Envy Cafe
an excerpt

Envy Cafe - Excerpt from Chapter I: "Fifi's Diary"

He looked at her as she ran from him, wondering why his eyes trailed after her. He then kneeled, picking up the pink, feathered booklet at his feet. “Well, well what have we here” It wasn’t until he saw it up-close that he realized it was the same notebook she had used in his classes. He had thought she was very dedicated in his class, always scribbling furiously in her little notebook.

Until one day he asked her about the class he had just finished and her intellectual reply came from the brain of a slug. She blinked then blushed and hid her face, murmuring a practically unintelligible “I don’t know”. Finally, he managed to look over her shoulder one day to catch a glimpse of something that was not at all related to biology. She had quickly hid it with her body, peering at him with those alarmed eyes of hers.

He didn't have a choice but to flunk her in class for such short attention span and overall lack of interest. Plus it pissed him off. However, here it was, right in front of him, the carefully kept journal of the 'refugee' or 'work in progress'. He didn't consider himself to be a gossip but something within him wanted to know what exactly was inside this little book. After all, she had practically taken his limb along with the notebook when she snatched it away from his hands. And he hadn't been interested in reading it!

Now, however, he was. Slowly with careful precision, he opened it and began to read;.

Dear Diary:

I remember when people used to start passages like these. When the Internet and computers and web-logs and all that other technical junk wasn’t ruling our world. I remember when pen on paper felt the best, and we all exchanged mysterious letters.

Dear Diary… who am I kidding? I’m as much a slave of the industry’s evolution as the next person. Computers own us all and I’m no different. But when at school, what else can I do but write it here, what I just have to write…. Because he’s right in front of me and I can’t avoid him. Because I can’t wait until I get home to write even more about him. In my secret file. Because maybe, just maybe I have a crush.

--

Christian quirked an eyebrow. From the bat it came as a surprise that such an articulate entry belonged to someone that wasn't really that vocal in her waking life. And how cute, she had a crush. He tried to remember the seating arrangements in his class just so he could figure out who was it that she liked. Was it Ian McDougal, who sat two seats in front of her? Or was it Joseph Diaz? Hmm. He continued to read.

--

Dear Diary:

My mistress has baptized me. I feel like I’ve maybe found a friend. She’s very much a lady and she’s so beautiful. I’m so lucky. After living practically in the streets with papa, I thought there was no way I could ever belong to a world like this. It’s still very scary.

But I’ll be brave you’ll see. Besides, her house is really cold, and I’m scared of her brother. She seems lonely too.

Dear Diary:

I need to fetch some food for papa, he’s getting too thin. I’m afraid that though I’ve left he doesn’t realize it yet. He might still be saving food for me, and not eating it himself. Thinking I might be hungry when I come home even as I’m already being well-fed. The only way to help is if I can somehow get my hands on easy things he could make. Papa is such a bad cook. I’ll see what I can find.

--

He blinked, even more surprised. He just kept peeling the onion, didn't he. Poor thing. Reading those words made him a bit uncomfortable and sympathetic. It certainly explained all the stolen food. He just hadn't expected her to come from such a drastic and likewise pitiful background. How was it that Veronique didn't know this and help the father with the bad cooking background? He continued to read.

--

Dear Diary:

His voice is so smooth and gentle, and at the same time so firm and dominant. He has manners like my papa would’ve liked. And he’s always wearing the perfect shoes.
I wish I were one of his perfect girls. I wasn’t even taken to the Masque. Boo. My mistress says I can’t go until after my makeover.

Dear Diary:

They sat her next to me. Her name is Pippa. Apparently she can’t remember a thing about last night’s party. Boo. I wanted to know. I’m jealous of her… in so many ways.

--

He frowned. Jealous of Pippa? Philippa? His girlfriend, Philippa? Oh that odious nickname. He re-read the last sentence over and over.

"...in so many ways". What did she mean? And heavens, aren't women detail oriented. Whomever it is, wears the perfect shoes and has fantastic manners. Now he was wanting to meet this fellow. He was getting the clue that it might be someone that Philippa might know.

He kept on reading.

--

Dear Diary:

Today I can’t write much. He keeps yelling at me for not paying attention, but…

Dear Diary:

Today I can’t contain myself.
He’s sitting leisurely on his chair while some students fill out a long questionnaire he’s laid out on the chalkboard. He thinks I’m doing the same, because I’m writing so diligently.

But I’m not.

As his eyes skim through the heads of those around me, as he fixes his collar and straightens his blazer before sitting back down and browsing his newspaper.

Oh dear diary… how I want him. How I want his tall, hardened body all around me. His sculpted features and ripped muscles, barely hidden through his crisp white shirt, underneath that perfect blazer. I want to pull his amber colored tie and latch my mouth on his.

Suddenly I see him undressing me with his eyes; they look right through me, those deep pools of my favorite drink. Mmm… coffee, how I love coffee. But they’re a bit lighter, framed by strands of that gorgeous brown hair. I bet in a candy store he’d be dark chocolate. Decadent and smooth. So well kept, I just want to ruffle it and pull it passionately towards me, so that he gets angry… and maybe bites me! And then teach me things you’d never learn in a classroom.

He’s walking towards me now. He stands in front of me and dips his face to hover above mine. I can feel his warm breath on my skin, the curl of his lips as he whispers. “Stand up” and suddenly the classroom is empty.

He turns me around and gently ties a dark cloth around my eyes. It’s silky and delicious, like the feel of his hands as they slowly… seductively slide down my body, only to lift up my skirt. I can’t help but gasp at the chilly air, and my own nervousness betrays me. I begin to tremble.

Just then I feel his lips on the nape of my neck and my hair stands on end. He’s brushing the clothing off my shoulders now with his knowing hands. How did my uniform so quickly come undone… he toys with the bra straps and sucks on my neck, his fingers gently curling below and touching me… there… slowly at first, then with more pressure… so that I’m gasping and my head swims dizzily. I begin to get so very… my lips are moist. My body is arched and he lets me rest my back on his chest, my knees were starting to get far too weak for me to bear it.

He spanks me. I haven’t been paying attention to his class. I’ve been a very naughty girl.

Dear Diary:

Tomorrow’s my makeover! Yey!

--

"Goodness!" he spoke in shock. Christian jumped in surprise, dropping the booklet then quickly picked it up. His throat was suddenly very dry. Professor Percy had just found himself another closet kink. Students were sure rowdy these days. She wrote that last part almost like a penthouse article. Was that how kids spoke these days? He laughed, amused at his own mutterings. What was a teacher-in-training barely in his mid-twenties doing asking about his own generation. But he'd never felt more old than when he taught these kids... This little book had been a jump back to reality. His reaction to those musings... were far from mature.