Two Brits: MMF Bisexual Romance by Elle Everton

Author:Elle Everton [Everton, Elle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Join my mailing list and get a free bonus chapter!
Published: 2017-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Ravi Hoffman wheels into class on his unicycle again. He’s still got his bright orange windbreaker, but this time he’s also added a pair of black-rimmed glasses.

“Buenos días estudiantes,” he says, dropping the unicycle on the floor at the front of the class. “Ready to talk about your assignments?”

I slump low in my seat. I can’t look at Ravi, or even at Peter. All I can think about is my last photo, splayed up there on the screen, as Ravi told everyone just how pedestrian and lame I am. I mean, I’m paraphrasing, but still.

“There were some excellent submissions this week,” he says. “And of course, some mediocre ones as well.”

He turns on the projector and a huge image fills the screen. It’s a man’s face, but through the warped reflection of the back of a spoon.

“Let’s talk about this one for a moment — the distortion tells us that this artist feels conflicted about himself, that his sense of self twists and evolves.” Everyone looks around, trying to recognize the face in the photo, while a guy in the back row grins proudly.

Ravi flicks to a new image, and suddenly my sex face is filling the whole classroom. Peter elbows me in the arm and I slink lower in my chair, suddenly terrified.

“This one,” Ravi is saying, pointing right at my giant on-screen face. “This one is spectacular. My favorite of the week. The realness, the rawness of it — stunning. Excellent work.”

I risk a glance up and Ravi is staring right at me, a pleased smile on his face. “Thanks,” I mutter. I feel a small thrill of pride, even though I’m a bit nauseated at the idea of everyone in the class seeing me like that.

We go through a few more pictures as Ravi discusses their relative merits. I take a lot of notes. Maybe it’s his praise, but I suddenly feel a lot more engaged in the class. My brain feels challenged as I look at all the different interpretations of the assignment, thinking about why people made the artistic choices they did and how they could have done things differently.

By the time class is over, I feel excited and invigorated. That all comes to a screeching halt when Ravi signals to me to stay behind.

I glance at Peter and he shrugs, leaving me alone in the classroom with our professor.

When everyone else has filed out of the room and it’s just Ravi and I, he throws my photo back up on the projector.

My cheeks redden again, and he raises his eyebrows.

“This is excellent work. I meant what I said in class. You clearly have talent.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. I still can’t bear to look at the photo, but I’m pleased at his praise.

“What I would like to know,” he says, and pauses as he changes the image on the projector. “Is how this is the same person who submitted this.”

My first photo is up on the screen now, the one of the stupid double decker bus.

“The difference between these two photos is astounding.

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