how in a few weeks this would all end. I would have to let him go.

I didn't allow the thought to linger. Instead, I let everything that was not directly related to the pleasure he brought my body drift away and focused instead on the beautiful boy beneath me.