Teach Me

Clare London
Jan 5
18 min read

Updated: 6 days ago

A short story by Clare London

This story contains: him and him, contemporary romance, strangers, anal

The Regal is a high-class hotel. I can tell a prestige establishment solely from the blowsy explosion of flowers in the lobby and the casual snobbery from the doorman when I saunter through the entrance without any luggage, and stride over to the elevators. Tonight, I’m high on the anticipation of a night of casual, sexy fun, so it’s no more than a cursory appreciation of the clean carpet smell, the glint of polish on the fittings, the piped classical music on my way to the fifth floor.

I rap firmly on the door of 503. I take a couple of deep breaths to center my thoughts, then one quick moment to smooth my hair and tug at the hem of my shirt. The smart polo’s a bit young for me because I’m several years into my twenties and far from a college boy. But it fits tightly across my chest, showing off my pecs, and it suits the rest of my clean-but-casual outfit of jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

This is one of those pivotal moments for me—my heart beating faster with the challenge of the unknown, my blood heating with the thrill of a new hook-up. Yeah, I enjoy the novelty, but I also avoid the hassle of relationships. If you had a chaotic, quarrelsome family like mine? I reckon you’d feel the same.

I stand, head slightly bowed, waiting to be invited in.

The door opens rather abruptly. The man in the doorway looms several inches taller than me, and even though he’s not overly broad-shouldered, he fills the frame. The dim lamplight behind him contributes to the effect. He lifts a hand then lets it fall. Clears his throat.

He’s silent: perhaps he doesn’t know what to say. At times like this, I’ve learned it’s best to fall back on the script.

“Professor Dalton,” I say in a low voice. “Am I late, sir?”