The Lustful Tutor
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Alice was struggling with her studies, especially in her art class. Her parents, who were well-known personalities in the painting industry, had high expectations for her. However, she seemed to lack any inspiration or motivation, which resulted in her paintings lacking emotions. Additionally, she was still unsure of her main theme in painting. That's why she sought the help of Carlos, a renowned painting tutor. But what if their tutoring lessons turned into something more than that? Something that involved Carlos making her moan on top of the study table inside her studio.
"YOU should do much better at school, don't embarrass us!" My dad said to me while we were having breakfast at our large, shiny dining table.
I just kept eating. Everything they said to me went in my left ear and out my right. That's how my every morning went with them.
"Alice, are you even listening?!" My mom scolded me when she noticed that I was ignoring everything they said.
It's just the same thing over and over again. That's all I hear from them every morning when we have breakfast.
"Whatever, Mom!" I replied without any emotion.
I could see from the corner of my eye that my mom was getting mad at me. And just like every day, she would compare me to my older sister and say that I'm just like my brother, whose life is going nowhere because we're disobedient children.
"You're nothing compared to Lylia! I wouldn't be surprised if you end up like your brother, who gave up painting to join a band. Your life is going nowhere!" My mom blurted out, right in my face.
I looked up at her. "I'm leaving!" I told them firmly.
My mom was taken aback, and my dad immediately came to her side. I rolled my eyes at their dramatic scene. I stood up and didn't bother finishing my meal. I grabbed my bag from the sofa as I walked by, and then I left our house.
I headed straight to our car garage, where our driver was waiting to take me to school. Mr. Luis drove me to school. He's quite old and has been working for our family for a long time. I think he has been our driver since I was a child. He was very kind to me. In fact, I felt more like he was a father figure than my own dad.
"Don't take your parents too seriously. You never know, there might come a day when they'll understand you and your brother," Mr. Luis told me.
I glanced out the car window. We were passing by towering buildings.
"I really hope so. But I don't want to rely on that anymore. It just hurts me more. It's exhausting too," I replied sadly.
"Let's stop by the ice cream parlor before going straight to school. It's still early. So you can at least feel a little better and be happy, even if it's just for a little while," he suggested.
I smiled. "Sure!" I said excitedly.
Ice cream seemed to be the only thing that could make me happy. Since I didn't eat properly at home, I would make the most of it with ice cream.
After a while, Mr. Luis parked the car in front of the ice cream parlor. I got out first and went inside the store. Mr. Luis paid for the ice cream, saying it was his treat. Even though I was wealthy, I gladly accepted free things.
WHEN I was in school, I was just a regular teenager. If you think that because I come from a wealthy family and my parents are respected artists, I'm a spoiled brat, you're wrong. I only show my bad side when I'm in front of my parents.
I know it's wrong to behave like that in front of my own parents. But can you blame me? They made me this way. I'm also a human being. I have the right to feel angry.
Right now, I'm inside Mrs. Linda's air-conditioned office. She is my painting class instructor, and art is my major subject. After our lesson earlier, she asked me to come to her office at 3 p.m. She wants to talk to me about something.
I'm not sure, but I have a guess about what we will discuss. Our school's yearly art exhibit is coming up before the end of the summer. And until now, I don't know my forte theme for my paintings.
I have a talent for painting, I'm a pro actually. But as people who have seen my paintings say, they lack emotion. They're just beautiful, but there's nothing special about them, and I admit it. I'm honest with myself. I don't understand the true essence and nature of painting and how to be passionate about it. I don't have any inspirations or motivations.
I straightened up in my seat when I heard the office door open. Mrs. Linda came into view, walking elegantly in her black stilettos that made sounds with each of her step.
She gave me an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Alice. The faculty had a sudden meeting. You know, endless meetings," she jokingly said to me.
I smiled back at her. "It's totally fine with me, Ma'am," I assured her.
She sat down on her swivel chair and placed her hands on top of her study table, folding them together.
"So, Alice, I'll get straight to the point. I understand your struggles as a painter. I've been through that too. It's normal when you're just starting out. But I know it will be difficult for you to cope because of the pressure from your parents," she started with a lengthy introduction.
She knows about my family problems. Besides my driver, she's one of the people I confide in about my personal issues. I'm very grateful to have them.
"It seems there's no hope for my parents to change. They are so addicted to fame," I said, feeling disappointed.
What's even better is that Mrs. Linda never gossips about my parents, even though she knows their true nature because I've already told her everything.
"That's why I want to suggest that you get a tutor," Mrs. Linda added.
That's exactly what I've been thinking these past few days. I feel like I want to hire a tutor. Since it's almost summer and my first year in college is ending, it would be better to have a tutor for a summer tutorial class. It won't be too hectic in my schedule. But who should I choose?
I can see that Mrs. Linda wants to tutor me, but her numerous tasks as a teacher prevent her, and I completely understand that.
"HAVE you found someone who will tutor you?" Harold asked me. He's my gay classmate and best friend forever.
I rolled my eyes. "Not yet," I replied.
He pulled on his long, shiny black hair. He really cares a lot about his hair. He must be using the most expensive and effective shampoo for making his hair shine.
"Oh, Alice, you're driving me crazy! It's been a week, and there are so many options on the internet!" he complained to me.
"We're in the library now, lower your voice," I scolded him as we reached the entrance of our art school's library.
He immediately covered his mouth. We both entered this very quiet place. Everyone was busy reading their books. Some were just using their cell phones and treating the library as a hangout spot. But as long as you're quiet, everything would be fine with our grumpy lady librarian. It's nothing new; every librarian seemed to
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